Applied Anthropology:

Readings in the
Uses of the
Science of Man

Edited by
James A. Clifton

Houghton Mifflin Company · Boston

New York · Atlanta · Geneva, lllinois · Dallas · Palo Alto
 Far my father
A. P. Clifton
Who was a Craftsman

Copyright© 1970 by James A. Clifton. The selections

reprinted in this book are used by permission of and
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Contents

Foreword VII

1 ntroduction VIII

Acknowledgments XVIII

Part One­ Beginnings 1

1 A Lost Period of Applied Anthropology · Conrad C. Reining 3
2 Practica! Anthropology · Bronislaw Malinowski 12
3 Anthropology as a Public Service · Godfrey Wilson 26
4 Anthropology and the Government of Native. Races
in the Pacific · The Hon. Sir Apirana Turupa Ngata 42

Part Two­Three Kinds of lnvolvement 57

5 Consultants and Executives · Homer G. Barnett 59
6 The Research and Development Approach to the
Study of Change · Allan R. Holmberg 83
7 The Changing Values and lnstitutions of Vicos in the
Context of National Development · Allan R. Holmberg qLl
8 The Fox Project · Sol Tax · 106
9 The Strategy of the Fox Project · Fred Gearing 113
1 O The Failure of the Means­Ends Scheme in
Action Anthropology · Lisa Redfield Peattie 121
11 Action Anthropology · Ralph Piddington 127

Part Three­Some Varieties of Application 145

12 Attitude Organization in Elementary School
Classrooms · Jules Henry 147
i 3 An Anthropologist Views Technical Assistance
Charles J. Erasmus 1 66
14 Anthropology in Al D Overseas Missions: lts Practica!
and Theoretical Potential · Richard P. Schaedel 184
15 Cooperation Between Anthropologist and
Medical Personnel · Cara E. Richards 190
16 Anthropology and lndian Claims Litigation:
Problems, Opportunities, and Recommendations
Nancy Oestreich Lurie 1 99
V
Part Four-On lssues and Ethics 213
17 The Growing Demand for Behavioral Science
in Government: lts lmplications for Anthropology ·
Ward H. Goodenough 215
18 Is Applied Anthropology Helping to Develop A
1
Science of Man? · Laura Thompson 225
J9 Conservative Thought in Applied Anthropology:
A Critique · Guillermo Bonfil Batalla 246
20 Objectivity in Anthropology · Jacques Maquet 254
21 Statement on Ethics of the Society for Applied
Anthropology 273
Bibliography 275

Vl
Foreword

It is commonly assumed that applied anthropology is a novel and recent

side development in the science of man. In truth, however, systematic
efforts to employ anthropological theories, methods, and findings have
always coexisted with the pure or basic variety of anthropological inquiry.
Moreover, there is probably no convenient or useful way to disentangle
"pure" from "applied" anthropology. What is called basic research, that
work not immediately produced from the self-interest of sorne sponsor,
frequently has pragmatic implications, actual or potential. Basic rescarch,
if it is good research, has important social consequences whether the
anthropologist acts as a responsible, involved participant or not. The
essays brought together in this volume all take up one or more of the
critica} issues in the uses of the science of man. Here anthropologists who
have willingly and knowingly assumed roles as active participants in
developmental change point up, discuss, and evaluate a variety of these
issues - matters such as the ethics of intervention, the influence of the
existential setting of anthropological inquiry, the problems of less than
detached sponsorship, the limits of the trained spectator's role, and ques-
tions of relationships with clients and subjects.
JAMES A. CLIFTON

vii
lntroduction

The use of anthropological findings, concepts, and methods to accom-

plish a desired end is frequently thought to be a recent development in
the science of man. Similarly, it is argued that applied ( or action) an-
thropology is neatly separated from pure ( or basic research-oriented)
anthropology and that the two subfields are contrasted and easily dis-
tinguishable with respect to their social relevance, their potential human
worth, the rigor of their methods, and their likely contribution to knowl-
edge. Sometimes these two assumptions are fitted together in a plausibly
explanatory fashion: a science such as anthropology has to develop and
mature for a sufficiently long period for general principles or theories to
be formulated and tested before these theories can be usefully applied
in sorne concrete situation so as to bring about a practical result. If
this assumption were valid, then of course applied anthropology would
necessarily hace to come after the growth of a pure science of anthro-
pology.
Assumptions and convictions of this sort are derived from other beliefs
as well as from prevalent institutional and linguistic pattems. One such
folk belicf is containcd in the popular aphorism specifying the difference
between "theory" and "practíce." From this bit of wisdorn we rnight
conjecture that a rnedical doctor engaged in his practice ( or by analogy
a social anthropologist working as a comrnunity dcveloprnent ad visor)
is simply applying established scientific principles to bring about desired
conditions, when in fact most physicians, directly or indirectly, are
simultaneously engagcd in diagnosis, treatment, and an important variety
of rcsearch activity called clinical study. This kind of conclusion is but-
tresscd further by the common though inaccurate belief that scientific
theory has a finality and durability to it that few scientists themselves
would accept. It is also encouraged by thc tendency of the structure of
our language to force thought about neatly bounded, bipolarized, or
dichotomizcd categories which, simply by naming thcm, leads to the
feeling that thc categories differ profoundly in thcir cssential nature.
To contrast applicd with basic sciencc has a certain appeal in sorne
academic quartcrs sincc to many the two are not only fundamentally
different, but thcy are also ranked in relative worth or prcstige. We often
find pure research defincd as superior to tcchnology or applied disciplines.
What is not always evidcnt is that there may be a strong element of self-
viii
 INTRODUCTION ix

seeking ego-enhancement involved in such a value judgment. It is often

those who wish to view themselves as "pure" scientists who most zeal-
ously argue this case. However, in the institutional contexts in which
scientists work we can appreciate better the social functions of such
invidious distinctions. They consist of useful rationalizations supporting
and justifying certain career pattems as against others; they assist the
scientist concerned in his competition for scarcc rcsources needed to
conduct research; and they can be employed as a useful marker of relative
prestige. However, the distinction is not necessarily tenable or useful
for an understanding of thc varieties of ways in which men create
knowledge, the ways in which knowledge is used, or the ways in which
application and questing fit together.
Indeed, such a distinction can be entirely misleading, particularly when
it is converted into a distorted view of the development of science. The
current misperception of that history, in which pure scientific knowledge
develops in advance of practica! application, simply docs not square
with the historical record. Daniel S. Greenberg offers this partial sum-
mary of that record:

... as often as not, the history of science and technology fails to conform
I
to the pure scientists' tidy model of science as the father of technology. lt
would be convenient, for example, if a comprehension of thermodynamics
had paved the way to the creation of the steam engine, but, if anything,
it appears that the steam engine paved the way to a comprehension of
thermodynamics - and the inspiration for this effort at comprehension
was a desire for a still more efficient steam engine (1967:29).

What is true of other sciences and their applied or tcchnological counter-

parts is true also of anthropology. The fact is that so long as there has
been an anthropology pure, there has been an anthropology applied.
The potential uscfulness of anthropological ideas and methods to mcn
of affairs was recognized and publicly statcd by such founding fathers
of the discipline as E. B. Tylor, Sir John Lubbock, and W. H. Flowcr
( Bamett, 1956: 1). The carlicst professional anthropological societics of
Britain had their origins partly in antislavcry and similar amcliorative
movements, as Conrad C. Rcining makcs clear in his cssay on early ap-
plicd anthropology ( sce Ch. 1). Similarly, in thc United Sta tes the
Women's Anthropological Society of Washington in 1885 called for a
firsthand study of problems of poverty and substandard housing and
cngaged in intervcntion schemcs aimed at improving lowcr-class housing
in the Washington arca ( Lurie 1966:38-39). Also in the late ninetcenth
century Alice Flctchcr, an early North American cthnologist, worked at
sccuring adoption of a land allotment scheme which was intended to
assist in rcducing thc Omaha tribc's cconomic distrcss (Lurie, 1966:48-49).
X INTRODUCTION

It should be no surprise that sincc the days of the founding of anthro-

pology, the creation of anthropological knowledge has proeecded together
with efforts to use that knowledge for sorne worthy purpose. After all,
anthropology grew up in an older cultural tradition where the search for
knowlcdge was closely wedded to practieal eoneerns and technological
pursuits. Yet the fact that anthropological ideas ean be used is a "novel"
idea which springs up recurrently in the minds of both anthropologists
and potential clients, repeatedly stimulating controversy over a series of
issues associated with the ethics of applieation and intervention into the
lives of men. Most of the articles reprinted in this book toueh in whole
or part on one or more of these issues.

Applied Roles and Actívítíes

The public roles assumed by anthropologists in applied contexts and
1
the associated obligations, duties, and activities engaged in are quite
diverse. A brief look at a few of these roles will help illustrate the point
that there is no elear, convenient dividing line between pure and applied
anthropological activities.
The vast majority of professional anthropologists earn their livelihoods
throughout their careers as teaehers in eolleges and universities. As sueh
they are engaged in a practice which involves the use of their knowledge
so as to intervene into thc lives of others, a kind of applied anthropology
whieh H. Ian Hogbin has called indireet applieation, "indirect" beeause
what the studcnt learns is supposed to have an effect on bis attitudes and
behavior with respect to persons of different eultural heritages ( 1957:247).
Although sorne would diselaim responsibility for directing the lives of the
young, this of course is what education is all about. The inclusion of
introduetory courses in cultural anthropology in college eurricula often
is rationalized and justified on the basis that sueh teaching tends to pro-
duce desirable changes in attitude and behavior such as reductions in
ethnoeentrism and racial prejudice. In the same way, to engage in the
scholarly practiee of anthropology means to make research findings public.
The eonsequcnces of this are, at least potentially, an umvitting kind of
applieation, for if the anthropologist does not employ his skills responsibly
in practica! works, others are eertainly likely to do so. At the mínimum,
then, because of the diffusion of ideas, techniques, and eonclusions, all
anthropologists are at least indirectly or unwittingly involved in the world
of praetical affairs.
Outside the university anthropologists have often aeeepted positions
as instructors in special courses and institutes designed to familiarize
colonial officials, native administrators, and foreign serviee personnel with
the eustoms and cultural patterns of the soeieties where they are to work.
 INTRODUCTION xi

Anthropologists have also served in field settings as "interpreters" of

exotic cultures on behalf of policy makers who have little familiarity with
or insight into cultural differences. Anthropologists have also organized
and participated in regional research institutes and other organizations
conceived to obtain fundamental knowledge about little-known societies
so that effective colonial policies could be carried out. Anthropologists
have also served as expert witnesses befare courts whcre they have ex-
plained details of native life and custom so that equitable legal decisions
might be rendered.
The assumption by anthropologists of responsibilities within colonial
agencies has given rise to the charge that in its formative period anthro-
pology was essentially a tool of colonialism, whether the anthropologist
was engaged in patently applied work or was involvcd in an undirected
quest far knowledge. This charge also relates to the form that much
"pure" anthropological theory took during this pcriod. The British struc-
tural-functional school, far example, was focused largely upan the static
elements of social life, being concemed with describing extant customs
and traditions. Some anthropologists have concluded recently that in this
períod anthropology was essentially a defender of the status qua and a
conservative force in its own right. This, they feel, clearly violated an-
thropology's social responsibilities to the peoples of whom it had expert
knowledge ( Berreman, Gjessing, and Gough; 1968).
Aside from the critical ethical and political issucs involved it must
be emphasized that such "applicd" roles involve<l much more than the
/
instrumental application of established anthropological principles or
communication of knowle<lge to clients who could then make practica}
use of the information. There was constant feedback from applied work
to the interests of the science propcr. In many instanccs it developed that
anthropologists did not have in hand thc answers to questions posed by
administrators: either they had never systcmatically raised thc questions
in the first place ( c.g., concerning native e<lucational practiccs or legal
institutions) or thc knowle<lgc thcy had was out<latc<l. Thcrcfore, to pro-
vi<le a<lvice they once again had to un<lcrtake research, and such investi-
gations more often than not involved as much of a contribution to basic
knowledge as they <lid to its application, We can concludc that applied
missions an<l qucstions wcrc dircctly involved in thc developmcnt of
certain of the newcr subfields of anthropology. Thcy providecl an im-
portant ímpetus to psychological anthropology, far example, as well as
to legal, economic, and political anthropology, while much of the anthro-
pology of socio-economic clevclopment stcrns dircctly from questions-
raised by applied anthropologists. Similarly, in an earlier period of the
díscipline's growth, a great many of thc basic ethnographic monographs
on the tribal cultures of Africa were financcd by government or prívate
 xii INTRODUCTION

parties interested in having more knowledge available ( Brokensha, 1966),

while the standard reference works on the island cultures of Micronesia
for decades were the result of a scíentific expedition motivated by German
colonial ínterests early in the ccntury. Even in the use of anthropologists
as expert witnesses in court trials, there have been important payoffs for
the discipline in findings of fact, the development of new research skills,
and the exploitation of data sources little considered previously ( see
Ch. 16).
"'k-tthropologists have served as researchers, advisors, cultural "ínter-
r preters," temporary adrninistrators or executives, intermediaries or go-
' betweens, and expert witnesses; they have acted in a long-term full-tirne
capacíty on the staff of an administrative unit ( see Ch. 5), and they have
served as temporary consultants to administrative organizations or to
several intertwined ínterest groups ( see Chs. 8-11). And they themselves
at times have assumed direct power and authority in an organization ( see
Chs. 6-7). Anthropologists have done all these in a variety of contexts
besides the narrow "colonial" setting of the earlier phase of the díscíplíne's
development. V cry often in such extracolonial settings the unilateral How
of responsibility and authority from policy-making client to anthropologist
to a "depcndent" population is maintained, but increasingly multilateral
relationships are coming into prominence. The unilateral relationship
predominated, for example, in the use of anthropologists as community
analysts in the detention camps to which J apanese-Amerícans were relo-
cated early in World War II. A similar relationship holds in the use of
anthropologists in industrial or commercial settings where they are em-
ployed by corporations to provide advice and information and to make
policy recommendations on the corporation's behalf. At first glance, the
same one-way relatíonship would seem to hold true for applicd anthro-
pological work in mental hospitals, public health prograrns, educational
settings, in mílitary applications, and in work related to such social prob-
lems as poverty, birth control, urbanization, deviant behavior, and eco-
nomic and technical development. Howcver, to an increasing extent
anthropologists are taking into account their responsibilities to all groups
in volved.
The unilateral How of authority should not be confused with the sepa-
rate issue of who stands to benefit from the work of the anthropologist.
Very often, because he has been employed by powerful client organiza-
. tions, it is clairned that few desirable effects accrue to the subjects of the
/ anthropologist's recommendations. In the colonial context, as in the in-
dustrial setting, it is easy to assert that applied anthropology benefits the
client but not the depcndent group. But when a government health ínsti-
tute instructs an anthropologist to investigatc cultural factors in the
causation of mental disorder or tuberculosis, or when a mining company
 INTRODUCTION xiii

seeks to reduce its high rate of personal injury accidents with anthro-
pological advice, or when a private foundation finances studies of com-
rnunity reactions to natural disasters, then the accusation of a one-way
How of benefits is not as supportable. .Morcover, as was suggested, to an
increasing extent applied anthropological programs are pattemcd on
multilateral relationships which consider thc intercsts of many parties.
For example, in Africa toda y it is patently impossible to escape responsible
working relationships with the governments of thc new nations there as
well as with United Nations agencies, regional authorities, international
business combines, private foundations, and the local communities in-
volved ( Brokensha, 1966: 15). Indeed, sound theoretical formulations
clearly presume that few intervention schemes have much chance of
lasting success without the cooperation of the parties directly involved
( Goodenough, 1963). Two of the majar "schools" of applied anthropology
toda y - the Research and Development ApproacI/Jand Action Anthro-
pology - are founded on multilateral relationships qnd responsibilities as
to power, authority, and payoff.
We do not mean to suggest that anthropologists have generally ignored
the interests of dependent peoples and subject groups. The standard posi-
tion of the anthropologist has been as a defender of the weak and op-
pressed, so much so that applied anthropology has come to be a bad name
in many administrativc circles. A hígh official in the United States Trust
Territory of the Pacifíc government, for example, recently commented that
if he were offered the choice of thrce anthropologists or one agronomist
he would choose the lattcr every time. The rcason for this is that feyv
anthropologists have hesitated to do battlc with administrations over thc
wclfare of dependent populations. As will be clcar in thc chapters which
follow, cultural and social anthropologists share - far more so than any
other gr~~behavioral scicntists-= ~. . ~.E.~l.~§.m.s_ofiq~..D..tificatiq~ith
the subjects of their expcrt knowledge. This strong empathetic linkage is
partlythe consequence oftheinifial alienation from thc valucs of their
own society which moves young men and women to undertakc intensivc,
firsthand observation of forcign life-ways; it dcvclops furthcr during long
periods of residence in strange social settings; and it is reinforccd through
the experience of having shared a new and diffcrcnt cultural pattern for a
significant period of time. Precisely the sarne personal qualifications and
traits of character which make a successful social anthropologist also
predispose him to intense conccrn with the well-bcing of his informants
and their kind ( Berreman, 1968:341-344). It is this _identification which
motivates sorne to engage directly in applied work and moves others to
resist the work of agencies perceived as interfering with or injuring de-
pcndent peoples. Conflicts of severa! kinds are thereby induced over thc
issue of s tive overinvo v nt with the peoplc being studied and
xiv INTRODUCTION

the resulting threat to objcctivity of observation and interpretation, over

the desirability of promoting or inducing any cultural change, and over
the basic issue of the ethics of using anthropological skills to manipulate
anthropological materials. All of these constitute key issues under debate
toda y.
Issues and Eihics
Many of these critica! issues are discussed in the chapters which follow.
Can there be an applied anthropology? Do we, in fact, have anything to
apply practically? And if we accept that on sorne level there has always
been an applied anthropology in the sense that there have always been
sorne anthropologists willing to use their professional knowledge and
skills for practica! ends, then we must ask: Should there be an applied
anthropology?
In the early case of Alice Fletcher and the Omaha tribe we find a situa-
tion where intervention was openly sought by the subject people, and
where the anthropologist responded on behalf of this group in an effort
to develop a program to allcviate their economic plight. The unfortunate
truth, however, is that the ideas she brought to bear were seriously de-
fective so that the land-allotment scheme she devised ended in economic
disaster. But the fault lay not in the intervention itself but in the failure
to learn something from it. This same program of attempting to convert
a tribally organized group of buffalo hunters into entrepreneurial farmers
in a few scant ycars was later enshrined in federal law and repeated in
case after case, each time ending in catastrophe for the society or com-
munity concerned. On the other hand and more recently, the Cornell
University-sponsored Vicos Project, emphasizing a research and develop-
ment approach, has proved to be a many-faceted success. In this case,
not only was successful socio-cconomic development brought about, but
a great <leal was learned of the how and why of the matter. Here the
lessons learned can quickly be fed back into other development programs
as well as into general anthropological theory.
The second issue is not whether anthropology can or should be applied,
because anthropological findings and ideas are public matters which will
be used by someone. The question is, rather, of what controls should be
uscd? In what kinds of working rclationships and with what parties? On
whose behalf?
Today individual anthropologists are free to undertake any kind of
project on behalf of any client for any purpose whatsoever - free of
restrictions, limits, and controls by any professional organization. The
only operative controls in the profession toda y are informal ones: thc
intrapsychic onc of conscience and personal values and the informal social
sanctions of gossip, shaming, and ridicule. An anthropologist, or anyonc
 INTRODUCTION XV

who wíshes to lay claim to professional qualifications, is free to respond

to a recent advertisement issued by the U.S. Navy whích seeks a person
to evaluate the effects of psychological warfare programs on Viet Cong
activists. Similarly, any person is free to accept responsibility far directing
poverty program research in the United States, or to commit himself to
studying medica} doctors "as if" they were a primitive community. The
point is not whether these activities are proper roles far an anthropologist
to assume, or whether anthropology has the knowledge and techniques
far carrying out the work, but that there is no professional organization
with the authority to govern the conduct of the discipline. There is no
established group that can pass judgment on whether an individual has
the requisite skills and training to undertake assigned responsibilities, nor
is there a professional organization equipped to approve or limit an in-
dividual's acceptance of task responsibilities. The Code of Ethics of the
Society far Applied Anthropology, which is reprinted in the concluding
pages of this book, is noble in purpose and sound in conception, b~t
lIBs no teeth. Given the prevailing ethos of extreme individualism which
enjoins each anthropologist to do what he himsclf deems right and proper,
the point is not that anthropology will or will not be used, but that it is
certain to be misused.
In the absence of clearly stated professional standards of conduct and
an institutionalized means of enfarcing those standards it should antic-
ípated that an occasional case of pure quackery will appear under the
guise of an application of anthropology. The medical doctor project al-
luded to previously at mínimum approaches this classification. Here
severa! individuals promised a medical school they would conduct such
a study based upan the stated analogy. They assumed that the basic ideas
and methods applicable to the analysis of primitive communities would
work in a study of a group of physicians. Needless to say, none of the
parties involved had ever actually studied a primitivc community, nor
were they at all conversant with the actual field techniques used by social
anthropologists. Moreovcr, neither they nor thcir potcntial client evcr
asked whether the physicians constituted a community, or if they werc
primitive. Similarly, the U.S. Navy's stated need far an anthropologist to
conduct what was described as a job of highly technical social psychologi-
cal research seems to have been based as much on that agency's despera-
tion as upon a soundly rcasoned evaluation of the kind of technical exper-
tise required.
Situations of this sort can arise only because charlatanry involves a
peculiar collaboration bctween practitioner and client. The client is not
quite certain of what he wants or needs and in this ambiguous situation
casts about far the latest quick cure. Unfartunately, therc are sorne per-
sons on the fringes of thc profession who are too willing to take advantage
xvi INTRODUCTION

of this situation, and this will continue as long as applied anthropology

lacks clearly stated standards of professional conduct and a means of
enforcing those standards.
Aside from standards and controls, there are a variety of other issues of
current interest to the profession. Can the anthropologist, especially the
applied anthropologist, be objective.? Or ~is-ie~s-~:i"f'iñvolvement
~ñcrTdentifiCátíon-~ith~his' suñfectS'hievitably result in distortions of ob-
servation and analysis? More importantly_,_ ~ªE ~nthropologist sup-
ported by and dependent upoll~--c;;I}~I!-t~o.rganizatiwLavoid making recom-
illeñdafiüñSWlíiénare·s1añf­;¿ so as to support that organízation's goals
aña}Jrograrns-?..-·This "íssué 'stróngly í-éflec!s. the fears of man y university-
based anth1''0pologíst'Süfthei)í:e5S'uresof life outside the university. But,
as we havé seen, even the~·~nrpposed insulatioi"i of the tenured university
career itself provides no guarantce that the results of a university scien-
tist's work will not be used by others."~ At the same time, as Berreman
argues, simply to remain aloof and uncommitted is not to be value-free,
but, instead, value-committed in a quite unwitting fashion"' ( Berreman,
Gjessing, and Gough; 1968: 392-393).
A more clearly relevant version of this issue has to do with the appro-
priate role and the responsibility of the anthropologist in situations de-
manding application. Should he prescribe only the means to ends stated
as desirablc by a client? Or should he also attempt to define and secure
the acceptance of goals? Whether he works with ends, means, or both,
must he restrict himself to short-term and piecemeal changos, or may he
legitimately be involved in large-scale, drastic, and even revolutionary
modifications of the body politic or activities aimed at sweeping revisions
of a society's moral order? Is it true that restricting oneself to limited
programs and short-term goals means that one is helping to shore up
defcctive or repressive social systems? Would the anthropologist not be
better, wiser, and more responsible if he worked personally and actively
with social movements aimed at overthrowing obsolete and dissatisfying
power structuresr'[Or, in a much more modest frame, may he only inforrn,
explain, recommend, and perhaps predict on behalf of others, while he
himself stands aside, delegating authority and responsibility to an estab-
lished order? _j

Selection of ihe Readings

This collection of articles is designed to introduce the reader to anthro-
pological thinking -past and present - on the uses of anthropology.
Fo; this purpose writings were sclected according to severa! criteria. Sorne
discuss the history and scope of the applications of anthropology with
regard to geographical range, types of roles assumed, and the scheme of
intervention adoptcd. All these articles bcar directly or indirectly upon
 INTRODUCTION xvii

one or more key issues in the field - technical, methodological, substan-

tive, epistomological, or ethical. Several examine in detail the implications
of using anthropology in one particular context, for instance, in technical
assistance programs or in medicine. Others discuss one of the three majar
schools of thought on the proper use of anthropology. In both these sec-
tions sorne issues may only be implicit, for exarnple, the fundamental as-
sumptions on which the intervention scheme is based. In the final section
( Part Four) we have included essays which directly confront broad ques-
tions and themes involving the use of anthropology in government, the
consequences of application for the science proper, the matter of objec-
tívity, and so on.

Suggestions [or Supplementary Reading

A standard textbook in applied anthropology is George M. Foster's
Traditional cultures and the impact of technical change ( Harper and
Row, New York, 1962). The same author's more recent book Applied
anthropology ( Little, Brown, Boston, 1969) is updated and broader in
scope. Edward H. Spicer's Human problems in technological change
( Russell Sage Foundation, New York, 1952) is an older but still useful
casebook, one largely concerned with problems of agricultura} dcvelop-
ment. Cultural patterns and technical change edited by Margaret Mead
( New American Library, New York, 1955) is a similar casebook, but it is
constructed on a different scale insofar as it treats problems of develop-
ment in more complex societies and along additional dimensions such as
nutrition, medicine, maternal care, literacy campaigns, and so on. H. G.
Barnett's Anthropology ín administration ( Row, Peterson, Evanston,
1956) wisely surveys the uses of anthropology in native administration.
H ealth, culture and community, edited by Benjamín D. Paul ( Russell
Sage Foundation, N ew York, 1955) is a standard reference in this spe-
cialized field of application. Conrad M. Arensberg and Arthur H. Nie-
hoff's Introducing social change ( Aldine, Chicago, 1964) encapsulates
sorne anthropological thoughts on the techniqucs of successfully pro-
moting diffusion and acceptance of innovations, while Neihoff's A case­
book of social change ( Aldine, Chicago, 1964) is an evaluation - using
the ideas offered in the former book - of nineteen divcrse development
projects. Charles J. Erasmus's Man takes control ( University of Minnc-
sota Press, Minneapolis, 1961) is a sophisticated presentation of a general
psychocultural theory of development which is also rich in well-analyzed
case materials. Ethics, politics, and social research, edited by Gideon
Sjoberg, contains fourteen original essays on a variety of issues relevant
to the application of anthropology and other behavioral sciences. Finally,
Ralph L. Beals's Politics of social research ( Aldine Publishing Company,
Chicago ), based upon an impressive survey of the profession and its
xviii INTRODUCTION

contemporary problems, one directly commissioned by the American

Anthropological Association, is a systematic inquiry into the question of
appropriate behavior for anthropologists conducting research that involves
government agencies.
The major journal in the field is Human Organization, formerly The
]ournal of Applied Anthropology. This journal reflects the strong inter-
disciplinary nature of the Society for Applied Anthropology. It contains
articles written by industrial psychologists, social psychologists, admin-
istrative specialists, and other professionals as often as by anthropologists.
Other journals that frequently contain relevant articles are Economic
Development and Cultural Change and Praciical Anthroµology, the latter
being oriented primarily to a missionary audience. Shortly, we should see
the emergence of new journals specializing in the rapidly developing
fields of the anthropology of education and the anthropology of medicine
since professional socicties in these areas have been established rccently.
The comments above and all the essays included in this text deal with
the applications of social and cultural anthropology, Other branches of
anthropology have their workers in the applied vineyards as well, notably
linguistics and physical anthropology. However, the questions and issues
discussed in this collection of readings are rarely raised by linguists or
physical authropologists. Because of this, and for reasons of space, we
have included only chapters written by social anthropologists.

I am índebted to the late Robert Redfield for my first introduction to

the key issues of the social uses of anthropology and to Homer G. Barnett
for sliaring - in lecture, seminar and personal discussion - his broad
experience and wisdom in problems having to do with the applications of
anthropological ideas and methods. No one could ask for better teachers
than these two men, Professor Henry F. Dobyns offered me good advice
011 the selectiÓn of articles 011 the important research and development
approach in the field of applied anthropology. Mr. Bruce Morrison read
my introduction and gavc me his good judgment on style and exposition
and further advicc on the selection of readings. Mrs. Barbara Pirtle and
Mrs. Eileen Guynes have my thanks for translating crude copy into
readable typescript. I am personally grateful to all authors and pub-
lishers for their permission to reproduce the articles included in this text.
And finally, my thanks to Mr. Robert C. Rooney and Miss J acqueline
Pourciau at Houghton Mifllin for their ge11tle and invaluable mid-wifery.
 e onrad C. Reining's article, the first in Part One,
is an illuminating historical survey of the origins
of professional anthropological societies. lt makes
clear the close relationship between theory and
practice in the earliest years of the discipline. Bron­
islaw Malinowski's chapter, theoretically founded on
his earlier notions of functionalism, stresses the im­
portance of cultural integration and warns of the
dangers of tampering with alien social systems. !
These ideas were originally addressed to anthropol­
ogists, and the article's pejorative antiantiquarianism,
should be understood in that light. Godfrey Wilson's
essay, "Anthropology as a Public Service," describes
the conception and establishment of the Rhodes­
Livingston lnstitute of Central African Studies, a re­
search organization devoted to generating knowl­
edge relevant to the needs of colonial regimes. His
essay describes the kind of applied anthropology
which develops in such a situation. The reader may
ask how different the products of the lnstitute were
from undirected basic research.

PART ONE

BEGINNINGS
Sir Apirana Ngata's chapter also evaluates the
promise and the problems of applying anthropology
in a colonial setting, but he offers ~te different
opinions and perspectives. This chapter was written
by a man who was at once Maorí tribal leader,
anthropological scholar, and member of the New
Zealand House of Representatives. Here we find the
kind of wisdom which results from the unusual blend
of high level political and administrative experience,
participation in two cultures with recognized leader­
ship status in both, and scientific skill and insights.
Sir Apirana was by no means an outside technical
expert looking inwards upon a tribal culture.

1
 1

A Lost Period of
Applied Anthropology

CONRAD C. REINING

Research into the history of applied anthropology in the British Empíre

shows that references to the practical values of anthropology go back to
the very beginnings of anthropology and ethnology as recognized fields of
study. That the early British anthropological societies were not strictly
academic is not so surprising if we realize that they had their origins in
the active humanitarian movements of the time, especially the antislavery
activities.
After securing the abolition of the slave trade in 1807 and the Eman-
cipation Act of 183.'3, abolitionists turned their attention to questions
affecting the general welfare of the native peoples of the colonial de-
pendencies ( Hailey, 1944:5). In 1838 an Aborigines Protcction Society
was established in London. It was said of the founder, Dr. Thomas
"A Lost Period of Applied Anthropology" by Conrad C. Reining. Reproduced by
permission of the American Anthropological Association, frorn the American Anthro­
pologist, vol. 64, 1962, pp. 593-600.

3
4 A LOST PERIOD

Hodgkín, that he wanted first of all to study thc native pcoples and to
help them only after he had learned how they líved and what they
wanted. Early in its hístory a serious divisíon of opíníon developed
wíthin the society about the proper mcthods far protection of aborigines.
The faction associated with missionaries wanted to proteet the rights of
the aborigines by bestowing on them immediately the "privíleges" of
European civílízation, while the more academic faction wanted to study
the natíve races in arder to understand them in the process of raising and
protecting them. The latter group left the organízation and farmed the
Ethnological Society of London in 1843 ( Keith, 1917: 14).
In the journal of this society in 1856 appeared a elaim to the praetical
importance of the new subject:

Ethnology is now generally recognized as having the strongest claims in

our attention, not merely as it tends to gratify the curiosity of those who
love to look into Nature's works, but also as being of great practica! im-
portance, especially in this country, whose numerous colonies and exten-
sive commerce bring it into contact with so many varieties of the human
species differing in their physical and moral qualities both from each other
and from ourselves ( Brodie, 1856: 294-95).

The new society was not, however, receíved quite so categorically by the
public. It seems to havc bcen rcgardcd as a rather sentimental negrophile
organization with a thin veneer of scientific pretension. A popular journal
of the day attacked ethnology far being an inexact and tentative seiencc
with little practica} valuc or popular interest. The Ethnological Soeiety
was accused of talking far talking's sakc and of unduly extending its scope
in arder to includc cverything comprehensible (Pall Mall Cazetie, Jan.
17, 1866).
By 1863 the Ethnological Socicty was split over thc slavery question
and over thc question of whether man is of one or more than one species.
The divergent faction took the name of the Anthropological Society of
London. The two organizations ran in competition far about eight years,
each marshalling "scientific" evidence to support its claims as to thc
equality or inequality of man. Practica} use was made of anthropological
arguments to support philanthropy or to attack vcsted interests ( Myrcs,
1944:3).
The new society was highly succcssful from the view of membership.
In 1867 it had the impressive total of 706 members, in contrast with the
Ethnological Society whose greatest mcmbcrship was 107 in 1846 ( Cun-
ningham, 1908: 10-11). This sueecss was the result of popularization of
the subject and of frequent discussion in the society's meetings of such
tapies as religion, politics, and the position of the Negro. Dr. James Hunt,
the leading light in the new organization, offered evidenee that the Ne gro
 A LOST PERIOD 5

was of a different spccies from the European and, furthermore, that the
Negro differed mentally and morally evcn more than physically from the
European. He considered the Negro to be a man, however, and felt that
he should be treated as such ( Hunt, 1863 :3). The attitude held by Dr.
Hunt and bis followers that Negroes could not be expected to assirnilate
civilized ways did not prevent them from writing of the "horrors of the
slaughter" of the aborigines of Queensland and Tasmania going on at
that time (Popular Magazine of Anthropologi], 1866:6), apparently with-
out realization that their argumcnt about the inequality of races was
similar to the justifications used by the white settlers for the "dispersión"
of the aborigines.
The interest shown in race matters by the mem bers of the Anthropo-
logical Society of London was only part of the considerable discussion
they carried on about the practica} applications of anthropology, for this
was a period of intense interest in such applications. The leaders of the
Anthropological Socicty wcre concerned that anthropology not be re-
garded as purely speculative and abstract, ancl editorially stated that
anthropology was "more intimately related than any other branch of
science to the sympathies of hurnanity, and . . the utilities and require-
ments of socíety" ( Anthropological Review, 1866a: 113). In 1866 this
society published a Popular Magazine of Anthropology containing numer-
ous articles on the valuc of applied anthropology. The claims ranged
frorn modest speculations to lurid, sweepíng statements. On the more
modest side were passagcs such as this:
Anthropology, independently of its scientific interest and importance, may
and should become an applíed science, aiding in the solution of the painful
problems which human society and modern civilization proffer, and tend-
ing to the bettering of the conditions of man in the aggregate ali over the
world.

Or, in speaking of the Qucensland aborigine hunts:

Anthropological science, like all sciences, is passionless on the point, but
a better knowledge of its deductions and principies would have instilled
sorne feeling of prudence and pity into the murderers, who seem to revel
in the unnatural process of extinction (Popular Magazine of Anthropol­
ogy, 1866:6).

This magazine was an cxpcriment in the popularization of the anthropo-

logical attitudes and knowledge of thc clay. It was published as a result
of the belief that the diffusion of litcraturc on thc subject was calculated
to benefit all classcs of socicty and all races of man, and that a more
general study of anthropological material would aid in the emancipation
of the human mind frorn preconceived notions. There was an especial
6 A LOST PERIOD

claim for anthropology to have the power of assisting all races of man to
material prosperity and happiness ( 1866: 1-2). The more extreme hopes
are illustrated in this passage:
Physical anthropology, when applied to practica} purposes, must come to
every home; the enthusiasm of youth, the fitful despair of advanced age,
and the steady glow of a hopeful intellect, steeled for youth to a patience
of "the strings and arrows of outrageous fortune" - All these may be
diagnosed and classified by the practica} anthropologist with great ad-
vantage. His diagnosis will thus contribute to a knowledge of race-char-
acter, and pave the way to a better future state ( 1866:97).

Antagonism to the ethnologists, however, brought forth the most far-

reaching of thc claims for practica! anthropology:
Does ethnology take any heed of the social condition of man? Does eth-
nology presume to search into causes of epidemics among civilized man?
... Does the ethnologist consider how to apply the series of facts obtained
for the bettering of the domestic condition of the poorer classes of the
community - to trace the hidden causes of mental aberration with a view
to practica} measures Ior the prevention of lunacy - to investigate race
and the affinities of races, so that results may become valuable to social
reformers and statesman? I believe almost everyone will agree with me
when I say, no! Yet all these things are but a portion, anda comparatively
small portion, of the duties of anthropologists ( MacKenzie, 1866:67-68).
Dr. Hunt claimed that "there is no science that is destined to confer
more practica! good on humanity at large than the one which specially
investigates the laws regulating our physical nature." He urged that
anthropologists should not be "dreaming theorists, but ... every truth
discovered must be for the benefit of humanity at large." He seemed
confident that the government must give the same aid to anthropologists
that it gave to geologists, since it was not reasonable to care more for the
extinct than for the living forms of life. He also considered it to be the
duty of the universities to make the science of mankínd a special study;
he looked forward to the day when all universities would have professors
whose sole study would be the philosophy of mankind. While state aid
was certain to come, in his opinion, he felt it wise to appeal to prívate
enterprise to assist in carrying out this national work, and considered
the establishment of a good and reliable museum to be one of the best
ways of arousing interest in anthropology ( H unt, 1863: 2-12).
These early anthropologists were filled wíth confidencc in theír new
science and felt it had limitless potentiality for the bctterment of man.
They also considered themselves to be able to view man dispassionately
on a scientific basis as contrasted with the previous "metaphysical" view.
They would adrnit no subject to be out of bounds to them, making a
 A LOST PERIOD 7

particular point that no philosophy or religion was exempt from their

in quiries ( Anthropological Review, 1866b: 289). At the same time, they
were aware of resentment towards anthropology which they attributed
mainly to two influential groups which, although thcy differed widely on
many points, agreed in denouncing anthropologists. In fact, much of the
opposition to the Anthropological Society was based upon thc views of its
members on the inequality of races. The first of these opponents was the
cvangelical religious body which procecded on the beliefs in the garden
of Eden and the flood and that God made all the nations of the earth of
one blood. The second group was composed of the political liberals who
objected to the notion of inequality of men on thc basis of social justice
( Anthropological Review, 1866a: 113-14).
On the continent of Europe there was a reaction against the popular
anthropology of the mid-19th century. In 1839 William Edwards had
difficulties in forming an organization in París similar to the Aborigine
Protection Society, because of a ruling against societies having for their
object the discussion of social or political questions, cven though a Société
des Amis des Noirs which had had the purpose of working for the aboli-
tion of slavery had been formed in 1788 (Buxton, 1929:781). The diffi-
culty was surmounted by the adoption of a scientific-sounding title for the
new organization -the Ethnological Society of París ( Hunt, 1865:xcvi-
xcvii). A police agent attended its meetings, however, to see that it kept
within orthodox limits. The Madrid Anthropological Society was sup-
prcssed after a short life ( Cunningham, 1908: 11).
The membership of the Anthropological Society of London fell off after
its initial Hush, and after severe financial difficulty and thc death of its
sponsor, Dr. Hunt, it combined again with thc Ethnological Society in
1871. The two socicties had been battling for a numbcr of years about
the proper name for the new discipline. Apparently there was quite a
deadlock on this matter in the negotiations for amalgamation, for the firm
action of Professor Thomas Henry Huxley was nccessary to bring about
agreement on the use of thc name anthropological for the rcconstitutcd
organization ( Cunningham, 1908: 12).
Although the new Anthropological Institutc of Crcat Britain and Irc-
land took its name from the old Anthropological Society of London, it
took none of the policy. There was a clear change in the intercsts of
British anthropology after the amalgamation of the two factions in 1871.
The ncw organization tended to consolidate its position by quietly gather-
ing information on its arca of interest and to cxpend its efforts in bccom-
ing a respectable institution. Not a word about policy appears in its
journal, which implies that the society was trying to live clown the violent
period of the 1860's. However, there was not complete agreement withín
the organization and sorne of the former members of the dcfunct Anthro-
8 A LOST PERIOD

pological Society of London seceded, in the carly days of the new Insti-
tute, in arder to found still another organization: the London Anthropo-
logical Society. This society published one volume of memoirs, for 1873-
75, in which its president stated that the society had been formed for the
study of the science of anthropology in all its branches. He suggested
sorne tapies to show the range of interest of the new organization: the
causes of the variation in form of the human skull, the extent of prognath-
ism and microcephalism in Europe, hereditary deformities; the difference
of the blood corpuscles in various races; human parasites; acclimatization
of man; race antagonism; Phoenician colonies; migration and its influence
over race characters, the diseases, vices, and crimes of civilization; the
doctrines of Malthus and the remedies for poverty; and causes of longev-
íty; Darwinism; music as a race test and the influence of music upan
mankind; the effect of diet on the races of man; the physical effects of the
adulteration of food and impure air; the effects of premature and over-
education; the origin and value of modern spiritualism; the physical
effects of superstition; and the origin of human speech ( Braunholtz,
1943:3; quoted from Anthropologia, 1873-75:3).
The organization was short-lived and the Anthropological Institute
went on with no further radical offshoots. Professor T. H. Huxley has
been credited with the establishment of sound guiding principles in the
various branches of anthropology; he helped to repress certain elements,
such as the persons who, taking advantage of the glamor of the Darwin-
ian theory, talked nonsense in the name of anthropological theory, and
he exposed others who saw in the structure of the brain and other parts
of the body an impassable gulf between man and the monkey. His
steadying influence upan British anthropology was important during
this period and bis conservative attitude toward anthropology and its
applications, as illustrated by this quotation, sounded a new note that was
to becorne the trend in the future:

Mankind will have one more admonition that the people perish for lack of
knowledge. The alleviation of the miseries and the promotion of the wel-
fare of men must be sought by those who will not lose their pains in that
diligent, patient, loving study of all the multitudinous aspects of Nature,
the results of which constitute exact knowledge or science ( Smith, G. E.,
1935:200, 204).

For about thirty years aftcr the establishment of the Anthropological

Institute, the practica! value of anthropology was only rarely mentioned.
The efforts of anthropologists were prirnarily aimed at getting anthropol-
ogy accepted by the universities. No one had been trained in anthro-
pology, for the early proponents were_ usually professional rnen who
regarded anthropology as a hobby. In correlation with the ernphasis on
 A LOST PERIOD 9

physical anthropology and thc interest in the matter of the races of man,
many of the early cthnologists and anthropologists wcre physicians. At
least one of these, Dr. J. C. Prichard, is said to have chosen the medical
profession mainly because it gave him opportunitics far indulging in his
anthropological tastes ( Haddon, 1934: 105).
The first academic recognition in Great Britain of the new science carne
when E. B. Tylor was established at Oxfard in 1883. Another sign of the
acceptance of academic anthropology carne in 1884, when a separate
section far Anthropology was established in thc British Association far
the Advancement of Science ( Myres, 1931 :205).
1.
The interest in applied anthropology was not completely dead, none-
theless, far an occasional reference to it can be faund. E. B. Tylor, in the
conclusion to his best known work, Primitive Culture, stated that ethnog-
raphy could be used in two ways far the good of mankind: to impress
men's minds with a doctrine of development, in light of past progress,
and to exposc the harmful remains of old culture. In so aiding progress
and in removing hindrances, he maintained, the science of culture is
essentially a reformer's science ( Tylor, 1871:410). Later he wrote, again
in the closing paragraphs of a scholarly work, that the study of man and
civilization is not only a matter of scientific interest, but enters also into
the practical business of life, and that it may guide us to our duty of
leaving the world better than we faund it (Tylor, 1881:439-40).
Professor W. H. Flower, speaking as President of the Anthropological
Institute in 1884, alludcd to the practica! importance of ethnography to
those who rule other peoples. He urged that statesmen should not look '
upon human nature in the abstract, but should consider the special moral,

J
intellectual, and social capabilities, wants, and aspirations of each par-
ticular race with which they have to <leal. He pointed out that a knowl-
edge of the special charactcristics of native races and their relations to
each other has a more practica! object than the mere satisfaction of
scidentific cburiohsityb, thatfsuchhknhowle~ge is v1d'tal to go~d adfmü~i1s1~rationf, '.
an may e t e asis .or t e appmess an prospcnty o mi ions o
subject peoples (Flower, 1884:493).
Even such vague statements seem to have becn rather exceptional, far
the general trend from 1870 onward was far the subject of anthropology
to becorne more and more esotcric and to eschew practical applications.
Professor J. G. Frazer denicd that anthropology had anything to do with
the practica! problems of statesmen (Smith, E. W., 1934:xiv). He be-
licved his duty was to describe preliterate peoples in order to illuminate
the history and evolution of society. He would admit anthropology to be
of practica! value only in the vague sense that "it might become a power-
ful instrument to expcdite progress if it lays bare certain spots in thc
faundation on which modern society is built" ( Frazer, 1900:xxi-xxii).
 10 A LOST PERIOD

The pattem set by Frazer indicates the divergence of academic anthro-

pology from practica! considerations. Not only were anthropologists try-
ing to live down the attempted popularization of their subject, but the
scope of their interests within the field was such that they <lid little of
interest to the workaday world. Their interest was in the past, their
research was centered on the evolution of society. The strong ínfluence
of the biological concepts of Darwin as to natural selection and survival
of the fittest were adopted to ways of thinking about societies being
evolved through a series of stages. This procedure, plus the classical
interests of such scholars as Tylor, Frazer, Robertson Smith, and Mac-
Lennan, produced numerous volumes on the history of various customs
and institutions. Primitive communities were of interest as parallels to
hypothetical stages of evolution of human society. Such communities
were studied not as total units, but as collections of customs which were
analyzed and compared out of their contexts. The resulting material was,
nonetheless, of undeniable interest and the quality of the scholarship of
these anthropologists furthered the acceptance of anthropology as an
academic subject.
We see now that, after the violent period of anthropological contro-
versy and popularization in Great Britain, which was engendered by the
crisis in the slavery question during the 1860's, there was a period of quiet
reaction and consolidation. The period of the 1860's cannot be said to be
of any great or lasting importance for it was forgotten in the period which
followed, and it may be called a lost period of applied anthropology.
( This imprcssion was heightened by the fact that E. B. Tylor's copy of
the popular magazine published by the Anthropological Society of Lon-
don, which I used in Oxford for this study, had lost its bindings in its
85 years but still had all pages uncut.) And when, about the beginning
of the 20th century, there again began to be active British interest in the
practica} potential of anthropology, no one seems to have been aware of
the former intensive interest. In 1903, the President of the Anthropolog-
ical Institute commented on the need for popular education to show the
public the value of anthropology and said that anthropologists had been
so engrossed in research or in routine duties that they had not made
sufficient effort to draw attention to matters which might appeal to the
public (Balfour, 1903:18-21).
1 The various applications of anthropology have been discovered time
and again; the potentiality of anthropology for the betterrnent of man in
general, and native peoples in particular, has been brought up anew from
I time to time. For instance, in the proposals for the establishment of a
School of Applied Anthropology in Great Britain in 1921, we find the
' ; remark that "the anthropological point of view should permeate the
whole body of thc people" and that the lack of this "was the cause of our
\' present troubles" ( Peake, 1921:174).
 A LOST PERIOD 11

In 1938, Professor B. Malinowskí expressed a víew on the subject which

could be matched with sorne of the views of the 1860's, though he thought
the idea to be a new one, the result of a new trend:
... the anthropologist with all his highly vaunted technique of field work,
his scientific acumen, and his humanistic outlook, has so far kept aloof
from the fierce battle of opinions about the future and the welfare of
native races. In the heated arguments between those who want to "keep
the native in his place" and those who want to "seoure him a place in the
sun," the anthropologist has so far taken no active part. Does this mean
that knowledge serves merely to blind us to the reality of human interests
and vital issues? The science which claims to understand culture and to
have the clue to racial problems must not remain silent on the drama of
culture conflict and of racial clash.
Anthropology must become an applied science. Every student of scíen-
tific history knows that science is born with its applications ( Malínowski,
1938:x).
And when we find, for example, in the writings of two American
anthropologists in the 1940's, the statement that "humanitarian" anthro-
pology was evolved only in recent years ( Chapple and Coon, 1942:4),
they appear to be unaware of the ideas expressed in the much earlier
period of popular and applied anthropology.
 2

Practical Anthropology

BRONISLAW MALINOWSKI

I am starting from the qucstion: is there any specific task far the
Institute so that it shall not duplicate the work of scientific socicties or
political and educational organizations already existing? The Institute
stands in the first place far the practical application of scientific knowl-
edge. It can reach on the one hand various Colonial interests in their
practical activities, while at the same time it has at its disposal the
knowledge of theoretically trained specialists.
I think that in the very combination of practica! and theoretical inter-
ests lies the proper task of the Institute. There is a gap between the
theoretical concerns of the anthropology of the schools on the one hand,
and practica! interests on the othcr. This gap rnust be bridged over, and
in doing this the Institute can make itself very useful.
The practica! man is inclined to pooh-pooh, ignore, and even to rcsent
any sort of encroachment of the anthropologist upan his domain. On the
other hand it is not always easy to advise the colonial administrator or
"Practical Anthropology" by Bronislaw Malinowski is reprinted from Africa, 2: 23-
38, 1929, by permission of the International African Institute and the author's
estate.

12
 PRACTICAL ANTHROPOLOGY 13

missionary just where to find the anthropological information he requircs.

Now I think that the gap is artificial and of grcat prejudice to cither sidc.
The practica! man should be asked to state his needs as regards knowl-
edge on savage law, economics, customs, and institutions, he would then
stimulate the scientífic anthropologist to a most fruitful line of research
and thus receive information without which he oftcn gropes in the dark.
The anthropologist, on thc other hand, must move towards a dircct study
of indigenous institutions as they now exist and work. He must also
become more concerned in the anthropology of thc changing African,
and in the anthropology of the contact of white and coloured, of Euro-
. pean culture and primitive tribal life. If the Institute becomcs a central
exchange for practica! and thcoretical interests, and helps to put them in
contact, it will fulfil an important task.
It is then the thesis of this memorandum that there cxists an anthro-
pological No-man's-land, that in this are contained studies of primitive <,

economics, primitivc jurisprudence, questions of land tenurc, of in-

digenous financia! systems and taxation, a correct understanding of the
principles of African indigenous education, as well as wider problems of
population, hygiene and changing outlook. Scientific knowledge on all
these problems is more and more needed by all practica! mcn in the
colonies. This knowledge could be supplied by men trained in anthro-
pological mcthods and possessing the anthropological outlook, provided
that they also acquire a direct intcrest in the practica} applications of
their work, and a keener sense of prescnt-day rcalitics.

SCIENTIFIC CONTROL OF COLONIAL COOPERATION

By the constitution of thc Institute all political issues are eliminatcd

from its activities. This can easily be done by conccntrating upon thc
study of the facts and processes which bear upon thc practica! problems
and lcaving to statesmen ( and journalists) thc final decisión of how to
apply the results.
Thus the irnportant issue of direct versus indirect rule necds careful
study of the various processes by whích European influences can reach
a native tribe. My own opinion, as that of ali cornpetcnt anthropologists,
is that indirect or dependent rule is infinitely preferable. In fact, if wc
define dependent rule as the control of Nativcs through the mcdium of
thcir own organization, it is clcar that only dcpendent rule can succced.
For the government of any race consists rathcr in implanting in them
ideas of right, of law and order, and making thcm o bey such ideas.
The real difference betwcen 'dírcct rule' and 'indircct or dependent
rule' consists in the fact that direct rule assumes that you can create
at one go an entirely new order, that you can transforrn Africans into
14 PRACTICAL ANTHROPOLOGY

semicivilized pseudo-Europcan citizens within a few years. Indirect rule,

on the other hand, recognizes that no such magical rapid transformation
can take place, that in reality all social development is very slow, and
that it is iníinitely preferablc to achicve it by a slow and gradual change
coming from within.
A scíentific study of facts in this matter would reveal clearly that
'direct rule' means in the last issue forced labour, ruthless taxation, a
fixed routine in political matters, the application of a code of laws to an
entirely incompatible background. And again as regards education, the
formation of African baboos and in general thc making of the African
into a caricature of the European.
The political indirect rule which was the guiding principle of Lord
Lugard's political and financial policy in Africa should be extended to
all aspects of culture. Indirect cultural control is the only way of develop-
ing economic life, the administration of justice by Native to Natives, thc
raising of morals and education on indigcnous' lines, and the development
of truly African art, culture, and religion.
But whether we adopt in our practica! policy the principle of direct
or indirect control, it is clear that a full knowledge of indigenous culture
in the special subjects indicatcd is indispensable. Under indirect or
dependent control the whitc man leaves most of the work to be done by
the N atives themselves but still has to supervise it, and íf he does not
want to be a mere Rgurehead, or blunderingly to interfere in something
which he does not undcrstand, he must know the organization, the ideas
and thc customs of those under his control. The statesman, on the other
hand, who believes in direct control and who wants rapidly to transform
a congeries of tribes into a province of his own country, to supersede
native customs and law by his civil and criminal codes, needs obviously
also to know the material on which he works as wcll as the mould into
which he is trying to press it.

THE NEW BRANCHES OF ANTHROPOLOGICAL INQUIRY

Let us scrutinize sorne of thesc subjects which the practica! statesman

must know íf he wants to frame his broad outlines of policy; which the
Resídent or Commissioner has to undcrstand if he is to admínister thís
policy, which in fact are the real subject matter of the relations between
coloured and whíte in Africa.
The political organization of a native tribe is obviously one of the first
things to be known clearly. Now the political organization of an African
people may be of an advanccd kind, implying a sort of monarchy, with
extensive traditions and genealogies, with great ceremonial and ritual, a
developed system of finance, military organization, and various judiciary
functíons. Such natíve states can be allowed to run on theír own lines
 PRACTICAL ANTHROPOLOGY 15

but they have to be first expurgated and then controlled. Now it is essen-
tial to toueh as little as possible of thc established order, and yet to
eliminate all elements which might offend Europcan suseeptibilities or
be a menace to good relations.1 Such knowledge obviously ought to be
obtained. As a matter of fact in territories such as Nigeria and Uganda,
this knowledge had to be actually acquired by the first administrators.
That type of study, however, is really a piece of anthropological field-
work for whieh the trained anthropologist has devcloped devices and
methods which allow him to observe, to write down his observations and
to formulate them mueh more rapidly than a layman can do, exactly as
the trained geologist sees details and reads on thc faee of the earth im-
portant geologieal principles eompletely hidden frorn the most intelligent
but untrained observer.
What is then the trouble, and why has the anthropologist been little !
used and of little use? The answer is that, although the methods and \'
teehnique of anthropologieal observation are the only ones by whieh a
competent knowledge of primitive social problems can be reached, yet
the interests of anthropology have been so far in a slightly different
direetion. The institution of primitive kingship, for instance, has been
studied by the circular route via classical antiquity. Current anthro-
pology has been interested in savage monarchies through the interest
which centred around the priestly king of Nemi. The ritual mythological
aspect of savage monarchies, the dim quaint superstitions eoncerning
the king's vitality; connexions bctween this ancl magical potentialities;
these havc bccn studied, and problems of paramount theorctical impor-
tanee they certainly are. But our information as to the actual way in
which primitive politics are workccl, the question, what forees undcrlie
thc obedience to the king, to his ministers; the mere deseriptive ancl
analytical study of what might be callcd thc political constitution of
primitive tribes, of thcse wc are largcly ignorant. At best such informa-
tion has been supplicd to us as a by-product of the other, thc antiquarian
study of the institutions, and not through the dircct practieal or thco-
retical intcrcst in the mcchanism of primitive polities.

THEORY OF PRIMITIVE LAW

One of the subjeets which is obviously of primary interest to the prac-

tica! man is thc law of bis tribe.
Now in this subject rcmarkably enough he cannot receíve mueh help
from the clominant anthropology of thc school bccause this vcry subject
has bcen singularly ncglcctcd by anthropologists. Those who have
studied it produced an cxtraordinarily unsatisfactory theory which led
rather to obseurc the issue, to prevent thc field workers from seeing thc
relevant faets, than to enlighten us.
16 PRACTICAL ANTHROPOLOGY

The dominant idea of the continental school of jurisprudence ( Bach-

often, Post, Bernhüft, Kohler, Durkheim) is that in primitive societies the
individual is completely dominated by the group - the herd - the clan
- the tribe, and that he obeys the laws and customs of bis community
with an absolute and passive obedience. Now as modern research is
leading us to see, such an assumption is entirely unwarranted. ( Cf. far
instance the present writer's Crime arul Cusiom in Savage Society, 1926.)
First of all we are beginning to see that behind the apparently chaotic
welter of savage rules, there can be distinguished certain clear principles,
and that the rules themselves can be adequately classified. The savage
has bis own criminal law, and he has what corresponds to our civil law.
He has, that is, a definite systern of principles which govern individual or
communal rights to land, rnanufactured objects, or articles of consump-
tion. He has definite, nay at times elaborate, systems of inheritance in
goods and of succession in office.
These general principles are deeply connected with the organization
of bis tribe. This again, far from being a simple subject matter, can only
be understood after patient training in the principles of primitive sociol-
ogy and after sorne experience in anthropological field work. And here
in the study of primitive organization, of kinship, of the family, of the
village comrnunity, and of the tribe we come to better trodden fields of
anthropology.
There is a well defined branch of our learning already in existence
which is concerned with such things as 'classificatory' kinship, the or-
ganization of the clan and of the local group, and the various pro blems
associated with matrilineal or patrilineal descent. This branch of anthro-
pology is, however, still largely dominated by what rnight be called
sensational or antiquarian interests. It is still very largely concemed with
the explanation of customs which appear to us strange, quaint, incom-
prehensible. The couoade, the avoidance of the mother-in-law, the dis-
posal of the after-birth, and the quaint usages associated with the rela-
tion between two cousins - all these have received a considerable
amount of attention. But the broad and bigger problems of social
anthropology are still somewhat in the shadow. We know much more
about the so-called anornalous farms of marriage or classificatory exag-
gerations of kinship than we know about the organization of the family.
Take such excellent books as Rattray's on the Ashanti, Smith and Dale
on the Baila, E. Junod's on the Thonga, and you will find a strange dis-
proportion between the attention given to the everyday facts of life and
the singular, between the treatment of the ordinary and the quaint; the
family, far instance, and the more abstruse forms of kinship. Now I
maintain that the study, far instance, of how the character of an individual
is farmed within the family circle at first and thcn within the local group,
and again through a course of initiations later on; the problem, that is,
 PRACTICAL ANTHROPOLOGY 17

of character formation in the routine of native life-history, is one which

can be treated anthropologically and is of primary importance theo-
retically. So far this problem has been almost completely neglected by
anthropologists in theory and observation. I also maintain that thc in-
stitution of the family is the dominant factor in most social systems,
rather than those phantastic kinship anomalies so beloved of the specula-
tory anthropologist. I have devoted to this contention two volumes so I
need not expatiate on it here. 2
In the study of individual character formation the observer would find
also a revelation of the deep-seated moral and legal forces and the
various native sanctions which make a law-abiding citizen out of a so-
called savage. [if anything has been proved by recent anthropological
research and colonial practice it is the truth that you cannot with im-
punity undo or subvert an old system of traditions, of rnorals or laws
and replace it by a ready-made new morality and sense of right; the
result invariably will be what might be called 'black bolshevism'l
In all this again it is the changing Native and not an untouched
savage whom we would have to study. In fact, the real practice of a
modem field worker should become to study the savage as he is, that
is, influenced by European culture, and then to eliminatc those new
influences and reconstruct the pre-European status. I think it will be
much sounder, even from the purely scientific point of view, if this
process of elimination were not done in a mysterious manner, in thc
dark so to speak, but if in our field work we collected the full data as
they now appear, presented them in this form, and made our recon-
struction of the past above board, in the open.3
I want to make it quite clear that I am not indiscriminately criticizing
old anthropology or trying to revolutionize it. From the very beginning
thc comparative methods of old anthropology havc produccd work and
special studies of the greatest importance for thc practica! man. Nie-
buhr's monograph on Slavery, Steinmetz's work on Primitive Juris-
prudencc, the above quotcd works on savage kinship supply us with
cxcellent material for that new branch of anthropology herc advocated.
They will have only to be slightly rnodified, and more observations will
have to be collected from the point of view of how institutions function,
and not how they 'originatcd' or 'diífused'.

THE EFFECTIVE STUDY OF PRIMITIVE LANGUAGES

One of the mattcrs in the reorganization of old anthropological point

of vicw which seems to me of primary importance is a closer cooperation
bctween the study of its severa! aspects which, so far, have been kept in
watertight compartments. One of thcse, thc study of primitive languages,
seems to me specially important to consider.
 18 PRACTICAL ANTHROPOLOGY

Thcre is no doubt at all thut a knowledge of tlu: Lm~1age of his trilx . .

is one of the most esscutial parts of the equiprncnt of un ndmiuistrator.
a urissiouarv. or a tcacher. Now it is clear th.it when teachinu the
vocabularv ~)f sorne Africnn tribe it is quite impossible to truuslate sorne
of thc most importaut teruis into Euglish. .-\.11 words which cover the
uative social order. nll which exprcss religious beliefs. moral valúes. or
specific tcclurical or ritual proceediugs can ouly be reudered accurntely
by refercncc to the social organizatiou of the tribe, their bcliefs. pr..lL'--
. tices. cducation. aud economics. The study of a uative Lm~1agt' must go
\ haud in hand with the study of its culture.
Its grammar cannot even well be taught exccpt with the help of social
nuthropology. Therc are grmmnatical phenomcna. as for instance. the
classificatory purticlcs of the Buntu Lmguagt'S. nnd of sorne ~ Ielancsian
tangues which cunnot be explaiucd exccpt in terms of sa,·age customs
aud institutions. .-\.gain. thc sociologícnl differentintions in lin~1istic
usage betwecn tlie various ranks of society cannot be tre.rtcd except as
part of socíologv, The various pronou ns of possession in ~ Ielanesia. sorne
modifications of verb and noun. an.~ deeply correlutcd with the prnctice
to which the language is put within its vnrious cultural coutacts. und to
separate the study of bnguage from the study of culture me.ms merely
a wuste of time and an nmateurishness in most aspects of the work. :\
clase ccoperation between líuguistic teaching and nnthropological train-
ing seems to me of the greatest importancc in uny curriculum prepared
far colonial cadets and similar people. and yct uufortunately all the or-
ganizations of our uuíversities are complctely inadequnte from this point
of view. Tlie Institute here again could gin' practica} hclp by embrucing
the cause of this new effectíve anthropological mcthod in lin~1istic
teaching.

THE ANTHROPOLOGICAL ISSUES OF LAND TENURE

To take another subject of paramouut importance. namcly. bnd teuure

in a primitive conununity. The apportioning of territory must be one of
the first tasks of an administrator. and in doinu thís he has fírst of :111 to
lay d0\n1 the broad lines of his policy and tl~en sec that tlwy are eor-
rectl>· c;uried out by his officers.
It is easy to see. ho\YeYer, that eYen the broad lines of policy art' not
easily framed unless \Ye stmt \\ith a scientific knowledgt..' of tlw subjt'<'t.
Rights of conquest historical prerogath·es. rights stipulated b:­ 'tre•ltit'S
\\ith nati,·e chiefs' haYe been daimed by those inh'rests which dt'mand
a ma:....innun of hmd far European uses. :\.gain. 011 the other sidt'. those
trying to safeguard natiYe interests im·oke YCff often tlw rights of
primiti,·e populations and insist that at least ; 'rn.'C'essarv mi~limum'
should be resen-ed for the ~atiYes. But. whicheYer point of ,:iC\\" is rt'ally
 f;th:n, tli': wJi,1/1• pr1Jl1l1·1u r1·u1aíi1·1 :t ¡~mpí11g í11 tlt': rbrV. w; hJ1Jg ai; w«
:i.n; rirJf :dJI': flJ ;,..,, ''rl:i í11 wli:tf f lw 1wr·r··,·,ary 11JÍ1JÍ11111111 f or t Ji,: Natíw:5
'::JTI ~ Jt;,
J ,tmJ J ,11;~;1rd n:rw:d,·rlly Íli·.hf·, rJ11 lli': gw:1f díffí,:11lt ir::; í11 IJ<Jtli thr:
f fi,:,Jry :t11d fmtr.f Í'-': rJI d1·:dí11;~ V1ítf1 l:iJJrJ f,:1111n:.
TJ11; :1l1•;t;11r r; ,,¡ :ir1y dt:fírdtt; li1J',t:d1wd J)f1lir-y í11 ('(:~~:1rrJ llJ /:rnd í11 thr;•;t;
d1:p1:11tJ,:r1' i1:'; ( \V<:'ll Alri1 :1 J ';1:1:u1•; '" J1:1vt; arí·;<:11 lrr1111 thr: laíl1Jr<; tri
ír1·11:"llí;.r;it1: th': ;,y1¡t1:w r,f m1lÍYt: ft:111J1<:. T/1,: l1:V,Í'il:itrm¡, tltrJ1Jgh dr::.írr11J'i
r1I ~~íví11;t, r/111; ·11t:ív,J1t ft1 (J:itíw: r:JJ'll<1m, v/ru « r1t1f app:1n:1Jf ly l:mdliar wítlt
íf, :111d 'l!t; fí11d t l1:il t111: v:ní1111·s fí11dí11g·, n:/:it hig llJ /:wd ;1n: <:f111d1r;d j(J
l1:n11·; r1ftr;11 <¡1JÍI<; í11:1pp/í, :il1/t: lt1 uatívr: lt·1111r<:, :111d tf.,: k:1';<; :tfld ()t/1t;r
ír1·,tr•w11:11h :1rr; t1ft1:11 dr:1·1111 JJJ)r111 :111 1•:11~~/í·.lt m<1rlt:I ('/'Ju: /)11r1L Mntulnt«
fo /Ml(!;/t Tropir.«! A/rfw, p. ;~(Jll).
Alld Y':t •.¡1)1r:11 IVI() C'mimílf,:r;', b<:tw<:,:11 JfJ()8 :wd HJVi, r)l)r; aftr:r tlir:
1m:rr;
<JÜi<:r, :1.pp<JÍ1Jt<:d trJ ínw:·.f í;_;:dr; tlir; ',IJIJj<:r;t ()f l:wd t<:fJIJn: in tlir:
'llhrJJ<; <Jf Wr;';I Af rír::i., :tTJd UJll':< l<:d :tTJ ÍTfltflr:n',<; arnrJ1mt ()f <:víd,:n<;<:, ¡_Ji,;
Vl<JrY 'Jf th': CrmJ1rJÍlt<·(:'1 artJIJ',<·d ·,1uJ1 :.ui 11phr::.1.val <Jf natív« puhlic
'JfJÍllÍ'JfJ tJ1at dw r<:p'Hf', vn .rc, tvsver p11blí·J1,;d.1 Wr: •,r;,:m tlir;rr:f,Jn: 1,()
L<; fi•:('; l1dwr;1:n tfw d':Víl :rnrl th'; dr:r:p ',f;:t, :,Íftf;r: ígn,Jranu: :;r:,;rn<; trJ !Jr;
:1 ,,,miplr:V: ha.1Jdír.:1p Íti d'::.1.lírig wítl. d1í<, pm!J/,:m, ar«l y<:t oftr:n ígn<Jr­
:in';': ',(;f;f(J', l() br: !Jlí'I<, UJlfJf);J,r<:rl wíth hirJwlr:dgr; wliír:h Í<; b'Jth diffíc11lt
tfJ ()IJt;ún :wd dangr:nJ11·, t'J u<..,:,
JI r­r«: I ·1,:ntiJrr; t<J <,ugw··,t that íf th': wfi,Jl<: 'JIH:',f.Í<m kul IJ,:,;n Investí-
.:.;:.tt,:d, r.ot ~J)' :1 f)'Jlít.icaJJy ªPP'JÍntwJ cornrnítte«, Lut Ly two or thrce
:mthn1J)'JlrJght·,, tfi,:y V/fJJJJd hav« drmr: t}w W()rV. in far slirJrtr:r tírn«, wíth
far J,;­:, <:7.f)':ndít.ur,:, and would h:.1.vr: drmr; ít cornpctcntly and uscíully.
J havo fl'Jt ',(;t:fl th« r<:p'Jrt<, rJf thr: \Vr;',t Afrk:1n Cornrnitte«, !J1Jt J have
h':':n •,írnih.tr Vl<JrY. drm<: in th« tf:rrÍf.()ry ()f I'apua and thr: revults discuvsed
by adrnínistratorv, mí.<,•,irmarí':~, and plant,;r<;. I h:1v<: found in thr; fír'>t
pl:.t';': that whr:n:vt:r J d1<:ch:d thr: fíndíng,'> rJf on<: ()f th,::;r; 'prndic.-al' rn':TJ
th,:y Vl':rr: <:"N:TJtfaily ':rr<m,;<m•,, A'> L()rd Lugard ríghtly p<Jínls (JLJt in
th': afrn': qw1t:J.ti'm, th': Eump<:an fawyr:r ís líh:ly to dí<;tort natiw~ <:<Jn­
dítí<m'I b/ fordng thr:m ínt(J tr:rrrJÍn()l<Jgy brJrr()wr:d fmrn Eump,:an law.
'I1i': untraínr:d EurrJp<::1n, <m th': (jth,:r hand, U'>r:s sud1 wor<h as 'uJrn-
muni<;rn', 'índívídualí!>rn,' 'prívatr: pr()pr:rty; 'tribal pr()pc;rty' an<l what
n<Jt, wíth(Jut gívíng th,:m th<: ~Jíght,:st intdlígHJlr: ffl':aníng, <n 1mcl<:r­
<.,tandíng hírn'><:lf wh;J.t hr.: ís v1IV.ing ab<mt.
Jt ís rmJy th~tt anthrop<Jlogbt, wh() '>pt:dalíí',r:s in thr: study of primitivr:
]r;~J í<Jr:a<, and <:.<.:fJfl<JmÍ<: c:<mditi<m<;, wh1J Í'> <:<m1pdcnt to J,.:aJ wíth thí~
'llJ':'.'­>tÍ<m, Probl<:ms <Jf oww.:rshíp mu'>t aJways be approad1r:d from thr:
p<Jint ()f vi<:w <Jf actual U'><.:. In <lealín~ wíth Jand t<:nurc ít ís futílr.: to
s11mmrm, as JYJJítkal c:.ommítt<.:<..-s usuaJJy do, a n11mbc:r of wítnc.-sses an<l
jiJ'>t asY. thr.:rn simpJy ·.vhat ís thdr form of ownershíp, or, worse, w'fiat in
thr:ír <1píni<m own<:rshíp should be. Lan<l tenurc amíJng prímítívc p0opJcs
20 PRACTICAL ANTHROPOLOGY

is always very complex, and it is impossible for an untrained person not

to be misled into sorne entirely inadequate translation of native ideas
into his own terminology. A number of contradictory statements are in-
variably obtained by the amateur simply because, as a rule, the land is
used by various people and the uses of the land are associated with the
native systems of kinship, often a mixture of mother-right or Iather-right,
utterly incomprehensible to the untrained European. And again, Natives
will stress at times the more utilitarian aspect of ownership and then
bring to the forefront sorne magical or mythological rights. Even these
latter, however, cannot be ignored in practice because the Natives value
them extremely, and because a misunderstanding arising out of sorne
injury or insult to a sacred spot or sacred object might give rise to serious
trouble. ( Cf. for instance The Golden Stool of Ashanti.)
The correct procedure is to draw up a map of the territory, showing
the lands which belong to each of the several communities, and the
individual plots, into which it is divided. Then instead of inquiring in
a wholesale manner into 'ownershíp' it is necessary to study how each
land unit is used, and to find out the details of each of the more or less
practica! and also ali the mystical bonds between a plot of land and the
various people who claim sorne right to that plot.
Such an inquiry would not easily alarm the N ative. He would often
be not even aware that you are trying to take a survey of land tenure.
In the second place such a survey would not only reveal the real legal
rights of the individuals, it would also answer the often more important
question of how the lands are used and what is the 'indispensable míni-
mum' which must be reserved for them. Finally, since the anthropologist
has no vested interest in this question, nor any bias connected with his
research, since his aim is and will always be accuracy and fulness of
detail, he is the most likely person to give the administrator what is really
needed, an entirely unbiased and impartial account of the actual state
of affairs.
It is not only between whitc and coloured interests that therc is an
issue, but also between the interests of the various Natives, the chief
versus thc cornmunity; the village community versus the clan; the tribe
as a whole versus this or that section; and it is impossible to <leal ade-
quately and fairly with any of these questions without that impartial cold-
blooded passion for sheer accuracy which the anthropologist can provide.

PRIMITIVE ECONOMICS

Land tenure is but onc problem of the primitive cconomic system of

the tribe, and íf this one problem is so complicated, it is clear that the
whole systcm will not be easy to understand or to handle. In fact the
knowledge of what might be callcd the economic organization of a
 PRACTICAL ANTHROPOLOGY 21

community is essential in a number of praetical problems, sueh as those

assoeiated with improved hygienie conditions, with labour, with educa-
tion, with the abolition of slavery and foreed labour, and last but not
least, with taxation.
The substance of serious anthropological work must consist here in the
sociologieal analysis of primitive production and consumption; the types
and phases of eeonomie activities; the relations between the econornic
and the religious aspeet, between eertain forms of magie even and the
practieal arts. The facts have to be observed and studied as they now exist
and work, and not as a pretext for reeonstruction and hypothesis - an-
thropology should aim at the understanding and explanation of economie
processes rather than the establishment of 'orígins and stages' or 'diffu-
sions and histories'.
The honest anthropologist will have to eonfess at once that as subjeet-
matter primitive eeonomics has been negleeted both in observation and in
theory. Forms of labour and exchange, the way in which the wealth is
'eapitalized', that is, pooled or transformed into more permanent values,
the psychology of gift and exehange, all these are headings difficult to find
in any reeord of field work or text-book of anthropology.5
From the praetical point of view questions of labour are in the forefront.
Any diseussíon of this subjeet should start with a soeiological definition of
labour. To identífy labour with activíty in general (as has been done re-
eently in a somewhat unsatisfaetory textbook on Primitioe Labour by L.
H. Buxton) is ineorrect, for there are various aetivities, above all, play and
games, whieh are not labour in the eeonomie sense. Not all eultural types
of behaviour can be classed as labour.
In the first plaee labour must be defined in that it achieves something
tangible and useful whieh serves to the satisfaetion of man's essential
wants. The seareh for food and its preparation, the proeuring of material
for housing, elothing, weapons, and direet objects of use eonstitute the
most important types of labour. Even the Iowest savages, however, pro-
vide eertain material goods whieh are not for direct eonsumption and
really belong to the primitive forrns of eapital: implements, arrangcments
for storing and preserving food, traps, hunting weapons and so on. To
define the 'savage' as has been done by a reeent writer as a man who 'has
no means of acquiring more wealth than he ean carry about with him, on
bis person, or on the persons of his family' is misleading. Further, often
among the lowest savages there is work devoted to the produetion of what
might be ealled luxuries, objects of art and monuments of culture, per-
sonal ornaments, paintings, rude seulpture, and objects serving for eult
and ritual. Labour should be defined as a purposeful form of systematic
activity standardized by tradition and devoted to the satisfaetion of wants,
the making of means of produetion, the ereation of objects of luxury,
value, and renown.
22 PRACTICAL ANTHROPOLOGY

This definition, though it sounds very academic and divorced from

practical possibilities, allows us at once to draw one or two useful con-
clusions. We have distinguished labour from other activities by its pur-
pose. The question directly emerges: what is it that in primitivc culture
drives man to strenuous, prolongcd, and often unpleasant effort? The
problem of labour can be treated only against the background of the
psychological problcm of value. What are the effective incentives to
effort? In what way are they relatcd to the individual, and how far are
they transformed by culture? Wc see thus, that exactly as it would be
useless to investigate land tenure without asking to what uses land is
being put, so it is impossiblc to understand native labour except as part
of the problem of thcir system of values, incentives, and utility. Early
forms of labour are obviously correlated with the manner in which
economic value comes into existence. The wise entrepreneur and ad-
ministrator will be intercstcd to know what were the old tribal values
and what forms economic ambition took in their area.
To give a concrete exarnple: Among the North-Western tribes of North
Amcrica most interests centred around the production of certain objects
which in a singular and complicated manner satisfied the ambitions and
the aesthetic feeling of the owner. The production of these objects forced
those people to work intensely and kept them up to a certain pitch of
industrial activity. Again, these objects were indispensable to the organ-
ization of thcir family and marriage, of their chieftainship and clan sys-
tern. A wise system of administration would have got to understand the
nativc economic system and tried gradually perhaps to replace it by new
incentives to labour, new values, and new economic wants. The essentially
unwarranted act of thc Canadian Govermnent, who abolished the institu-
tion of the Potlatch, has in evcry respcct completely disorganized the life
of the Natives, and it has produced most untoward economic conse-
quences.
As we know frorn all parts of the world, a completely detribalized
community, if it is not to die out, is cxtrcmely difficult to manage. We
havc here an example of how an unscientific spirit lcads to serious prac-
tica! errors.
As an offset to this I would likc, from personal experience, to mentían
the case of North-Western Melanesia, where white traders were com-
pelled to reorganize native industries and produce by native labour
objects of native value, and through this obtained indirect control over
nativc economic production. ( Cf. also Prof. Seligman's article on Ap-
plied Anthropology in thc Encyclopaedia Britannica.)
Forced labour, conscription or voluntary labour contracts, and the diffi-
cultics of obtaining sufficient numbcrs - all these form another type of
practical difficulties in the colonies. Thc chief trouble in all this is to entice
 PRACTICAL ANTHROPOLOGY 23

the Native or persuade him to keep him satisfied while he works for the
white man; and last but not least to prevent the period of work having
bad consequences on his health or morale as well as on the temporarily
depleted village and home.
In all this the main question again is how to make a man of a diffcrent
culture satisfied with work. - The simplest experience teaches that to
everybody work is prima facie unpleasant, but a study of primitive con-
ditions shows that very efficient work can be obtained, and the N atives
can be rnade to work with sorne degree of real satisfaction if propitious
conditions are created for them. And another anthropological generaliza-
tion teaches that satisfactory conditions of work are obtained only by
reproducing those conditions under which the native works within his
own culture. In Melanesia I have seen this applied on some plantations.
Use was made of such stimuli as competitive displays of the results, or
special marks of distinction for industry, or again of rhythm and working
songs. Again the arrangement of work in gangs corresponding to in-
digenous communal labour produced the desired effect, but all such
things must never be improvised - an artificial arrangement will never
get hold of native imagination. In every community I maintain there are
such indigenous means of achieving more intensive labour and greater
output, and it is only necessary to study the facts in order to be able to
apply efficient incentives. ( Cf. hcrc also the interesting work of K. Bücher,
Arbeit und Rhythmus.)
A great many points could be made on the subject of labour - its
incentives, its stimulation, its communal arrangcment, its wider organ-
ization within the whole tribal systcm. I should like to add here that on
these points as everywhere else thc anthropologist doing thc work undcr
this new vicw-point, which thc Institute might dcvelop, should not mcrcly
try to reconstruct native culture as it existed or cxists indcpcndcntly of
European inRuence, but study thc social and mental phcnomena which
Western culture produces in the African.

THE ANTHROPOLOGY OF THE CHANGING NATIVE

A new branch of anthropology must sooncr or later be startcd: thc

anthropology of thc changing Nativc. Nowadays, whcn wc are intcnscly
interestcd, through sorne ncw anthropological thcories, in problcms of
contact and diffusion, it sccms incrcdiblc that hardly any cxhaustivc
studics have been undertakcn on the qucstion of how Europcan inRuencc
is being diffused into nativc communitics. Thc anthropology of thc
changing savagc would indccd throw an cxtrcmcly important light upon
the theorctical problcm of the contact of cultures, transmission of ideas
and customs, in short, on thc wholc problcm of diffusion.
 24 PRACTICAL ANTHROPOLOGY

This anthropology would obviously be of the highest importance to the

practica! man in the colonies. Finally, since we are witnessing one of the
1 greatest crises in human history, namely that of the gradual expansion of
' one form of civilization over the whole world, the recording of that event
is an essential duty of those competent to do it. Now it is really the
anthropologist, accustomed as he is to <leal with the simple mind and to
understand simple cultures who ought to study the problem of the west-
ernization of the world. Remarkably enough, however, so far, most con-
tributions on that subject have been made by enthusiasts, while the
specialist in his field work still tries to close his eyes to the surrounding
reality and reconstructs laboriously a savage who <loes not exist any more
- who, in Melanesia ceased to exist a generation ago, in Africa sorne two
generations ago, and in North America perhaps one hundred years or
more. If the Institute succeeds in creating this new branch of anthro-
pology, the study of the diffusion of Western cultures among primitive
peoples, and if this is undertaken with as much theoretical zeal and direct
interest as the reconstructive study, then the Institute will do a great
service to anthropology and to the practica! man as well.
To sum up these somewhat diffused considerations; the Institute could
fulfil an important practica! function: ( 1) By bridging the gap between
theoretical anthropology and its practica! applications. ( 2) It should
insist that a series of new or only partially considered subjects should be
placed into the forefront of anthropological studies; the problems of
population and of a demographic survey of primitive tribes; the study of
the social organizations, above all, of its fundamental institutions, the
family, marriage, and educational agencies in so far as they mould the
character and the social nature of the individual; the somewhat neglected
subjects of law, economics and politics as we find them at work in primi-
tive communities; finally, the study of what might be called sociological
or cultural linguistics: these are subjects of primary importance which can
only be studied anthropologically if they are to be practically useful.
( 3) The study of all these questions ought to be stimulated from the
practica! side by linking them, not in a political, but in a merely analytical
spirit to such questions as increase or decrease and shifting of populations,
direct versus indirect rule, the creation of European schools, the intro-
duction of taxation, and of labour. Only when the practica! man becomes
aware that he must not flounder and grope in the dark, that he needs
anthropological knowledge, can he become useful to the specialist, and
in turn make the latter useful to himself. ( 4) The study of the diffusion
of European culture into savage communitics, thc anthropology of the
changing Native must be established as an important branch of work.
The anthropologist as he is now is better equipped than any one else to
undertake this study, but here again he must enlarge his interests and
 PRACTICAL ANTHROPOLOGY 25

adapt thern to the practica! requirements of the man who works with and
for the Native. ( 5) Finally, as regards the directly practica! assistance
which could be given by the Institute in this rnatter: (a) The work in
this rnodern, as it calls itself, functional School of Anthropology might be
encouraged by the Institute. ( b) The Institute in cooperation with the
learned societies and universities could be instrumental in organizing
field work on the lines here indicated in Africa. (e) The Institute might
take in hand the question of anthropological training of colonial cadets,
cspecially the functional anthropology dealing with African cornrnunities
as they cxist today. ( d) Finally, the Institute could be a general meeting-
place or central exchange between the practica! and theoretical interests
in anthropology.

NOTES

l. An enlightened anthropologist or statesrnan has to take count of European

stupidity and prejudice quite as fully as of those of the African.
2. Cf. rny Fatnilij among thc Australian Aborigines, 1913, and Scx and Re­
pression in Savage Societij, 1927; also my articles s.v. Kinship and Mar­
riage in the forthcorning issue of the Encyclopedia Britarmica, 1929, as well
as a book on Primitioe Kinship, now in preparation.
3. Even in their study of the fully detribalized and yankified Indian, our
United States colleagues persistently ignore the Indian as he is and study
the Indian-as-he-rnust-have-been sorne century or two back.
4. It rnust, however, be noted that the work of the Cornrnittee was brought to
an end by the outbreak of war in 1914.
5. Sorne useful prelirninary work on prirnitive econornics has been done, above
all in Gerrnany. The narnes of E. Hahn, H. Schurtz, K. Bücher, H. Thurn-
wald, and Max Weber will occur at once to the anthropologist. Recently a
book has been published in English under the title Primitioe Economics
by R. W. Firth, which fills an important gap, and it is hoped will start a
more intensive interest in these problerns. This book also contains an ex-
cellent bibliography. Cf. also rny Argonauis of tlzc lV cstcrti Pacific, 1922,
where a native systern of exchange has been descríbed, and articles:
Prirnitive Econornics i Economic [ournal, 1921) and Labour and Prirnitive
Econornics (Nature, 1926).
 3

Anthropology as a Public Service

GODFREY WILSON

l. HISTORY OF THE RHODES-LIVINGSTONE INSTITUTE

For many years colonial governments in Africa have made occasional

use of the services of trained social anthropologísts. Sometimes they have
employed them directly as 'Government Anthropologists,' sometimes they
have subsidized students in the employ of scientific bodies for particular
pieces of research. But it was left for Sir Hubert Young, as Governor of
Northern Rhodesia, to set up in 1937 the first instítute for systematic
sociological research in colonial Africa.
The appeal for support which he drafted in that year was signed by
twelve other public men besides himself; and ín 1938 the Rhodes-Living-
stone Institute of Central African Studies had sufficient funds to begin
operations. The new foundation is intended, in the words of the appeal,
'as a contribution to the scientific efforts now being rnade in various
quarters to examine the effect upon native African society of the impact
"Anthropology as a Public Service" by Godfrey Wílson is reprinted from Africa,
13 :43-60, 1940, by permission of the International African Institute and the
author's estate.

26
 ANTHROPOLOGY AS A PUBLIC SERVICE 27

of European civilization, by the fonnation in Africa itself of a centre

where the problem of establishing permancnt and satisfactory relations
between natives and nonnatives - a problem of urgent importance where,
as in Northem Rhodesia, mineral resources are being developed in the
home of a primitive community - may form the subject of special study.'
The name 'Rhodes-Livingstone Institute' is intendcd to link it in men's
minds with the year 1940 - 'the jubilee of the foundation of the two
Rhodesias in 1890 by Cecil Rhodes ... and the centenary of the departurc
for Africa in 1840 of David Livingstone.' Funds were only asked for three
years in the first instance; so that, in 1940, the year of its ceremonial
inauguration, the Rhodes-Livingstone Institute might be able to appeal
more confidently for funds on the grounds of sorne initial achievement.
Sir Hubert Young left Africa for Trinidad early in 1938 but His Excellency
Sir John Maybin, the present Governor of Northem Rhodesia, has con-
tinued all the interest of his predecessor in the new venture.
The constitution of the Rhodes-Livingstone Institute deserves consid-
eration by all who are concerned with the right relationship of social
science to public affairs. The Institute is not a governmcnt department,
but an independent body ruled by a board of trustees; while only 52
percent of its funds is derived from government contributions. Its re-
search officers are in no way directly responsible either to any government
or for any government policy, and their intellectual freedom is thus safe-
guarded. On the other hand, the presence of public men on the Board
of Trustees1 ensures that its officers will not waste their time splitting
academic hairs but will tackle instead problems of public importance.
Two social anthropologists have now becn appointed. I was appointcd
in May 1938 and Dr. Max Gluckman in Scptembcr 1939. Each of us is
engaged on a separate piece of research. Dr. Gluckman is undertaking
an all-around study of the social and political system of thc Rozi; while
I am attempting a study of the municipal and industrial locations of thc
Copper Belt and Broken Hill. My own research is only possiblc becausc
previous work ( such as Dr. Audrcy Richards' on the Bemba) gives me
sorne knowledge of the tribal backgrouncls of thcsc urban populations.
It will be noticed that both pieccs of rcsearch are within the boundaries
of Northern Rhodesia, for at prcsent this tcrritory providcs thc Rhocles-
Livingstone Institute with the bulk of its incomc; but it is intended, as
funds and opportunities permit, to expand both our staff and our sphcrc
of operations. It is our ambition to be, one day, a centre of sociological
research for the whole of Rhodesia and British East África. Already all
the Governments from Southern Rhodesia to Uganda contribute sorne-
thing to our funds, togethcr with the British South Africa Company, the
Beit Trust and the great mining companies of the Copper Belt and Broken
Hill.2 And already, as part of our immediate programme, papers are being
 28 ANTHROPOLOGY AS A PUBLIC SERVICE

written on the two tribes in Tanganyika and Nyasaland which my wife

and I studied, under the joint auspices of the International Institute of
African Languages and Cultures and the Rockefeller Foundation, prior
to my appointment hcre.
Results are being published in a series - the Rliodes­Livingstone
Papers ­ to which nonmembers of the Institute staff are also invited to
contribute from time to time. Four papers have so far been complcted. 3
Prior to the foundation of thc Rhodes-Livingstone Institutc, a Museum
was founded in Livingstone (in 1934) as a memorial to David Living-
stone. This Museum has now been incorporated with the Rhodes-
Livingstone Institute and its Curator ( Mr. Desmond Clark) also acts as
Secretary to the Institute. The Museum has three main sections - eth-
nological, archaeological, and historical, and our most valued exhibit is the
note-book in which Livingstone first sketched the Victoria Falls ( on loan
from Dr. Hubert Wilson). The Curator's main interest is archaeology,
and he has already uncarthed many important finds in the Falls gravels
and the Mumbwa caves.
Now the foundation of the Rhodes-Livingstone Institute raises the
question of the general contribution which social anthropology has to
makc to the conduct of public affairs, and this we must next consider.

11. THE NATURE ANO LIMITS OF APPLIED ANTHROPOLOGY

It is the proper virtue of applied anthropology to be both useful and

true, to combine practica! relevance with scientific accuracy and detach-
ment. Like all virtues, this is difficult but not impossible of attainment.
Its attainment depends upon a thorough-going realization of the limits of
scientific method in its application to human affairs and a wholehearted
acceptance of thosc limits.
The social anthropologist4 cannot, as a scientist, judge of good and evil,
Y but only of objective social fact and its implications; he cannot completely
understand any event, but only the matter-of-fact social aspects of it; he
cannot predict thc future course of events with certainty. Let us take
these points in order.

(a) A Teclinical Service. 'What ought we to do about African rnar-

riage, chieftainship, beer-drinking in town ... ?' Faced with these ques-
tions the social anthropologist must, if he is honest, begin by disappointing
his questioners: 'As a scientist I have no answer, for it all depends ulti-
mately upon one's conception of human welfare, and that is a matter not
of science but of opinion.' There is no scientific ideal of hurnan welfare;
there can be no scientifically authoritative direction of events; the social
anthropologist is entitled, as a man, to his own moral and political views
 ANTHROPOLOGY AS A PUBLIC SERVICE 29

- they are no more and no less worthy of respect than those of any other
well-informed citizen - but he is not entitled to pass them off as 'scien-
tific.' The qualities and values of life run like water through the scientific
net, which catches only the pebbles of objective fact and the branching
twigs of necessary implication.
But if the questions are -posed in a different form they can then be
usefully answered: 'Can you explain to us the nature of the situations
wíth which we have to <leal? What is the exact state of African marriage
law at such and such a place at the moment? Why have such and such
chiefs apparently lost the respect of their people? Why is it so difficult
to enforce the prohibition of prívate beer-brcwing in towns?' - 'Yes,
indeed I can! ... ' and the anthropologist will then continue, for several
thousand words, to supply bis questioners with technical information
about the social material which they have to handle.
The conception of 'technical information,' as Malinowski has recently
pointed out in Africa, 5 is the key to correct relationship between social
scientists, on the one hand, and men of affairs, on the other. For human
societies, like the earth on which they live, have a hard material reality
which cannot be mastered without patient and objective study." It is the
scientists' business to undertake that patient and objective study, it is the
business of government and industry to make use of their results in fash-
ioning out of the present whatever future they desire. 11
The scientists must make it their boast that both governments and
oppositions can trust them equally because they say nothing that they
cannot prove, because they are always pedestrian and never leave the
facts. The men of affairs must make it their boast that they allow thc
scientists perfect freedom in their researches and pay to their results
when published the attention which proven fact deserves.
It is not ncessary to emphasize in Africa our ignorance of thc traditional
cultures of the African continent. For instance, in thc protectorate of
Northern Rhodesia, wíth about 1,400,000 Native inhabitants, over 70
tribes are officially recognized; and of only three or four of them havc we
any systematic knowledge. Experienced missionaries, compound mana-
gers, and administrators all too rarcly commit to paper that understanding
of African institutions which they have acquired, while the frequent trans-
fers of the latter from station to station oftcn make it impossible for them
to acquire very much. And further it is now widely rccognized that
systematic and detailed knowledgc cannot in any case be casily picked
up in his spare time by a busy man who has no special training in rescarch;
even when he is stationed for years in one spot it is only an cxceptionally
gifted man who can attain it undcr such conditions. We do not expect
technical veterinary or medical knowledge in a District Commissioncr,
and we are now realizing that it is just as unreasonable to expect technical
30 ANTHROPOLOGY AS A PUBLIC SERVICE

sociological knowledge either. The services of trained social anthropolo-

gists are essential to the effective developmcnt of Africa.
This is true whatever the policies of the governments of Africa, but it
is most obviously true in those territories where 'Indirect Rule' is applied.
For 'Indirect Rule' demands respect for and deliberate utilization of
African institutions. And no one can use to the best effect a material
whose properties he only half understands.
Nor is this material stablc in form, its properties are changing yearly
under the pressure of forces which the governments can only in small part
control. And the difficulties of understanding a stable set of social institu-
tions are enormously increased when rapid change is added. Even the
social anthropologists themselves have only just ceased their mental flight
from the complexities of contemporary change in Africa; for years they
took refuge in the relative stability of the remembered past, delicately
averting their eyes frorn their semiliterate, semitrousered informants.
They are more robust today- and more useful too.
Bare information is urgently needed: simple and accurate accounts of
marriage, chieftainship, economic life, legal procedure and so on, from a
hundred changing tribes and compounds. But the social anthropologist
has more to offer than bare information, he claims to be able to explain
the facts which he describes, and this, as we shall see in a moment, may
lead him to a certain technical ( but never a politi cal) criticism of policy.

( b) Tlie Implications of Fact. The facts which the social scientist

studies are institutions, ceremonies and commonly expressed opinions:
economic, legal, political, and other institutions; ceremonies at birth,
marriage, death and so on; popular opinions about this and that. These
things he calls 'social facts,' and their special characteristic is that they
are common to sorne group of human beings. Every social fact is a con-
tinual recurrence of historical events in a similar form. Take marriage, for
instance. All the hundreds of marriages which occur in any one African
tribe over a period of five years are found to resemble one another in
many ways, they constitute a social fact. And so with work and play,
with eating and drinking and with all kinds of human activity - the
members of any one community resemble one another in the way they
carry them on.
Now the social anthropologist ( if he has been trained either by
Malinowski, or by Radcliffe-Brown, or by their followers) views every
social situation as a whole. The social facts which he finds in it do not,
he maintains, just occur at random; each is connected, necessarily con-
nected, with other facts in the samc area. Tlie particular forms of mar-
riage, of chieftainship, of economic life, of religious belief and practice
in an African tribe, for example, are not separate things, they are ines-
 ANTHROPOLOGY AS A PUBLIC SERVICE 31

capably linked together; and if one of them changes then all the others
must change too.
Social facts may change, but they can only change togcther, not one\
by one. And thus it is that social change exhibits always a Howing and
not a staccato movement, continuity is never broken. Bccause social
facts hold together they are none of them free; they determine onc
another inescapably both in their stability and in their change.
And this means that every social fact can, at any given moment, be
explained as thc necessary correlate of other social facts: 'It was because
some primitive chief,' we can say, 'was believed to be god, and because
he had a great many wives and children, and bccause he was rich and
used bis wealth in socially approved ways, and because he was a most
useful rallying point for tribal defence, that he had such very considerable
prestige and power among his people.' Granted the first set of facts the
last one necessarily follows, and so we have explained it.
Nor are social changes any less intelligibly linked. For it follows with
equal necessity that if the successor of this primitive chief is now no
longer believed to be a god, and if he has now fewer wives and children,
and if many of the traditional sources of bis wealth have now dried up,
and if he has now no longer any military functions then, other things
being equal, he must have less prcstige and power among bis peoplc than
his primitive predecessor. The conclusion is inescapable. And if the first
changes ha ve indeed taken place and if bis prestigc and power is indeed
less than bis predecessor's then we have explained why it is so.
But, of course, wc may find that, though the first changes have takcn
place, yet the prestige and power of the chieftainship havc not, in fact,
appreciably declined. If so, then other things cannot have been equal,
changed circumstances must have opened up to thc modern chief sorne
new functions and some new sources of wealth. If this were not so, bis
prestige and power would inevitably have dcclincd.6
The only real difficulty in the scientific cxplanation of social facts and
changes lies in their many-sidedncss, a very great number of conditions
determines each one. Thcre is always the danger of rnissing sorne neces-
sary connexion between thern and so leaving thern bare and unintclligible.
And training in social anthropology consists, above all, in lcarning the
kinds of necessary connexion which are to be looked for.
Thus social anthropologists, if thcy are successful, do not only add to
the detailed knowledgc of fact at the disposal of responsible public rncn,
they alter the nature of that knowledge and so make it more useful.
Recently, for exarnple, thc District Officers responsible for the Nyakyusa
in South Tanganyika have had to deal with a knotty problem of land-
tenure. Coffee-planting is being encouraged by the Administration and
is becorning exceedingly popular. But great difficulties are caused by the
 32 ANTHROPOLOGY AS A PUBLIC SERVJCE

Nyakyusa land laws and by the people's habits of constant movement

from village to village. For, when any man who has planted coffee round
his house moves away, the site, aftcr reverting temporarily to the joint
ownershíp of the village group, is usually taken over by another man -
and then the two men, planter and present occupier, quarrel over the
ownership of the coffee trees; while a few years ago, the local chief also
would put in a claim to them. In 1935 or 1936 the chiefs of the district,
after long and anxious discussion with the District and Agricultura! Offi-
cers, passed a law that coffee trees should be 'the absolute property' of
their planters. But by the beginning of 1938 the new law had proved un-
workable; for coffee trees require constant attention and often the absent
owners failed to provide it, while the occupiers all protested against the
law.
I was in the district at the time and was called into consultation. I was
able to describe the general nature of Nyakyusa land law, which is essen-
tially based on the village group, and to show that 'absolute property' in
coffee trees was, at present, quite incompatible with it. Further, as the
constant movement from place to place was due to the fear of witchcraft,
it would certainly continue for many years to come, and no administrative
action could prevent it. Only the slow growth of Christianity and modern
education could bring any general stability of residence to this district.
The claims of planter, present occupier and chief to coffee trees ali had
sorne basis in traditional law, which, however, provided no certain gui-
dance on the issue. For coffee trees, with their need of constant attention
and the high economic value of their berries, had no exact parallel in the
traditional life of the Nyakyusa.
An analysis of the traditional laws of property in bananas, bamboos,
and sorne other trees, however, showed the general lines on which a
solution might be found. Bananas, for example, though not very valuable,
yet needed constant attention, like coffee. And in their case the law was
this: when their planter moved both the bananas and the house-site on
which they were planted reverted to the joint ownership of the local
village group; while the nearest neighbours looked after the bananas and
took their fruit. When a newcomer was given the site, by the village
headman with the chief's approval, then the bananas became his indi-
vidual property, but only so long as he lived there; if he moved they
reverted again to the village. This traditional law, it seemed to me, might
\ perhaps be made the basis of the new law of property in coffee trees, with
the exception that either a percentage of the crop or sorne monetary com-
pensation should be allowed to the planter, in view of the rclatively great
value of coffee, and that, in any case, he be allowed the whole of any crop
which ripened within a year of moving. This suggestion was discussed
by the District Officer and the chiefs and they agreed to act upon it, with
 ANTHROPOLOGY AS A PUBLIC SERVICE 33

sorne modíficatíons. When I last heard ( February 1939) the final de-
cision of the Central Govcrnment was still being awaited.
N ow this was a complex situation and no bare statement of fact would
have helped the Administration; it was necessary to explain the inescap-
able connexions between the social organization and the laws of land-
te~u~·e an~ betwee~1 witc~1craft and moving, and so to show the limits \
within which effecbve actíon was possible. 1
And the truth that all the facts of any social situation are íntelligibly,
that is necessarily, linked together has a further practica! importauce, for
a policy is itself a social fact. And, though the scíentist cannot judge íts
intrinsic value, he can and must study both its own actual implications and
also the relevant implícations of the situation to which it is directed. He 1
can never eíther-ªl)J2rove or condcnm any policy as such, but he can tell
íts authors whether or not it is possible of application to givcn condítions !
and what its immediate cffects will probably be. If it is not possíble of ¡
applicatíon he can point out the conditíons which must be changcd to J
make it so.
If, for instance, half the able-bodied men lea ve a tribal arca, in which a
primitive subsistence agriculture is practised ( Richards, 1939), and go to
work in distant industrial towns; and if able-bodíed malc labour is essen-
tial to that subsistence agriculture; thcn, if other things remain equal, the
old men and the sick and the women and the children who are dependent
on those able-bodied men must either follow them to town, or import food
into the tribal area with money sent back by them, or go hungry. There
is, in those conditions, no other possible alternative, If then it were de-
sired to prevent the more mobile part of the general population ( i.e. the
wornen and children) from leaving such a tribal area, it would hardly be
possible to do so unless very substantial amounts of money were regularly
sent or taken back by the industrial workcrs, and unless that money were
largely spent on food. If substantial amounts of money were not sent
home and there spent on food, then a drift of a large part of the general
population to thc towns would be quite inevitable in thosc conditíons .
.But, of course, thc other rclevant conditions might be changed; it might
be possible so to devclop agricultura! methods in the tribal area con-
cerned that half the able-bodied men could support the whole of thc
general population. Or it might be possíblc for thc able-bodíed women
to learn to perform sorne, at least, of the traditíonally masculinc tasks -
ít would depend on the particular naturc of local conditions and, more
cspecially, on thc amount of free time which tradítionally feminine tasks
left the women.
Thus the scientist, once he has mastered the mutual implications of the \
facts of sorne social situation, is in a position to gíve technical, but not )
political, advice and criticism to the men who have to deal with it. And
 34 ANTHROPOLOGY AS A PUBLIC SERVICE

such continua! laying bare of the inevitable mutual implications of social

fact is, in the complex conditions of modem Africa, an essential public
service.

(e) The Responsibility of Statesmen. But what is all this about neces­
sary connexions in thc social field? sorne one will ask. How is it to be
squared with the admitted freedom of responsible leaders, whether in
government or industry, to choose between policies and to direct events?
Do not the claims we have made for social science logically imply that
public men are nothing but automata and their actions nothing but the
necessary consequences of existing social conditions? - Not at all. We
have never suggested that any historical event was wholly determined by
social conditions, but only partially, in its social aspects. A govemment
policy, for instance, is, in one aspect, a social fact and inevítably involved
in all the matter-of-fact necessities of the existing social situation. But,
within the limits of that situation, it is also a series of choices and these
choices are real choices, acts of freedom.7
The social scientists confine their gaze to the abstract field of matter-of-
fact social necessity, but they do not imagine that this field of theirs is all
the world there is. All historical events, no doubt, rnust take place in it,
but they are determined by other things besides its nature. We may píe-
f"ture an historical event as a group of people, led by statesmen, walking
across the field. Once the group is inside, the social scientists can help it
by pointing out the paths and the rabbit holes; but there is nothing in the
field to determine the direction of the walk, paths run every way, all of
them winding a little and plentifully B.anked by rabbit holes. On one
side of the field there are a number of gates labelled with the names of
the various purposes of man. And it makes all the difference in the world
through which gates the group goes out. But the scientists see nothing
outside their field and care for nothing but its nature; they can give the
group no help as it hcsitates which gate to make for; they cannot prevent
chance circumstances affecting the decision; when the group goes out
they do not know whether it will end up in heaven or in hell. Moreover,
the groups which constantly cross the field in different directions are not
entirely powerless to alter its topography - it takes time to do so, but it
can be done; paths can be changed and rabbit holes stopped. In all this
the scientists provide technical assistance only, but continually remapping
the field and explaining its nature.
"='­ In every historical event, that is to say, there is both necessity and
freedom: necessity in the actual social material involved at any one
moment - the institutions, cercmonies and beliefs which are the field of
action - freedom not only in the chance concatenation of particular
circumstances and in the ultimate purpose of the action which is taken
 ANTHROPOLOGY AS A PUBLIC SERVICE 35

there but also in the power, given time and understanding, to modify
the social material itself. But with chance, ultimate purposes and politics,
as such, the scientists have no concern.
The cat is now out of the bag, but we must forget our previous meta-
phor if we would see her clearly. A social fact is notan event. When wc
speak of social facts - institutions, cercmonies, beliefs - we are not
speaking of the whole of what happens, but only of its necessary frame-
work; and the scientific explanation of events is always incomplete. A
social fact is a general form withín the limits of which particular events
must, at any given moment, occur, but within those limits chance and
human purpose have free play. Nor are the limits themselves unalterable;
if chance and human purpose continually place events nearer to one of
the limits than the other, then both limits, as it were, will shift in that
direction; that is how every change originally occurs. But, as the social
facts in any one area form a system which is necessarily connectcd in all
its parts, a change in any one social fact has inevitable repercussions on
all the others. A shift of the limits of action in one place means a shift of
all the limits everywhere. And it is, above all, because these inevitable
repercussions are so difficult to follow and foresee that the services of
social scientists are necessary to the public welfare.
This is the crux of the matter: it is both true that every single historical
event is necessarily determined in its material form by the social condi-
tions of the time, and that a succession of historical events has power to
modify social conditions. Granted a belief in frcedom the apparent para-
dox can be resolved by the analogy of thc artist and his material. The
necessity in historical evcnts is a material necessity only; social conditions
bind the statesman as the nature of bronze or marble binds the sculptor;
if he strives against them he is quite helpless, but once he understands
and accepts them he can then subduc them to his own purposes.
For an increased teclmical understanding of the social material involved
means an increased freedom of action in public affairs. Many a wise
policy has proved abortive in the past because obstructed by social con-
ditions whose relevance to it was hid<len from its authors; but once they
are clearly understood there are no social conditions which cannot be
modified by time and patient effort. Many an apparently wise policy has,
in the past, had untoward effects which were in no way foreseen at thc
moment of its inception; but time and patient research can foresee in
detail the probable effects of any given policy.
Firth, for instance, in his studies of Tikopia,8 a tiny island of twelve
hundred inhabitants in the Pacific, has been able to <lemonstrate that the
traditional equilibrium between population and food supply was main-
tained, among other things, by 'a celibacy in which chastity was not
enforced,' by 'a discreet infanticide,' and by war. Thc younger men were
 36 ANTHROPOLOGY AS A PUBLIC SERVICE

often forbidden by their elders to marry and have children, but no ob-
jection was made to infertile intrigues. Married couples with three or
four children often practised infanticide. And, as a last resort, when
pressurc of population on land became too severe, a section of the people
was forcibly driven overseas. But now the combined effect of mission
tcaching, which discourages premarital intercourse and so tends to earlier
marriage, and government policy, which forbids both infanticide and war,
is upsetting the equilibrium; and there is a very real danger of over-
population and famine unless something is clone in good time to overcome
the maladjustment. 'At the present time,' Firth writes, 'there is no acute
pressure, nor may there be for another generation; but, if the present rate
of increase continues, it will surely come.'
The value of technical sociological information to governments could
hardly be more clearly exemplified. Firth has been able to see a danger a
generation befare it becomes urgent: his careful analysis of causes provcs
its inevitability, if present conditions remain substantially unaltered; and
so the government responsible has both plenty of time to change the con-
ditions and also all the relevant information necessary for doing so effcc-
tively. For he then goes on to discuss various altcrnative ways of avoiding
it - agricultura! development, migration, the cncouragement of birth
control - pointing out the difficulties inherent in each. He makes thc
{ issues clear for the government's dccision, and prevents it being taken
unawares by a sudden emergency.

( d) General Principles. Hitherto our discussion of social necessities

has referred only to those of particular places and times, but an intelligent
comparison of the various places and times known to sociology and scien-
tific history9 leads us inevitably to the formulation of general principles -
forms and connexions of fact which obtain at all times and in all places
with equal necessity. And wc thcn begin to realize that all the particular
facts and all the necessary connexions of particular fact which research
lays bare in different arcas and periods are but particular instanccs of
such general principles.
Comparative social sciencc is still in its infancy, but there are already a
number of propositions which command general assent, the 'marginal'
theories of modern cconomics'" being an outstanding cxample. And un-
doubtedly the most useful contribution which social science can make to
the conduct of public affairs is to increase the number of such acccpted
general truths. For, once they have been understood, they provide
guidance to effective action even in those areas where no intensive studics
have been carried out. It is not possible for every political action cvery-
where to be preceded by intensive sociological research; but it is, in

r principle, quite possible for every political action to be inspired by general

sociological understanding.
 ANTHROPOLOGY AS A PUBLIC SERVICE 37

In this connexion it is important to distinguish clearly between the

particular social conditions which can, and the general social principles
which cannot be modificd by political action. Particular laws and con-
ventions, far example, can be changed, but no society anywhere can
possibly continue without sorne law and sorne convention. For the
existence of law and convention, as such, is necessarily implied in the
general nature of human society. And we can go further; we can say, far
instance, that it is quite impossible far any law to be enforced in any
community unless either it commands the approval of the majority of the
responsible mem bers of that community or is backed by the constant
pressure of overwhelming central force. This is a necessary implication
of the general nature of law. And it <loes not need any intcnsive research
to see its relevancc to such a vexed practica! problem, far example, as that
of prívate beer-drinking and brewing by Africans in town.
Now, although there are still relatively Iew such general principles
which can be certainly enunciated, their number is continually increasing.
Every good piece of historical rescarch, every good fieldstudy of present
social fact is full of hypotheses - formulations of principle which
demonstrably fit the particular facts studied and which may possibly be
found to fit the whole social field. Such hypotheses cannot be taken as
conclusive until they have been checked by careful comparison with the
other known facts. But intelligent readers will find them illuminating
even in their hypothetical stage.
One such hypothesis was put forward recently by \Vagner in the
course of a discussion of "The changing family among the Bantu Kavi-
rondo' of Kenya Colony.11 He begins with the acccpted truism that: 'In
a study of social tendcncies we must distinguish between dogma and
praxis, between the theoretical code of conduct, on the onc hand, and
the actual conduct, on thc other.' And he then gocs on to suggest that
'While it is part of human nature that the two will ncver coincide
entirely, the dlscrepancij beticeen them increases in periods of rapid.
change ( my italics). As a rule, actual conduct changos first and becomes
only gradually sanctioned by an adjustment of the thcoretical code, as
new standards of conduct are evolved.' Now thís suggestion almost
carries its proof in itself, though further research and reBection may
possibly lead to a slight reformulation. And it immediately increascs our
general understanding of the customs of semidetribalized Africans. We
begin to see that the legal informality and thc apparent carclessncss of
convention and morality, which characterize them as a group, are in-
evitable temporary consequences of the rapid change of conditions and
standards which we have brought to thcm. And thus every compctent
piece of sociological research is useful, not only to those who are re-
sponsible for the particular area studied, but to all men of affairs; for it is
a contribution to general sociological understanding.
38 ANTHROPOLOGY AS A PUBLIC SERVICE

Moreover, within the social field distinct regions can be marked off
in which social conditions are broadly similar, and the territories whose
governments contribute to the funds of the Rhodes-Livingstone Institute
fall within one such area. The great majority of the tribes in Central
Africa are Bantu, all were recently primitive in their ways of life, all
have now been touched by Christianity, and by European education,
enterprise and government; thc practica! problems which result from
European settlemcnt and from agricultura! and industrial development
are broadly the same everywhere. And so evcry piece of research in
Northern Rhodcsia or Tanganyika, or Nyasaland, far example, has a
more immediate relevance to the problems of Kenya, Southern Rhodesia,
and Uganda than it has to those of Europe or New Guinea or even
Nigeria.
It has recently been pointed out by Read,12 far instance, that one of
the most important changes in Nyasaland today is 'the inevitable cleavage
between the traditional association of power and resources and the mod-
ern divorce of wealth and responsibility.' She shows that, among the
Ngoni of Nyasaland, wealth and rank used to be synonymous; while the
aristocrats used continually to redistribute their accumulated goods to
their inferiors. But now aristocrats are often poor, and the nouoeaux
riches have not the same responsibilities. And this, as we have already
partly seen, is true of every tribe in Central Africa.

(e) Predicting the Euture. Now as the necessary connexions of social

fact are not the whole of history, so the futurc must always be to sorne
extent unknown. All that scientists can say with particularity about the
future is always hypothetical: 'Other things being equal, then such and
such a policy will inevitably have such and such results.' But other things
may not be equal, indeed they seldom or never are quite equal from one
year to the next.
The general principies of society, however, are immutable. And,
though we cannot faresee in dctail what farms will be assumed by law
or convention or economics or marriage or political authority in the
Central Africa of the future, yet we know with certainty that in sorne
form these things will always be faund; and the more wc can prove about
them and about their general connexions with one another the more
practica! relevance will this certainty possess.
Moreover the immediate future is in part detcrmined by the known
necessities of present social conditions, and this partial determinism
makes it possible to speak of 'scientific probabilitics.' At the moment, to
take a simple instance, the Government of Northern Rhodesia has de-
cided to increase the salaries paid to its Nativc Chiefs.13 And it is quite
certain that, were other things to remain equal, this action would do a
 ANTHROPOLOGY AS A PUBLIC SERVICE 39

great <leal to increase the present capacity of Native Authorities to fulfil

the duties which modem conditions lay upon them. For, as Richards has
shown,14 the ineffectiveness of Native Authorities which is often com-
plained of by District Officers is very largely due to the present poverty
of the chiefs. Without the means of entertaining their subordinates and
counsellors generously they are helpless.
But we can go further, wécan say that it is highly probable that this
increase in effectiveness will, in the near future, actually take place; for
it is unlikely that other relevant conditions will be much altered. It is
obviously very unlikely, for example, that the Government will, while
increasing their salaries, take away from the chiefs any of the official
powers and backing which they now possess. But the situation a gen-
eration hence it is impossible to predict with any assurance.
It is because social change can never in fact be sudden, however
sudden it may seem to a superficial observer, but must always grow
slowly out of the linked necessities of previous conditions, that sorne
degree of particular prediction is possible. But the more distant the
future the less possible it becomes.

111. TIME ANO MONEY

Social anthropology costs very little, in money, for each research
worker, but a good <leal in time when compared with sorne other sciences.
No expensive instruments, laboratories or materials are needed, and the
Rhodes-Livingstone Institute, for instance, is able in 1940 to maintain
two research workers in the field, together with a Secretary-Curator, a
museum, a library and a small staff of clerks and messengers, all for less
than three thousand pounds.
But while the Ecological Survey of Northem Rhodesia, to take an-
other fairly inexpensive science, has been able to cover the whole of this
territory in two three-year tours, no such wide field can possibly be
covered by the present staff of thc Rhocles-Livingstone Institute in any
similar period. In each small area, whether tribal or urban, a mínimum ('
of two years' rescarch is necessary before any results of certain value can
be guaranteed; and, if an all-round survey is attempted, the field work
and writing-up combined cannot be completed in less than five years.
This lengthy period is inevitably determined by the nature of the
material studied. No work can be done anywhere in Central Africa
until the local language has been mastered, and that alone takes six \
months. And then, even if attention is concentrated on one particular
aspect of social life alone - say chieftainship, or the economic system,
or the laws of marriage - the general nature of the social system must~
first be grasped; and that takes another year. Moreover, a social anthro-
40 ANTHROPOLOGY AS A PUBLIC SERVICE

pologist in Central Africa is inevitably exposed to various infections -

malaria, dysentery and what not - and so loses a certain amount of time
through sickness.
But if it were desired, for instance, to cover the most important tribes
and towns of Rhodesia and British East Africa in a period of twenty years,
a staff of only ten social scientists would be needed, and a total yearly
income of twelve thousand pounds. Such a programme would have an
enormous public value and the expenditure ínvolved would, I think, be
a very small price to pay for it.
If only a third of that income were forthcoming, however, a great deal
could still be done. Three social scientists could be continuously em-
ployed and would, in twenty years, be able to undertake a dozen majar
pieces of research15 or, alternatively, thirty studies of particular problems.
Such a programme would add considerably to the detailed knowledge
of fact at the disposal of governments, missionaries, educationalists and
business men. The results obtained would often be found to apply, with
slight modifications only, to neighbouring tribes and urban areas, while
throughout the whole region general sociological understanding would
be greatly incrcased.

NOTES

l. His Excellency Sir John Maybin, K.C.M.G., Governor of Northem Rhodesia

(President); the Financia! Secretary, Northern Rhodesia; Sir Leopold
Moore, M.L.C., Northern Rhodesia; the President of the British South
Africa Company; the Chief of the Federated Caledonian Society of South
Africa; the Provincial Commissioner, Livingstone; the Mayor of Living-
stone.
2. Contributors in 1940: Northern Rhodesia Government, British South Africa
Company, Southern Rhodesia Government, Mufulira Copper Mines,
Rhokana Corporation, Roan Antelope Copper Mines, Tanganyika Govern-
ment, Beit Trustees, Kenya Government, Nyasaland Government, Rhodesia
Broken Hill Development Company, Uganda Government.
3. No. l. 'The Land Rights of Individuals among the Nyakyusa' by Godfrey
Wilson; No. 2. 'The Study of African Socíety' by Godfrey Wilson and
Monica Hunter; No. 3. 'The Constitution of Ngonde' by Godfrey Wilson;
No. 4. 'Bemba Marriage' by Audrey l. Richards.
4. '(Social) anthropology', 'sociology' and 'social science' are here used as
synonymous terms.
5. B. Malinowski, 'The present state of culture contact studies', Africa, vol.
xii, no. l.
 ANTHROPOLOGY AS A PUBLIC SERVICE 41

6. For concrete examples cf. Audrey l. Richards, 'Tribal Government in

Transitíon', Supplement to lournal of the Royal African Society, October
1935; and Godfrey \Vilson, 'The Constitution of Ngonde', Rlwdes­Living­
stone Paper No. 3.
7. I here deliberately step outside the scientific sphere in the interests of
simple diction. The social scientist, as such, cannot speak of 'freedom', but
only of 'data which are indeterminate within the social field'. He must
leave open the question whether these data are really examples of freedom
or not; for sorne philosophers would argue that all such data are deter-
minate in sorne field or other ( e.g. those of psychology, biology, etc.). But,
as freedom is probably believed in by most of my readers and as it is a
familiar concept to all, it is convenient to make use of it here.
8. Raymond Firth, We the Tikopia, Chapter XII: 'A modern population
problem.'
9. Scientific history is itself the oldest branch of social science. In method
and principle identical, it differs from other social sciences only in its
material, which is the past.
10. Economics, which is the specialized study of one particular element of
social behaviour, is far more advanced than general sociology.
11. Supplement to Africa, vol. xii, no. 1, reprinted as Memorandum xviii.
12. Margaret Read, 'Native Standards of Living and African Culture Change.'
Supplement to Africa, vol. xi, no. 3, reprinted as Memorandum xvi.
13. Native Affairs Annual Report for 1938. Foreword, paragraph 6.
14. Audrey Richards, Tribal Government in Transition.
15. i.e. all-round studies of tribes or urban areas, dealing with economics,
marriage, political authority, education, law, religion, in each case.
 4

Anthropology and the Government

of Native Races in the Pacific

THE HON. SIR APIRANA TURUPA NGATA

Anthropology has been defined as the science of man, considered

physically, intellectually and morally, or in his entire nature. As a science
dealing with man, the supreme product of nature, it demands tribute from
every other branch of science. The scope of this paper is fortunately de-
fined by the relation of the science to the government of native races in
the Pacific, Briefly the writer is required to discuss the impact of im-
ported cultures under control of civilized governments on preexisting
native polity, and further, it is presumed, to indicate the method whereby
the native mind may be influenced to surrender its concepts and to accept
the new ideas. It is not possible to cover the question adequately in the
time available this evening, but an attempt will be made to deal with the
main factors in the problem.
"Anthropology and the Govemment of Native Haces in the Pacífic" by the Hon.
Sir Apirana Turupa Ngata is reprinted from the Australasian [ournal of Psychology
and Philosophy 6: 1-14, 1928, by permission of the publisher.

42
 NATIVE RACES IN THE PACIFIC 43

This paper will be found deficient in those abstract statements and

generalizations, that characterize scientific discussions, and to that extcnt
will, it is feared, fall short of the standard of a group interested in psy-
chology and philosophy. The writer, as a Polynesian, acccpts without
reservation the dictum of students of Maori mentality, that the race had
not attained to such a command of ideas and of the language to express
them as to have been able to Úse abstractions and generalizations. Maori
literature, such as it is, is characterized, particularly in its poetry, by
allusiveness, by its abundant use of concrete illustrations, whence the
student may deduce principles and beliefs, and place them in his schemes
of classification. The student of the uihakatauki, or proverbial sayings of
the Maori, will note their poverty in those abstractions which distinguish
the wise sayings of the Hebrew, the European, or the Hindu. The Maorí
language abounds in metaphorical expressions; old narratives teem with
aphorisms and personifications. The Maori orator delights in allegory.
Mr. Elsdon Best has emphasized the mytho-poetic imagery so character-
istic of Maori mentality, but deplored the paucity of terms denoting
abstractions. It would be well to bear this in mind, when appraising the
appeal of European principles, beliefs and standards to the Maori or
Polynesian mind and heart, it has too often failed to reach the mark,
because of its unfamiliar and foreign apparel.
There is a tendency perhaps in modern science to magnify the impor-
tance of terminology; a tendency in ethnographers to work to skeleton 1
charts, such as are outlined in "Notes and Queries on Anthropology," and
to measure the quality of their work by the detailed filling of those charts. 1
Much superficial work has been done under this guise. The temptation
to make the material observed conform to thc principles connoted by the
terminology of the charts could not always be resistcd. Races under ob-
servation are thus often credited with mental and other qualitics thcy
never possessed; or more is read into their culture and sociology than the
facts warrant. This strain of superficiality is perhaps more apparent in 1

studies of subtropical pcoplcs, wherc isolation, climate and insufficicnt 1 ~

communications make the research student impatient of his environmcnt 1
and inclined to rush his "job" to a conclusion. He does not succeed in
tuning in to the mentality of the peoplc he has come to study befare
passing on to other localities, whose survey is planned in the research
scheme.
As great a source of inaccuracy and misunderstanding is the mental
and, it sho~W be added, the social attitude of the observer. To be
thoroughly scientific he__ must __ b_e honest and completely receptive, must
not -allo-w preconceíved notions to ~_Qdervalue or overestimate any fact or
concept, that maycome into view [n bis observations. The early mission-
aries werenot good (;bser~ers of the mythology and religious beliefs of
44 NATIVE RACES IN THE PACIFIC

the Polynesians. They were prone to measure these by biblical standards

or to apply to thern a terrninology liable to be misunderstood. Shortland
in "Traditíons and Superstitions of the New Zealanders," speaking of the
missionaries, said:
The missionaries, who from their knowledge of the language, alone had
it in their power far many years to converse freely with the native race,
seem to have avoided all enquiries on such subjects. They carne to teach
a religion, and not to learn the principle of superstitions, which, however
valuable in matters of ethnological interest, they regarded as having far
their author the great enemy of mankind.
Similar views have probably influenced missionaries in all new coun-
tries, far precisely the same course was taken by the early Spanish mission-
aries at the Philippine Islands, who, we are told, did their utmost 'to
extirpate the original memorials of the Natives,' substituting religious
compositions of their own, in the hope of supplanting the remains of
national and pagan antiquity.
It is said that Maori matter recorded about the middle of last century
was not above suspicion, that either the tohungas dictating the same, or
the scribes who took their notes and extended them, were iníluenced by
the scriptures. The best studies of the moral and religious beliefs of the
Maori have been made by men who were not interested in supplanting
or converting them to other beliefs; while the best results have been ob-
tained by missionaries, who have accepted the Maorí philosophical sys-
tem as the product of an adult, intellectual, and spiritual nature, and thus
entitled to respect, to be put aside by the aboriginal people in view of
something better, more satisfying, or less irksome than their former
regime.
As prone to err as the early missionaries, were the pakeha immigrants,
who adopted a pose of superiority, an air of self-sufficiency, that refused
to learn aught from a barbarous people or to brook anything but the
imposition of their transplanted culture on the barbarians whom they
found in prior occupation. Your Association will, 1 take it, condemn such
an attitude as roundly as did the Natives, illustrating as it does your wise
saying relative to thc blindness of those, who having the capacity to see,
will not use that faculty. 1 t should be granted, however, that if the mis-
sion of the immigrant culture is complete conquest and destruction, then
calculated blindness is the best policy. The aboriginal inhabitants would
rank with the indigenous forest and fern, as so many obstructions Ior the
energetic pioneer to remove and replace with imported grasses, and an
imported population with its concomitant culture complex. There is no
doubt, that most of the errors and misunderstandings have arisen from
the intolerance, the narrowness, the prejudice, and intellectual contempt
evinced by the European in contact with native races, whether it be in
 NATIVE RACES IN THE PACIFIC 45

Polynesia or anywhcre else. Such an attitude has too often evoked a

corresponding resistance and repugnance, a clash, if it may be so terrned,
of cultures, the lower being overborne, it is true, together wíth the
people, whose inheritance it was from thc ages.
It was not to be expected that in the settlcment of New Zealand by the
white race there would be, as_ a preliminary, an ordered and organized
study of Maorí culture. Colonization, especially of the North Island, was
not a deliberate act of a government or of an organization, such as was
crcated in the New Zealand Company or those organizations which set-
tled Canterbury and Otago. An intensive study of the history of the Bay
. of Islands at the beginning of the nineteenth century by the ethnologist
would make an immensely valuable contribution to the problem, which is
denoted by the title of this paper. It would be a study of thc play of
human motives; of the mind of the Maori, actuated by the same motives
as have actuated man in all lands and in all ages, now faced with new
methods and strange means of satisfying ancient aims and desires; of thc
mind of the pakelia trader and adventurer, be he whalcr, flax-merchant,
or sailor, breaking new ground indeed for the exercise of his superior
knowledge, but repeating a familiar experience - thc expericnce of his
forbears in Africa, the Indics, and America; of the mind of the missionary,
representing at that time the best elemcnts in the immigrant culture. This
mind, however much it was confined and handicapped by the nature of
its mission, did seek to probe that of the Native, and did attcmpt to
appraise and register the aboriginal institutions, the social psychology of
the Maori people. The "Williams" family, than which no othcr was more
successful in influencing the Maorí mind, has left us no connccted or
extended study of Maorí culture at this time. The mastery of the Maorí
language, evidence by the successive editions of the Maorí dictionary by
three generations of the family, is sufficient proof that the necessary talent
and knowledge were not wanting. Those who had the privilegc of know-
ing the members of the family of thc past generations and many of its
representatives today can vouch for their intimate knowledge of Maori
character and mentality, thcir great judgment in weighing facts and ideas.
It is to be regretted, thereforc, that this uniquc talcnt has not prcserved to
us a balanccd statemcnt of the factors in the meeting of cultures at thc
Bay of Islands a century ago.
The missionaries saw the introduction of thc most formidable and the
most seductively attractive elements of modern civilization, fire-arms,
alcohol, and trade. The introduction of the first-named took place at that
stage in the history of the Maorí people, when all over the North Island
tribe warred with tribe and bloody struggles were taking place, which, if
civilization, though attended by much evil, had not entered, might have
ended in the depopulation of the country. Tribal histories, both publíshed
46 NATIVE RACES IN THE PACIFIC

and unwritten, agree that in the third or fourth generation after the
Araica­T ainui migration from Eastern Polynesia tribal wars on an ex-
tensive scale commenced. Vendettas and reasons therefor accumulated
through thc generations, until towards the end of the eighteenth century
tribal warfare had reached a summit of fury and savagery unparalleled
anywhere in the Pacific.
The research student will find ample and highly interesting material in
pursuing the effect of the introduction of fire-arms on Native culture.
Hongi Hika of infamous memory merely anticipated, what many another
war leader might havc done, if the whaler and trader had found harbours
in other localities as favourable as \Vhangaroa and the Bay of Islands.
The pu­tauihiti would havc been used as readily and as relentlessly to
wípe out old seores. The immigrant culture required, that in regard to its
sea-faring vessels they should have ample sheltered anchorage in deep
waters, close to provisions, water, and suitable timber, where they might
be refitted for further voyages. Contemporary Maori songs abound with
references to the new and terrible implement of warfare, which in two
generations completely relegated the old weapons to the ceremonial
marae or the museum. Prescott has rclated, in a masterly rnanner, the
devastating effects of the Spanish warfare on the ancient civilizations of
Mexico and Peru. New Zealand awaits another Prescott to describe in
appropriate language the most dramatic effects of the introduction of this
elernent of the culture of Europe.
The historian or ethnologist may contemplate the disintegrating effects
of these importations. It would not be possible or necessary to dctail
them here. But no study would avail which did not ernphasize the vio-
lence which the three imported factors did to preexisting N ative polity.
In warfare, it is true, the method of destruction was merely changed and
the scale probably increased, though the latter may be doubted. The rnost
serious result, probably was that the possession of fire-arms became thc
overwhelming motive of the Native mind, bis industrial activities were
ordered to that end; bis control of tribal lands was governed by a new
and supreme temptation, so that the new culture appealed to his avarice
and desire for vengeance and power.
The gun, alcohol, rnanufactured clothes and blankets barter money
traffic in land - the anthropologist must not neglect t~ record in th~
pursuit of his science the part each of these has played in the disintegra-
tion of Native cultures in Polynesia, as in other parts of the world.
From this welter of lust and bloodshed the Maorí people emerged
with terrible scars and unbalanced minds. It should be emphasized that
culturally the severest loss was that of the old time sanctions which forti-
fied custom and their religious system, which supported the mana and
prestige of the chiefs and priests, round which the communal system
 NATIVE RACES IN THE PACIFIC 47

evolved. It was at this period that the far-off British Governrncnt decided
to intervene, and to introduce law and order in a country, where its white
subjects had established themselves and required, not only protection,
but control in their relations with the aboriginal inhabitants. That re-
markable document, the Treaty of Waitangi, was signed nearly two
generations after the first serious impact of pakeha civilization upon the
Maorí regime. The student -of anthropology will find ample room for
speculation as to the mental attitude of the chiefs assembled at Waitangi
in February of 1840, and especially as to their conception of the meaning
of the terrns, "sovereignty," mana, "ownership according to Native cus-
toms and usages," as Governor Hobson, through Henry Williams, ex-
pounded them. Would the Maorí tribes have been welded by warfare
into a race under a supreme chief and thus evolved, as in sorne of the
Pacific Islands, thc institution of Kingship? It is extremely doubtful. The
size of the country, the difficulties of transport and the relationships of
leading rangatira families would have militated against any permanent
effective cohesion.
Jurists in successive generations have written tomes to expound the
conception of sovercignty. Even now the abstraction is not easy to grasp
and comprehend. Fortunately, for the Maorí, in New Zealand the British
genius had personified abstract sovereignty in the distant King, whom
sorne of the Maorí Chiefs had seen in the flesh, with whose successor thcy
or their descendants concluded the Treaty. The ncarcst approach to an
appreciation of the naturc and effect of the Treaty was expresscd by old
Nopera Pana-Kareao, the rnost powerful chief in the Mangonui and
Kaitaia districts, in a speech accounted amongst thc fincst cxamples cxtant
of old-time Nativc oratory:

I wish you ali to love the Governor. 'Ne are saved by this. Let everyone
say, "Yes," as Ido. We have now sorne one to look up to. My grandfather
brought the Pakehas to this very spot, and the chiefs agreed with what my
grandfather did. He went on board the ship and got trade. He spread it
through the land. Let us act right as my ancestors did. What has the
Governor done wrong? Tlic sliadoio of tlie latul goes to ilie Queen, but tlie
substance remains ioith us. We ioill go to tlie Cooernor antl get paijment
far our landas befare.

I havc lingered at sorne lcngth ovcr this famous compact, bccausc of

its bearing on thc governrncnt of thc Maoris in this country. Wc havc \
come to thc point where thc anthropologist becomcs thc historian, thc
jurist, and, in a measure, the psychologist. Thc attitude of the Maorí mind
towards thc new conccptions of sovcreignty, pcrsonificd by thc Quccn,
Governrncnt, as cmbodicd in the Govcrnor and his officials, thc owner-
ship of land according to custom and usagc as guarantccd by thc Trcaty,
48 NATIVE RACES IN THE PACIFIC

and, finally, towards the abstract idea of legal equality with the repre-
sentatives of the new culture, is a subject well worth the attention of
the ethnologist who sees before bis own eyes the actual process of the
merging of cultures, the adaptation of one to the pressure of elements in
the other, the reaction of the lower upon the higher, and withal the
physical, mental, and moral influenccs generated in the process. In no
other land have the circumstances been so favourable for the study.
Under no other rule has it bcen possible to stage such a drama as has
bcen unfolded in New Zealand - the deliberate lifting of a people of
lower culture to full equality in political, social, and moral communion
with one of the most advanced races in the world.
In every department of material culture the Maorí primitive polity
could parallel, though on a lower plane, corresponding elements in the
new culture. So could every other ímportant branch of the Polynesian
race. And in one department or another the new culture met stubborn,
conservative elements, that are not yet completely dissolved. I maintain
that the function of Govcrnment in this country, as applied to the Maorí
race, has been to discover and appraise these elements, and especially
to judge whether in their nature they were detrimental to progress on the
lines newly laid clown, or worth preserving in a modified form. It is in
the disposition shown by legislators, educationists, reformers, churchmen,
and all who have had to do with the administration of Maori affairs, to
examine sympathetically these elements in the Native culture and to
provide for them so that New Zealand may be regarded as the best
example of success in the government of a Native race not only in the
Pacific, but perhaps in the world.
I wish to rcfer briefly to sorne examples to illustrate my contention. In
regard to the physical prescrvation and improvement of the Maorí people,
reform met with strong and persistent resistance. The disturbance was
not apparent in the physical culture of the race. Those of you who have
read the observations of Taylor, Thomson, Colenso, Elsdon Best, and
others on the manners and customs of the Maorí will appreciate that in
the economy of their village life, in their customs relating to the treatment
of the sick, to the carc of children, to their food and clothing, to housing
and living conditions, to the disposal of the dead, and to the all-pervading
tapu, would be found the most conservativo elcments of Native culture.
I must also point out here an element little appreciated in ethnological
studies that I have seen, an element that is the fundamental difference
between the English conccption of the individualistic "home," and the
Maorí notion of the communal kainga. This will be found at the root of
all the difficulties of Government of the N ative race not only in this
country but in other parts of Polynesia.
 NATIVE RACES IN THE PACIFIC 49

Where, as in N ew Zealand, the climate and physical conditions made

it one of the most favourable territories on earth far European settlemcnt,
it was inevitable that an irnmigrant white race must establish its culture
there and expand in time into a vigorous natíon, even at the expense of
the culture of the aboriginal inhabitants. Colonization, as planned by
Edward Gibbon \Vakefield and others, was airned deliberately at the
transplantation of the best elements in English culture to the new land.
In the practically virgin areas of Canterbury, Otago, and Southland the
scherne met with no checks from a rival Native culture. In the North
Island such checks existed and were met. The colonization of the North-
ern peninsula was a haphazard affair, and afforded a much more interest-
ing study because the eultures faund themselves thrown the one against
the other without design and, as it were, in the natural, uncontrolled
course of ethnie development. In the Wellington Province the Wakefield
scherne carne into conflict with tribes newly established at Wellington,
Otaki, and along the Manawatu Coast, where they had recently suc-
ceeded by force of arms in subduing Ngatiira, Muaupoko, and other
aboriginal peoples. The newcomers, as colonists themselves and barely
established in new kaingas, had not perhaps had time to weave associa-
tions and traditions round the beaches, the streams, and mountains of
the conquered territory. This would probably account for the readiness
with which they parted with the conquered lands. It would also account
far the ready response of the Ngati-Raukawa, Ngati-Toa, and Ati-Awa,
the imrnigrant tribes, to acccpt European settlement and culture. With
thern it is found that the old cornrnunal system of land holding and the
communal idea of the kainga gave way more readily, if not more thor-
oughly, to the invading conception of individual owncrship and privacy
in the home. Superficially, they appeared to have become Europeaniscd
more rapidly than any tribcs to the north or to the cast of them. This was
pcrhaps an accident of history, but the circumstance does give rise to the
spcculation that, if those who cventually carne to control the introduction
of European culture to the Maorí people had penetrntcd to thc root diffi-
culty, the absence of the idea of "home," and had delibcrately swept
away communal land-ownership and replaced it with thc English con-
ception of a man's home bcing his castle, the effcctive adoption of
English culture might have takcn place much carlier in the history of the
Maorí racc.
To the cnd of the ninetccnth ccntury a policy of drift characterizcd
Governmcnt action or inaction in regard to the health of the Maorí
people. Dcgcneracy, neglect, infant mortality, the practica! abandon-
mcnt of Maorí material and ways of drcss and the adoption of European
clothing, the removal of the incentive to labour and hard physical excr-
50 NATIVE RACES IN THE PACIFIC

cise - these and other facts have been deplored as contributing to the
physical decadencc of the race. The old sanctions of tapu, priestly control
and chiefly mana had disappeared or persisted in degenerate forms and
practices, and the new culture had not as yet provided effective substi-
tutes, or, if they existed, had not been admitted to full control in the
Maorí social organization.
It was at this stage that the influence of education on the mind of the
new generation of Maoris emerged as a serious factor in the coordination
of elements in the disappearing Maori culture with the pervading pakeha
culture. The emergencc of the educated Maori youth and the part it has
taken and is still taking in reorganizing Maori culture, if I may still so
designate it after it has been battered about by the invading factors,
should provide one of the most interesting studies possible for New Zea-
land psychologists or practica! politicians.
The rcpresentatives of the Young Maori Movement possessed of the
intuitions of their forefathers and having in the schools, at college, and in
society acquired sorne facility in looking through pakeha spectacles at
racial problems, claimed the privilege of advising the course that legisla-
tion and administration should takc. They found in the late Sir James
Carroll, then Minister of Native Afiairs, and a master-psychologist, an
elder prepared to indulge the views of the rising generation. The Maorí
Council Act, 1900, resulted. The idea was that a Council composed of
representatives of the tribe inhabiting a district should act, inter alia, as a
Health Committee with power to administer sanitary and kindred regu-
lations in the villages. Model by-laws drafted by the Department were
circulated among the various Councils. These were based on the recom-
mendations of the Young Maori reformers. The Councils culled from thc
draft the by-laws which suited their conditions. In each village a Com-
mittee was appointed to administcr these. These bodies so effectively
broke clown the last resistance of old time Maori customs that in 1920 the
Public Health Act, with European administrators and inspectors, was
admitted with very little friction into the everyday life of the Maorí
pcople. I may add that recently, when New Zealand assumed the man-
date over Western Samoa, the model by-laws prepared for the guidancc
of the Maorí Councils of New Zealand twenty-seven years ago were
adopted therc with modifications for use in the Samoan Villages.
Most of you have read of our Polynesian customs and practices rclating
to the dead, of the tangis or mourning feasts, of the long lying in state,
with thc dangcr, if it was the case of an infcctious disease, to the hcalth
of others; and, in later days, of the accompanying debauchery and waste.
Evcry reformer had preached against thc persistence of these practices
as dangerous, wasteful, and degrading, but it was no easy matter to secure
improvement. The dangcr to contacts might have been minimized or
 NATIVE RACES IN THE PACIFIC 51

removed by embalming and disinfeetion, but this would have eost too
mueh, and at one time would have been deemed desceration. The altered
mental attitude of the people towards these praetiees was evideneed by
the very mild protest madc when the Couneil passed a by-law requiring
burial within a limit of three days in the eool weather and of two days in
the summer, unless speeial eireurnstanees demanded speedier interment.
This was a small measure of reform on the faec of it, but how mueh of the
old eulture was surrendered to make way for it, how mueh adjustment
had to be rnade in the mental attitude?
In the year 1898 it may be said that the "Vlwre Runanga, the eornmon
meeting house of the village, was still eonstrueted on aneient lines, whieh
as regarded ventilation provided for only the front door and window,
both of whieh remained tightly closed, when the house was not oeeupied,
or at night, when the house was so eongested, that you eould not streteh
yourself out at full length. Doetors, missionaries, sehoolteaehers had
preaehed ventilation for two generations without appreeiable sueeess.
To puta hole, mueh less a window, at the rear end of the meeting house,
or on the side walls, was an unheard of thing in Maorí land, although our
relatives in the wanner islands of the Paeifie would have wondered at our
ignoranee and baekwardness in this respeet. The edueated Maoris onee
more rose to the oeeasion with their aequired faeulty of seeing with the
eyes of both raees. This was elearly a ease where a eonerete illustration
of the proposed reform might have far reaehing effeets. A meeting house
on the East Coast was rnade the first example, two windows being in-
serted at the rear end thereof. In 1901 the Maorí Couneils without
exeeption adopted a by-law rcquiring the proper ventilation not only of
meeting houses but of prívate dwellings as well. Seventeen years later it
was possible without straining Maorí prejudiee to progress as far as the
provision of a ehimney, a baek <loor, and even an aeeessory poreh over
whieh food might be served direet from the detaehed eook-house,
These are suffieient, I think, to illustrnte in regard to the village life of
the present day Maorí, how governmental aetion may adapt itself to the
ehanging mind of a N ative raee, if that mind is placed under elose and
honest observation.
So, too, in regard to the ownership and oecupation of land. I dealt
wíth this matter at length in an address to a group of students hcre
reeently. I showed how New Zealand had pursued for sixty years the
poliey of individualization of land titles through the Native Land Court,
in aeeordanee with the deelaration of the Treaty of Waitangi and of the
Natíve Riglits Act, that Native land titles should be determined aeeording
to Native eustom and usage. The effeet of this proeess, as eondueted
through the ordinary maehinery of the Native Land Court has been ap-
parently to produee ehaos. The policy has been earried to thc bítter end,
52 NATIVE RACES IN THE PACIFIC

but has apparently failed to securc individualization. Here, again, the

Young Maori Movement has taken the situation in hand, far the time had
evidently arrived far welding the results of fresh work into useful shape.
Consolidation of intcrests, scattcred in almost useless fashion over many
counties, was suggested as the solution. It would in one operation aggre-
gate these interests on a valuation basís in one or two compact holdings,
and also bring all elements in the title up to date. It has taken sixteen
years now to popularize the new system in one district, the East Coast,
but it is being adopted elsewhere, and it is hoped that the Government
will extend it to all parts of the Dominion.
I am conscious that I have covered the ground very inadequately in
this paper so far as New Zealand is concerned. The contcntion of cultures
here has been controlled by the outstanding policy of effective European
settlement in a country and a climate eminently favourable to it. Maori
culture has been compelled to confarm to it, but the adaptation has been
vastly facilitated by the education of the Maorí people and the develop-
rnent in them of the faculty of seeing frorn two different angles.
When we leave New Zealand and consider the case of the Cook Group,
which carne under our direct control in 1900, and the case of Western
Samoa, the mandate over which was acquired quite recently, we are
brought into touch with two closely related branches of the Polynesian
race. Rarotonga and Samoa have this feature in common as distinguished
from New Zealand, that it has never been seriously contended that either
is suitable far European settlement. In Rarotonga the policy of Govern-
ment has been largely "Rarotonga far the Rarotongans"; in Samoa it is
said, that New Zealand's policy is "Samoa far the Samoans." .
British success in New Zealand in administering Maori affairs justified
the expectation that her administrators had thoroughly mastered the art
of governing Polynesians. This was quite reasonable and has been justi-
fied in regard to the Cook Group. The trader element there has caused
trouble at intervals, but the complications were never as serious as in
New Zealand. The experience of New Zealand has been applied in all
dcpartments to Cook Island conditions without difficulty. It should be
noted, perhaps, that the Cook Island administration has been more or less
assoeiated with the Native Department of New Zealand. The official head
of the administration has almost, without a break, been a politician with
an expert knowledge of Native Affairs in this country.
I should say something here about the iailioa policy so intimately
connected with the name of James Carroll. Taihoa becarne a term of
opprobrium, synonymous with marking-time, stone-walling, and retro-
gression. It was thrown at a man who, himself the product of two races,
the Irish and the Maori, entered Parliament forty years ago and in his
first speech advocated the full equality of the Maori and of the pakeha
 NATIVE RACES IN THE PACIFIC 53

in law. He lived long enough to rnodify that policy in view of the diffcr-
ences in culture, inequality of experience, training, and standards. He
could see as well as, íf not better, than any man of his time where ad-
vanees might be made in legislation and administration. But he could
also see that to secure success each reform must be timed psychologically.
In resisting the pressure of settlers actuated by their own policies, he
earned for the iaihoa policy public displeasurc.
He was followed by Sir William Herries, who presented the contrary
policy - the policy of hustle, whether the Maorí mind was ready or not
to accept his measures. He found in office that the taihoa policy was not
the creation of his predecessor, but was imposed by the fundamental
conditions of the problem to which every Native Minister has to address
himself. That policy appliecl to Rarotonga, administered sympathetically,
meant that every element in the immigrant European culture, which, by
its substitution for the preexisting usage, fitted the Rarotongan better to
live in a world where modern science had brought him into touch with
other races and other ideas, was introducecl in ordered sequence and to
the extent that the Rarotongan was ready to receivc and benefit by it.
There was no upheaval as in New Zealand, no violent unrnooring from
old beliefs and sanctions. But a steady pressurc is being applied in all
directions, whereunder each succeeding generation of Cook Islanders
may be influenced to advance gradually from one culture to anothcr, or,
as is most likely, to a blending of clements of the old with the ncw.
A few words on Samoa and I have done. Western Samoa carne under
New Zealand control in circumstances that are well known to you. One
circumstance associated with the Mandatc, the fact that it was given by
the League of Nations, probably led to the creation of a special Ministry,
that of External AfFairs. This title had a high imperial sound that seemcd
appropriate to New Zealand's occupation and conquest of Western
Samoa, and to the emanation of her mandate from thc conclave of thc
Nations of the world. New Zcaland assumed the mandate with a reputa-
tion for expert, tactful, and wise governmcnt of two branchcs of thc Poly-
nesian race. She had behind her the experience of a century in this
country and of a generation in Rarotonga. She was supposcd to have
mastered the intricacies of the Polynesian mind. There need then be no
fear that in Samoa shc would not profit by the lessons so laboriously
gathered over four generations.
The case of Samoa is before a special commission, sub iudice, as the
lawyers would say. But one may venture a few remarks without breach
of the rule relating to cases under revicw by legally constituted tribunals.
I can say that in Western Samoa wc have not altogcther bcnefited by
our New Zealand and Rarotongan experiencc. Was the crcation of a
Ministry of External Affairs and its detachment from the Native Depart-
54 NATIVE RACES IN THE PACIFIC

ment a wise step? The experts of that Department have not been used
or consulted. It seemed as if we have ignored the experience whose
possession justified an assumption of the mandate.
We have propounded the policy of Samoa for the Samoans, and, as
Samoa is not considered suitable for European settlement, this has been
easy to formulate, and its pronouncement has given us great satisfaction.
In following up our pronouncement of policy we have, I think, shown an
over eagerness to prove to the world how competent we are to handle
such problems. This may be termed the pardonable pride of the tohunga.
Here was the opportunity for our ethnologists to survey the social setting
of the Samoan race, to appraise the extent to which previous contact with
Europcan culture had affected the Native culture and to adapt our New
Zealand and Rarotongan experience to the conditions revealed. A taihoa
policy such as was applied in Rarotonga would have answered well in
the years during which we learnt and accumulated data. It was not wise
to assume that because we knew the minds of two representative branches
of the race, we could forthwith effect easy entry into the mind of the
Samoan. Sorne of our Maori ancestors left islands of the Samoan Group
many centuries, perhaps a thousand years, ago. The English, who have
not been a century in New Zealand as an organized society, are already
resentful of the importation of experts from their homeland to administer
departments of State. These would have to acquire what is known as
"the colonial view." Our present immigration policy demands that
immigrants shall be of the kind most ready to adapt themselves to New
Zealand conditions. Was it reasonable, then, to assume that knowledge
of Maorí culture in New Zealand and the Cook Group would at once
enable us to tune in to the Samoan mind, or to appreciate a culture that
must in its tropical sctting have many local variations?
Our policy is superb in its símplicity, our intentions, their justice and
honesty, cannot be questioned by any tribunal in the world. Our methods
may be seriously questioned by the anthropologist, whether he be a uni-
versity professor or the proverbial man in the street. We have probably
overestimated the receptivity of the Samoan mind. We have probably
not sufficiently apprcciated that the social structure of the Samoan people
has not been uprooted as was that of the Maorí nearly a century ago,
that, therefore, it is not as advanced from a pakeha standpoint as that of
the Maorí today. We have much to learn of their customs relating to
land tenure. Wc do not thoroughly understand the status and position
of their hereditary chiefs. We have not givcn ourselves sufficient time to
lcarn about the Samoans from themselves befare launching at them those
reforms which we think would be for their benefit, because they have
proved bcneficial to their relatives hcre and in Rarotonga.
 NATIVE RACES IN THE PACIFIC 55

I rnay conclude by quoting sorne lines from Lawrencc's "Revolt in the

Desert," a propos of the blustering tactics of a British general, when a
clash appeared irnrnincnt between the Arab and British leaders towards
the end of the Palestine carnpaign:
My head was working full speed in these minutes, on our joint behalf,
to prevent the fatal first steps by which the unimaginative British, with
the best wíll in the world, usually deprived the acquiescent native of the
discipline of responsibility, and created a situation which called for years
of agitation and successive reforms and riotings to mend.
 n Part Two three majar kinds of applied anthro­
1 pology are examined at length. Homer G. Barn­
ett in "Consultants and Executives" outlines the
development and execution of plans for the position­
ing of staff and district anthropologists within the
administrátive hierarchy of the government of the
United States Trust Territory of the Pacific. Here the
role of the anthropologist was that of consultant, L>

intercultural broker and interpreter, and organizer of . . . . ­

research projects which ­ in practice ­ were de­
Jtermined only partially by the needs of the governing
agency. Allan R. _Holmberg's two articles on the
~earch and development model for guiding and
~udying developmental change describe a different
role for the anthropologist. In the Vicos setting the
scientist­philosopber in fact became the patrón­king,
assuming a kind and amount of power and respon­
sibility far outreaching that available to the staff
anthropologist in Micronesia.

PART TWO

THREE l<INDS OF
INVOLVEMENT
The third model for the application of anthropology,
Action Anthropology, as described and assessed by
Tax, Gearing, Peattie, and Piddington, is in sorne
respects very similar to the research and develop­
ment approach in that it involves both the attempt
\to promote development and an effort to study the
l processes of change. Action Anthropology, though,
is based on subtly different assumptions. Here inter­
vention involves bringing together diverse interest
groups into confrontations, eliciting conscious state­
ments of needs and goals, and adopting an idealized
laissez­faire or nondirective mode of relating to all
parties. Action Anthropology is still similar to the

57
THREE KINDS OF INVOLVEMENT

other approaches in a way which is rarely stated publicly: ali three pro­
vide a net gain to anthropology in the form of a fund of opportunities for
younger anthropologists and students to obtain field research experi­
ence. lndeed, often such opportunities are a primary motivation for the
anthropologist's accepting responsibilities for the conduct of research,
consulting, and development programs on behalf of client organizations.

58
 5

Consultants and Executives

HOMER G. BARNETI

The United States Trust Territory is administered through its principal

executive officer, the High Commissioner. He is advised and assisted by
a deputy and a staff of departmental officers who are charged with the
supervision of certain activities and the implementation of policy rcspcct-
ing them. Those departmcnts most directly concerned with the Micro-
ncsians are Education, Public Hcalth, Economics, and Political Affairs.
The senior anthropologist for the Territory, whosc titlc is Staff Anthro-
pologist, is for administrative purposes assigned to the Political Affairs
Department, a division whose functions are much more diverse than its
name implies.
In general and to the extent that it is appropríatc, the organizational
scheme at headquarters is duplicatccl in thc administrativc subdivisions
of the Territory. Each group of islands constituting a subdívision is thc
responsibility of a District Administrator. He is assistcd by heads of de-
partments like those at headquarters and by spccial projcct managers.
The countcrpart of the Staff Anthropologist at this level is the District
"Consultants and Executives" from Anthropology in Aclministration by H. G.
Bamett ( Harper & Row, 1956). Reprinted by permission of the publishers.

59
60 CONSULTANTS ANO EXECUTIVES

Anthropologist. There are five of them, one for each of the districts of
Palau, Yap, Truk, Ponape, and the Marshall Islands.1
Economic and Political Affairs Officers cooperate closely. In the dis-
tricts their activities are integrated within one department; at head-
quarters they have at times come under the directorship of two depart-
ment heads. Taken together their coverage of native affairs is more
comprehensive and less specialized than that of any other administrative
unit. They are charged with helping the Micronesians achieve economic
self-sufficiency while protecting them against the loss of their lands and
resources. In conformance with this broad directive, the departments in-
vestigate land claims and land use problems and develop programs for the
restoration and resettlcment of vacant areas. They are responsible for
promoting agriculture and animal hus bandry by sponsoring scientific in-
quiries, by supervising the operation of experimental stations, and by
instituting demonstration farms and gardens. They encourage programs
for the conservation of animal, vegetable, marine, and mineral resources
and propose regulations, legislations, and expenditures to further these
programs. They must also safeguard the welfare of laborers through
providing opportunities for cmployment and securing improved working
conditions.
The Trust Territory objective of furthering the political development
of the Micronesians requires that the director of the Political Affairs
Department plan and recommend programs to encourage appropriate
forms of local, district, and territorial self-control; review the operation
of government with reference to its effects on native culture; study tax
programs, budgets, and accounting systems; prepare training schedules
for native officials; and disseminate information on the meaning and
requirements of self-government.
Finally, the policy of the administration with respect to native culture
makes anthropological rescarch an integral part of the responsibilities of
the Political Affairs Dcpartmcnt. Hence its director initiates surveys and
investigations among the Micronesians, keeps other department heads
informed of the effects of thcir prograrns on native opinion and culture,
and advises the High Commissioner on policy and procedure in these
matters.
As with any ccntralized administration, the Director of Political Affairs
at headquarters and the District Administrators at the regional centers
delegate appropriate aspects of their responsibilities to qualified assistants.
.With refercnce to anthropologists this means that questions involving
nativc life are referred to them for advice or investigation. For purposes
of maintai~i~1gai~ officia~record of action taken and to unify and consoli-
\
date administrativo policy, the Staff Anthropologist formally receives
 CONSULTANTS ANO EXECUTIVES 61

directions from the Politieal Affairs Officer and through him Iormally
communicates with other department heads and the High Commissioner
or his deputy. Both the Staff Anthropologist and the Director of Political
Affairs eommunicate with their district counterparts through the central
channel of, and in the name of, the High Commissioner and his field
representative, the District Administrator. The activities of the District
Anthropologists are in like ?fashion undcr the dircct supervisión of an
immediate supervisor who acts on the delegatcd authority of the District
Administrator and the High Commissioner. All official contacts outside
the Trust Territory administration are made by the High Commissioner
or his deputy.
This system regularizes and regulates all acts having the force of an
administrative decision. It <loes not disallow, and it is not designed to
prevent, horizontal and vertical interchanges of ideas through confer-
cnces and correspondence between officers of all grades and departments.
It presupposes informal as well as unchannelized cxecutive sessions in-
volving all appropriate personnel. Organized as it is on a staff plan, it
<loes preclude the designation of functional groups; hence there is no
anthropological unit, just as therc is no integrated educational division
or branch comprising all teachers in the employ of thc administration.
At the same time, private exchanges, preparatory discussions, and other
negotiations which do not commit the administration take place freely
between headquarters and district officcrs. Particularly important to
members of the organization with specialized training is the fact that
discussions of technical matters take place directly between thosc bcst
qualified to <leal with them. Official sanction far such activities is re-
quired only insofar as thcy bind the adrninistration to sorne action. The
anthropologists confer and correspond frecly arnong thcrnsclves and with
others within this lirnitation.
In rnost general terms, then, the Staff Anthropologist's duties are, either
directly or indirectly, to organize and conduct research in thc :ficld and to
rnaintain professional relations with outsidc spccialists intcrcsted in re-
scarch in the Territory. The District Anthropologist engages in research
and reports to his District Adrninistrator on the latter's authorization or
on thc request of thc High Commissioncr. His special obligation is to
know the native language and customs of bis district. Thc Staff Anthro-
pologist' s responsibilities in this respect are more gencralized sincc thcy
cover the Territory as a wholc.t'Both specialists are rcgarded as technical
experts, and as such they are expected to function as impartial inter-
mediaries betwcen the administration and thc Micronesians.f-,('Ncither has
executive status, and the valuc of both lies in thcir objectivity and in
their abstention from policy determination and ímplementatíon." As ex-
62 CONSULTANTS ANO EXECUTIVES

perts on Micronesian attitudes and behaviors, they are expected to devise

and recornmend techniques to accomplish the objectives settled upon by
the administration. In short, they are responsible for means, not ends.
This understanding of the government anthropologist's role in the
Trust Territory administration has bcen arrived at only recently. It is
recognized as an expcriment designed to cut through the tangle of con-
fücting opinions and incompatible assumptions reviewed in the last
chapter and to elíminate weaknesses which inhere in most of the ap-
proaches sketched in Chapter 1 ( see Barnett, 1956). The plan was not
put into effect all at once or entirely on a speculative basis. It was
shaped out of an alrcady existing design for anthropological consultants
in the Territory, and it emerged in clear and official form only after a
tentative and unofficial introduction of its main features.

BACKGROUND
Anthropological research as a function of government got its start in
the Trust Territory as a scquel to the Coordinated Investigation of
Micronesian Anthropology (CIMA), a project which was sponsored by
the Pacific Science Board. As has been noted, the United States Navy
requested the United States Commercial Company's economic survey of
the Territory in 1946 and in so doing recognized the importance of in-
cluding anthropologists on the investigating team. Its experience with
anthropology predated that dccision.
In 1943 the Office of Naval Intelligence, jointly with the Military Gov-
ernment Section of Naval Operations, contracted with Yale University for
the services of a research unit to process information on Micronesia. This
unit, which was directcd by an anthropologist, translated foreign-language
sources and compiled a file of data classified by area and topic. Later that
year and during 1944 another unit associated with the Naval School of
Military Government at Columbia University, which was directed by the
same anthropologist, organized this material and prepared the "Civil
Affairs Handbooks" on the Marshall, Caroline, and Marianas Islands to
which refercnce has been made above.
With postwar CIMA the emphasis was upon the human aspect of thc
Navy's administrative responsibility in thc area, and consequently there
was a decided cmphasis upon cthnological rcsearch, A significant featurc
of this program was its allowance for fundamental research. The major
objective was practica} knowlcdge; but it was appreciated that the prac-
tica! is not synonymous with the superficial. In the memorandum on thc
investigation which establishcd the basis for an agreement between the
Navy Dcpartment and the National Academy of Sciences as contracting
parties, it was stated that the methods to be employed by the investigators
 CONSULTANTS ANO EXECUTIVES 63

were those of the anthropological sciences. To be included were the

methods of ethnology, which yield systematic knowledge of native tech-1
nology, economy, religion, social life, and política] organization; those of
linguistics, which produce phonetic, phoncmic, lexical, and grammatical
analyses of local dialects; those of human geography, which revea} the
man-Iand relationships; and those of physical anthropology, which attend
to the anatomical and physiological characteristics of the population. The
practica} implications of each subject area were also indicated. Thus, it
was noted that ethnological particulars were relevant to problems of local
administration; that linguistic analysis should provide a foundation for
systems of orthography, dictionaries, grammars, and textbooks in the
vernaculars; that a geographical survey was pertinent to problems of land
tenure and land use; and that the proposed projects in physical anthro-
pology were significant for a public health program. Nevertheless, it was
understood by both the naval authorities and the participants that scien-
tífic considerations and not administrative expediencies carne first. The
final reports of participants bear witness to the recognition of this prin-
ciple. None were designed on request and most only indirectly engagcd
administrative problems ( Pacific Science Board, 1950: 13-15).
The CIMA ended in March of 1948. It was followed immediately by
another project called Scicntific Investigation in Micronesia ( SIM), which
was likewise sponsored by the Pacific Science Board and made possible by
a grant from the Office of Naval Rcscarch through its Geography Branch.
Its participants have included specialists in botany, forestry, gcology,
geography, hydrology, marine and vertebrate ecology, as well as anthro-
pology:
The principal activity under this [SIM] program has been the Coral
Atoll Project, which is largely in the field of basic research and involves
essentially an ecological approach to the study of environmental factors
affecting life on coral atolls. The project involves three activities - field
work conducted according to a uniform plan by tearns of selected scíen-
tists on sample atolls in different climatic and cultural areas of the Pacific;
assembling and correlating known informatíon, particularly from literature
on the environment and economics of inhabitants of coral atolls; and
program planníng, advice and evaluation of the results of research being
conducted under the previous two mentioned activities by an advisory
committee of scientific specialists in fields represented in the Coral Atoll
Project (Pacífic Science Board, 1951 :22).
In 1951 a research team worked on thc wet atoll of Amo in the
Marshalls, in 1952 another group went to the dry atoll of Onotoa in the
Gilberts; in 1952 Raroia in the Tuarnotus was added for comparative
purposes; and in 1953 Ifalik in the Western Carolines was studied. In
each case anthropologists have been included in the field parties. The
64 CONSULTANTS ANO EXECUTIVES

results of the investigations continue to appear in a series called the

"Atoll Research Bullctin."2 In addition to this project, others under the
same auspiccs bearing upon Micronesian anthropology have bcen con-
ducted in nutrition, linguistics, child training, ethnology, and archeology.
Inasmuch as the Navy relinquished control of the Trust Territory in
1951, the work of SIM is a reflection of administrative responsibility only
until that date. It is to be noted, however, that the present administration
is in full accord with its objectives and has offered all possible assistance
in promoting them. Moreover, mention of the program is pertinent to the
present discussion since it witnesses the Navy's recognition of the value of
basic research in the field of human relations, a conviction which was
clearly expressed in the instance of CIMA. The official directives and
memoranda which preceded and accompanied that investigation were
sympathetic to it and called for all reasonable assistance to the partici-
pants. Island Government officcrs in Washington, Guam, and at the
Military Government (later Civil Administration) units on the island
bases manifested a genuine and a personal intcrest in the project. This
interest was enhanced at the field lcvel by the fact that by mid-1947, when
civil regulations became effective, many of the officers comprising the ad-
ministrative units were graduates of the School of Naval Administration
at Stanford University. It was not surprising that at the conclusion of
CIMA the authorities accepted a further proposal of the Pacific Science
Board and agreed to employ anthropologists selected on advice of the
Board as regular research specialists and consultants.
At first, in 1948, the N avy planned to appoint anthropologists to thc
staffs of the Civil Administration units in Palau, Truk, and the Marshalls.
Due to budgetary and other difficulties, it was not possible to inaugurate
the plan as envisaged until 1950. At that time it was expandcd to include
other units. Meanwhile, a start was made with the appointment of three
civilians, who moved directly from their CIMA projects, and one naval
officer, likewise a professional anthropologist, who was recalled to active
service · to become a staff advisor to the Deputy High Commissioner.
During the same period anothcr anthropologist, who was in Saipan work-
ing on a SIM project, acted as part-time advisor to the Civil Administrator
for the northern Marianas.
During 1950 Anthropological Field Consultants were attached to units
in Palau, Yap, Truk, Ponape, and the Marshalls, and the Staff Anthropolo-
gist was assigned to the Chief Administrator at Field Headquarters on
Truk, During that year another anthropologist scrved as Intcrnal Affairs
Officer with the Truk unit, and the SIM anthropologist continued to act as
advisor on Saipan. Field Consultants were permitted to reserve one-thírd
of their time for research of their choice. The rest of their time was taken
up by directed duties either of an administrativc or rescarch character.
 CONSULTANTS AND EXECUTIVES 65

Although officially entitled to reserve their own research time even at cost
to other requírements, in practice it often happened that administrative
demands made it necessary to postpone the allowance indefinitely.
In addition to these ethnologists the administration also appointed a
linguist to serve on the headquarters staff. This move was rnade on the
recommendation of the Educational Advisory Committee referred to on
page 28 ( Barnett, 1956). The selection of an appointee was conditioned
by the requirement that he have an interest in applying his linguistic skills
to educational problerns of the Territory. There was at first sorne question
as to whether he should be associated administrntively with the Staff
Anthropologist within the Political Affairs Department. Eventually he
was assigned to the Education Director but maintained a close working
relationship with anthropologists in the field and at headquarters. The
urgent need to develop standardized orthographies to record the several
languages of the Territory and to follow them up with the preparation of
reading material made this assignment especially fitting.
There was no model for the anthropological positions or for the duties
allocated to their incumbents. Undoubtedly, the anthropologists con-
cerned, and sorne of the administrative officials as well, were familiar with
work that had been done in applied anthropology and were to sorne extent
conversant with other experiments involving anthropologists in govern-
ment. While this knowledge had its effects, it did not result in the adop-
tion of a system tried elsewhere. If anything, there was a rejection of
what was known of other attempts, or certain aspects of them. In any
cvent, the most important determinants were not anthropological theories
and practice elsewhere; they were the requirements of the situation and
the history of anthropological work in the Territory. Those circumstances
dictated the key relationships of the anthropological advisors to the ad-
ministrative system. Beyond that, their roles took shape gradually and
tentatively under the play of events.
It was necessary, of course, to outline the anthropologists' duties from
the start; but within the general terms of these directives there was room
for interpretation and modification according to need. For Civil Service
positions such definitions of function are embodied in "job descriptions."
These statements accompany requcsts for new positions, and they serve
as charters and guides for both the administration and future incumbents.
By early 1951 plans were under way to convert the Staff Anthropologist's
position to civilian status, and this meant creating it as far as Civil Service
was concerned. At that time a job description was prepared which stated
that the Staff Anthropologist:

( l) Receives administrative direction from the Director of Interna}

Affairs, usually consisting of orientation in problems or program objectives
66 CONSULTANTS ANO EXECUTIVES

of the Department with explanations of policies, organiza tional relation-

ships, and governing procedures. Independently determines methods,
techniques, research areas, and specific problems far study.
( 2) Plans research projects in the various fields of an thropology to
achieve the program objectives of the Department. This involves the
interpretation of scientifíc data and field reports to isolate problems and
conditions far study; the determination of approach and methodology to be
employed; the establishment of contacts and relationships necessary to the
successful execution of projects; the evaluation of results and consequences
to be expected from pursuing alternative courses of action; the securing of
clearance far specific anthropological studies; the promotion of working
relationships with indigenous organizations and the devising of means far
overcoming linguistic barriers to the execution of projects; the rnonitoring
of projects by keeping advised of new developments, suggesting changes
of emphasis on lines of research, or changing methodology completely in
the light of time, funds, facilities, and resources available.
( 3) Perforrns anthropological research which results in significant gen-
eralizations relative to the complex biological and cultural relationships of
the indigenes, the impact of exploiting or governing races, the cultural
patterns of developrnent to be expected under existing conditions or under
modifícations of the social milieu. Integrates findings from the fields of
ethnology, archaeology, linguistics, and physical anthropology to develop
principles, concepts, and conclusions regarding racial history and culture
or the interaction of racial elements. Attempts to isolate and determine
the relative emphasis to be given to environmental and geographical con-
ditions as well as biological factors. On the basis of findings and conclu-
sions recommends practica} measures to achíeve given program objectives.
( 4) In cooperation with District Administrators and with the assistance
of District Civil Affairs Officers and Anthropological Field Consultants,
investigates and reports on political and social aspects of the adrninistra-
tion and recommends to the Director of Internal Affairs the farmulation of
policy regarding such matters. Cooperates with the Public Defender and
the Legal Department in the resolution of legal problems pertaining to law
and arder in the Territory. In cooperation with agricultura} and economic
development specialists, continuously evaluates the potentials of public
lands in relation to population groups or to the community as a whole to
the end that the High Comrnissioner may be kept informed on the avail-
ability of usable land and the needs therefar. Inspects and evaluates
recommendations of District Civil Affairs Officers far the establishment of
conservation areas, public monuments, and preserves. Directs through
Civil Affairs Officers in each District the developrnent of district and
municipal political institutions and the conduct of liaison and mediatory
operations on problems arising between government and local Ieaders.

The job descríptíon of the Anthropologícal Fíeld Consultant, who was

to become Dístríct Anthropologist under the civilian regime, diífered only
in that its terms of reference were more restricted and specific. It gave
 CONSULTANTS ANO EXECUTIVES 67

adrninistrative supervsion to the District Interna! Affairs Offieer and madc

the anthropologist rcsponsible to him in thc same general arcas and in the
sarne way as is set Iorth in the preccding description, but it contained
specific assignments answering to distriet needs. Thus, the Field Con-
sultant was to promote "good working relations with indigenous organiza-
tions, exereising a knowledge of native languagc to overcome linguistic
barriers ... interpreting official rcgulntions, orders, and programs from
English to nativo tangues, and serving as an interpreter between native
and administrativo officials in court or at official gatherings." His duties
also ineluded the making of field trips to outlying villages within his dis-
triet.
Most of the Field Consultant's directed research was focused on prob-
Ierns of district importance only, even though such problems were the
concern of the administration as a whole and the investigation of them
might be requested by headquarters. A field team survey of the social and
eeonomic conditions among the inhabitants of \Voleai Atoll in late 1950
provides an illustration.
Woleai, which líes about midway between Truk and Palau, is a mere
dot in the Paeifie - one and threc-fourths square miles of land in twenty-
three islets rimming a lagoon of about eleven square miles - with a
population of less than four hundred. lt was far from the administrative
center of the Palau Distriet to whieh it belonged; and this faet, together
with its small population, Ied to its ncglect during the immediate postwar
years. Under this handicap the islanders were attempting to reeover from
the damage inflieted on their lands by direet war action. With the begin-
ning of hostilities in the Pneifie, thc J apanese began construetion of an
airstrip on the largest island. The people were ordercd to cvacuate, and
while the men were eonseripted for labor the women uprooted their taro
and replantcd it on other islands. Coconut and brcadfruit trces werc eut
clown to make room for the airfield and for J apanese troops. When the
Amerieans began to attaek the J apanese installations, thcre was further
destruetion and ncccssity for removal to more remete spots. Eventually
about three hundrcd natives took themselves by canoe to Ifalik Atoll. At
the end of the war they began to return to Wolcai in parties of ten and
twenty at a time. They found their main island almost eornpletcly de-
nuded of eoconut and brcadfruit trecs and too hot to endure. In addition,
nearly half of their taro swamp arca had been filled in with eoral and con-
crete. They were therefore eonfronted with the double problem of pro-
euring food and rehabilitating their land. The first problem was met for
about six months by their using abandoned food stores and the produce
remaining in gardens planted by the J apancse. In the mean time, taro and
coeonuts were brought from other islands and, where possible, replanted.
The general eharaeter of the hardships of the Woleai people was known
68 CONSULTANTS ANO EXECUTIVES

to the administration; details were necessary before an assistance program

could be planned. A survey team was requested to conduct an investiga-
tion and to make recommendations for action.
The purpose of the anthropological part of the survey was to explore the
social, economic, political, religious, and educational conditions on the
island and to determine the ínhabitants' needs for assistance in their strug-
gle for readjustment. In his report the Anthropological Field Consultant
reviewed the history of developments leading up to existing conditions
and summarized the results of his inquiry into each aspect of the situation
noted above. He found that
... their common experiences, especially in the last ten years, and the
very sensible and realistic collective actions taken by the islanders in
solving their common problems of food production and distribution have
given the community a high degree of integration .... [They] have voiced
on severa! occasions that they are "hungry." They understandably do not
have as muchas they would like to eat, but no one can say they are facing
starvation .... The most pressing need in Woleai, in the writer's opinion,
is a cash income, which was fairly sufficient in J apanese times and is now
almost completely lacking .... This lack assumes greater proportions when
... (it is realized] that elsewhere islanders are still able to produce copra
and procure a few supplementary goods.

After specifying relief measures which should be adopted, the report

concluded:
In brief, it is recommended that the cash economy of these islands be
aided, but only by utilization of what the natives themselves can produce,
and that their food situation be alleviated by the introduction of plants
which they can raise themselves. Any handout of canned goods and rice,
which they obviously will not be able to afford for many years to come,
would only hinder their adjustment to more perrnanent future conditions;
and furthermore, the American administration would only be risking the
possibility of more cries for food from other islands in this area.

Another example of a Field Consultant's assignment to meet a district

problem may be mentioned briefly. When it was decided to reactivate
\ phosphate mining on Angaur in the Palaus ( see p. 72), it became neces-
sary to know the clan affiliations of each of the 350 inhabitants of the
island. This carne about as a consequence of an agreement with them
whereby they were to be paid royalties on the processed mineral, not
individually, but by clans, sorne of the latter to receive a greater propor-
tion of the proceeds than others because of their land being destroyed by
the operation. The royalties were to be placed in a Permanent Trust
Fund, and withdrawals from it by landholders and their heirs were ar-
 CONSULTANTS ANO EXECUTIVES 69

ranged on a plan which would provide incorne long after the mining
ceased. Inasmuch as the Angaurese insisted upon payments being rnade
in accordance with clan membership, it was nccessary to determine what
the affiliation was in each individual instance. It was also nccessary to
investigare cases of adopted membership and other irregulnrities as well
as to determine lines of succession to clan lcadership and land proprietor-
ship.
The Palau Field Consultant was sent to Angaur for the dctailed inquiry.
His report included genealogical chnrts which showed the kinship con-
nections of all mernbers of thc community along with historical data
bearing upon these connections. This document now constitutes an officia!
record by which "the administrntion ensures an equitable distribution of
the phosphate royalty benefits, one that accords with thc expressed wishes
of the na ti ves and with their social structure" ( Druckcr, 1951:310).
Many administrative qucstions dernanding anthropological answers
applied equally to all districts and so necessitated parallel inquiries by all
Field Consultants. In evcry district of thc Trust Tcrritory, as in other
areas where indigenous peoples have been displaced by outsiders, prob-
lerns involving land ownership and use have been troublcsome frorn the
beginning of American control. The difficulty of restoring lands to theiri
owners was doubly cornplicated in this instance, for the Germans and the
J apanese imposed property laws which conflicted in essential respects with,
the native system and to sorne extent with cach othcr. With the arrival of\
the Arnericans, the question of a land policy inevitably obtruded, and
their lack of inforrnation on which to base a policy to satisfy claims and
requests for reoccupancy thwarted their desire for an early rcstoration of
the normal economy of the areas. It also forestallcd planning on othcr
fronts which had to be grounded on cconomic stability. It was felt that
only a tirnc-consuming investigation of land rights under native custom
and undcr previous govcrnmcntal comrnitrncnts would justify the adop-
tion of a policy and pcrmit the dcsired action. Consequcntly, all Ficld
Consultants werc urgcd to apply thcmsclves to thc inquiry to the extent
that their other duties would permit. By July, 1951, most of thcm had
submittcd final or prcliminary reports on thc problcm as they saw it in
their districts.
The nature of the reports rnay be indicatcd by thc prcfatory rcmarks
of their authors. The Introduction to "Contemporary Ponapean Land
Tenure" stated that:
This report is an attempt to collect infonnation on contemporary Pona-
pean Jand tenure which will be of use to the courts and land c1aims offi-
cials in determining the legal status of disputed Jand, and to the admin-
istration in setting up a program whích will give the Ponapeans sufficient
70 CONSULTANTS ANO EXECUTIVES

land of their own for a secure livelihood and in evaluating any land law
or programs which may be proposed by the recently constituted Ponape
Provisional Congress or other native groups . .
Many anthropologists, economists, and experts in the administration of
dependent peoples have emphasized the importance of a just and work-
able system of land tenure to the security, prosperity, and peace of a
society. The ideal land tenure system is not the same for all societies. lt
will vary depending on the type of use which is made of the land and on
the working social and political organization of the society. \Vhatever the
system, it should ensure that the land is used directly or indirectly for the
common welfare, and that any concentration of rights over land in the
hands of a limited number of individuals is in sorne way balanced by cor-
responding responsibilities to future generations and the rest of society.
As is shown in the body of this report, there are definite and critica!
problems concerning land tenure on Ponape in at least two respects:
( 1) the freeing of land in the public domain, at present in use and needed
for use by natives, making it secure in native possession, and ( 2) the de-
velopment of a clear, flexible, and workable code defining rights of various
people in land, and the procedure of inheritance and other transfer.

In his Introduction to "Yapese Land Ownership and Inheritance Cus-

toms," another Field Consultant wrote:

The following study was iristigated as an adjunct to a recent census of

all lands owned by persons of Dalipebinau District, Yap, Underlying this
land census was the desire to set up, on the basis of experiment, a more
systematic rnethod of recording property ownership, which could at the
same time give the administration sorne idea of the total arnount of various
kinds of productive land avaílable at the present time. Such an effort
seerned advisable in view of certain deficiencies of the present land
registry ....
lt was also felt desirable at this time, for reasons of future econornic
planning, to have sorne reasonably accurate estímate of the ratio of total
available productive lands to the amount in actual use during the present
year. In addition to the above-mentioned special lands, a count of gardens
and coconut trees was made, the latter in view of the present irnportance
of copra as the dominant cash crop of the area.
Lastly, an attempt was made in the Dalipebinau experimental census to
estímate the maximal population size of the area, presumably in late pre-
foreign times. This was done in order to evaluate the "carrying capacity"
of Yap at sorne remote future date, assuming population increases with a
continuance of present subsistence techniques. The writer feels that it is
possible to make such a population reconstruction with relative accuracy
by counting house platforms.

Sorne land reports contained policy recomrnendations, sorne not. The

Ponapean Consultant suggested revisions in current practices at appro-
 CONSULTANTS AND EXECUTIVES 71

priate junctures in his discussion and appended a section on "Sorne Policy

Considerations and Recomrnendations." In that section he advocated
precautionary rneasures against ownership fragmentation, sales and mort-
gages, and large-scale immigration to Ponape. He also proposed that
certain govemrnent-held lands be returned to native use and suggested
that sorne of the questions raised in the report be brought gradually befare
the Ponapean Congress far discussion.
Under civil adrninistration the legal code of the Territory was made to
apply to all occupants of it, whether they were Micronesians or Americans.
This at once created certain difficulties, since it was felt that criminal law
1
should reflect American morality while not violating the announced inten-
tion of the administration to not interfere with native custom beyond the i
requirements of maintaining peace and decency. The law of the land
was embodied in so-called Interim Regulations which, pending constitu-
tional legislation, were promulgated by the High Commissioner. Sorne
of their provisions had been lifted rather directly from American state
statutes and, as became increasingly evident in court cases, certain of them
were so fareign to Micronesian life and ídeology that the wisdom of en-
forcing them was called into question by the Chief Justice and others
entrusted with law enforcement. Most dubious were those regulations
defining sex offenses. In arder to provide a basis far reviewing their ap-
plicability, Field Consultants were asked to prepare reports on the legal
aspects of indigenous sex customs in their districts.
The Truk.report on this matter, like rnost of the others, proposed certain/
revísions of the law, sorne on the basis of principie, sorne because of their
inapplicability.3 The first part set forth sorne generalized differences in
American and Trukese attitudes toward sex:
An American, in approaching consideration of the sexual customs of
any other people, must bear in mind that his own American culture líes
near the extreme in explicit statement of rigid morals in the sexual sphere.
. . . J ust as the Trukese do not subscribe to such strict definitions of
morality as do Americans, so their reaction to breaches of the sexual code
which they do recognize is not nearly as violent as is the case with us ....

Then each relevant section of the Interim Regulations was considered

with reference to Trukese concept and custom. Finally, the report con-
cluded, in part:
It will be noted that while it is recommended that certain provisions be
omitted from the Criminal Code, and certainly sorne rephrasing would
be advisable to eliminate such ambiguous terms as "defiled," "unnatural,"
"carnal," and the like, the most consistcnt and important recommendation
throughout is that maximum sentences ( except perhaps for "abduction of
a female") be reduced to six months. As outlined at the outset, this brings
72 CONSULTANTS ANO EXECUTIVES

the sentences far sex crimes down to a realistic level from the Trukese
standpoint, and, more important, makes the native Community Court the
court of first instance in these cases which are so deeply enmeshed in the
local social and cultural context. Only a person in the defendant's own
community can judge properly the gravity and implications of his act ....
The Staff Anthropologist was largely responsible for initiating investi-
gations, both local and Territory-wide. In any event, he undertook to
coordinate the work of the Field Consultants. He also engaged in research
hirnself. For example, he, in company with a conservation expert, made a
special study on Angaur in the fall of 1949 preliminary to the opening of
negotiations on the renewal of phosphate mining there. In years past, the
Germans had uncovered the deposits and rnined thern in a small way.
The J apanese continued the operation on a greatly expanded and intensi-
:fied scale. At the end of the war the need for fertilizer by the J apanese
and the willingness of the United States government to assist them in their
rehabilitation efforts led to a request by the Suprerne Commander for
Allied Powers ( SCAP) that the J apanese government be permitted to
resume the mining under military surveillance and control. It was indi-
cated that if this could be arranged everyone would benefit - the An-
gaurese, the J apanese, and indirectly the American taxpayer. The Trust
Territory administration was receptive to the proposal, but only on condi-
tion that thc Angaurese would not ultimately suffer in consequence. Its
apprehension arose from the fact that the best agricultura! lands of the
Angaurese lay over or adjacent to the area of the richest deposit and from
its fear that further excavation might breach the subterranean walls that
prevented salt water frorn Rooding the fresh-water lens. It was for reas-
surance on the doubts raised by these prospects that the Staff Anthropolo-
gist and the conservationist were dispatched to Angaur in 1949. They
were to ascertain the agricultura! potential of the island, study the land
use pattern of the people, and estímate the consequences if mining were
to be resumed. Thcir recommendations were against the proposal. SCAP,
however, pressed for a confcrence between its representatives, those of the
Trust Territory, and those of the Angaurese on the basis of a geological
analysis made by its own personnel, whose studies gave evidence that no
damage would result from the mining operations as contemplated. This
was the only issue at the conference; no one questioned that Angaurese
welfare should be safeguarded even at cost to the J apanese. The SCAP
proposal was accepted, andan agreernent was drawn up after a cornrnittee
of hydrologists had reported that the island water supply could be pro-
tected by certain precautions and after the Trust Territory had stipulated
that one agriculturally valuable area be exernpt frorn mining ( Drucker,
1951:309-10).
 CONSULTANTS ANO EXECUTIVES 73

A much more difficult assignment was given to the Staff Anthropologist

in February of 1950. It was prompted by the succession of misfortunes
which befell the Bikini people following their cvacuation from their
traditional homeland. They had been removed to Rongerik in March,
1946, but there they experienced near-starvation due to a combination of
unforeseen circumstances. From Rongerik they were taken to Kwajalein
as a temporary shift until a new home could be found for them. After
another disappointment due to their not being able to go to Ujelang,
which was preempted for the Eniwetok evacuees, little choice was left to
them except Kili, a wave-swept island without the protection and re-
sources of an encircling lagoon, to which their economy was adapted. The
climate and the vegetation of Kili also differed considerably from that of
Bikini. They were transported to Kili in November, 1948, after advance
preparations for their housing and other facilities had been arranged by
the N avy ( Mason, 1950). They were una ble to adjust to Kili, and the
field-trip services could not meet their needs for help. The latter circum-
stance derived chiefly from the fact that landing difficulties were such that
field ships could not approach the island on schedule or handle cargo over
the reef. While the administrative and public health functions of field
trips were accomplished, little copra was taken on board, and only inade-
quate provisions and few trade goods were set on shore between the
summer of 1949 and the spring of 1950. At that time the High Commis-
sioner considered that an investigation was imperative. Accordingly, the
Staff Anthropologist was sent to the island and stayed there for five weeks
( Drucker, 1951:310-311).
The Kili study represented "an application of an anthropological ap-
proach and field techniques to a current administrative problem." The
report upon it is one of the most comprehensive analyses of a single
problem in the High Commissioner's files. It included observations on the
physiographic structure of the island, its water supply, its vegetation, and
its food resources and their utilization. The complex attitudes of the
people were presented in the light of their recent hístory, their efforts at
adjustment were also analyzed. The report ended with a section on
recommendations premised on the understanding that the ex-Bikinians
were to remain on Kili. It proposed an assignment of titlc to Kili and
compensation for the loss of Bikini, the inauguration of an educational and
assistance program in agricultural expansion, the extension of credit for
trade goods, the purchase of a boat, and the establishment of a small
colony on nearby J aluit Atoll as a base of operations for outside contacts.
The Staff Anthropologist sometimes formulated projects on the basis of
information requested from the field. One such project was an educational
program for the Woleai people. The Field Consultant's previous report
74 CONSULTANTS ANO EXECUTIVES

disclosed that school facilities on that atoll were inadequate to the de-
mand. Students had to come long distances, and sometimes weather did
not permit them to commute. Children and adults alike hada great desire
to learn English, American songs, and American sports. The two teachers
then available were not well trained and received no pay; they wanted
more education far the prestige which it brought. The chiefs of the islands
were interested in having young men educated to intrepret far them and
represent them in their dealings with the Americans. The Field Con-
sultant suggested that it would be an important contribution to rapport
with the administration if candidates selected by the chiefs could be given
intensive training at the school on Truk.
Adopting this suggestion, the Staff Anthropologist recommended that a
special program be devised whereby one or two young men would be
selected by their communities far training as teachers and interpreters.
The training was to have a practical emphasis and include instruction in
English, personal and public health, simple arithmetic, American systems
of reckoning in money, weights, and measures, and the elements of navi-
gation. The course was projected far six months on Truk, at the end of
which time the boys were to be returned to their islands to act as teachers
and intermediaries between their people and administrative field parties.

DEFINITION

The Department of the Interior farmally took control of the Territory

in July, 1951. The replacement of naval personnel by civilians had been
proceeding by gradual steps since the early part of the year. All of the
Field Consultants were civilians, and they continued at their posts after
the transfer, the only change being that one was added far the Saipan
District, where none had been employed under the naval administration.
The Staff Anthropologist was new, as were most of the other headquarters
personnel. As in all similar instances, the mass replacement was signifi-
cant, since it induced a phase of adjustment and led to an examination -
and in sorne cases to a refarmulation - of means and ends in the head-
quarters office.'
After a few months at his desk, the Staff Anthropologist was sent on an
extended tour of the six districts of Saipan, Yap, Palau, Truk, Ponape, and
the Marshalls. The object was not only to acquaint him with the area and
its operations, but also to organize the work of thc field anthropologists
and to define in a tentative way the nature of their duties. In each district,
conferences were held with the District Administrator, the Internal Affairs
Officer, and the Anthropological Field Consultant, during which the ques-
tion of their interrelationships was discussed. In each instance the ac-
ceptable interpretation was that, ideally at least, the anthropologist should
 CONSULTANTS AND EXECUTIVES 75

be regarded as a technical specialist and not as an administrative officer. l

More specifically, this meant that the anthropologist was to serve as a
vehicle of communication between the Micronesians and the administra-
tion and that h_e was not to make or cxecute policy. In other words, he was
to accept directives and refer action decisi~he Interna! Affairs Offi-
cer or the District Adrninistrator; he was to confine his efforts to sociologi-·¡
cal analyses which would enáble these officers to arrive at thcir decisions
or to take into account the consequences of their past actions for future
determinations. It was also agreed that thc designation of the anthropolo-1
gist as a "consultant" carricd undesirable implications of a detached expert
waiting to be called on as occasion arose and that the less presumptive
title of District Anthropologist was preferable.
lt is perhaps unnecessary to say that the plan had the approval of
those members of the headquarters staff most directly concerned with
the activities of the field anthropologists; namely, the High Commissioner,
his deputy, and his Political Affairs Officer. lt was also understood by
them that their relationships with the Staff Anthropologist were to be
ordered on the same plan as that suggested for the districts, with bis
duties bcing restricted to the sociological analyses of means and rcsults
and with responsibility for decisions on action, purposes, ends, and
policies being left to them.
This plan was on trial for approximately a year without a formal seal
of approval. During that time it appeared to work satisfactorily when
and where circumstances permitted it to operate. There were, however,
sorne uncertaintics about its official status, sorne failures to appreciate its
ramifications in practice, and a questionable numbcr of necessitous devia-
tions from the ideal which it envisagcd. At headquarters it was bclievcd
that the situation could be improvccl by a statemcnt of clarification.
Therefore, the following memorandum on the functions of District Anthro-
pologists was sent to all District Administrators in August, 1952:

The lack of a comprehensive definition of the functions of anthropol-

ogists employed in the Trust Territory has given rise to sorne uncertainty
regarding the activities in which they might be properly and profitably
employed. The High Commissioner considers that a clarificatíon of the
situation with respect to District Anthropologists will be helpful to ali
concerned. Accordingly, the following statement of objectives has been
formulated for the guidance of District Administrators and District
Anthropologists. It attempts to set forth propositions which have acquired
validity as a result of administrative experience during the past year and
to make explicit certain working relationships which until now have been
only loosely defined.
( 1) Since anthropologists are concerned with collecting information
about, and maíntaíning an intima te knowledge of, the indigenous cultures
76 CONSULTANTS ANO EXECUTIVES

of the area, they should be in a position to contribute to effective admin-

istration in three principal ways: namely, by:
(a) Advising on the implementation of departmental projects and
on the solution of problems arising from such implementation. The
anthropologist, by reason of his personal contacts and knowledge of
local customs, value systems, and attitudes, should be able to make a
reasonably accurate estimate of 12rospecJ:s_ far the success of ~ proposed
prograrn. He may also contribute substantially to the realization of a
project by preparingthe way far its acceptance !>):'__ the people far whose
benefit it is designed. ~~ples ~-o~-hlbe the interpretation of Amerí-
~fogal-termin-ol~gyand concepts, collaboration in developing educa-
tion programs, the encouragement of favorable attitudes toward new
economic enterprises, and an analysis of attitudes toward native medica}
practitioners trained by the government.
( b) Evalm:!ting the _s11ccess _of_ P--ªrti-º1).las_g.ep_ax_tr~enl:ill programs.
The worth -of the anthropologist's contribution in this area would stem
from his background of continued observations rather than from spe-
cific investigations, although the latter approach might also be under-
taken by him. In general, he should be in an especially favorable posi-
tion to evaluate program results simply because of his familiarity with
them as an intimate and trained observer of village lífe. In this
capacity his observations on the consequences of health-improvernent
projects, labor policies, educational methods, legislative measures, and
judicial procedures can afford an invaluable complement to official
checks and surveys.
(e) Independently farmulating and implementing researches of
theo!~eucalmteresrtüiheantl}1.:QQ9l9gical J2I.Qfes_sion arnUor o_!_practical
importan.e_e_to_th~_A_d_mi_nist_ration. The Territory is rich in research
possibilities of both descriptions and of combinations of the two.
Among the examples which might be cited are: a comparative study of
the adaptations of displaced populations in the area, an analysis of
Yapese conservatism, a record of the development of religious and
política] factionalism, and a survey of the incidence and characteristics
of ethnic prejudices within the native population.
Lest this aspect of the anthropologist's activities appear to be too far
removed from the purposes far whích he is ernployed, it should be
pointed out that it is the only means by which he can advance his
knowledge of the people about whom he is called upan far information.
Only through continuously engaging in research can he justify his
position as a technician with the training and experience to warrant bis
offering reliable and up-to-date infarmation. A familiarity with exist-
ing information is seldom enough to satisfy this requirernent. Condi-
tions, and native reactions to them, change so continuously that it is
essential far the anthropologist to constantly carry on investigations of
this nature.

( 2) It is essential that insofar as District Anthropologists are concerned,

administrative and technical services be kept separate. This means that
 CONSULTANTS ANO EXECUTIVES 77

the anthropologist should be regarded as a source of information relative

to native culture and not as an administrative officer who makes or en-
forces policy. He has the obligation to collect, in a reliable and systematic
way, information that is useful to the administrator. This obligation can-
not be adequately met if he assumes, or is called upon to assurne, the role
of an agent of control or enforcement. Apart frorn the question of job 'J..·
training, there is the ímportant fact that the anthropologist rnust maintain, \ .../•
insofar as possible in the eyes of the people, a neutral position with respect
to administration policy and action. Anything which tends to identify him
as a government official invested wíth the power to impress his ideas de-
tracts by so much from his usefulness as a source of unbiased information, [
because it jeopardizes confidential relationships with his informants and L
frequently involves him in factional struggles.
For these reasons, the employment of the anthropologist in such capac-
ities as that of a government spokesrnan, or a court investigator, or an
internal affairs officer is to be discouraged. It is recognized that personnel
shortages may require sorne deviation from this policy; but should it be-
come necessary to temporarily assign the anthropologist to an administra-
tive position, every effort should be made to relieve him of the necessity
of personally taking actions that could prejudice his neutral position in the
eyes of the community with which he works.

( 3) In line wíth the observations contained in the last section, it is

desirable that the District Anthropologist be accorded the freedom and
the facilities to íntervíew informants under the most favorable conditions.
It is to be expected that at times information will be given him in con-
fidence. Allowance should be made for this in local housing and office
arrangements whenever possible. In any event, the anthropologist should
be given, and make the most of, every opportunity to carry on investiga-
tions away from the administrative center. The information that is avail-
able to him around the district office is obviously limited in scope and
character; and while it is valuable, it cannot substitute for investigations
of customs and problerns in their native setting. Only by maintaining
continuous contacts with the local population at the village level is it
possible to gain the optimum in the confidence of the people, establish a
foundation for evaluating popular reactions, and keep in touch with new
developments against the background of their growth.
Visits to outlying villages need not be prolonged or projected on such
an exhaustive schedule as to interfere wíth the anthropologist' s usefulness
to the administration or wíth his convenience in maintaining a household
at a district center. Wíthin the frarnework of the indicated ernphasis
upon investigations beyond adrninistration centers, a weighing of all the
relevant factors in the local situation is in order.

( 4) With reference to the inforrnation relayed by District Anthropol-

ogists, certain safeguards are essential to maintain its usefulness. It is
evident that the anthropologist's familiarity with, and his acceptance by,
the people of his district gives him knowledge that is otherwise unobtain-
78 CONSULTANTS ANO EXECUTIVES

able by outsiders. It is also apparent that his obligation to assist the ad-
ministration and his need to cultivate the sources of his intimate knowl-
edge may prove at times to be embarrassing. Frorn _both an ethical and a
practica} standpoint, he is obligated to_p_reserye confidences. Conse-
quently, certam alIOWances must be made for this requirement if the
anthropologist is to continue to function effectively. While in any par-
ticular case the nece~y__of preserving C-ºn.fide.nc.es_will 1~educe_ffie amount
of informatíon that can be used, in the long run this safeguard is certain
to pay off.

( 5) The foregoing summary is based u pon the premise tha t District

Anthropologísts have a background of training in collecting information
which should be utilized to full advantage by the administration and that
this can be done only by recognizing their professional qualifications and
by making provisions for an adjustment of these qualifications to admin-
istrative needs. This definition of functions and relationships, together
with the reasons given for their determination, is offered, not with the
thought that the anthropologist should be treated differently from other
personnel, but rather to increase his value to the administration and hence
to achieve a more efficient utilization of his skills. It is believed that this
will be of value to the anthropologist and the District Administrator.

A short time aftcr this document was issued, a meeting of all Trust
Territory anthropologists was held in Koror, Palau Islands. The con-
ference was suggested by the Deputy High Commissioner, who consis-
tently appreciated the efforts and the requirements of this group of
specialists. In addition to the scven particípants, several observers were
invited to join the conference at appropriate times, and they were asked
to contribute their views on questions which concemed their own
activities.
One purpose of the meeting was to acquaint the District Anthropol-
ogists with each other and with problems in districts other than their
own. In the past they had been isolated from each other through a lack
of personal acquaintanceship and an ignorance of problerns and condi-
tions beyond the limited perspective of their own districts. The lack of
communication between them was considered to be undesirable both
'
professionally and personally. A related purpose of the meeting was to
provide as many of the anthropologists as possible with an opportunity
to observe conditions in unfamiliar parts of the Territory. It was antici-
pated that the Palauan situation would be instructive. The extent to
which acculturation had proceeded in Koror and the variety of admin-
istrative problems presented by it oífered an illustration of the sort of
change which might occur in other parts of the Territory with a multipli-
cation andan intensification of outside influences.
The foregoing objectives were incidental to the conference proper. The
agenda of the meeting was concerned with an assessment of anthropolog-
 CONSULTANTS AND EXECUTIVES 79

ical interests and aims in the Trust Territory. The items brought up for
consideration were: ( 1) a review of the recent work of eaeh anthro-
pologist, ( 2) an evaluation of the past year's work in the light of the
anthropologist's coneeption of his job, ( 3) plans for futurc work, and
( 4) discussion of topical questions.
The review of the past year's activities was aecomplished by asking
each anthropologist to give a verbal summary of his duties. It was in- -
dicated that it would be helpful if eaeh statement were organized in
terms of routine assignments, special assignments, eooperation with other
departments, and self-initiated researeh. In summary, the following ob-
servations appeared to be justified:
( 1) Except for two districts, routine assignments ( that is, day-by-day,
month-by-month duties) consumed the greater portion of the anthropol-
ogist's working day.
( 2) In most instanees, the routine assignments were administra ti ve
rather than technical in nature.
( 3) The majority of special assignments ( projects with a definite be-
ginning and end) had been initiated by the High Commissioner's Offiee
rather than at the distriet level. r:

( 4) Wcll-established working relations with other departments had

been practieally eonfined to Education and to Public Works; and usually
the cooperation was with one or the other of these departmcnts rather
than with both. Less definite but tending to beeome more firm in most
distriets was a mutually hclpful liaison between the anthropologist and
the Judicial Department.
( 5) Self-initiated researeh projeets on local problcms had oceupied al
mínimum of time during the working day of the anthropologist except
in two districts; and with these exccptions, thcy werc earricd on during
off-hours and at odd times when the anthropologist could fit them in.
The next item on the agenda was a discussion of the plaec of anthro-
pology in thc administration of the Trust Tcrritory and a definition of its
objectives as eonccived by the anthropologists themselvcs. The then
rccently issued statement on the "Functions of District Anthropologists"
( see abovc) was used as a point of departurc, its deelarations bcing con-
sidered with reference to thc deseriptions of actual duties just coneludcd.
The assumptions upon which the statemcnt of functions rcstcd were
made explicit: namcly, that for a dcmceratíc govcrnment sueh as the
onc the administration reprcscnted it was esscntial to have knowledge of
the attitudes of the people governed, and that anthropologists were singu-
larly qualified to gct this information. Thcn the consequcnces of these
premises were analyzed.
There were no signifieant diffcrences of opinion regarding thc statc-
mcnt of funetions or about its value to the anthropologist as an cxposition
of bis position and as an aid in furthering his teehnícal usefulness to the
 80 CONSULTANTS ANO EXECUTIVES

administration. It was suggested that the Staff Anthropologist prepare a

brief article on the conference for the Micronesian Monthly ( an admin-
istrative publication for internal distribution), the article to contain a
statement for the layman on the meaning of anthropology in the context
of administration.
Several particulars were brought up under the heading of "Plans for
Future Work." The Chairman expressed his concern over the lack of
professional contacts among the six District Anthropologists and sug-
gested several means of improving their communication with each other
as well as means of establishing contacts with external sources of infor-
mation pertinent to their work. In this connection, ( 1) the District
Anthropologists were urged to correspond with each other concerning
their local problems, ( 2) subscription funds for professional journals for
each district were proposed; ( 3) it was suggested that the Staff Anthro-
pologist explore the possibility of supplying each district with relevant
ethnographic materials and duplicates of reports, such as those on land
tenure, which had so far been sent from the districts only to the Corn-
missioner's office; ( 4) it was suggested that each District Anthropologist
maintain a file of basic anthropological data for his area, such deposits
serving to eliminate duplication of research by others.
\ To further promote the usefulness of anthropology in the future, ern-
phasis was placed upon the importance of developing rapport with de-
partments outside Internal Affairs. It was recognized that to a large
\ extent this possibility was dependent upon the personalities of the in-
dividuals involved; but it was also brought out that past failures to
cooperate derived partially from the lack of understanding of what the
anthropologist was willing and able to do to bridge the gap between
native and American thinking. It was also recognized that, in the main,
it was necessarily the function of the Staff Anthropologist to prepare the
way for the interdepartmental effectiveness of the District Anthropologist.
The hope was expressed that certain tentative rnoves in the direction of
cooperation might be systematized and given recognition at the appro-
priate level. In particular, it was suggested that "the Staff Anthropologist
and the Chief Justice record their concurrence on the value of anthro-
pological research in promoting the ends of justice arnong the native
populations of the Territory."
The writing of monthly reports was suggested as a means of ( 1)
improving the usefulness of the District Anthropologist to the District
Administrator and ( 2) keeping a headquarters check on anthropological
activities in the field. Under the existing system it was often difficult to
distinguish the work of the District Anthropologist from that of the
District Internal Affairs Officer. For the benefit of both the District
Administrator and the Staff Anthropologist, it was therefore recom-
 CONSUL TANTS ANO EXECUTIVES 81

mended that the District Anthropologist submit a separate report of bis

activities to the Interna! Affairs Officer and that this resume accompany
the monthly District Adminístrator's report sent to the High Commís-
sioner.
As a final item under thc heading of future planning, each District
Anthropologist was asked to submit notes on a research program of
practica! importance to the ádministration of bis district. With all the
proposals in the hands of the Staff Anthropologist, it was contemplated
that a research program for each district could be formulated and
acknowledged as a part of the District Anthropologist's duties.
The development of the anthropologist's role as an intermediary and ~'
a two-way consultant was premised on thc view that he must demon- ./
strate ways in which bis services could be used rather than argue that
they should be. This requirement was essential to the establishment of
a relationship of mutual confidence with executive officers who, with few
exceptions, had no knowlcdge of the subject and were inclined to think
of the anthropologist as an unnecessary frill. It was not to be hoped
that these men would be impressed by statements of general principies
or by the kind of argument for the utility of the scicnce advanced by
anthropologists among themselves." It was even less likely that anthro- "\
pologists would be welcomed as district team members on order by /
superior authority. "Their knowledgc could be made available and their
duties described, but their acceptance would dcpend upon the definition
of their usefulness by their fellow workers.- In short, District Admin-
istrators and department hcads must ask for help, not have it forced on )
them.
An illustration of the procedure is provided by the previously men-
tioned suggestion made at the Koror confcrcncc that "the Staff Anthro-
pologist and the Chief J ustice record their concurrcnce on the value of
anthropological research in promoting thc cnds of justice among the
native population of the Tcrritory." This resolution grcw out of a back-
ground of many tentative collaborativc attcmpts by judicial officcrs and
anthropologists. There was no question that legal officcrs acknowledged
thc need for help, for they had repcatedly askcd for it; but there was
uncertainty on both sides about how far the anthropologist should go in
assisting thc courts and about bis rclationships with judges, prosecutors,
police officers, and the attorney ( Public Defender) appointcd to securc
the civil rights of any defendant in a legal action. It appeared to evcry-
onc that the time had come to define this arca of cooperation beyond the
reference to it in thc earlier general memorandum on the functions of
District Anthropologists.
After an cxchange of correspondence between the Staff Anthropologist
and the Chief Justice, thc latter's recommendations wcre issued to ali
82 CONSULTANTS ANO EXECUTIVES

District Administrators by the High Commissioner with the request that

anthropologists be advised of them and, as circumstances permitted, be
encouraged to cooperate as suggested. In this document the Chief
Justice stated that he and his associates were grateful for any assistance
in achieving the ends of justice. The more formal and public the as-
sistance, the better, from the court's viewpoint; but it was most important
that, to be helpful, the advice of an anthropologist be candid and honestly
reflect his views.
The Justice then suggested that anthropologists be encouraged to ( 1)
appear as "friends of the court" in cases in the High Court involving
questions of customary law, particularly those involving land law, ( 2)
make a substantial part of their time available to the Public Defender
to advise him on local customs and practices which might help to justify
or excuse the conduct of the accused; ( 3) assist in a general dissemination
of knowledge of the law, particularly as it might apply to problems noted
by court officials; ( 4) keep in touch with court proceedings in their
respective districts and advise the High Court judges informally of any
apparent injustices, unnecessary irritations, or methods by which the
courts might improve the adrninistration of justice, particularly in such
rnatters as suspended sentences and rehabilitation; and ( 5) send to the
High Court judges copies of any of their unclassified reports and recorn-
mendations for change dealing with social or legal conditions in their
respective districts. It was further suggested by the Chief Justice that
each District Administrator be encouraged to report to the High Com-
missioner instances in which he disagreed with his anthropologist on
matters of major importance and to forward a full explanation of the
issue, his own views, and a full copy of any report the anthropologist
wished to submit.
This procedure, it was hoped, would tend to set a precedent for the
anthropologist's relations with other departments. It was formalized and
put on record for this purpose as well as to give official sanction for the
cooperation it proposed. It was fully appreciated that it could amount to
nothing more than an available model. Other department heads would
have to find merit in it as they saw fit and accept or rcject the implied
suggestion of its general adoption.

NOTES

l. Until recently there was a sixth, assigned to the Saipan District.

2. Issued by the Pacific Science Board of the National Academy of Sciences
through its National Research Council.
3. This report was actually prepared by the In ternal Affairs Officer who had
just finished a CIMA project in the Truk area.
 6

The Research and Development

Approach to the Study
of Change

ALLAN R. HOLMBERG

What I have to say on the question of values in action stems largely

from a rather deep and personal involvement with this question far the
past five years. In 1952, quite by design, although unexpectedly and
suddenly, I faund myself in the delicate position of having assumed the
role of patrón (in the name of Cornell University) of a Peruvian hacienda,
called Vicos, far a period of five years, far the purpose of conducting a -
research and development program on the modernization process.
"The Research and Development Approach to the Study of Change" by Allan R.
Holmberg is reprinted from Human Organizatiou 17: 12-16, 1958, by permission
of the puhlisher and the author's estate.

83
84 THE RESEARCH ANO DEVELOPMENT APPROACH

As you can readily imagine, such action on my part clearly shook ( or

perhaps I should say shocked) the Board of Trustees - to say nothing
of the sorne 2,000 residents of the hacienda and no few of my anthro-
pological colleagues - to the extent, I might add, that had events sub-
sequently taken other turns than they eventually did, I would probably
not be writing this and would be much more in disgrace as an anthropol-
ogist and human being than I presently am. Moreover, had I known
then what I now know, I am not so sure that I would be willing to repeat
the experience, even though it has been one of the most rewarding ones
of my whole professional career. My doubts líe not so much with the
fruitfulness or legitimacy of the research and development, as contrasted
with the strictly research, approach to the study of the social process but
more with the wear and tear that it might cause to the inadequately
:financed or inadequately staffed anthropologist or other behavioral scien-
tist who is brash enough to attempt to apply it, especially in a foreign
area. On this point I shall have more to say later. For the moment,
suffice it to say that having recently retired - again quite by design -
from playing the dual role of God and anthropologist ( the status of Vicos
has recently changed from a dependent to an independent community)
and having again assumed the role of a plain anthropologist, I find the
change in status a highly comforting one. Nevertheless, on the basis of
the past five years of experience at Vicos, I remain convinced that the
interventionist or action approach to the dynamics of culture, applied with
proper restraint, may in the long run provide considerable payoff in
tenns both of more rational policy and better scienee. My concern here,
therefore, will be with sorne of the reasons why I believe this to be the
case. What, then, are sorne of the implications - the advantages and
disadvantages, the gains and losses - of the application of the research
and development approach to the study of change, both from a value and
scientific point of view?

11
On the question of values - in thc ethical sense - I really have little
to say, more than to state my stand. No one - professional or layman -
can scienti:fically justify interve~~~~- int().-the-Jives of'-oth~r- _ people,
whether they be of bis own kíñd or of a differe1~!J?reE'._d. However, by its
very nature, the social process is· an influencing process among individ-
uals and social groups, one upon which the very existence of society de-
pends. It is no less a necessary condition for the study of social life. Even
~o..s.t_J2__ure" anthropologist imaginable, conducting bis research with
~112_!ete" detachme~.~LP-º.i~ity, cai~not avofa ni_fluencmg nisS~b­
jects of stu y or in turn of being influence~ by ~~hem. In some instances,
 THE RESEARCH AND DEVELOPMENT APPROACH 85

1 believe, this has led to very salutory eíleets, both on anthropologists and
their informants. Certainly the seience of anthropology has been greatly
enriched by these informants who were influenced by anthropologists to
become anthropologists, even though it may be more questionable, per-
haps, that native eultures have been correspondingly enriehed by those
anthropologists who were influeneed by their informants to go native.
While this may seem beside the point, 1 simply want to emphasize the
faet that influenee and eonsequently the values whieh motivate that in-
fluence are always part of the proeess of human interaetion and while
they can be studied by science, their validation must rest on other grounds.
This does not mean that any anthropologist - pure or applied- ean
manipulate bis subjeets without restraint. Sorne eode of ethies must
govern his behavior, as the Society far Applied Anthropology long ago
recognized. In the case of Vieos, however, where power was held by us,
this became an especially delieate issue because having assumed the role
of patrones we expeeted and were expeeted to intervcne in the lives of
the people. It was at this point that the question of values entered and
it was at this point that it was very necessary to take a value stand. What
then was this stand?
1 long ago made the deeision far myself, whieh is shared by a great
many people and communities of the world, that the best kind of a com-
munity in which to live is one that is, to quote Aldous Huxley, "just,
peaceable, morally and intellectually progressive" and made up of "re-
sponsible men and women." To my way of thinking, and 1 am by no
means unique in this view, the best way of approaching this Utopían
state of affairs is to pursue as a goal the realization of basic human dignity
to which every individual is entitlcd. And by basie human dignity 1
mean a very simple thing: a wide rather than a narrow sharing of what 1
regard as positive human values, sorne expression of whieh, as Professor
Harold Lasswell (no date) has so clearly shown, is found in every soeiety
and towards a wider sharing of which, if 1 interpret Profcssor Robert
Redfield ( 1953) correctly, the broader eourse of civilization itself has
been moving far a considerable period of time.
For laek of better terms of my own to express thc mcaning 1 wish to
convey, let me again refer to Lasswell who speaks of the fallowing
eategories of value: power, wealth, enlightenment, respeet, well being,
skill affeetion and reetitude. The wide sharing of sueh values among
men~bers of the Vieos eommunity was essentially the overall basic valuc
position and poliey goal to whieh we subseribed. In other words, every-
one, if he so desired, should at least have the right and thc opportunity,
if not the responsibility, to partieipatc in the decision-making process in
the community, to enjoy a fair share of its wealth, to pursue a desirc far
knowledge, to be esteemed by bis fellowmen, to dcvelop talents to the
86 THE RESEARCH ANO DEVELOPMENT APPROACH

best of his ability, to be relatively free from physical and mental disease,
to enjoy the affection of others, and to command respect for his private
life. While no such valuc stand, of course, can ever be validated by
science we and a surprising number of Vicosinos, as I have said elsewhere,
and, as revealcd by a baseline study, believed them "to be good and
desirable ends ( Holmberg, 1955).
Movement towards such goals, of course, rests on a couple of funda-
mental assumptions ( or better, expectations) in which I happen to havc
a very strong faith: ( 1) that human traits are such that progress can be
made towards the realization of human dignity and ( 2) that the natural
order ( physical nature) is such that with greater knowledge and skill,
human beings can turn it progressively to the service of social goals.1
In stating this overall value position, I have not meant to suggest that
movement towards these goals can occur only through a single set of
institutional practices. Like most anthropologists I subscribe to the doc-
trine of the relativity of culture and I firmly believe that people have the
right of self-determination, as long as they respect that right in others.
From the very beginning at Vicos we recognized this principie. In short,
we used our power to share power to a point where we no longer hold
power, which is justas matters should be.
Befare leaving these value and policy matters let me simply cite a few
of the developmental changes that have come about as a result of the
application of the research and developmcnt approach to change at Vicos:

( 1) Organization.
1952. Vicos had an lwcienda­type organization. Outside renters not
only had free use of hacienda peones for labor and personal services, but
also of their animals and tools. Power was concentrated in the hands of
patrón.
1957. Hacienda system and free services have been abolíshed, new
system of community organization now in march is based on shared in-
terests and local control.
( 2) Land Oumership.
1952. No title to land, although Vicosinos had tried on numerous
occasions to purchase the land on which they had been living as peones
for 400 years.
1957. Based on reports of development by the Cornell-Peru Project,
the Institute of Indigenous Affairs asked the Peruvian Government to
cxpropriate Vicos in favor of its indigenous population. This cxpropriation
has now taken place.
( 3) Local Autlwrity.
1952. U ndcr the lwcienda­type organization there were no responsible
secular authorities within the community.
 THE RESEARCH ANO DEVELOPMENT APPROACH 87

1957. The Vicosinos have organized a board of their own delegates

elected from each of 6 zones of the hacienda. They have the legal re-
sponsibility for the direction of community affairs.
( 4) Income.
1952. The indigenous community of Vicos liad no source of incorne of
its own.
1957. Former hacienda larÍds are now farrned for the public good,
providing a steady income for the payment of lands and the development
of public service.
( 5) Educaiion.
1952. In the aspect of education Vicos had a very small school, with
one teacher, 10-15 students.
1957. Vicos now possesses the most modern school in the whole region,
recently made a nucleo escolar, with a capacity of 400 students. There
are now 9 teachers and about 200 students, many of whom have had five
years of continuity in school.
( 6) Productiou,
1952. Low economie production - each hectare of potato land pro-
duced a value of only $100.
1957. Each hectate of potato land is now producing a value of $400-
$600:-
(7) Health Facilities.
1952. Thcre were no modern health facilities.
1957. A modern hcalth center has been built by thc Vicosinos and a
neighboring community; a clinic is held twice a week and a public health
program is underway.

Most of the cost of thcse developments havc bcen borne by membcrs of

thc community themsclves.
As a final development outcome I should perhaps mention that thc
Comell-Pcru Projcct has had considerable impact outside of thc area of
Vicos. When originally undertakcn thcre was not a single projcct of its
kind in Pcru. At the present time, thc Institutc of Indigenous Affairs is
directing fivc programs of a similar nature in othcr arcas of thc country.
And attachcd to all are Pcruvían anthropologists, many of thcm trained
in part at Vicos.
But more ímportant havo bccn thc cffccts on the outsidc produccd by
thc Vicosinos themsclves. Word of their frccdom has got around. Let me
cite but onc examplc, Recently an hacienda community, in conditions
similar to those obtaining at Vicos in 1952, sent a commission to Vicos
for advice. Their hacienda, a public one as Vicos has becn, was about
to be rentcd at public auction for a pcriod of ten ycars and they werc
desirous of freeing thcrnselves from scrvice to a patrón. One of the ways
88 THE RESEARCH ANO DEVELOPMENT APPROACH

in which this can be done is for the residents of an hacienda to rent it

directly from the government themselves. But in the case of this com-
munity sufficient funds were not immediately available.
The Vicosinos sent a return commission to Huascarán, a fictitious name
for the community under discussion. On the recommendation of this
commission the community of Vicos, which had funds in the bank, lent
the community of Huascarán sufficient money to rent their hacienda
directly from the government, thus freeing them from service to a patrón.
More than that when the commission from Vicos first went to Huascarán
they noticed that the Huascarinos planted their fields by somewhat
antiquated methods and suggested more modern methods of agriculture
which were originally introduced into Vicos by the Cornell-Peru Project.
These are the kind of developmental effects that give the applied anthro-
pologist an occasion for joy.

111

Now what of the scíentific irnplications of the research and develop-

ment approach to the study of change?2 Here again I take a positive
view, particularly in a situation like Vicos, where it was possible to work
in a complete cultural context, where it was possible to specify social goals
for alrnost all aspects of culture, and where it was possible for the anthro-
pologist to maintain sorne control ovcr the interventions and variables
involved. In such an environment, hypotheses can be tested by compar-
ing actual goal achievement with predicted goal achievement.
Actually in the natural sciences, research and development are in-
separable. It is even common to join them in one formal project as is the
case in many technologically advanced industries, in government, and
in private institutions. But whether formally joined or not, scientific dis-
covery is sooner or later incvitably put to the test of success or failure
through the application of research results in engineering and technology.
In other words, a great strength of, if not a necessary condition for,
natural science is feedback through developrnent.
Anthropology, like other behavioral sciences, profits little from such
correctivc feedback. In part this is because it is not systematically ern-
ployed in social decision-making, as let us say, physics is employed in
rnissile or building construction. But even if it is employed the results
are either not fed back to the anthropologist or they are fed back too
slowly to facilitate rapid scientific advance. Moreover, research and
development work in behavioral science are seldom joined, even though
they were to sorne extent in Vicos, for the systematic exploitation of their
reciproca! benefits, as they are in the research and development labora-
tories of the natural sciences. To get the feedback necessary for rapid
 THE RESEARCH AND DEVELOPMENT APPROACH 89

advance in a behavioral science like anthropology, policy is needed, even

if policy does not need science.
The connection between researchjmd develoEmeE!J.n __anthropology
and other behavioral.sciences.Is ,. probably, even closer than it is in the
natural sciences. In science, as everyone kno_;~, everygeneralizatíon is
bot~ insight and a prediction, even though its explicit statement is
usually cast in one form or another. Now when a generalization on be-
havior is communicated to people who are also its subjects, it may alter
the knowledge and preferences of these people and also their behavior.
Thus a scientific generalization on behavior, by altering behavior, appears
to falsify or obsolcsce itself. This is called "plíancy factor" by my
philosophical colleague at Cornell, Max Black.
In general this complication has been viewed as a cross that the be-
havioral scientist must bear. Actually, a generalization about behavior
is not falsified when predictions based upon it are made obsolete when
the subject to whom it is made known prefers to modify himself rather
than to conform to an earlier prediction. It is simply that the possibility
of modification of behavior must be taken into account and turned to
scientific advantage. In the continuous interplay bctween scientific gen-
eralízatíon and goal-seeking behavior, the insight-feedback of a scientifie
generalization can be employed both for goal revision and as empirical
data for research. This is one of the great advantages of the research and
development approach. Perhaps an example will illustrate what I mean.
One of the developmental goals of the Vicos program was to bring
decision-making bodies of the community up to a leve! of competence at
which we, the patrones, could be dispensed with but without the com-
munity's falling victim to its most prcdatory members as has sometimes
been the case. Thus, arrangements had to be made for group survival
and stability and, through controlling the complexity of the problems
dealt with and by other devices, thc groups gradually brought to thcir
highest leve! of competence. This required that hypotheses be formulated
and acted upon - hypotheses concerning the requircments of viability
and competence of groups. Once actcd upon the hypotheses were tested
by their results. Hcnce each succcssive developmcntal step was a step
in the isolation of another variable for research.
Concretely, both development and rcsearch intcrcsts merge in follow-
ing the consequences of such successivc steps as thc following, at least
sorne of which were taken for one group of potential decision-makers at
Vicos ( 1) the group was asked for ad vice in the settlement of land dis-
putes; ( 2) it was invested with prestige by calling publie attention to its
role; ( 3) the group was given the opportunity to settle land disputes;
( 4) the group was provided, through skilled observers, the feedback of
an understandable analysis of its performance; ( 5) the patrón was with-
90 THE RESEARCH ANO DEVELOPMENT APPROACH

drawn from the group meeting, reserving only the right to veto under
certain conditions; ( 6) the jurisdiction of the group was enlarged with
gradually decreasing veto.
While this detail is much abbreviated, it suggests how research on the
developmental steps provides an opportunity for the dogged pursuit of
whatever variables one wishes to isolate. Every insight into the variables
can be put to a test; and, where predictions are disappointed, a reformu-
lation of the hypothesis can be followed by a further test until predictions
are no longer disappointed. By no means will all the unknowns of human
behavior become unveiled, but development requires correct insights,
hypotheses, and analytic models. It compels their never-ending revision
until they pass the test of application.
The essence of the connection between research and development in
this illustration is that each developmental intervention - say, intro-
ducing legal principles by which land disputes might be resolved - is
both a necessary step towards reaching community goals and in the re-
search sense a method of varying the group situation to isolate another
variable in group dynamics - in this instance isolating the effect of intro-
ducing formal principles against which individual cases are to be judged.
It is precisely because of feedback to the researcher from the develop-
ment application that research needs development just as much as devel-
opment needs research.
Whatever the particular example, the story is much the same. The
researcher is compelled to follow through, to keep on trying for the re-
finement of an hypothesis or model that will stand the test of application.
If, for example, he wants to know what is necessary to break clown
prejudice between Indians and Mestizos, his research is not terminated
when he has tcsted one popular hypothesis and found it invalid, because
his developmental objectives require that he try a whole series of ínter-
ventions until prejudice begins to decline.
In the case of Vicos, attempts were made in collaboration with severa!
colleagues3 to lay out about 130 specífic possible lines of research and
development, each matched to a specific developmental goal such as the
diversification of agriculture, the development of community leadership,
the reduction of social distance between Indians and Mestizos, the in-
crease of educational opportunities for both children and adults, etc.
Wherever possible an attempt was made to make fairly precise statements
about the goals in question. To lay out the various possibilities in order
subsequently to develop a strategy of research and development, each line
of possible intervention was represented in a semi-diagrammatic way by a
column on a very large bulletin or map board taking up the walls of a
room. The diagram below represents how 3" x 5" cards were used to
lay out visually the research and development sequences, subject to
constant revision as research and development continues:
 THE RESEARCH AND DEVELOPMENT APPROACH 91

An ideological goal or end point

A corresponding institutional goal or end point

/
./

Program plans for probes, pretests, interventions, and

appraisals

Present ideological situation with respect to above goals

summarized

Present institutional situation with respect to above

goals summarized

Record of past interventions

Base line ideological situation

Base line insti tu tional si tua tion

92 THE RESEARCH ANO DEVELOPMENT APPROACH

At the top of the column is posted for sorne end-point date the par-
ticular goal in question to be reached. At the bottom of the column are
posted the counterpart institutional and ideological situations found at
the base line period before interventions. Above them are summarized
any interventions so far made, and above them the present institutional
and ideological situation with respect to this one line of development.
The remainder of the column is given over to a proposed schedule of
probes, pretests, interventions, and appraisals.
By utilizing such a method, interventions are not likely to be hit or
miss and their devclopmental and research gains can be fully appreciated.
Scheduling them requires the careful appraisal of the facts describing
the existing situation and trends, probes of readiness of the community
to take the proposed stcp, pretests of interventions on a small scale, then
the intervention itself and subsequent appraisal, which in turn becomes
the first step in a still further intervention. Hence in diagrammatic
terms, the upper part of the column, including the goals themselves, is
constantly undergoing revision on the basis of the growing lower part of
the column representing past expericnce.
To illustrate the distinctiveness of research, where the whole life of
the community is available for study, as it was to a considerable extent
in Vicos, it may be helpful to visualize a great many colunms such as have
just been described, set side by side. The interrelationships among these
columns can hardly go unnoticed, and it becomes both possible and
necessary to consider these interrelationships in devising a research and
development strategy.
Onc more thing should be said about this contextual rnapping in a
research and development approach to change. It makes possible, for
deoelopment, an economy of intervention. For example, one way in
which to reduce social inequality between Mestizos and Indians is to
schedule public functions in Vicos attractive enough to draw neighboring
Mestizos in and then conduct these functions in such a way as to break
clown the traditional acceptance of segregation. One can conceive of an
experiment along this line that rnight test the hypothesis that prejudice
between Indians and Mestizos will be reduced by contact under condi-
tions of social equality.
Now with reference to quite a different goal of reducing cornmunal
binges, movies are an effective competitor with alcohol because the
Vicosinos prefcr to be sober whcn watching a movie. Movies are also an
obvious method for adult education, including literacy. Finally, the
importation and showing of films may become the nucleus of a small-scale
expcriment in Indian entrepreneurship. Hence a variety of lines of
desirable research and devclopment converge on a movie program for
Vicos. Actually such an experiment is now underway at Vicos and a
 THE RESEARCH ANO DEVELOPMENT APPROACH 93

skillful plan for introducing movies into the community may turn out to
be a strategically sound intervention because many birds may be killed
with one small stone,
I have now said enough to indicate what I believe sorne of the value
and scientific implications of the research and development approach to
the study of change to be. Most of what I have saíd is positive and I
have not suggested that thi~ approach be applied to the exclusion of
others. .My greatest doubts about it, 011 the basis of my experience at
Vicos, stem from the pnlikdihood of mobilizi11.g sufficient funds_m:i_c;;l_per-
sonnel to do a research and dcvelopmcnt [ob well. _It is a man's job that
aooy ca11norl5e sentto do.- I hope that the powers supporting research
will soon take cognizance of this fact.

NOTES

l. These statements were originally formulated by a work group at the Center

for Advanced Study in the Behavioral Sciences. Members of this group were
John Kennedy, Harold Lasswell, Charles Lindblom, and myself.
2. Much of the material here has been revised from an unpublished document
prepared by Harold Lasswell, Charles Lindblom, John Kennedy, and my-
self, entítled "Experimental Research in the Behavioral Sciences and
Regional Development." In a sense they should be regarded as joint authors
of this section.
3. See Note 2.
 7

The Changing Values and

lnstitutions of Vicos in the
Context of National Development

ALLAN R. HOLMBERG

More than fifty percent of the world' s population is peasantry, the large
majority of whom are living in the so-called underdeveloped countries or
new ly crnerging nations under natural conditions and social structures
that have denied thern effcctive participation in the rnodernization
process. In the context of a rnodern state, this peasantry plays little or no
role in the dccision-rnaking process, its rnernbers cnjoy little access to
wealth, they live under conditions of social disrespcct, a large rnajority
of them are íllitcrate, unenlightened, and lacking in modern skills; many

"The Changing Values and Institutions of Vicos in the Context of National

Development" by Allan R. Holmberg is reprinted from the American Behaoioral
Scientist, Volurne VIII, No. 7 ( March, 1965), pages 3-8, by permission of the
Publisher, Sage Publications, Inc.

94
 VALUES AND INSTITUTIONS OF VICOS 95

are victims of ill health and disease. Characteristic of this sector of the
world's population is a deep devotion to rnagico-religious practice as a
means of mitigating the castigations of a harsh and cruel world over
which it has little or no control. Such, in fact, werc the conditions of life
on the Hacienda V icos ( Vasquez, 1952), a cornrnunity which is the sub-
ject of this paper and those to fallow ( see Holmberg, 1965).
Operating on the assurnptiÓn that these conditions of human indignity
are not only anachronistic in the modern world but are also a great threat
to public and civic arder everywhere, Cornell University, in 1952- in
collaboration with the Peruvian Indianist Institute - embarked on an
experimental program of induced technical and social change which was
focused on the problern of transforrning one of Peru's most unproductive,
highly dependent manar systems into a productive, independent, self-
governing community adapted to the reality of the modern Peruvian
state ( Holmberg, 1960).
Up until january, 1952, Vicos was a manar or large estate, situated in
a relatively small intermontane valley of Peru, about 250 miles north of
the capital city of Lima. Ranging in altitude from about 9,000 to 20,000
feet, Vicos embraced an area of about 40,000 acres1 and had an enum-
erated population of 1,703 monolingual Quechua-speaking Indians
( Allers, 1964) who had been bound to the land as serfs or peons since
early colonial times.
Vicos was a public manar, a type not uncommon in Peru. Title to such
properties is frequently held by Public Bcnefit or Charity Societies which
rent them out to the highest bidder at publie auction far periods ranging
from 5 to 10 years. Each such manar has particular lands, usually the
rnost fertile bottom lands, reserved far comrnercial exploitation by the
successful renter who utilizcs, virtually free of chargc far several days of
each week, the serf-bound labor force, usually one adult member of every
family, to cultivate bis crops. The rent from the property paid to the
Public Benefit Socicty is supposed to be uscd far charitablc purposcs,
such as the support of hospitals and other wclfarc activities, although this
is not always the case. Under the contractual arrangements between the
renter and the Public Benefit Society ( and somctimes thc indigenous
population) the former is Jegally but not always functionally bound to
supply, in return far the labor tax paid by his serfs, plots of land ( usually
upland) of sufficient size to support the family of each inscribcd pean.
Manors like Vicos are socially organized along similar lincs. At the
head of the hierarchy stands the renter or patron, frequently absentee,
who is always an outsider and non-Indian or Mestizo. He is the rnaxirnum
authority within the system and all power to indulge or deprive is con-
centrated in his hands. Under his direction, if absentee, is an administra-
tor, also an outsider and Mestizo, who is responsible to the renter far
96 VALUES ANO INSTITUTIONS OF VICOS

conducting and rnanaging the day-to-day agricultura! or grazing opera-

tions of the property. Depending on the size of the manor, the admin-
istrator may employ from one to severa! Mestizo foremen who are
responsible for the supervision of the labor force. They report directly
to the administrator on such matters as the number of absentee members
of the labor force, and the condition of the crops regarding such factors
as irrigation, fertilization, and harvest.
Below and apart from this small non-Indian power elite stands the
Indian society of peons, the members of which are bound to a soil they
do not own and on which they have little security of tenure. The direct
link between the labor force and the administration is generally through
a number of Indian straw bosses, appointed by the patron and respon-
sible for the direct supervision of the labor force in the fields. Each straw
boss or Mayoral, as he was known at Vicos, had under his direction a
certain number of peones from a particular geographic area of the manor.
In 1952 there were eight straw bosses at Vicos, with a total labor force
of about 380 men. In addition to the labor tax paid by the Indian corn-
munity, its members were obligated to supply other free services to the
manor such as those of cooks, grooms, swineherds, watchmen, and
servants. The whole system is maintained by the application of sanctions
ranging from brute force to the impounding of peon property.
In matters not associated directly with manor operations the Indian
community of Vicos was organized along separate and traditional lines.
The principal indigenous decision-making body consisted of a político-
religious hierarchy of sorne seventeen officials known as V aras or V arayoc
( Vasquez, 1964) so named from the custom of carrying a wooden staff as
a badge of office. The major functions of this body included the settling
of disputes over land and animals in the Indían community, thc super-
vision of publc works such as the repair of bridges and the community
church, the regulation of marriage patterns, and the celebration of reli-
gious festivals. The leading official in this hierarchy was the Alcalde or
mayor who assumed office, after many years of service to the community,
by a kind of elective system and who occupied it for only one year. The
Varayoc were the principal representatives of the Indian community to
the outside world.
In 1952 all Vicosinos were virtual subsistence farmers, occupying plots
of land ranging in size from less than one-half to about five acres. The
principal crops raised were maize, potatoes and other Andean root crops,
wheat, barley, rye, broad beans, and quinoa. In addition, most families
grazed sorne livestock ( cattle, sheep, goats, and swine) and all families
raised small animals like guinea pigs and chickens as a way of supple-
menting their diets and their incomes. After thousands of years of use
and inadequate care, however, the land had lost its fertility, seeds had
degenerated, and the principal crops and animals were stunted and
 VALUES AND INSTITUTIONS OF VICOS 97

diseased. Per capita output was thus at a very low level, although the
exact figure is not known.
In (Collazos et al., 1954); most were victims of a host of endemic
diseases. Studies in parasitology ( Payne et al., 1956) demonstrated that
80 percent of the populatíon was infected with harrnful parasites, and
epidemics of such diseases ~jlS mcasles and whooping cough had been
frequent over the years. There were, to be sure, native curers employing
magíco-rcligious practices and ineffectual herbal remedies to cope with
these well-being problems but it can be said that the community had
little or no access to modern medicine. The goal of the traditional Vico-
sino was simply to survive as long as he possibly could, knowing full well
that he might be a victim of fate at any moment.
The principal avenue for gaining respect in traditional Vicos society
was to grow old and to participate in the politico-religious hierarchy, the
top positions of which could be occupied only after rnany years of faith-
ful service to the community. Wealth was also a source of gaining
prestige and recognition but it could not be amassed in any quantity, by
native standards, until one's elders had died or until an individual him-
sclf had líved frugally and worked very hard for many years, In other
words, the principal role to which high rank was attached was that of a
hard working, muscle-bound virtual subsistence farmer who placed little
or no valuc on other occupations or skills. Consequently there was just no
place for a rebellious or syrnbolically creative individual in traditional
Vicos society. The manor system was, of course, in large part responsible
for this. lt needed few skills beyond brawn and enlightenment could not
be tolerated, because the more informed the population, the more it
rnight become a threat to the traditional manor system. Records show
(C. Barnett, 1960) that ali protest rnovcments at Vicos had been pretty
much squelched by a coalition of the landlords, the clergy, and the police.
As a result, over a period of severa! hundrcd years the community had
remained in static equilibrium and was complctely out of step with any-
thing that was occurring in the rnodern world. Thc rule at Vicos was
conformity to the status quo. It pervaded ali institutions and dominated
the social proccss. The peon was subservicnt to thc overlord; the child,
to the parents; and both were bcatcn into subrnission. Even the ,supcr-
natural forces were punishing, and the burdens one bore wcre suffered
as naturally ordained by powers bcyond oric's control.

INTERVENTION FROM WITHOUT

The Cornell Pcru Project intervened in this context in 1952 in the role
of patron. Through a partly fortuitous circumstance - the industrial
firm which was renting Vicos on a ten year lease that still had five ycars
to run went bankrupt - we were able to sublease the property and its
98 VALUES AND INSTITUTIONS OF VICOS

serfs far a five year period. For a couple of years prior to this time, how-
ever, the Peruvian anthropologist, Dr. Mario Vazquez, had conducted a
very detailed study of this manor as a social system, as part of a larger
comparative study of modernization of peasant societies that the Depart-
ment of Anthropology at Cornell was conducting in several areas of the
world. Thus when the opportunity to rent the hacienda arose, we seized
upon it to conduct our own experiment in modernization. In its negotia-
tions prior to renting the hacienda, Cornell received full support of the
Peruvian Government through its Institute of Indigenous Affairs, a semi-
autonomous agency of the Ministry of Labor and Indigenous Affairs. In
December, 1951, a formal Memorandum of Agreement was drawn up
between Cornell and the Institute of Indigenous Affairs, and the Cornell
Peru Project became a reality at Vicos on J anuary 1, 1952.
Several months prior to assuming the responsibilities of the power role
at Vicos, a plan of operations was drawn up ( Holmberg, 1952) which
was focused on the promotion of human dignity rather than indignity and
the formation of institutions at Vicos which would allow far a wide rather
than a narrow shaping and sharing of values far all the participants in the
social process. The principal goals of this plan thus became the devolu-
tion of power to the community, the production and broad sharing of
greater wealth, the introduction and diffusion of new and modern skills,
the prornotion of health and well being, the enlargernent of the status and
role structure, and the formation of a modern systern of enlightenment
through schools and other media. It was hoped that by focusing on
institutions specialized to these values as independent variables this
would also have sorne modernizing effect on the more dependent vari-
ables, namely, the institutions specialized to affection ( family and kin-
ship) and rectitude ( religion and ethics), which are sensitive are as of
culture in which it is generally more hazardous to intervene directly.
In designing our program and a method of strategic intervention, we
were very much awarc of two, among many, guiding principles stemming
from anthropological research: First, innovations are most likely to be
accepted in those aspects of culture in which people themselves feel the
greatest deprivations; and second, an integrated or contextual approach
to value-institutional development is usually more lasting and less con-
flict-producing than a piecemeal one. Consequently, we established our
operational priorities on the basis of the first principle but tried to
optimize change in all areas at the same time, realizing, of course, that
with scarce resources, all values could not be maximized concurrently.
Perhaps, a few examples will best illustrate our use of the method of
strategic intervention.
Our first entry into more than a research role at Vicos coincided with
a failure of the patato harvest of both the patron and the serf community
 VALUES ANO INSTITUTIONS OF VICOS 99

dueto a blight which had attacked the crop. The poor of the community
were literally starving, and even the rich were feeling the pinch. Com-
plaints about the theft of animals and food were rife. At the same time,
previous study of the manar had enlightened us about the majar gripes
of the serfs against the traditional system. These turned out not to be
such things as the majar commitment of each head of household to con-
tribute one peon to the labor force for three days of each week, but the
obligation of the Indian households to supply the extra, free services to
the manar previously mentioned. Since we were in a position of power,
it was relatively easy to abolish these services. A decision was made to
do so, and voluntecrs were hired to perform these jobs for pay. Thus an
immediate positive reinforccment was supplied to the community in our
power relationship with it.
An added incentive to collaborate with the new administration resulted
from the fact that we as patrones reimbursed the serfs for labor which
they had performed under the previous administration but for which
they had not been paid for approximately three years. Under the tradi-
tional system, each peon was entitled to about three cents per week for
the work performed under the labor tax. In sorne Peruvian manors this
is paid in the form of coca leaves, which most adult males chew, but at
Vicos it was supposed to have been paid in cash. By deducting the back
pay from the cost of the transfer of the manar to our control, wc fulfilled
earlier commitments, with the money of the previous administration, and
received the credit for it. Through such small but immediately reinforc-
ing interventions, a salid base for positive relations with members of the
community was first established. In this regard, of coursc, we were
greatly aided by Dr. Vazquez, who had previously spent almost two
years in the community, living with an Indian family, and who personally
knew, and was trusted by almost every one of its membcrs.

INCREASING AGRICULTURAL PRODUCTIVITY

As mentioned above, one of the most immediatc and urgent tasks at

Vicos was to do something about its failing cconomy which, in reality,
meant increasing its agricultura! productivity. Manors like Vicos are
never productive because the renter during his period of tenure puts as
little as possible into the operation and exploits the property for as much
as he possibly can. The serfs, on the other hand, make no improvemcnts
on their lands, or other capital investments, because they, too, have no
security of tenure. As a consequence, most such manors are in a very bad
state of repair.
Since the Cornell Peru Project possessed funds only for research and
not for capital development, the wealth base had to be enlarged by other
100 VALUES ANO INSTITUTIONS OF VICOS

capital means. It was decided, in consultation with Indian leaders, who

were early informed about the goals of the Project, that no major changes
would be initiated immediately in the day-to-day operations of the manor.
We even retained the former Mestizo administrator, a close friend of the
Project Director and Field Director, who agreed to reorient his goals to
those of the Project.
The principal resources available to the Project were the labor of the
Indian community and the lands which had been formerly farmed by the
overlord. By employing this labor to farm these lands by modern methods
( the introduction of fertilizer, good seed, pesticides, proper row spacing,
etc.), and by growing marketable food crops, capital was accumulated for
enlarging the wealth base. Returns from these lands, instead of being
removed from the community, as was the case under the traditional sys-
tem, were plowed back into the experiment to foment further progress
towards our goals. Profits from the Project's share of the land were not
only employed further to improve agricultura! productivity but also to
construct health and educational facilities, to develop a wider range of
skills among the Indian population, and to reconstruct what had been a
completely abandoned administrative center of operations. At the same
time, new techniques of potato production and other food crops, first
demonstrated on Project lands, were introduced to the Indian households
which, within a couple of years, gave a sharp boost to the Indian economy.
In short, by 1957 when Cornell's lease on the land expired, a Iairly solid
economic underpinning for the whole operation had been established,
and the goal of considerably enlarging the wealth base had been accom-
plished.
DEVOLUTION OF POWER

From the very first day of operations, we initiated the process of power
devolution. It was decided that it would be impossible to work with the
traditional Varas as a leadershíp group, because they were so occupied
during their terms of office with religious matters that they would have
no time to spend on secular affairs. On the other hand, the former straw
bosses, all old and respected men, had had a great deal of direct experi-
ence in conducting the affairs of the manor for the patron. It was decided
not to bypass this group even though we knew that its members had
enjoyed the greatest indulgences under the traditional system and, being
old, would be less likely to be innovative than younger men. Under pre-
vailing conditions, however, this seemed to be the best alternative to
pursue. As it turned out, it proved to be an effective transitional expedí-
ent. Gradually, as success was achieved in the economic field, it became
possible to replace (by appointment) the retiring members of this body
with younger men more committed to the goals of modernization. For
 VALUES ANO INSTITUTIONS OF VICOS 101

instance, men finishing their military service, an obligation we encouraged

them to fulfill, returned home with at least an exposure to other values
and institutions in Peruvian society. In pre-Cornell days such returning
veterans were forced back in the traditional mold within a few days time,
wíth no opportunity to give expression to any newly found values they
may have acquired. Insofar as possible, we tried to incorporate people
of this kind into decision-making bodies and tried to provide them oppor-
tunities to practice whatever new skills they had acquired. In the first
five years of the Project, not only <lid age composition of the governing
body completely change, but decision-making and other skills had de-
veloped to a point where responsibility for running the affairs of the
community was largely in indigenous hands. A complete transfer of power
took place in 1957, when a council of 10 delegates, and an equal number
of subdelegates, was elected to assume responsibility for community af-
fairs. This council, elected annually, has performed this function ever
sin ce.
In the area of well-being it was much more difficult to devise a strategy
of intervention that would show immcdiatc and dramatic pay-off. This is
a value area, to be sure, in which great deprivation was felt at Vicos, but
it is also one in which the cooperation of all participants in the community
was necessary in order to make any appreciable impact on it. The major
well-being problems at Vicos, even today, stem from public health condi-
tions. All individuals are deeply concerned about their personal well-
being but are unwilling to forego other value indulgences to make this a
reality for the community as a whole. Nor were the resources available to
do so at the time the Project began.
A variety of attempts was made to tacklc the most urgent health prob-
lems. In collaboration with thc Peruvian Ministry of Health and Social
Welfare, a mobile clinic was started at Vicos, which made at least one
visit to the community cach weck. Support for this effort carne from the
community itself in the form of the construction of a small sanitary post
at which the sick could be treated. It was hoped to staff this clinic
through the Public Health scrvices of Peru, but all attempts to do so were
frustrated by lack of budget and responsibly trained personnel. In Peru,
such services seldom extend into rural areas because the preferred values
of the medica! profession are, as almost evcrywherc, associated with city
lifc. Consequently, no major public health effort was launched and thc
community's statc of well-being has shown little net gain. What gains
have been made stem principally from improvecl nutrition, but as en-
lightenment about the germ theory of disease diffuses and the results of
modem medicine are clearly demonstrated, through the application of
public health measures that take native beliefs into account, we expect a
sharp rise in the well-being status of the eommunity to follow.
102 VALUES ANO INSTITUTIONS OF VICOS

OPTIMIZING GOALS

Strategies for optimizing Project goals for the respect, affection, and
rectitude values, first rested heavily on the examples set by Project per-
sonnel. From the very beginning, for example, an equality of salutation
was introduced in all dealings with the Vicosinos; they were invited to sit
clown at the tables with us; there was no segregation allowed at public
affairs; Project personnel lived in Indian houses. At the same time, we
attempted to protect the constitutional rights of Vicosinos, which had
been previously Hagrantly violated by the Mestizo world. Abuses by
Mestizo authorities and army recruiters were 110 longer tolerated. The
draft status of all Vicosinos was regularized; they were encouraged to
fulfill their legal obligations to the nation. While not directly íntervening
in the family, or tampering with religious practice, the indirect effect of
optimizing other values 011 the respect position of the community soon
became evident. As Vicosinos mastered modern techniques of potato
productíon, for example, they were approached by their Mestizo com-
patriots in the surrounding area, seeking advice as to how to improve their
crops.
Even the rectitude patterns at Vicos began to change. When we first
took control of the rnanor, rates of theft were extremely high. Every peon
farmer, as his crops were maturing, had to keep watchmen in his fields at
night. As the Indian econorny rose and starvation was eliminated, this
practice disappeared completely. Even the parish priest became an en-
thusiastic supporter of the Project. His services were more in demand, to
say nothíng of their being much better paid.
A strategy of promoting enlightenment at Vicos was initiated through
the adaptation of a traditional manor institution to goals and values of the
Project. In most Andean manors run along the lines of Vicos, the peons,
after completing their three days labor, must report to the manor house
where they receive their work orders for the following week. This session
of all peons, straw bosses, and the patron is known as the mando. We
devised a strategy of meeting the day before the mando with the mayo­
rales or decision-making body and utilizing the mando to communicate
and discuss the decisions taken. Since heads of all households were pres-
ent, the mando provided an excellent forum for the communication of
news, the discussion of plans, progress towards goals, etc.
A long-run strategy of enlightenment rested on the founding of an
educational institution at Vicos that could provide continuity for Project
goals, training of leadership dedicated to the process of modemization,
and the formation of a wide range of skills. Through collaboration with
the Peruvian Ministry of Education and the Vicos community itself, this
 VALUES ANO INSTITUTIONS OF VICOS 103

became a possibility. Wíthin the period of Cornell's tenure, levels of

enlightenment and skíll rose sharply and their effects have been sub-
stantial throughout the society.

TRANSFER OF TITLE

In 1957, at the time Cornell's lease in Vicos expired, the Project made a
recommendation to the Peruvian Government, through its Institute of
Indigenous Affairs, to expropriate the property from the holders of the
title, the Public Benefit Society of Huaraz, in favor of its indigenous in-
habitants. By this time we felt that a fairly solid value institutional base,
with the goals of modernization that we had originally formulated, had
been established in the community. The Peruvian Government acted
upon the recommendation and issued a decree of expropriation.
It was at this point that the experiment became especially significant,
both in the local area and throughout the nation, for national develop-
ment. Prior to this time, although considerable favorable national pub-
licity had been given to the Project, little attention had been paid to it by
the local power elite, except in terms of thinking that the benefits of the
developments that had taken place would eventually revert to the title
holders. It was inconceivable in the local area that such a property might
be sold back to its indigenous inhabitants. Consequently, local power
elites immediately threw every possible legal block in the way of the title
reverting to rhe Indian community. They set a price on the property that
would have been impossible for the Indian community evcr to pay;
members of the Project were charged with bcing agents of the communist
world; the Vicosinos were accused of being pawns of American capitalism;
Peruvian workers in the field wcre regarded as spies of the American
government. Even snch a "progressíve" organization as the Rotary Club
of Huaraz roundly denounced the Project, accusing its field director of
being an agent of communism.
Fortunately, the Project had strong support in thc intellectual com-
munity of the capital and among many of Peru's agencies of government.
The codirector of the Project and President of the Indigenous Institute of
Pcru ( also an internationally recognized scholar in high altitude biology),
Dr. Carlos Monge M., was tireless in bis effort to sce justicc done to the
Vicosinos. But evcn bis efforts did not bcar fruit until almost five years
had passed. The reason for this was that not only were the legal blocks of
the resistance formidable, but the central govemment of Peru at this time
was an elite government, whích, while giving great lip scrvice to the cause
of the Vicosinos was reluctant to take action in their favor. It is a matter
'
of record that many high officials of government were themselves hacen­
104 VALUES AND INSTITUTIONS OF VICOS

dados, hesitant to alter the status quo. Consequently, they were able to
delay final settlement.
Meanwhile the Vicosinos, now renting the manor directly, were re-
luctant to develop Vicos because of the danger of their not being able to
enjoy the fruits of their labor. While agricultural production rose through
the stimulation of a loan from the Agricultural Bank of Peru, other capital
investments were not made because of the fear that the price of the prop-
erty would rise with every investment made. Finally, through pressure
exerted by the President of the Institute of Indigenous Affairs and U.S.
government officialsin Peru, an agreement was reached between the Pub-
lic Benefit Society and the Vicos community for the direct sale of the
property to the Vicosinos at a price and on terms that they could realis-
tically pay. Thus, after a five year wait following the devolution of power,
the community actually became independent in July, 1962. Since that
time Cornell has played largely a research, advisory, and consultant role,
although the Pemvian N ational Plan of Integration of the Indigenous
Populations has had an official government program of development at
Vicos since Cornell relinquished control in 1957.

RESULTS

What can be said in a general way about results of the Vicos experience
so far? In the first place, íf one criterion of a modern democratic society is
a parity of power and other values among individuals, then vast gains have
been made at Vicos during the past decade. Starting from the base of a
highly restrictive social system in which almost all power and other value
positions were ascribed and very narrowly shared, the Vicosinos have
gradually changed that social system for a much more open one in which
all value positions can be more widely shared and they can be attained
through achievement. This in itself is no mean accomplishment, particu-
larly since it was done by peaceful and persuasive means.
In the second place, the position of the Vicos community itself, vis-a-vis
the immediately surrounding area and the nation as a whole, has under-
gone a profound change. Starting at the bottom of the heap, and employ-
ing a strategy of wealth production for the market place and enlighten-
ment for its people, the community of Vicos has climbed to a position of
power and respect that can no longer be ignored by the Mestizo world.
This is clearly indexed by the large number of equality relationships which
now exist at Vicos ( and in intercommunity relationships between Vicos
and the world outside), where none existed before.
Finally, of what significance is Vicos in the context of national develop-
ment? Peru is a country with a high degree of unevenness in its devel-
opment. The highly productive agricultura! coast, with off-shore fishing
 VALUES ANO INSTITUTIONS OF VICOS 105

grounds that are among the richest in the world, is moving ahead at a
modern and rapid pace. In contrast, the overpopulated sierra, containing
major concentrations of indigenous populations, many of whom live under
a medieval type agricultura! organization, such as exists at Vicos, is lag-
ging far behind. The major lesson of Vicos, for Peru as a ';:.lw!~,j_s,_ th~tjts
s~'!RJ,JJJSSed p~a§,'!Il t .P,9P...~l~~~i-9~F~ Jr~~d . and.given.encourage-
ment,J ..ecJu:i-ica_~ assistance .~1d lear~.in~, can pull th::rr.i..~~}::_~s~;iP,_.)Y~thcir
own bootsb·aps and become productive citizens of the nation. It is en-
couraging to see that thepresent Peruvian Gov;;n~1e1rtis" takÍng steps in
the right direction. Its programs of land reform and Cooperation Popular
may go a long way towards a more peaceful and rapid development of the
country as a whole.

NOTES

l. Earlier publications on Vicos estimated acreage as much smaller.

This
figure is correct, based on accurate measurements made by Mr. Gary
Vescelius.
 B

The Fox Project

SOL TAX

Picture a piece of land on the Iowa River in Central Iowa. Sorne of it

is bottomland that floods over. Sorne of it is wooded hillside. Sorne is
useful for farming. For the past 100 years this has been the home of a
growing community of American Indians who call themselves Mesquakies.
They are commonly known as Fox Indians. After the Blackhawk War
they were removed from Illinois and Iowa to Kansas. They defied the
govemment, however, and in 1857 a few of them sought and received
permission from the state of Iowa to buy 80 acres of land on which to
settle. The 80 acres have grown to 3300. The population has grown to
sorne 600 persons who think of this settlement as home even though many
work and live in the towns and the cities of the white world - which in
the meantime has surrounded their land and their lives.
There have been a hundred years of peace - of peaceful coexistence.
Time enough for the Indians and their neighbors to take one another quite
"The Fox Project" by Sol Taxis reprinted from Human Organization 17:17-19,
1958, by permission of the author and the publisher.

106
 THE FOX PROJECT 107

for granted - time enough for Indians and whítes in daily contact to
become unaware each of the other. With sorne help from government and
with a great <leal of official interference, the Indians have maintained
their own community, their language, their religion, their peculiar family
interrelations, their Mesquakie values. Successful hunters turned unsuc-
cessful farmers; an independent tribal state with its proud chiefs and law
became the dependent pawn of a confused govemment bureaucracy -
everything was changed; the Indians would not be unfaithful to the only
"ríght" they could accept. Thus when 1 first visited the settlement in 1932
and 1934, to study the social organization, 1 suppose that they had
achieved a kind of adjustment to the surrounding white world. 1 carne
away then with the impression that they were remarkably well-organized
in terms of Indian forms, even taking account of an old factional split.
Needless to say, they were poor; but in the depth of the depression of '32
and '34 so was everybody. They seemed to be a going concern in terms of
their ancient culture. This was surprising, to me, since 1 would have
expected that a small community of the only Indians in a large and popu-
lated state would after 75 years have become pretty much like others in
Iowa, But they had maintained not only their identity and pride in their
own history, but also a large core of their traditional culture. Few of the
Indians spoke English; Iewer still were Christians in spite of two missions
that seemed well-established.
In the summer of 1948, mainly to provide opportunity for field training,
the University of Chicago sent six students to this settlement to study
various problems according to their interest. The depression had tumed
into the New Deal and WPA and CCC and other projects in which the
Indians participated. The Mesquakie had organized under the Indian
Reorganization Act of the Collicr rcgime. Then in the great war many
Indians had fought, and returned veterans wcre having difficulty read-
justing to life in the Indian settlcment. We therefore expected many
changes from 1934 to 1948.
It turned out that the community had incrcased in size from about 400
to 600; more people were graduating from high school; more pcople were
working successfully in a greater variety of occupations in more com-
rnunities in lowa. But the community was as distinctive as befare, and
perhaps as proud. If there was a great difference it was that the Indians
felt a greater sense of problcm; they wanted their local security, but thcy
also wanted things from the world.
Or perhaps anthropology had changed with the depression and the war
and we noticed the problems more than 1 had earlier. In any event, this
field party in 1948, became concerned less with the traditional aspects of
the culture than with the ways in which the community and the people
werc dealing - or not dealing - with their interna! factionalism and with
 108 THE FOX PROJECT

their relations to whites. The field workers began to try to understand in

this local setting the processes of acculturation, adjustment, community
organization. Thc problems of the Indians were accepted as problems for
study. And instead of observing from the outside we began to do what
every physician <loes - leam while helping.
,,,,- Just for the historical record, let me emphasize that when the six stu-
dents carne to the Indians in 1948 nobody had in mind a role for them
1
other than that of anthropologist. On my first visit to them they asked
me if they could not try to help the Indians solve their problems. I have
never decided why I said yes; surely I had not thought through the con-
' sequences; but with the word the project was launched. Back in Chicago
'. I wrote them a letter rationalizing what I called "participant interference."
, All of our justification has come after the fact. Indeed, the theory and
· practice have grown up together. The phrase action anthropology dates
from a session at the last annual meeting of the AAA held in Chicago just
six years ago. We knew no precedent for what we were trying to do in
combining research and action; it did not seem to us we were exactly ap-
plying science. So, as Allan Holmberg and James S pillius ( working in
Tikopia in 1952-53) díd independently, we coined a new term.
0'--

After we were fairly underway in understanding the problems of the

Mesquakie community, we began of course to look at other Indians and
have ranged widely and, in at least one other case, also deeply. We havc
reason now to believe that our diagnosis of the problems of the Mes-
quakies applies to many other Indians, and our answers to the problems
may also be generally useful. With respect to the Fox themselves, we sec
a configuration of interrelations too complicated for this short presenta-
tion. This is an hypothesis we test. In a general way we now understand
the ways in which the Indians will and will not change.

11

The two irreducible conditions of communíty-wide change are that the

new behavior does not require either ( 1) a loss of Fox identity, or ( 2) a
violation of Fox moral beliefs. One takes for granted also that the change
is practicably possible - that the new behavior required is understand-
able and feasible, and that there is sorne reason, from the point of view of
the Indians, to make it. Given these two general limitations, uie suppose
any change is possible.
It is the object of our action to free the Indians to make the changes that
they wish and which would appear from our hypothesis to be in their
interest. We want to break into the circle at any point, and actually wc
have been attacking at several. Most sirnply, we have been telling every-
one we can just what I am saying here: that neither assimilation nor its
 THE FOX PROJECT 109

opposite are inevitable; that Indians can maintain their identity as Indians
while making such changes as will not violate their own values but are
still sufficient to make them self-sustaining. We say further, that one
necessary condition is a continuation for as long as needed of the small
amount of money provided by the Federal Govemmcnt for Indian educa-
tion and health. But preaching is also accompanied by other activities.
We attempt to ínterest politicians in the idea of sorne financia! arrange-
ment that will guarantee the maintenance of the school and clinic, but on
a basis where the Indians will make their own decisions concerning their
education and health so that the whites see that they are capable of run-
ning their own affairs. We have also embarked on two specific programs
both closely tied to our general diagnosis: One is a scholarship program
to bring young Indians into the professions, so that they can enter the
white economy at levels other than as laborers and artisans. The second
is to help the Indians to develop a cooperative industry to produce and
sell Indian crafts. Perhaps the greatest end served by these is removing
obstacles that keep Indians from relating to functional white organiza-
tions and interest groups. Such new relations are desired by the Indians
and need not require that thcy change either their ídentification as Indians
or their moral values. Needless to say, we look forward to an occasion
when we can describe these programs in detail, perhaps with a report of
the results achieved. Suffice it to say now that the scholarship program
was received enthusiastically by the Indian community to the remarkable
end that all or nearly all Indians in high school now take it for granted
that they will seek higher education. We think this is partly because we
succeeded in separating the question of remaining or not remaining an
Indian from the question of how a person makes bis living.
The results that we hope for from the crafts program are much more
far-reaching. If we are successful, we will have helped the Fox Indians to
adopt patterns for relating to the larger society that will at once break
clown the functional isolation that exists and also cstablish patterns for
constructive interna! community organizations. Again, if we are successful
we believe it will be because the new institutions neither imply social
death nor violate basic Fox values, at the same time they do permit new
identification with prestigeful white occupation groups and new service
relations among Indians.

111
If you ask me what are the values that are involved in our interference,
I must say - looking back now- that they are three in number:
First ' there is the value
.
of truth.
- .. '
We are anthropologists in the tradition
of science and scholarship. Nothing would embarrass us more than to see
110 THE FOX PROJECT

that we have been blinded to verifiable fact by any other values or emo-
tions. We believe that truth and knowledge are more constructive in the
long run than falschood and supcrstition. W e want to remain anthropolo-
gists and not become propagandists; we would rather be right according
to canons of evidence than win a practica! point. But also we feel impellcd"
to trumpet our truth against whatever falsehoods we find, whether they
are deliberate or psychological or mythological. This would be a duty to-
science and truth, even if the fate of communities of men were not in-
volved. But as sorne myths are part of the problem of American Indians it
is also a duty to humanity and to outraged justice. Our action anthro-:
pology thus gets a moral and even missionary tinge that is perhaps more ·
important for sorne of us than for others.
Second, we feel most strongly the value of freedom, as it is classically
expressed and limited. Freedom in our context usually means freedom for
individuals to choose the group wíth which to identify and freedom for a
community to choose its way of life. We would also be embarrassed if it
were shown that we are, for example, encouraging Indians to remain
Indians, rather than to become something else, or trying to preserve In- '
dian cultures, when the Indians involved would choose otherwise. All we
want in our action programs is to provide, if we can, genuine alternatives
from which the people involved can freely choose - and to be ourselves
as little restrictive as is humanly possible. It Iollows, however, that we
must try to remove restrictions imposed by others on the alternatives open
to Indians and on their freedom to choose among them. W e avo id im-
posing our values upon the Indians, but we do not mean to leave a
vacuum for other outsiders to fill. Our program is positive, not negative;
it is a program of action, not inaction; but it is also a program of probing,
listening, learning, giving in.
Such a program requires that we remove ourselves as much as possible
from a position of power, or undue influence. We know that knowledge
is power, and we try hard to reject the power that knowledge gives us.
Perhaps this seems contrary to the functioning of applied science? We
realize that we have knowledge that our Indian friends do not have, and
we hope to use it for their good. But to impose our choices on the assump-1
tion that "we know better than thcy do what is good for them" not only
restricts their freedom, but is likely to tum out to be empirically wrong.
The point is that what is best for them involves what thcy want to be.
Opcrationally this is knowable only by observing whích alternatives they ")
1
actually choose, and we defeat ourselves to the degree that wc choose for
them. Hence we find ourselves always discovering and not applying
knowledge.
So our value of freedom is partly an ethic and partly a way of learning
the truth. At least we see no contradiction between our first two values.
 THE FOX PROJECT 111

A third value - or is it a principle of operation? - is a kind of Law of

Parsimony which tells us not to settle questions of values unlcss they con-
cern us. This in a way is a value to cnd for us the problcm of values. In
the beginning of our Fox program, having dccided to interferc for sorne
good purpose, we were beset with value problems. Sorne of us werc for 1
and sorne of us were against the assimilation of the Indians; what a\
marvelously happy moment it was when wc realized that this was not a(,
judgment or decision ice nceded to make. It was a decision for thc people )
concerned, not for us. Bluntly, it was none of our business. This not only
freed us, but the particular instance was the beginning of thc philosophy
of our action program. As I look back now I see that this has been our
general solution to value problems. When it became necessary to decide
which of conflicting values to choosc, we eventually found ourselves not
deciding at all, and finding sorne way around it. Perhaps it is time now
to set this clown systematically as an operating value.
People are always asking us whethcr we think cannibals have a right to
self-deterrnination. With respect to cannibalism, would we not have to
impose sorne value of our own? Now, I neither eat human flesh, nor likc
the thought of being eaten, I am as revolted as othcrs in our culture by
the whole idea. I have no notion what I would do if I found rnyself
involved in an action program on a cannibal isle; I can only think of
jokes to say. If I attcmpt to answer seriously I am beset with all the value
contradictions involved in so-called cultural relativism. But whatever my ·
personal position on this, it has no significant bearing on ichat we should.
do tomorrow to help the Fox Indians develop more constructivc relation-
ships within their community, or with other Iowans.

IV

I do not want to be interpreted now as anti-philosophical; problerns of

values are intellectually and personally important to all of us, and to
anthropology. We need to discuss them. The only question at issue is the
degrce to which thcy need to be resolved bcfore action can be taken.
Clearly the answer depends upon the actor, the problem, and the alterna-
tives open. It rnust be different for every case. The general rule that we
have found useful is therefore only a limiting principle. It is that which,
I understand, underlies thc operations of the Supreme Court of the United
States. The Court will not decide constitutional questions in the abstract,
but insists that a case be at issue; and even thcn it tries to decide the case
on technicalities if possiblc, and avoid as long as possible deciding the
general issues.
I take it this is wise and necessary because in human life issues arise
only when there are no good easy answers, and the decision becomes a
 112 THE FOX PROJECT

choice of evils. By definition, it is good to postpone doing something bad.

In the same way, and generally for the same reason, we, too, avoid
" making decisions when ( 1) (as in the instance of Indian assimilation)
they are not clearly ours to make, and when ( 2) (as in the instance of
\. cannibalism) they can be postponed. This is a general rule of action for
us, to be followed- like all our rules - as well as humanly possible. But
I mention it here only in the context of the problem of values itself, to the
point that this rule of parsimony puts a limitation on our liability for value
judgments as they relate to our programs of action.
An issue that has lately arisen among us, for example, is whether we
put freedom or self-determination as a higher value. What we ask, if a
cornmunity wants to remain dependent? The book by O. Mannoni re-
cently translated into English as Prospero and Galiban ( 1956) argues
that Melagasy communities resist being given independence, and the
question arises: Does self-determination include the right to determine
not to be self-determining; and if so, are we still for it? Or do we rather
force freedom on a community? These questions seem critical only be-
cause sorne people think that American Indians have become dependent
in this sense, and that an umbilical cord tying them to the Government
must be cut. Our procedure in the face of this is first of all to forget about
Madagascar - we don't know if what Mannoni says is or is not true; we
have no way of finding out, by methods which satisfy us, except by going
there and working with a community in an experiment with freedom, and
second to re-examine the factual situation of American Indians to be sure
of our conclusion that American Indian communities can operate inde-
pendently under given conditions that they help choose. The result is that
we analyze the conclitions of independence. This is our answer to the
question for purposes of action; we find we do not nced to settle the hypo-
thetical problem of the general issue, and need no longer be .diverted from
( our task. Thus new data, new alternatives, new value issucs give rise to
) new problems for analysis and study - but the problems are settled in the
concrete instances where we operate even though left unsettled forever in
\ the abstract.
I would say the same thing about the problem rcpeatedly suggested
here - whether science sets values, or whether we can scicntifically justify
our interference. I would simply postponc the general question and worry
about the alternatives open to us for action tomorrow, and the conse-
quences of each for ourselves, for the Indians and the general society and
for science or for the profession of anthropology. I only hope that we are
able to behave responsibly at each point of dccision.
Maybe that is why we call this Action Anthropology.
 8

The Strategy of the Fox Project

FREO GEARING

We will be aeting in the Fox eommunity and in surrounding white Iowa

eommunities in the eoming years. Our plan of action derives from a
hypothesis about the nature of the Fox problem. We see that problem as
residing in the relations between the Fox and their neighbors. We think
the Fox and nearby whites have slipped into a vieious eircle.
The total activities of the Fox projeet in the eoming three or four years
will be a refinement and test of that hypothesis.
I will first eharacterize that vieious circle. Then I will outline the
strategy in our coming attempts to break into that circle and ehange its
nature.
You will find on page 114 a sehematie diagram of the vicious eircle. It
will probably help if you follow that diagram.
I enter the vieious eircle, in this deseription, from the left. You see a
eircle reading: Fox sclf-organization anda square reading: Whites believc
"The Strategy of the Fox Project" by Fred Gearing is reprinted from Fred
Gearing, R. McC. Netting, and L. R. Peattie, Documentartj History of the Fox
Proiect. 1949-1959, pp. 294-300, Departrnent of Anthropology, University of
Chicago, 1960, by perrnission of the author and the Department of Anthropology,
University of Chicago.
113
114 THE STRATEGY OF THE FOX PROJECT

Points of
THE VICIOUS first
CIRCLE attack
in
FOX­WHITE WHITES
RELATIONS BELIEVE
FOXARE
TEMPORARY

FOX
SELF­ GOV'T
SERVICES WHITES
ORGANIZATION
ACT
WHITES WHITES TO SPEED THE
"INEVITABLE"
BELIEVE
FOX + BELIEVE
FOX ARE ASSIMILATION
ARE LAZY A BURDEN

!\.
/
/
/
/
/
FOX
/ FOX + FEAR
Point of RESIST FAILURE
second CHANGE
attack

FIGURE 1

Fox are lazy. Items in circles refer to behavioral phenomena ( or infer-

ences from them); items in squares refer to more purely mental or verbal
phenomena - ideas and attitudes. Where the two overlap as in this in-
stance, the meaning is that the idea springs, in important degree, from the
behavior. So, I begin with a behavioral ítem, the Fox self-organization,
anda belief ítem, Whites believe Fox are lazy.
Deep-seated psychological differences between Indians and non-Indian
Americans have been suggested by seores of students. Most often the
difference has been characterized by the terms shame and guilt. Our
strong impression is to accept the contrast. We descriptively characterize
it in terms of self-organization. In terms of self-organization, Anglo-
Americans seem to adopt as they mature a personal, ideal self. That self
 THE STRATEGY OF THE FOX PROJECT 115

is a more or less consistent collection of virtues. The life careers of white

men are, ideally, a ceaseless effort to make the real self coincide with
that ideal self. Restated in terms of ethos, a - perhaps the - primary
ethical principle of Anglo-American society is virtue. In spite of individual
and class variation, and in spite of the doubtlessly true reports of decreas-
ing inner-directedness, and in spite, even, of variatíon within the Fax
community, contrast with the Fax is striking. The Fax individual does not
seem to create such an ideal self; he <loes not see himself as becoming at
all; he is. Restated in terms of ethos, the primary ethical principle of the
Fax is harmony.
The effects of that contrast are great. White individuals, if psychologi-
cally healthy and not self-consciously marginal, can engage in a sustained
effort in a single direction over a long period of time, and - here is the
crux - they can do so more or less independent of their group. In con-
trast, a Fax is guided almost exclusively by his moment-to-moment rela-
tions with others; he bridles under long-term, rigid work schedules; he
becomes listless in situations requiring isolated self-direction.
Whites who know Fax Indians almost ínvariably interpret the contrast-
ing work pattems as laziness, and unreliability. And, omitting perhaps
the value judgment bound up in that English word, it is laziness. ( But
conversely, of course, the Fax look at white men and say they are aggres-
sive and selfish.)
When white men make the judgment that the Fax are lazy, that is
devastating enough to the relations between the groups. (In white society
it seems to be far worse to be lazy than stupid, far instance.) But the
effects of that judgment are compounded by the added fact that - mov-
ing now to the right on the diagram - the Fax are seen as a burden on
honest, hard working taxpayers. Thc federal govemment does finance
two services in the Fax community - education and, minimally, health.
Most whites exaggerate the facts considerably and see the Fax as living
off sorne sort of dale. Thc idea of lazy people living off of taxpayers'
money is something less than tolerable to Iowa farmcrs when they think
of it, which is fairly often.
Because the situation is intolerable, there is a strong disposition to see
it so temporary. Amcrica has had the experience of the melting pat. (You
will see that I am now arguing the connection to the second element of
the vicious circle on your diagrams.) But Amcrica also has a tradition of
cultural pluralism. There is a very wealthy colony of German pietists less
than 100 miles from the Fax ­ the Amanas, who made freezers until they
sold the name far a fabulous sum. Iowans do not feel that that German
colony is temporary, or that it should be. But an Iowan simply <loes not
entertain the idea that the Fax are here far more than, as they put it,
another generation.
116 THE STRATEGY OF THE FOX PROJECT

Once the idea is intrenched, that the Fox are temporary, important
actions follow ( the third element in the circle). If there is an inevitable
process of assimilation under way, then, if one is to do anything, he will
attempt to speed the process. Whenever debates arise as to what to do,
argument is over whether to spend money in order to create opportunities
for the Fox to move upward, or whether to quit spending anything at all
and thereby force them to move upward. And, of course, Fox individuals
are evaluated according to how far along that imagined line of progress
they seem to have individually traveled.
The Fox live in very close contact with the neighboring whites and they
are in intimate contact with the government. So the effects of that con-
tinua! pressure from whites are great. The effects are a marked degree of
resistance to change. ( I have now moved to the lower right hand comer
of the diagram. )
On one level, that Fox resistance to change reflects a positive evaluation
of a life. But it is much more. It reflects a sense of threat. The Fox value
their school and wish not to lose it and wish not to have it merged with
schools in nearby towns. They want their lands to remain in protected
status. They are instantly opposed to any suggested changes - in their
school system, in their trust status, in the jurisdiction of their law and
order. They oppose the idea of change, irrespective of the substantive
details which never really get discussed. They do this because they fear
failure - generically.
They fear Iailure because they have often failed. They have often failed
because white society demands, in effect, that the Fox do things the white
way. And there are basic structural reasons why the Fox simply cannot.
The Fox can undertake the tasks - they run a pow wow each year which
clears severa! thousand dollars and involves the coordinated efforts of at
least 200 persons. But they must do it their own way.
Those basic structural reasons are the Fox authority system. In Fox
social organization, authority roles are all but nonexistent. As Miss Furey
has said, the Fox cannot effectively choose a course of action except in
the absence of all overt opposition.
Fox tribal government under the Indian Reorganization Act is based
on majority rule. Majority rule means that majorities exercise authority
over minorities. It doesn't work. White men have gotten the Fox started
on cooperative handicraft production and sale, based on majority rule.
That didn't work. The pow wow organization has, on paper, a host of
grand-sounding, authoritative positions such as president, treasurer, etc.
But the organization actually functions the Fox way - by leisurely dis-
cussion until overt opposition disappears. That works.
On the whole, white-initiated activities have been organized in a
hierarchical arrangement of authority and the Fox have failed. Failing
 THE STRATEGY OF THE FOX PROJECT 117

repeatedly and having mixed feelings about what the white man calls
progress in the first place, the Fox have settled clown to a grand strategy
of holding the line. Having set on that course, they tend, through time,
to become more of a financia! burden. So the beginning of the vicious
circle is rejoined.
Turn now to what we plan to do about it. The word attack connotes
much more aggressiveness than we are likely to exhibit. But in the upper
right hand comer on your diagrarns you read: points of first attack. We
have the hope that something can be done by simple verbal communica-
tion - education. Education is the first attack.
One prong on the diagram points to the white belief that the Fox are
temporary. This historical record makes a pretty good case, we think,
that one cannot assume the Fox, or any Indian group, is inevitably tem-
porary. We hope that, if we say that often enough and to enough of the
right people, it will have detectable effect. Further, sorne of those people
can be affected by pointing out the undesirable results on the Fox when
white men act as if the Fox are temporary.
But, according to the vicious circle, white men believe the Fox are
temporary because, in part, they believe the Fox are lazy and are a
burden. 1 will return to the Fox burden later. What to do about the
belief in Fox laziness? We intend to do nothing directly. Rather, by
talking about certain other facets of Fox life, we hope to reduce white
man's preoccupation with that laziness. We imagine that it would be
futile to tell almost any white man that laziness is only culture. After all,
we white men hold that work is a virtue; and faith in that is extremely
basic in the operations of white society. But there are other arcas of Fox
life which are now understood and positively valued by the neighbors of
the Fox. And there are still other facets of Fox lifc which, though now
misunderstood by whites, could come to be understood and positively
valued with relative ease, we think. lowans say, for example, that the
Fox are poor farmers. We think lowans could be interested in learning
that the Fox aren't farmers at all.
In short, we have our focus on the white belief that the Fox are tem-
porary and want to correct that. In order to do so, we will try to draw the
attention of whites away from the highly resistant belief that thc Fox are
lazy and toward more easily valued aspects of Fox lifc.
Now, tuming to the second prong of this first attack, we will attempt,
again by verbal communication, to reduce the Fox fear of failure. Sorne
success has already been recorded when we have experimentally talked to
Fox individuals about so-called failures in terms of their authority system.
Almost invariably the failures occurred because sorne Fox wasn't authori-
tarian · he wasn't authoritarian because it would have been indecent to be.
The Fox value those patterns of authority highly; they usually combine
118 THE STRATEGY OF THE FOX PROJECT

them with other things under the term, freedom. In one recorded instance,
we had written something about the authority pattems, and a Fox had
read the article and he carne to us quite excited about it. It was apparent
that the Fox individual had made the logical connection between that
valued frecdom and past failures he had experienced. This, no doubt, for
the first time; and quite obviously, to his great relief.
To the degree that such understanding becomes general and inter-
nalizcd, the Fox should be better off. That understanding will help relieve
their anxieties about past failure and help them to better select future
undertakings. It should help restore their self-confidence.
The Fox will best come to understand their own social structure through
contrasting it with that of white society. We plan such activities as an
informal adult education program as alluded to by Mr. Marlin. This
would be in the Fox community and would cover the history of their
relations with the federal government. The subject is of intense intercst to
them. In examining with them such things as particular treaties, there will
be ample opportunity to attempt to explain Fox and white behavior in
terms of culture and social organization. This may be the first time an
adult cducation course on civics has been attempted in an Indian com-
munity.
In these first, verbal, attempts to break into the vicious circle, we expect
uneven results. The Fox will probably learn more about whites ( and
about themselves) than whites will learn about the Fox. Fox interest is
more pressing. However, the very failure of whites to understand should
present further opportunities to demonstrate to the Fox the nature of
white society.
One footnote before turning to thc second point of attack. I should not
leave the imprcssion that all the learning is going from us to them. W e
expect to lcam much more than we now know about both societies by thc
very act of discussing the contrasts between them.
The second point of attack will begin soon after the first and continue
concurrently with it as shown on the diagram, the main focus here, is on
the fact and fiction of the Fox burdcn. We intcnd in this second approach
to restructure certain situations so as to create learning cxperiences. In
sorne instanccs, the new situations will be designed to demonstrate facts
about Fox or white behavior. In others, situations which are threatening
will be altered if possible so as to create a bctter atmosphere for learning.
As an example of creative situations which dcmonstratc facts, we tried,
with sorne success, a small experiment in cooperative fanning. The experi-
ment demonstrated to the participants ( including us) sorne facts about
cooperative endeavor under thc Fox authority system. I spent many hard
hours in a hot Iowa corn field and I cannot discover any subconscious
sabotage on my part. But I would mislead if I did not admit to somc
 THE STRATEGY OF THE FOX PROJECT 119

seeret pleasure in the low level of eeonomie suceess of the projeet. The
laek of eeonomic suecess eonfirmed an important hypothesis - and eon-
firmed it as mueh for the participating Fox as for us. In the future, in
regard to sueh situations which demonstrate faets, we plan to encourage
undertakings whieh seem workable ones, and assist in the implementations
when asked. So much for situations whieh will demonstrate faets.
The threatening situations have more pervasive effects. And more
hinges on our hopes to alter them. The matter of govemment health and
education services are especially damaging as they stand today. It is
unlikely that the Fox will have suffieient tribal income in the foreseeable
future to pay for those services. The federal govemment's withdrawal
poliey has ereated great anxiety among both the Fox and nearby Iowans.
The Fox fear they will lose the serviees. The Iowans fear the eosts will be
shifted to them. Furthermore, you will reeall the important effeets, in the
vicious eirele, of the white man's picture of the Fox as a burden. We
think that the faet of govemment subsidy could be altered in a way which
would remove those bad effects. The threat of withdrawal to both Fox
and Iowans, and the pieture of the Fox as a burden could be greatly
altered by establishing a permanent tribal fund large enough to pay the
eosts of those serviees from income from the fund. We are willing, if and
when the Fox are ready, to undertake politieal action with them to the end
of getting such a fund appropriated by Congress. The odds are elearly
not great. We do not rule out the possibility of Fox self-suffieiency with-
out such a fund but the prospects are very remate.
In summary, we have hopes of breaking into the vieious cirele and,
through trying, of reaching a more adequate and preeise analysis of the
relations between the Fox and their neighbors. We will undertake two
sets of aetions in the attempt. Through education, we will try to alter
eertain ideas; our foeus is primarily on the white belief that the Fox are
temporary and the Fox fear of failure, Through changing situations, we
will attempt to assist the leaming proeesses; our foeus here is primarily on
Fox finaneial dependenee.
You perhaps have notieed that throughout we have left the resistant
white beliefs, sueh as the idea that the Fox are lazy, alone. We do not
intend to eome directly to grips with them. It is felt that one or both of
two things will happen to them, assuming a degree of sueeess in our other
efforts: Sorne will become less important and sorne less true. As for the
ideas about Fox laziness, we eount more on the first. The idea will be
less important beeause it will be no longer joined with the idea of the
Fox being a burden.
A key index of sueeess will turn on how mueh we are able to inerease
Fox self-eonfidence. That self-confidence and its most basie element -
the greater Fox understanding of Fox and white behavior- should make
120 THE STRATEGY OF THE FOX PROJECT

it possible for the Fox to adjust their own behavior sufficiently to cope
with the white world, especially in the economic sphere. By adjusting
we mean self-conscious actions - acting - doing things deliberately for
desired ends. It is clear that this sort of change díflers radically from the
basic change that would be required of whites - to recognize that work
is not an absolute virtue. It is clear, too, that the changes we expect of
the Fox are not the sort of basic changes that are generally thought of
when one speaks of acculturation.
 10

The Failure of the Means-Ends

Scheme in Action Anthropolog
y

LISA REDFIELD PEATTIE

What I am going to say amounts to a general methodological comment

on the strategy which Fred Gearing has outlincd. I do not plan to dis-
cuss any part of this program. Instead, I want to call attcntion to a
characteristic of the program as a whole, onc which seems to me rather
different from a good <leal of applicd anthropology. This is a diffcrencc
not so much in what we do, as in how we have come to think and talk
about what we do and plan. I hesitate to sound as if I wcre talking
philosophy - that is not my field - but I thínk that this difference can
be stated most clearly as follows: We have come to talk about social
action ín ways which líe outside the usual means-ends scheme which our
culture prescribes as usual for this subject.

"The Failure of the Means-Ends Scheme in Action Anthropology" by Lisa Redfield

Peattie is reprinted from Fred Cearing, R. McC. Netting, and L. R. Peattie,
-e • Documentan) History of the Fax Project: 1948-1959, pp. 300-304, Department
of Anthropology, University of Chicago, 1960, by permission of the author and the
D~partment of Anthropology, University of Chícago.

121
 122 FAILURE OF THE MEANS­ENDS SCHEME

This difference was first suggested to me in a paper on our Fox project

by a philosopher, Paul Diesing. In this paper, Diesing distinguishes two
sorts of planning which are applied to social processes. The first type of
planning sharply distinguishes ends and means. In Diesíng's words, it
"consists of first dcciding what one wants to do, and then finding out how
to do it." This is evidently the classic type of applied science, including
social science; writings on the application of science - to solving social
problems generally presuppose sorne such scheme. "Applied anthropol-

¡a; ogy," as generally discussed, also follows this means-ends scheme. The
anthropologist here sees himself as a kind of social technician. He takes
I sorne goal, perhaps one set for him by an administrative agency, occasion-

--
/ ally one which he sets for himself, and discovers means to bring it about.
His analogue is the technician of the physical sciences. Just as the elec-
trical engineer reports to his company on how to build a certain kind of
switchboard and estimates the cost of building it, so the applied anthro-
pologist may report to an administrator the most effective way of getting
a cattle-raising tribe to reduce their cattle herds, and on the social costs
of making the change. So in the early days of the Fox project we talked
about means to get the Fox to farm more efficiently. This way of think-
ing, which sharply distinguishes the "end" to be achieved from the
"means" to it, is familiar to all of us.
However, it is not the only possible way to think about planning and
social action. In fact, our "action anthropology" enterprise tends to fol-
low lines something like an alternative scheme put forward by Diesing in
bis paper on the Fox project. Diesing speaks of this scheme as one in
which "neither ends nor means are regarded as given at the start, but
both are determined in a single inquiry, each by reference to the other."
The action anthropologist is not so much involved in the application of
theory to determine means to a given end as he is in "the development
and clarification of goals and the compromising of conflicting ends and
values." The action anthropologist, with his coordinate activities of action
and research, thus becomes involved in a three-fold process. Our action
research among the Fox is the process by which we discover the facts -
those relevant to action and to the setting of goals for the Fox community,
as well as those relevant to general scientífic hypotheses. It is secondly,
and at the same time, the process by which we and the Fox together set
and clarify the goals of the action program. Thirdly, and simultaneously,
it is itself the action which is to help bring about those goals. In this
three-fold process, ends and means can no longer be distinguished from
each other.
When the action anthropologist states his goals or "ends" they tend
to be open-ended objectives like growths in understanding, clarification
of values, and the like, rather than fixed goals like the quotas in a five-
 FAILURE OF THE MEANS­ENDS SCHEME 123

year plan. They are not properly speaking "ends" at all, for they can
never be said to have been reached. They are more properly modes of
valuing - modes of valuing all stages in a continuous and ínfinite
process.
This scheme, which deals with a continuous process of discovery and
action and valuing, rather than with ends and means, is by no means
unique to action anthropology. Readers of John Dewey's Theory of Val­
uation will recognize that it has a respectable status in American philos-
ophy. In practice, it has an interesting analogue in psychotherapy, in
which the process of discovering the nature of the patient's illness is at
the same time a process of curing that illness, and a process of redefining
what the patient wishes to become - in other words, what the "ends" of
the process are in the particular case. But although the parallel to
psychotherapeutic practicc is particularly clear, I suspect that it is not
unique. In fact, it seems likely that much more social planning follows
the model I have describcd than one would suspect from writing on the
subject of applied social science. But however much all of us may in
practice fail to keep our "ends" and "means" separate, this is not the model
which we usually follow in our thought.
I think there are a number of reasons why even in America, the home
of pragmatic philosophy, discussions of applied social science usually
follow thc traditional means-ends scheme rather than the Deweyan form
which the Fox project has come to adopt. In the first place, our group's
way of thinking runs counter to a general technological bias of our cul-
ture. We Americans like to conceive of action on the model of the
machine, action directed as efficiently as possible to a clearly-defincd pur-
pose. In the social scicnccs, such action is less clearly possible than it is
in physics or mechanics. But we social scicntists tcnd to hope that it is
possible, even to act as if it were possible whcn we are not surc that it is,
hoping against hope as it were; such seems to be thc entry to respectable
status arnong the family of sciences and applicd scienccs. Secondly, thc
whole structure of our language and thought presupposes a schcme whcrc
one acts and the other is acted upon thc technician, thc action anthro-
pologist acts on society, on people. Thirdly, to the cxtent that only onc
agent is acting to determine ends, a definitivc sctting of goals, and the
control nccessary to achicve set goals, is made more possiblc. This situa-
tion is approachcd when thc anthropologist works for an administrativo
agency with a good <leal of powcr - for cxample, a colonial govcrnmcnt.
Historically, this has been the classic typc of situation in which the applied
anthropologist has been found, and thc discussions of applicd anthro-
pology tend to rcflcct this circumstance.
Finally, a real difficulty of our "Deweyan" way of planning is that it
carries with it a need for new methods of evaluation. In the traditional
124 FAILURE OF THE MEANS­ENDS SCHEME

means-ends scheme, the mode of evaluation is clear. Have you done what
you set out to do? But we reserve the right, in fact, assert the obligation,
to modify our particular objectives ( e.g., setting up a clinic) at all stages
of the action process. Thus the simple test of determining whether the
plan has been "fulfilled" can be applied only to small, even trivial steps
in the action process. As for our more general and permanent objectives,
such as increasing the areas of mutual understanding between Indians
and whites, these are so general that they are hard to give operational
definítíon; in any case, they are practically infinite in character, so that no
matter how much has been accomplished it could always be argued that
more could and should have been. But evaluation is clearly necessary.
In faet, since our way of working conceives of every stage of our action
as both means and end, we must evaluate each stage as well as the whole
process; nothing can be treated as a mere utility, a means. Methods for
doing this kind of evaluating with any rigor have yet to be devised. Again
it is interesting to compare our problems with those of psychotherapy.
The psychotherapeutic "cure" is unique to each case, and the therapist
may not know what it is until the end of the therapy. How much and what
kinds of change may be considered success? I note that the therapists
have not answered thís group of questions very effectively either.
In view of all these difficulties, the obvious question is: Why have we
adopted this philosophically interesting but otherwise slippery and com-
plicated way of looking at our activities? This question has to be an-
swered :6.rst historically. Such changes in ways of thinking are rarely made
by logical decision at one point in time; certainly this was not. W e carne
to think in this way, and made the change before we knew that we were
making it; then we saw that we had come to think in a new way. So our
conceptualization has a history :6.rst, rather than a logical reason. But the
history has its own logic of functional utility. The change carne about
because the new way of thinking was more useful to us.
In the :6.rst place, we have in general had a role in which we were
discussing with, rather than acting on, peoplc. In contrast to the tradí-
tional role of thc applied anthropologist, as adviser to sorne administrative
body, in our Fox project we had no powcr position whatsocvcr; we could
only counsel with both Indians and administrators, and neithcr was under
any compulsion to accept our counsel as having weight. It would havc
been futile for thc action anthropologists to set long-tcrm goals and
prograrns if only because they would have no way of causing these to be
cxccuted. As they could affect the actions of thc Indians or of the ad-
ministrators only by education, discussion, pcrsuasion which necessarily
must procecd step by stcp, their opcrations were neccssarily of a step by
stcp character. They placed more crnphasis on the clarification of goals
ancl on mutual unclerstanding, than on rapíd program towards sorne set
 FAILURE OF THE MEANS­ENDS SCHEME 125

objective. The Fox progress thus became one of "ínteracting-with" rather

than "acting-on" people. And this way of acting, developed historically,
has now become for the project a rnethod of choice; we would now act
in this way even if there was no need in the circumstances of our action.
In the early days of the Fox project there was a good <leal of discussion
arnong the anthropologists as to whether the ultimate goal of "assirnila-
tíon" or of "nonassimilatíon" would be most desirable as the ultimate end
for a program in that community. No agreement was ever reached on
this point. But at the same time the anthropologists did agree on two
other points: that certain fonns of action would be helpful, regardless of
decision on this ultimate choice, and that the action should in general
take the form of increasing the areas of free choice available to the In-
dians, and of helping the Indians understand better the choiccs available.
The general outcome was a program which might be styled a kind of
nondirective counselling for a community.
Further, I note that one reason for our use of Deweyan ends-means
scheme is that as a group we tend to be sceptical about the degree of
positive predictive knowledge and control available to us from social
science. The setting of ends in the traditional mode of operations sup-
poses that at least sometime pretty early in your program you know
enough of what your goals mean and what our means involve in the way
of further consequences so that you can set a long-range plan and act
according to it. We of course make such predictive judgments at all
stages of our operations. But we tend not to trust them too much, we
would rather not have too much at stake on our "scientific" prcdictions.
Finally, and I think most importantly, this treatment of means and ends
in our own work has also kept pace with a changc in our víew of Fox
culture which has clearly represented a healthy developmcnt. In the first
months of our work in the Fox community we wcre struck by a gap
which appeared to exist bctween the goals of individual Fox Indians in
the material sphere - such things as better housing, cars - and thc cul-
tural means available for their realization - in othcr words the mcans
for making a living, and the social machinery of corporate action. This
led us to think of culture as a system of mcans and ends: thc means, tech-
nology, social organization, and so on: thc cnds such material items as
food and clothing and such nonmaterial oncs as "a sense of being re-
spected." For some purposes, this is a uscful scheme. But if you try to
work within a culture it gets you into difficulties, and as we tried to work
with the Fox we were led to abandon it. For a culture cannot be so neatly
separated into means and ends - not even our own which believes in the
separateness of means and ends, and probably less so in most othcr cul-
tures. Technology and social organization are not merely means, they are
valued and therefore also ends. As we carne to have a view of Fox culture
'
126 FAILURE OF THE MEANS­ENDS SCHEME

which saw ali the parts as valued and as therefore both means and ends
we carne more to drop the cnds-rneans distinction in our own work, cor-
respondingly, as our own work lost the distinction we carne less and less
to see itas a useful axis for an analysis of Fox culture.
It is not true of course that in our program we have abandoned the
ends-means distinction altogether. We often find it possible to separate
out one part of our action program, and to conceive of it in the traditional
means-ends form. Thus we have separated out the problem of providing
better dental care for the Fox, and sought means to get it. Now would we
argue against the traditional means-ends scheme in general. It is only
that we have come to find our way of thinking more useful in an action
program which tries to work as we do within a complex social situation.
It has a kind of "fit" to the pattern of causality in such a social situation,
in which ali the parts are equally causing and being affected by the
others. It has a "fit" to a view of culture in which ali parts are both means
and ends to the participants. So despite the difficulties, we find that on
the whole this is the way we find it more congenia} to think - beca use it
is knowledge and control, because it helps in thinking of culture as a
valued whole, rather than as a system of separated parts.
 11

Action Anthropology

RALPH PIDDINGTON

1. ANTHROPOLOGY ANO PRACTICAL PROBLEMS

Attempts have been madc to apply anthropology to prae~problcms

of human wclfare in a variety of situations - eonsicler for example the
widcly differing types of eontribution which have been macle by sueh
anthropologists as C. C. Brown, John Embree, and Edwin Smith. In
this paper 1 shaII confine myself to what is the rnost eommon ancl the
most important type of situation - that in which a non-Europcan group
of alíen culture or differing subculturc is affected by administrative
policies dcriving from govcrnments which form part of Euro-American
culture. Such situations would includc colonial administrations in Africa
or Melanesia, thc problcms of thc Maorí of Ncw Zealand ancl thosc of
Amerindían groups such as thc one whích will be dcscribcd Iatcr.
The relations bctwccn anthropologists ancl administrators in such situ-
ations havc becn ably summariscd by Homcr Barnctt, who rcachcs an }
. I
"Aetíon Anthropology" by Ralph Piddington is reprinted from the [ourual of tlie },. 1°/l, t, '1
Polijnesian Society 69: 199-213, 1960, by pennission of the author and the Poly- (~
nesían Soeiety.

127
128 ACTION ANTHROPOLOGY

unpalatable but correct conclusion when he writes :11 "No matter how
tactfully it is phrased, the truth is that anthropologists and administrators
do not, on the wholc, gct along well together'" ( Barnett, 1956:49). He
points out, moreover, that in spite of the numerous projects for collabora-
tion between anthropologists and administrators, the number of anthro-
pologists engaged in such projects at any one time has not been impres-
sive. The effect of anthropology on administration has probably lain
more in the dissemination among administrators of an understanding of
broad general principles than in giving them concrete advice on ad hoc
practical problems, though the contribution in this field has been far
from negligible.
The relative failure of anthropology as an applied science, in the
ordinary sense of the term, has been dt~e to a variety of factors, among
which the following may be mentioned: The expense of long and thorough.j:
investigations of particular situations without which the advice of the
anthropologist ( even if he were willing to give it) would usually be
worthless; the consequent delay in taking decisions which to the admin-
istrator may be matters of immediate urgency, occasional examples of
misguided judgment by anthropologists which attract more attention than(V
they would in such fields as medicine or meteorology; the stereotype in
thc public mind of the anthropologist as a student of "bizarre, dead and CS)
primitive humanity" ( Barnett, 1956: 56), as a conservative antiquarian
yearning for a romanticised picture of a primitive Golden Age;~ and the
tendency of sorne administrators to regard the anthropologist's activitiesG)
as a threat to their authority or positions either by bringing to light ad-
ministrative errors or by usurping their functions . .j
But the most significant obstacle to effective collaboration is inherent
in the present situation and can never, I believe, be wholly eliminated. I
refer to the essential difference betwen anthropologists and administrators V
not in regard to what they think but in regard to what they say and do, in()
other words the roles which are assigned to them by our culture. It is
largely a matter of social personality, in Radclíffe-Brown's sense, not one
of individual personality involving merely subjective attitudes and eval-
uations. The anthropologist is a scientist and like all scientists he is
expected to have a deep interest in bis subject matter; this usually ex-
tends to sorne measure of personal affection for non-Europeans as indi-
viduals and esteem for at least sorne features of their ways of life. As
holder of a university appointment or research grant the anthropologist
is free to say publicly what he thinks - to criticise governments, admin-
istrators, missionaries, and economic interests. He may regard this free-
dom of speech as a responsibility as well as a right and if so he" is per-
fectly free to become a whipping boy for the Pacific Islands Monthly.
Contrast the position of the administrator. He is the servant of a·
government which, whether blatantly or not, is in the last analysís, con-

;1'­ t'
l" ·.
-e,
 ACTION ANTHROPOLOGY 129

cerned with vote-catching. He must carry out a policy which has been
conceived within the framework of Euro-American institutions and values
and which is rarely inspired by a profound knowledge of alien cultures,
let alone a sensitive appreciation of the significance of non-European
values. And he must be forever conscious of a variety of individuals and
pressure groups whorn his actions may offend, ranging frorn the local
trader or missionary through the public press of his own country to world-
wide agencies of the United Nations. All these and many others must be
placated so that, whatever he may think, he must act and speak (so far
as he speaks at all) as though non-Europcan values and aspirations were
of secondary importance compared with those of the dominant European-
type culture. The inherent differences between anthropologists and ad-
ministrators, let me repeat, líe in the field of speech and action and not
necessarily in that of belief and sympathy. Many administrators have as
sensitive an appreciation of non-European cultures as the average anthro-
pologist. And sorne anthropologists, particularly when they think of eco-
nomic development and material progress, are sornetimes as culture-
bound in their own way as any bigoted missionary of the old school.
The dilemma, then, is this: It is admitted by all but the most impractical
of practica} men that anthropology can be of value in dealing with prob-
lems of human welfare. Yet beca use of the institutional framework
within which he must operate, the anthropologist can in fact make only
minimal and sporadic contributions to the solution of such problems.
Owing largely to this dilemma, anthropologists are sharply divided
among themselves as to what role they should play in human affairs.
(!) Sorne hold that they should retire to an ivory tower and divorce them-
selves from practieal issues which they cannot effectively influence and
which, sorne believe, distract attention from fundamental research prob-
lems. Still others hold that the anthropologist should concern himself
(!) with practica} problems, but only as a faet-finder. He should aim to
provide the administrator with facts relevant to the carrying out of a
given policy, but should play no part in the formulation or criticism of
policy itself. He should refrain from advocating decisions which are
necessarily based largely on his own value judgmcnts. A third school of
( -1-J thought holds that the anthropologist is the pe~son most ~ntimatc.ly aware
\_) of the human problems, both general and particular, which are mvolved.
He should therefore shamelessly make pronouucements on administrative
policies and should provide facts relevant to the carrying out of policies
which he approves. .----- ~
The first of these views,~_esse_nt!alo/ __i~e_g~~'can be dismissed
as irrelevant to our problem. The second school of thought represents a
point of view which is widely held in relation to other social sciences
besides anthropology- what might be called the sqb_izoid_Jnte1:)2!:_eta!ion
of the role of the social scientist. According to this view the social scicn-
 130 ACTION ANTHROPOLOGY

tist should keep bis value judgments rigidly distinct from his scientific
work. When not on duty as a scientist he may indulge himself in the
human luxury of value judgments, but when he is carrying out research
or speaking of practica} issues his mind should be as free from emotion
or sentiment as that of a biologist studying newts. Actually, of course, all
significant social science research involves value judgements íf only in the

\ selection of hypotheses for testing and methods of research ( Garigue,

1958:17). The third view is attractive)and would work well if non-
European peoples were governea-by a benevolent dictatorship of anthro-
1 pologists. But because of the characteristics of administrative institutions,
rnentioned previously, it is not likely to achieve widespread effectiveness.
The administrator may be willing to accept help in doing bis job but he
is not prepared to be told what bis job is or ought to be.

2. THE FOX PROJECT IN ACTION ANTHROPOLOGY

A fourth approach to practica! problems has been termed "action

anthropology". It was developed in the course of a project of Sol Tax
and bis associates of the University of Chicago among the Fox Indians
at Tama, Iowa. The work at Tama started in 1948 as a field training
situation for research workers, that is as a project in "pure" science. As
the work advanced, the research workcrs became interested in the human
problems of the Fox and were attracted to them as people. From thís
arose a desire to help in the resolution of their practica! difficulties, and
the formulation of a policy and a set of techniques designed to achieve
this.
The Fox ( also called Mesquakie) carne originally from Wisconsin.
With the westward expansion of white population during the nineteenth
century they moved to lllinois, Iowa, and subsequently to a reservation
in Kansas. Being a woodland people, they did not like the treeless plains
of Kansas where they felt their land rights to be insecure. By selling
their horscs they werc ablc to purchasc land near Tama in southern lowa
in 1854. Theír present settlement of about 3,000 acres thus differs from
the ordinary Indian rcservation allocated by Government, though it has
a school administercd by the Bureau of Indian Affairs, which also sup-
plies minimal medica! services. The soil of the settlement is poor and
the working mcn commute to Tama and other neighbouring towns where
thcy are largely cmployed in unskilled occupations. The standard of
living is consequently low. At present there are about five to six hundrcd
Fox living in the settlement.
Thc religious lifc of the Iowa Fox providcs a paradigm of their ad-
justment to contemporary American civilization. Sorne are Christians but
most of them, including nominal Christians, adhere either to a modified
 ACTION ANTHROPOLOGY 131

version of traditional Fox totemic religion or to one of two adjustment

cults borrowed Irom other Indian groups. One of these is the widespread
peyote cult (Sol Tax in Eggan, 1955:262-268).
The Fox, like many other Indians, want to make their rcligious life
something essentially their own and essentially Indian. This feeling is
reflected in a contcmporary myth which tells of a Chippewa reincarna-
tion of Christ: "About eighteen years ago the daughter of an old Chip-
pewa couple, who lived off in the woods by themselves, became pregnant.
The mother, knowing that her daughter had had no chance to see boys,
accused the father of making the girl pregnant. When the baby was
born, she raised an axe to kill the (as she thought) incestuous child. At
this rnoment the child spokc, saying, 'I was born to the whites across the
sea and they killed me; are you going to kill me too?'. Raising His hands
He showed her the stigmata on thern." This boy will soon become a
religious leader of the Indians, as hís Predecessor <lid far the white man
(Gearing, Netting, and Peattie, 1960:56-57).
The social logic behind the refusal simply to accept the white man's
religion in its entirety is rcvealed in another ítem of contemporary lndian
folklore: "Once there was an Indian who became a Christian. He became
a very good Christian; he went to church, and he didn't smoke or drink,
and he was good to everyone. He was a very good man. Then he died.
First he went to the Indian hereafter, but they wouldn't take him
because he was a Christian. Then he went to heaven, but they wouldn't
let him in because he was an Indian. Then he went to Hell but they
wouldn't admit him there either, beca use he was so good. So he carne
alive agaín, and he went to the Buffalo Dance and the other dances and
he taught his children to do the same thing."
The action anthropologists were, of course, keenly interested in race
relations at Tama. Their interpretation of the socio-economic position of
the Fox vis a vis the surrounding white population is summarised in a
diagram prcpared by Fred Gearing which is rcproduced in modified fonn
in Figure 2.
In this diagram, items in circlcs refer to behavioural phenomena, or
inferences from them; items in squares refer to ideas and attitudcs. Whcre
the two overlap, the meaning is that the ideas and attitudcs spring from
the behavioural phcnomena. Thus, starting at thc left hancl side of the
circle, we have first a set of bchavioural phenorncna charactcrised as "Fox
self-organization," that is the system of drivcs and motives which go to
make up the self of an individual in relation to thc outside world. The
training of white Americans, like that of most people in Western civiliza-
tions, tends to develop in each individual a conception of a perfected,
ideal self consisting of a more or less clearly dcfined collection of virtucs.
According to our value system the life careers of all individuals are, or
132 ACTION ANTHROPOLOGY

Whites
believe ~
Fox are
temporary
._________.

Gov't
Services
Whites act
to speed the
Whites
"inevitable"
believe
assimilation
Fox are
a burden

....----+-~
Whites Fox tear
believe Fox
are lazy
Fox resist
change + tailure

Fox authority
system

FIGURE 2

ought to be, marked by a constant effort to make the real self, refleeted in
actual behaviour, eoincide with the ideal self - "above all else to thine
own self be true .... " The Fox, however, do not seem to construet sueh
an ideal sclf but to accept themselves as they are. They tend to be
motivated by external rather than internal moral sanctions - the desire
for public approval, the fear of condemnation, material considerations,
magieo-religious sanctions, and others familiar to anthropologists.
The effects of that contrast are great. White individuals, if psycholog-
ically healthy and not self-consciously marginal, can engage in a sustained
eff ort in a single direction over a long period of time, and - here is the
crux - they can do so more or less independent of their group. In con-
trast, a Fox is guided almost exclusively by his moment-to-moment rela-
tions with others; he bridles un<ler long-term, rigid work schedules; he
becomes listless in sítuations requiring isolated self-direction ( Gearing in
Gearing, Netting, and Peattie, 1960:295-297). (See Chapter ~~,.P· ll5.)

The popular white interprctation of this situation is, understandably,

that the Fox are unreliable and lazy. Laziness reflects a lack of what is
regardcd as one of the most cssential virtues in a civilization geared to
progress and material aehievement. And for thc whites the situation is
aggravated by the cducational and medica! services provided for the Fox
 ACTION ANTHROPOLOGY 133

by Govemment. These are seen as an intolerable burden upon hard-

working Iowan taxpayers. And - sinee an intolerable situation eannot
eontinue indefinitely - there arises, as we move eloekwíse round the
vieious eircle, the belief that the Fox are temporary, that sooner or later
they will abandon their distinetive eharaeteristies and so eease to be a
burden. This in turn leads to attempts to speed the "inevitable" assimila-
tion, partieularly by withdrawing the speeial edueational facilities whieh
the Fox enjoy and by urging them to take deeisions whieh will bring
them into line with white American ways and institutions. In faet, sueh
deeisions are not taken, for two reasons: Firstly beeause the Fox, like
most eultural minorities, value their way of life and resent any threat,
real or imagined, to it; and seeondly beeause they fear failure.

They fear Iailure because they have often failed. They have often
failed because white society demands, in effect, that the Fox do things
the white way. And there are basic structural reasons why the Fox simply
cannot. The Fox can undertake the tasks - they run a pow pow each
year which clears severa] thousands dollars and involves the coordinated
efforts of at least 200 persons. But they must do it their own way.
[The] basic structural reasons are the Fox authority system. In Fox
social organization, authority roles are all but nonexistent .... The Fox
cannot effectively choose a course of action except in the absence of all
overt opposition.
Fox tribal government under the Indian Reorganization Act is based on
majority rule. Majority rule means that majorities exercise authority over
rninorities. It doesn't work. \Vhite men have gotten the Fox started on
co-operatíve handícraft production and sale, based on majority rule. That
dídn't work, The pow pow organization has, on paper, a host of grand-
sounding, authoritative positions such as president, treasurer, etc. But the
organization actually functions the Fox way- by leisurely discussion
until overt opposition disappears. That works. (See Chapter 9, p. 116.)

The Fox have failed, then, in white-initiated ventures beeause these

have been organised along white lines and are not adaptcd to the Fox
way of life. "Failing repeatedly and having míxed fcelings about what
the white man ealls progress in the first plaec, the Fox have settled clown
to a grand strategy of holding the line. Having set on that eourse, they
tend through time to become more of a financia} burclen. So the begin-
' '~
ning of the vieious/eirele is rejoined (Gearing in Gcaring, Netting, and
Peattie, 1960:295-297).
The main attempts whieh were made by the aetion anthropologists to
break this vieious eírcle were twofold: Firstly, informal "adult edueation"
work among whites through pamphlets, newspaper artieles, personal eon- '
taets, and eorrespondenee with thc Bureau of Indian Affairs; and seeondly,
measures intended to help the Fox to help themselves. The first was '
 134 ACTION ANTHROPOLOGY

designed to enable the whites to appreciate the social realities underlying

the difficulties of the Fox. It includes a simple charter for policy making:
Any policy which is to be of value must work. It will not work unless it
is accepted by the Fox. Therefore no policy which is not accepta ble to
the Fox can be of value.
This adumbrates the most significant distinction between action
anthropology and applied anthropology as ordinarily conceived. It
1 emphasises the right of Fox self-determination or, as Sol Tax bluntly
puts it, the freedom to makc mistakes. The Fox are faced with the need
/ of making decisions relevant to their future. The function of the anthro-
pologist is not to impose bis own decisions, much less those of admin-
1 istrators and other whites. His function is to act as a catalyst, to help
clarify issues for the Fox and to make available to them possibilities of
( choice which may not have occurred to them, or whích might not have
' becn available to them apart from the programme of action anthropology.
In the light of such clarification, any decision reached by the Fox is by
definition the right decision. Any lines of action, including those which
appeal to the action anthropologist, must be rejected if they are not
acceptable to the Fox. And this policy works in practice. Thus factional-
ism in Fox society has rendered abortive many attempts by whites to
improve their condition.1 Yet factionalism is hardly significant when the
Fax are dealing wíth their own problems in their own ways. An example
is the annual pow pow, previously mentioned, which is at the sarne time
an exciting social occasion and an econornic mechanism for extracting
money frorn tourists. The organisation of this event is usually smooth
and efficicnt, with few difficulties arising from factionalism; nor have the
action anthropologists found factionalism a serious obstacle to their
programrne.
The effects of this programme are exemplified in the Tama crafts
project. The anthropologists discovered a young Fox called Charles
Pushetonequa who had high artistic ability. He had left the Fox com-
munity for a while and received sorne training in art. But he preferred
to sacrífice bis artistic aspirations in an alíen community and to return
to Tama to take up unskilled ernployment. The Fox, with the assistance
of the action anthropologists, organizcd a small group which, with In-
dian stylc designs drawn by Pushetoncqua, produces highly ornamental
and original ceramic tiles and grceting cards. Thc project has been a
commercial success and its effects have been threefokl: Firstly it has
addcd to the self-esteem of the Fox, has made them feel that thcy can
operate effectively within the American econcmy, and has added sub-
stantially to thcir income. Sccondly it has made the whites aware that
the Fox are capable of taking practica! steps to help themselves and so
has modifiecl thc stcreotype of them as a burden; last, but by no means
 ACTION ANTHROPOLOGY 135

least, it has provided Charles Pushetonequa with a career in which he

can realise his artistic aspirations without losing his identity as a member
of the Fox community.
The same sort of effects have been produced by the action anthro-
pologists' project in higher education. Using funds contributed by vari-
ous institutions and individuals, they arranged for a number of young
Fox graduating from High School to proceed to institutions of higher
education - something unprecedented in the history of the Fox. As had
been anticipated, the success of this scheme has been moderate but
significant, its failures being largely due to the difficulty experienced by
the Fox in adapting themselves to the unfamiliar environment of Amer-
ican universities and colleges. But the academic successes of the scheme
in its initial phases are not a reliable index of its valuc, for it has
achieved two important collateral effects: Firstly it has inculcated in the
minds of Fox youth the idea that higher education is a goal which should
be sought. Practically all Fox graduating from High School since the
inception of the scheme have taken part in it, and one of the few who did
not do so was at pains to apologise to the field director because personal
circumstances made it impossible for him to participate. Secondly the
project is providing the Fox with a number of young people who, whether
academically successful or not, will be in a position to act as mediators
between them and the wider American culture which they so imperfectly
understand.2
Returning to the philosophical basis of action anthropology, it should
be noted that it is not an "applied" science in the sense of being divorced
from "pure" research. On thc contrary, as we have scen, it emerged in a
context of pure research and holds the pursuit of this to be an aspect of
the work complementary to the practica! programme. Neither is given
priority, and they are not mutually incompatible. As incrcasing knowl-
edge enlightens action, so the social changes produced in action provide
new data on the nature of Fox socicty and shed ncw light on its funda-
mental characteristics through the process which has becn called "learn-
ing through action".
As a scientific discipline action anthropology is clinical rather than
prcdictive. It <loes not aim to apply general anthropological principies
directly to a body of observational data existing at any onc time so as
to produce a "blueprint" for thc futurc of thc Fox. Instead, by picking
up a series of cucs (in thc light of general principies, of coursc) it allows
concrete plans for action to emerge progrcssively from the ongoing
processes of social changc among the Fox.
An incident dcscribed by Sol Tax illustratcs two important principies
which have been mentioncd in conncction with action anthropology:
Firstly that, far from bcing inconsistent with "pure" research, action
 136 ACTION ANTHROPOLOGY

anthropology from its very nature provides new opportunities in this

) field;3 and secondly that the action anthropologist must be ready to
\ abandon willingly and graciously any of his proposa.ls for action which
do not meet with ready acceptance by the commumty. As regards the
first of these Tax writes: "I suppose that everything we learn in anthro-
pology we learn from experience - things that happen- events. One
special thing about action is that it greatly increases the frequency of
events of which the anthropologist is aware. It is not, however, only the
frequency that increases. The quality changes; the quality of the events
for the anthropologist is quite different because they are important to
. "
h im.
The incident described by Tax occurred in the summer of 1956 when
the Native American Church- an institutionalised pan-Indian develop-
ment of the peyote cult - held its national convention at Tama. Sol Tax
was invited to attend, and it occurred to him that it would be a good idea
to make a documentary film of the whole proceedings, including the
peyote ceremony itself. The object of this was to impress upon white
people (sorne of whom contemplated restrictive action against the
Church) that the convention was that of a legitima te church and that
far from being an orgiastic ritual, the peyote ceremony is sober and
highly sacred in character. After meeting many practica! difficulties, Tax
arranged for a moviemaker, sound truck, crew, and supplies to assernble
at Tarna and in due course put his proposal to the convention. Sorne
members spoke for it and sorne against. Their dilemma was this: It was
clear to all that white objections to the Church would be minimised if it
could be shown to be the expression of a genuine and serious religious
faith and if peyote could be revealed as the sacrament they felt it to be.
But there was a fatal objection to filming the ceremony itself. Not only
would the ritual inevitably be disturbed by technical activities, but they
simply could not envisage themselves engaged in the very personal and
sacred activity of prayer in front of a camera. During the discussion the
issue became plain to all, including the anthropologist: Whether to defile
a single ritual to save the Church. Finally the president of the convention
said that if others wished to have a film made he had no objections, but
he begged to be excused from the ceremony. Tax continues:
Of course this ended the movie, and the sense of the meeting was clear. ~
It was over, and then the realization seemed to come over the Indians that
I must be hurt; for all my good and unselfish intentions, and high hopes,
and hard work my reward . . . was a clear rebuff. They had suffered
1
through their dilemma, and had made the painful choice that should have
relieved their tension. But they realized now that their peace with them- \
selves had been bought at our expense, and they began speeches painfully
to make amends.
 ACTION ANTHROPOLOGY 137

They were wrong, of course. As their decision was being made I under-
stood that what I had proposed was akin to askíng a man to deliver his
wife to a lecherous creditor to save the family from ruin. Now, therefore,
I arase to speak, and could with genuine sincerity apologize for having
brought so painful an issue to them. I had meant to be a friend, but had
hurt.ili~m~ I agreed wíth their decision. I would be a poor friend indeed
if I resented their deciding an issue for their own good.
Relief was great: the euphoria was instantly restored; and it was evi-
dent then and in the days that fo11owed that they were more genuinely
grateful to me than any Indians have ever been to me for any material
or moral help, and felt closer rapport with me (Tax in Gearing, Netting,
and Peattie, 1960:304-306).

The approach to practica! problems embodied in action anthropology

is undoubtedly attractive to most anthropologists, resolving as it does
many of the ethical and scientific problems with which they are faced.
But there are circumstances which must for many years [imit its general
application. In the first place it calls for complete índependence from
Covernment control, and therefore from Government finance. Secondly,
specific kinds of action ( such as the higher education project) may call
for funds on a scale not usually available to the anthropologist. Thirdly,
as originally conceived, it might not apply in communities, for example
sorne groups of Australian aborigines, where the original culture has al-
most completely disintegrated and where "cornmunity goals" might be
well-nigh impossible to define. The fact that the Fox have successfully - J
maintained their "Foxness" accounts in large measure for the success of
the Chicago project among them. Fourthly, as Sol Tax admits, action _J
anthropology would be difficult to apply in situations where there exists
a fundamental clash between the economic interests of different ethnic
groups - in Kenya, for example. And, finally, it is difficult to see how it
could be consistently applied in situations where the indigenous culture
includes features which are morally repugnant to Euro-American stan-
dards, such as cannibalism, infanticide, or human sacrifico. It should
howcver be pointed out that such instances are comparatively rare today.

3. ACTION ANTHROPOLOGY IN THE PACIFIC

The limitations as well as the potentialities of action anthropology, as

outlined in the prcceding paragraphs, must be borne in mind when wc
consider its application in the Pacífic area. It is unlikely that any formal
programme, comparable with that carried out at Tama, will be possible
in this part of the world in the immediate future. Yet the general prin-
cipies underlying action anthropology should constantly be stressed be-
cause they have potential applications in particular situations.
138 ACTION ANTHROPOLOGY

Such a situation arose when Raymond Firth, accompanied by his asso-

ciate James Spillius, revisited Tikopia in 1952. The object of the visit
was to restudy the community in order to assess the changes which had
occurred since Firth carried out his original field work in 1928-9. But
the anthropologists found themselves faced with a critical situation which
called for action going beyond the limited field of pure research. A dis-
astrous hurricane and drought had drastically reduced food supplies and
finally produced famine conditions. In 1928-9 Firth had refrained from
advising the Tikopia on their practica! problems, which were in no way
acute at that time. But in 1952
the hurricane and threat of famine on the one hand and our possession
of radio-telephonic communication on the other, made it almost impossible
for us to hold aloof from the decisions of the Tikopia on practica} prob-
lems. We reported to the Governrnent on the situation, as it developed.
We reported the intentions of the Governrnent and transrnitted the ques-
tions of Government to the Tikopia. This involved two things: it rneant
deciding on the most effective channel of communication and reply, in
particular deciding on what subjeets Tikopia should be asked for views to
be transmitted to Government. It also meant assisting the Tikopia to put
their point of view in terms most easily understood by Government.
There was also a further development. When the Government decided to
send relief supplies of food, they also decided that in the absence of a
fully established local administrative system, we must supervise the dis-
tribution. This involved an active intervention in Tikopia affairs, which
needs no justification by ordinary humanitarian standards, and is fully
defensible on purely scientific grounds inasmuch as, without it, the con-
tinuance of our work would have been impossible. Such intervention was
continued and extended by Spillius after I left, when the lessening of
public arder through widespread theft of food supplies seemed for a
while to have imperilled the stability of Tikopia society, and when the
Tikopia eagerly sought guidance on Government policy and actions. But
for the most part our role was that of prime consultants or social catalysts.
We helped the Tikopia to explore the possibilities of a situation and de-
cide for themselves what was best to be done in the light of the fuller
knowledge we could give them. In the last resort, as Spillius has pointed
out, even when the food situation was most desperate, and social arder
seemed most in danger, it was tlie Tikopia who eoentuallu decided what
should be done and carried out thcir decisions ( Firth, 1959: 27; italics
Piddington' s) .

The last sentence underlines the vital distinction between the principles
underlying action anthropology and those of applied anthropology as
ordinarily understood. The latter could have been employed quite easily
and effectively in the Tikopia situation, in fact it is probable that no
anthropologist has ever been in a better position than was Firth to draw
 ACTION ANTHROPOLOGY 139

up a "blueprint" for action. He was thoroughly familiar with the socio-

economic system of the Tikopia, which had not changed basically since
1929. He could easily have tried to persuade them what to do, and have
influenced the Govemment to implernent bis policy by administrativc
action. It is possible that, in terms of material welfare, this might have
produced even more beneficial results than were actually attained. But it
is certain that relations with the Tikopia would not have been so satis-
factory; that they might well have been driven to resist suggestions be-
cause these were put in mandatory form and were backed by the author-
ity of Governrnent; and that the principle of self-dctermination would
have been violated by quasi-dictatorial methods, however well-intentioned ./
and potentially beneficial.
Firth repudiates the suggestion that the work done in connection with
the practical problerns of the Tikopia amounted to a programrne in action
anthropology3 ( Firth, 1959:28). And, since the project was not planned
and executed with the dual and complementary goals of learning and
action in mind, he is correct in doing so. But the results achieved by
Firth and Spillius illustrate how, under appropriate circumstances, thé1
principles of action anthropology can fruitfully be employcd to promote '.
the human welfare of a comrnunity without doing violence to their values
and aspirations.4 -

It must be emphasised, however, that the situation on Tikopia was

singularly propitious for the kind of work done. The community was
small and closely integratcd; contacts with Europeans and with the exter-
nal world were minimal, the stringency of the needs of the Tikopia under
famine conditions made them receptive to suggcstions which might
mitigate their sufferings and the urgency of the situation was not con-
ducive to seemingly interminable discussion and procrastination; finally,
and most irnportant of all, the indigcnous culture was still vigorous
enough to allow ncw adaptations to emerge from it by the process which
I have called emergent development ( Piddington, 1957:Ch. XIX). In
highly detribalised parts of the Pacific ( Rarotonga, for example) this
would not be true. But it must be remembered that imponderable though
significant phases of indigenous culture ( such as implicit values and
patterns of interpersonal relationships) have a way of surviving un-
noticed by European observers who are apt to be overimpressed by such
obvious processes of acculturation as the adoption of European dress and
other artefacts, the introduction of a money economy and religious con-
version. In Samoa, again, though much of the indigenous culture still
fl.ourishes, the problems are vastly more complex than in Tikopia. But it
can safely be predicted that, under complete political indcpendence,
action anthropology is the only kind of anthropology with a practica!
orientation which has any chance of achieving results in Samoa.
140 ACTION ANTHROPOLOGY

In Fiji the problems are also complex and are rendered more difficult
by the numerical predominance of Indians over Fijians. But here too the
action anthropologist may have something to say. He explicitly repudi-
ates the idea of social blueprints, and by implication reserves the right to
ask questions about the blueprints of others. In Fiji, such questions
badly need asking.
Consider, for example, the most recent, most comprehensive and most
scholarly summary yet published on the economic problems of the Fijian
people. ( Spate, 1959). In offering certain criticisms of sections of this
report, we must at the outset draw attention to its terms of reference: "I
was not asked to describe the social organisation of the Fijians; I was
asked 'to consider how far it may be a limiting factor in their economic
activity' " ( Spate, 1959: 101). The author' s terms of reference might quite
as well have read: "To consider how far actual and potential lines of
economic development threaten to deprive Fijians of the nonmaterial
satisfactions inherent in their traditional social organisation".5 This would
have been a much more difficult task and would have taken infinitely
longer to accomplish. But if carried out with the scientific thoroughness
and objectivity shown by Spate, it would almost certainly have led to a
different analysis of the situation, particularly as regards the sections of
Chapter II dealing with rank and kinship. As regards the former, Spate
writes as though the major pristine functions of chieftainship (leadership
in war and the settlement of land disputes) were the only ones; and as
they are no longer discharged, he implies that the rank system is obsolete.
Yet practically any system which is based on ascribed status has at least
two advantages over one based on achieved status ( though these ad-
vantages may, of course, be outweighed by disadvantages): Firstly a
form of psychological security, psychologically, it is probably more
healthy to believe that one is a serf once and for all than to be con-
stantly worried as to whether one is effectively keeping up with the
Joneses.6 Secondly, a hereditary system usually provides educational
mechanisms which tend to produce in those destined to succeed both the
skills and the moral sentiments appropriate to leadership. Thus we read
of an eminently successful economic venture organised by a traditional
mataqali leader whose three sons "are already groomed for their allotted
roles" ( Spate, 1959:86). In particular cases such grooming may or may
not be effective; but if it is, it is likely to produce more effective leader-
ship than that of an upward mobile person of lower status.
Again, in considering the traditional Fijian kinship organisation, Spate
points out that this did take care of the sick, the old, and the orphaned
though today it cannot provide such bcnefits as proper medical care and
higher education. But do such purely utilitarian prestations exhaust the
satisfactions provided by non-European kinship systems? Most anthro-
 ACTION ANTHROPOLOGY 141

pologists would answer in the negative. It is not merely a matter of

material advantages provided and practica! services rendered. An im-
portant point is how, by whom, and in what spirit this is done, of the
essentially personal charaeter of kinship prestations in closely knit kin-
ship systems. Thus in modern soeiety, with its degenerate7 kinship
organisation, many old people are relegated to geriatric wards in hos-
pitals not beeause they need medica! care but because nobody is inter-
ested in looking after them. No doubt they have in hospital, in material
terms, treatment as good as or better than they would reeeive from loving
relatives. But elearly this <loes not tell the whole story.
The balance sheet of satisfactions and frustrations - material, social,
and psyehological - whieh kinship produces is of eourse a matter for
empirieal investigation in any given society. But such investigation ean-
not be based merely on verbal statements in brief interviews earried out
through an interpreter but must inelude a thorough study of kinship
behaviour and attitudes. Spate ineludes kinship among the "burden of
o bligations" of which Fijians eomplain. Presumably informants were
speaking of their own obligations. They might have been asked whether,
when exereising their rights, they thought of themselves as imposing a
burden on others. In any social system, individuals are apt to take differ-
ent views of a given prestation aeeording to whether they are diseharging
an obligation or claiming a right.
Spate's overall pieture of the tensions, anxieties, and confliets existing
in modern Fijian soeiety is convineing and illuminating. But these phe-
nomena exist in all underdeveloped non-European soeieties which value
features of their traditional culture yet long for the material benefits and
social advantages of more fortunate segments of the population. There
are certainly plenty of them at Tama ( Furey in Gearing, Netting, and
Peattie, 1960: 292-293). They are a neccssary and painful part of the
proeess of emergcnt development whereby such peoples modífy, more or
less sueeessfully, their traditional ways to mcct new material conditions.
Adherenee to such ways is not merely a mattcr of obstinate, irrational eon-
servatism. It results from the very real satisfaetions which they provide.
To imply, as Spatc <loes, that material advaneement is the prceminently
signifieant eriterion by which social wclfare should be measured is to beg
the question. But that is the fault of the Fijian Government for begging
it in the first place.
There is, then, plenty of room for action anthropology in Fiji to help
the Fijian people to make up their minds as to how their problcms should
be solved, rathcr than aceepting prefabrieated answers in terms of
material advanccment alone. But, so far as the Pacifie is coneerned, it is
probably New Zealand which offers the most promising ficld, beeause
well-informed Maorí leaders already sec fairly clearly the main outlincs
142 ACTION ANTHROPOLOGY

of the problems involved and are solving them neither by blind adherence
to tradition nor by passive acquiescence in total assimilation to the Pakeha
way of life. This has led to the development of a number of new institu-
tions which are partly derived from modified forms of traditional Maori
culture and partly from European practices and beliefs, likewise modified
(Metge, 1959 and 1960). This happy, though by no means Utopian, state
of affairs has been produced largely by the efforts of people whom
Schwimmer calls "medíators," belonging to both ethnic groups ( Schwim-
mer, 1958). The reader will at once perceive certain similarities between
Schwimmer's mediators and action anthropologists. Yet there are also
important differences. The motive of pure research is not an essential
feature of the mediator's work. "He may be a teacher, clergyman, doctor,
public servant or social worker or simply a special person to whom the
community has become attached" ( Schwimmer, 1958: 335). Persons in
each of the categories specified have a particular goal in relation to mem-
bers of the community, who must be taught, evangelised, cured and so on.
This means that most mediators necessarily enter the community with
certain preconceived ( though not necessarily incorrect) ideas as to what
is good for it; the mediator "has to win acceptance first for himself, then
for his ideas" though "the effect of his work is that the community of its
own free will accepts certain innovations which are already features of
the dominant culture" ( Schwimmer 1958: 335, 337). This sounds like the
"blueprint" idea of applied anthropology as ordinarily understood, the
idea of imposing on the community, however gently and solicitously, a
programme of action which is not primarily of its own making. This is
not to denigrate the work of mediators but merely to suggest that, even
though they may have no anthropological training, they might well bear in
mind the more objective, more passive, approach of action anthropology.
In the application of action anthropology in New Zealand and in the
Pacific generally there are of course many difficulties, sorne of which have
been mentioned at the end of Section 2. But these difficulties should not
blind us to the very real value and practica! importance of the principies
on which action anthropology is founded. In most cases these principies
can be only imperfectly realised in practice. But they provide a valuable
orientation for all anthropologists, administrators and others concerned
with the rights and aspirations of ethnic groups whom historical events
have placed in a culturally subordinate position.

NOTES
l. For example: "In 1944 the Government drafted an ambitious, laudable
ten-year improvement plan for the Fox settlement. They proposed paving
the roads, doubling the land area, establishing a retail store, and raising
 ACTION ANTHROPOLOGY 143

the econornic level generally by practicable rneans. These were projects that
alrnost all the Fax would like to see in effect. The Governrnent ernbarked
upan a rnild promotion carnpaign, but only with Tribal Council rnembers.
The Council voted it clown. Far the Council, with the support of only a
section of the comrnunity, is afraid to act and is virtually imrnobilized.
And, of course, acceptance by the Council without cornrnunity support
would not be enough far implernentation of such an undertaking as the
Government put Iorward" (Furey in Gearing, Netting, and Peattie, 1960:
292).
2. New Zealand readers may note here an interesting, though by no rneans
exact, parallel with the Maori situation. Young Maoris are increasingly
achieving success in secondary and higher education. But there is a regret-
table tendency in both academic and official circles to evaluate this success
in purely scholastic terms. As everyone familiar with the careers of Maori
students knows, their actual and potential social contribution to progressive
developrnent in New Zealand society is only very inadequately measured by
exarninations passed and degrees conferred.
3. Cf. Spillius 1957: 119-121. Spillius employs the terrn "operational research"
far what corresponds broadly to action anthropology. The appropriateness
of the term chosen by Spillius rnight perhaps be questioned since, according
to comrnon usage, all research is operational.
4. The later phases of the Tikopia project (after Firth left the island) illustrate
very well sorne of the difficulties with which the action anthropologist rnay
be faced (Spillus, 1957).
5. Other questions should of course be asked as well.
6. This of course does not irnply that these two alternatives represent the
only possibilities in the organisation of a status system.
7. This epithet does not apply to all kinship systerns in rnodern societies. That
of French Canada, far exarnple, has preserved to a rernarkable degree its
function of providing material and psychological security far the individual
( Garigue, 1956) .
 part Three contains a small group of articles that
discuss particular uses to which anthropology
has been put. Jules Henry's essay on "Attitude
Organization in Elementary School Classrooms" says
nothing overtly about the application of anthropology,
yet it is an example of what that scholar calls "pas­
sionate ethnography," research conducted by a sel­
entist who is fully and wholeheartedly involved in the
consequences of his work. Henry thus has opted for
the position of empathetic commitment to reform and
change. Both Erasmus and Schaedel discuss various
aspects of anthropological involvement in overseas
technical assistance programs. Since World War 11
this has been perhaps the area which has occupied
the attentions of applied anthropologists most. Eras­
mus and Schaedel point out sorne of the contribu­
tions to general theory which result from this sort of
involvement and experience.

PART THREE

SOME VARIETIES
OF APPLICATION
Like Schaedel, Cara E. Richards in her article on
anthropology and medicine ("Cooperation Between
Anthropologist and Medical Personnel") discusses
sorne of the problems that arise when anthropolo­
gists, with their own brand of epistimocentrism, come
into contact with other types of professional person­
nel, each with its own distinctive disciplinary biases
and blindnesses. Finally, Nancy Oestreich Lurie in
"Anthropology and lndian Claims Litigation" points to
the initial difficulties of thinking of the expert witness's
role as being part of applied anthrdpology at all. She
goes on to examine the ramifications and implica­
tions of this kind of practica! activity for anthropology.

145
 12

Attitude Organization in
Elementary School Classrooms

JULES HENRY

The word organization in this paper is used to stand for order and
determinateness as distinguished from disorder and randomness. The
emotions and attitudes of prepubertal children in our culture are not, on
the whole, directed toward generalized social goals, but focused rather
on the peer group and parents. From the point of view of an observer
who has in mind the larger social goals, like the maintenance of stablc
economic relations, common front against thc encmy, maintcnancc of
positive attitudes toward popular national symbols, and so on, the emo-
tions and attitudes of prepubertal children in our culture may be viewed
as lacking order. The adult, on the other hand, is supposed to have so
organized bis tendencies to respond to the environment that his emotions,
attitudes, and activities subserve over-all social goals. While it is true
"Attítude Organization in Elementary School Classrooms" by Jules Henry is re-
printed from the American [ournal of Orthopsychiatry 27:117-133, 1957. Copy-
right, the American Orthopsychiatric Association, Inc. Reproduced by permission.

147
148 ATTITUDE ORGANIZATION

that attitudes and feelings are bent toward social goals even from earliest
infancy (Henry and Boggs, 1952), many institutions combine to organize
these attitudes and feelings so that ultimately a social steady state will be
maintained. The elementary school classroom in our culture is one of the
most powerful instruments in this effort, for it <loes not merely sustain
attitudes that have been created in the home, but reinforces sorne, de-
emphasizes others, and makes its own contribution. In this way it pre-
pares the conditions for and contributes toward the ultimate organization
of peer- and parent-directed attitudes into a dynamically interrelated
attitudinal structure supportive of the culture.
This organizing process is comparable to, though not identical with, the
reorganization of attitudes and resources that takes place as a society shifts
from a peacetime to a wartime footing. During a period of peace in our
society, adult hostility and competitíveness may be aimed at overcoming
competition in business or social mobility, while love and cooperation are
directed toward family and friends, and toward achieving specífic social
and economic ends within the society. With the coming of war the instru-
ments of govemment seek to direct hostility and competitiveness toward
the enemy, while love and cooperation are directed toward the armed
forces, civilian instruments of war ( price controls, rationing, civilian of-
ficials, etc.), and national symbols. From the point of view of an observer
within the toar machine, the civilian attitudes at first seem random and
unorganized. He wants to change them so that from his point of view they
will seem organized. The situation is similar, though not identical, with
respect to the child: to an o bserver inside the head of even sorne psychotic
children, attitudes and behavior may seem organized. But to the observer
on the outside, whose focus is on social goals, the child seems un­ or dis­
organized. The prime effort of the adult world is to make child attitudes
look organized to adults. The emphasis in this paper is on the description
of the process of organizing child attitudes as it can be observed in sorne
middle-class urban American classrooms.

THE WITCH-HUNT SYNDROME

One of the most striking characteristics of American culture since the

settlement has been the phenomenon of intragroup aggression, which
finds its pathological purity of expression in witch hunts ( Starkey 1949).
It comes as a frightening surprise to democratic people to find themsclves
suddenly in terror of their neighbors; to discover that they are surrounded
by persons who carry tales about others while confessing evil of them-
selves; to perceive a sheeplike docility settling over those whom they
considered strong and autonomous. The witch­hunt syndrome therefore,
as constituting one of the key tragedies of democracy, is selected for the
 ATIITUDE ORGANIZATION 149

elucidation of the organization of attitudes in our culture. In this witch's

brew destructive criticisrn of others is the toad's horns; docility the body
of the worm; feelíngs of vulnerability the chicken heart, fear of internal
( intragroup) hostility the snake's fang; confession of evil deeds the locust's
leg; and boredom and etnpiiuess the dead man's eye. The witch-hunt
syndrome is thus stated to be a dynamically interrelated system of feelings
and actions made up of destructive criticism of others, docility, feelings of
vulnerability, fear of internal aggression, confession of evil deeds, and
boredom.
The witch-hunt syndrome in full panoply was observed in but one of the
. dozen classrooms in four schools studied in the research which I discuss
here. Thus it seems a relatively rare phenomenon. But the question I set
myself to answer is, How could it occur at all? What are the attitudes,
present in the children, that were organized by this teacher into the
syndrome? How could she do it? With what materials <lid she work?
She <lid not create out of nothing thc attitudes she manipulated in her
"Vigilance Club" in this fourth-grade classroom in a middle-class Ameri-
can community. She had to have something to start with. The argument
of this paper will be that the feelings and tendencies to action which this
teacher organízed into the witch-hunt syndrome in her class are present
in an unorganized state in other classrooms. Given a certain type of
teacher, he or she will be able to develop into a highly specialized, tightly
integrated system in his classroom those attitudes which are present in
differently organized state in the children in all classrooms. Let us now
look at a meeting of the Vigilance Club.
( l) In the extreme back of the room is a desk called the "ísolatíon
ward." A child has been placed there for disciplinary reasons. The
Vigilance Club of the class is holding a meeting .... Officers are elected
by the group. The purpose of the club is to teach children to be better
citizens. The arder of procedure is as follows: the president ... bangs
her gavel on the desk and ... says, "The meeting of the Vigilance Club
will come to arder." Each child then takes from his or her desk a booklet
whose title is All About Me ... and places it on top of his desk. The
více-president calls the name of a child, gets the child's booklet, and
places it on the teacher's desk. The president then calls on the child and
asks, "--, have you been a good citizen this week?" The president
says, "Name sorne of the good things you have done," and the child tries
to recall sorne, like opening doors for people, running errands, etc. Next
the president asks the class if it remembers any good things the child has
done. Each point is written in the child's booklet by the teacher. The
president then ... says to the child, "Name the bad things you have done .
. . . " The child reports the wrongs he has committed during the week,
and the class is asked to contribute information about his behavior. This
too is written in the booklet by the teacher, who also reprimands the
150 ATIITUDE ORGANIZATION

student, registers horror, scolds, etc .... When one child reports a mis-
demeanor of another the teacher asks for witnesses, and numerous chil-
dren sometimes volunteer. ... The child in the "ísolation ward" reported
sorne good deeds he had done; the children reported sorne more, and the
isolated child was told he would soon be released. . . . [During this
meeting sorne children showed obvious pleasure in confessing undesirable
behavior. One child, by volunteering only good things of the students,
seemed to be using the situation to overcome what seemed to the observer
to be her unpopularity with the class.]!

Befare analyzing this protocol for the attitudes present in it, it will be
well to look at sorne events that occurred in this classroom on another day.

( 2) During the game of "spelling baseball" a child raised her hand

and reported that Alice and John had been talking to each other. This
occurred when neither child was "at bat." The teacher asked Alice if this
was so, and she replied that it was, but John denied having spoken to
Alice. The teacher said that J ohn must have listened to Alice, but he
denied this too. Then the teacher asked whether there had been any
witnesses, and many hands were raised. Sorne witnesses were seated on
the far side of the room, and hence could not have seen Alice and John
from their location in the room. All those testifying had "seen" Alice talk-
ing, but denied John's guilt. Alice was sent to the "bull pen," which
meant that she had to sit on the floor behind the teacher's desk, and could
no longer participate in the game ....

( 3) Mary raised her hand and said, "It hurts me to say this. 1 really
wish 1 dídn't have to do it, but 1 saw Linda talking." Linda was Mary's
own teammate, had just spelled a word correctly, and had gone to first
base. The teacher asked Linda if she had talked, and Linda said, "No, 1
just drew something in the air with my finger. ... " She was sent to the
"bull pen."

In these examples we see intragroup aggression; docility of the children

in conforming, with no murmur of protest, to the teacher's wishes; and
confession of "evil." In such a situation children develop feelings of vul-
nerability and fear of detection. Let us now look for these phenomena in
classrooms presided over by teachers who seem to represent the more
normal American type, in comfortable, middle-class, white communities:
teachers who are conscientious and reasonably gentle, but creatures of
their culture, and humanly weak. We begin not with interna! aggression
as expressed in spying and talebearing, but with the milder, though
closely related phenomenon of carping, destructive criticism. While this
occurs throughout the sample, I give here examples only from a fifth-grade
classroom in the same school system.
 ATIITUDE ORGANIZATIOt~ 151

( 4) Bill has given a report on tarantulas. As usual the teacher waits

for volunteers to comment on the chíld's report.
Mike: The talk was well illustrated, well prepared ....
Bob: Bill had a piece of paper [ Ior his notes], and teacher saíd he
should have them on cards ....
Bill says he could not get any cards.
Teacher says that he should tear the paper next time if he has no cards.
Bob: He held the paper behind him. lf he had had to look at it, it
wouldn't have looked very nice.

( 5) Betty reports on Theodore Roosevelt.

A child comments that it was very good but she looked at her notes
too much.
Teacher remarks that Betty had so niucli information.
Bob: She said "calvary" [instead of "cavalry"].

( 6) Charlie reads a story he made up himself: "The Unknown Cuest."

One dark, dreary night ... on a hill a house stood. This house was Ior-
bidden territory for Bill and Joe, but they were going in anyway. The
door creaked, squealed, slammed. A voice wamed them to go home.
Spider webs, dirty furniture ... Bill wanted to go home. They went
upstairs. A stair cracked. They entered a room. A voice said they might
as well stay and find out now; and their father carne out. He laughed
and they laughed, but they never forgot their adventure together.
Teacher: Are there any words that give you the mood of the story? ...
Lucy: He could have made the sentences a little better ....
Teacher: Let's come back to Lucy's comment. What about his sen-
tences?
Gert: They were too short. ...
Charlie and Jeanne are having a discussion about the position of the
word "stood."
Teacher: \Vait a minute, sorne people are forgetting their manners ....
Jeff: About the room: the boys went up the stairs and one "cracked",
then they were in the room. Did they fall through the stairs or what?
Teacher suggests Charlie make that a little clearer.
Lucy: lf he fell through the step ....
Teacher: We still haven't decided about the short sentences. Perhaps
they make the story more spooky and mysterious,
Gwynne: 1 wish he had read with more expression instead of all at one
time.
Rachel: Not enough expression.
Teacher: Charlie, they want a little more expression from you. 1 guess
we've given you enough suggestions for one time. ( Charlie does not
raise his head, which is bent over his desk as if studying a paper.)
Charlie! 1 guess we've given you enough suggestions for one time,
Charlie, haven't we? ( Charlie half raises his head, seems to assent
grudgingly.)
152 ATTITUDE ORGANIZATION

The striking thing about these examples is that the teacher supports the
children in their carping criticism of their fellows. Her performance in
this is not however consistent; but even where, as in Example 6, she
seems at one point to try to set herself against the tide of destruction, by
calling attention to the possible artistry in Charlie's short sentences, she
ends up supporting the class against him, and Charlie becomes upset.
Thus teacher, by rewarding the children's tendencies to carp, reinforces
them. Teachers, however, are able to make their own contributions to
this tendency. The single example given below will serve as illustration:
(7) Joan reads us a poem she has written about Helen Keller ...
which concludes with the couplet:
"Helen Keller as a woman was very great;
She is really a credit to the United States."
Teacher ( amusedly): Is "states" supposed to rhyme with "great"?
When Joan murmurs that it is, the teacher says, "We'll call it poetic
lícense."

From time to time one can see a teacher vigorously oppose tendencies
in the children to tear each other to pieces. The following example is
from the sixth grade:
( 8) The Paren t-T eachers Associa tion is sponsoring a school frolic, and
the children have been asked to write jingles far the publicity. For many
of the children the experience of writing a jingle seems painful. They are
restless, bite their pencils, squirm around in their seats, speak to their
neighbors, and from time to time pop up with questions like, "Does it
have to rhyme, Mr. Smith?" ... At last Mr. Smith says, "All right, let's
read sorne of the jingles now." Child after child says he "couldn't get
one", but sorne have succeeded. One girl has written a very long jingle,
obviously the best in the class. However, instead of using Friday as the
frolic day she used Tuesday, and several protests were heard from the
children. Mr. Smith defended her. "Well, so she made a mistake. But
you are too prone to criticize. If you could only do so well!"

It will be observed that all the examples are taken from circumstances
in which the child's self-system is rnost intensely involved; where his own
poetry or prose is in question, or where he has worked hard to synthesize
material into a report. It is precisely at the points where the ego is most
exposed that the attack is most telling. The numerous instances in the
sample, where the teachers, by a word of praise ora pat on the head, play
a supportive role, indicate their awareness of the vulnerability of the
children. Meanwhile, as I have pointed out, the teachers often fall into
the trap of triggering or supporting destructive impulses in the children.
The carping criticism of one's peers is a form of intragroup aggression,
 ATIITUDE ORGANIZATION 153

which can be quite threatening and destructive. Talebearing, however,

countenanced by sorne teachers more than by others, can be an over-
whelming threat to autonomy. While telling on others can be organized
into the patrol-monitor complex ( prestige through controlling and tell-
ing), useful perhaps in maintaining order in large school populations, its
operation within the classroom may have serious consequences. Let us
look at a couple of examples:
( 9) Second grade. As teacher asked the children to clear their desks
one boy raised bis hand, and when called on said, "[ímmy just walked by
and socked me on the head."
Teacher: Is this true?
Jimmy: He hit me first.
Teacher: Why don't you both take seats up here (in front of the room).
I'm not sure people like you belong in the second grade.

( 10) Sixth grade special class for bright students.

The children are working on their special nature study projects. Joseph
passes where Ralph is working. Ralph (to teacher ) : Joseph is writing too
much on bis birds.
Teacher: Joseph, you should write only a few things.

In our sample, telling on other children in the classroom is infrequent

outside the class in which the Vigilance Club was formed. Destructive
criticism is the preferred mode of attack in most other classrooms. The
ease with which tendencies to attack peers can be organized into telling
on others, however, is illustrated by the monitor-patrol complex, and by
the Vigilance Club ( Example 3).

COMPETITION

Competition is an important element in the witch-hunt syndrome.

Since witch hunts involve so often obtaining the attention and approval of
sorne powerful central figure, the examples of competitiveness that I shall
cite illustrate how approval and attention seeking occur as the child at-
tempts to beat out his peers for the nod of the teacher. It would be easy
to cite examples from the protocols of the merciless laughter of children
at the failures or gaucheries of their classmates. 1 am interested, however,
more in showing the all-pervading character of the phenomenon of com-
petition, even in its milclest forms. The first example is from a fourth-
grade music lesson:
( 11) The children are singíng songs of lreland and her neighbors
from the book Songs of Many Lands .... Teacher plays on piano while
children sing .... While children are singing sorne of them hunt in the
154 ATTITUDE ORGANIZATION

index, find a song belongíng to one of the four countries, and raise their
hands befare the previous song is finished in arder that they may be called
on to name the next song ....
Here singing is subordinated, in the child, to the competitive wish to
have the song he has hunted up in the index chosen by the teacher. It is
merely a question of who gets to the next song in the index first, gets his
hand up fast, and is called on by the teacher.
The following examples also illustrate the fact that almost any situation
set by the teacher can be the occasion for release of competitive impulses:
( 12) The observer enters the fifth-grade classroom.
Teacher: Which one of you nice polite boys would like to take [ob-
server's] coat and hang it up? (Observer notes: From the waving hands
it would seem that all would like to claim the title.)
Teacher chooses one child ... who takes observer's coat. ...
Teacher: Now children, who will tell [observer] what we have been
doing?
Usual forest of hands ... and a girl is chosen to tell. ...
Teacher conducted the arithmetic lesson mostly by asking, "Who would
like to tell ... the answer to the next problem?"
This question was usually followed by the appearance of a large and
agitated forest of hands; apparently much competition to answer.
Thus the teacher is a powerful agent in reinforcing competition.
It has already been pointed out that carping criticism helps to settle in
the child a feeling of vulnerability and threat. In this connection it is
significant that the failure of one child is repeatedly the occasion far the
success of another. I give one illustration below from the same class as
the one from which I have taken Example 12.
(13) Boris had trouble reducing 12/16 to lowest terms, and could get
only as far as 6/8. Much excitement. Teacher asked him quietly [note
how basically decent this teacher is] if that was as far as he could reduce
it. She suggested he "think." Much heaving up and clown from the other
children, all frantic to correct him. Boris pretty unhappy. Teacher,
patient, quiet, ignoring others, and concentrating with look and voice on
Boris. She says, "Is there a bigger number than 2 you can divide into the
two parts of the fraction?" After a minute or two she becomes more
urgent. No response from Boris. She then turns to the class and says,
"Well, who can tell Boris what the number is?" Forest of hands. Teacher
calls, Peggy. Peggy gives 4 to be divided into 12/16, numerator and
denominator.
Where Boris has failed Peggy has been triumphant; Boris's failure has
made it possible far Peggy to succeed.
This example and also Example 6 are ones in which the discomfort of
the child was visible, and such instances may be multiplied. They illus-
trate how vulnerable the children feel in the presence of the attacks of the
 ATTITUDE ORGANIZATION 155

peer group in the classroom. But since these are children who face the
world with serious anxiety to begin with, the classroom situation sustains
it. Let us look at sorne stories created by these very children, and read
by them to their classmates. We have already seen one, Example 6,
Charlíe's story of "The Unknown Guest." Here are all the stories read to
their classmates by these children during an observation period.

( 14) a Charlotte's story: "Místaken Identity." One day last year my

family and I went to the hospital to visit somebody. When we were
coming out and were walking along my father hit me. I carne up behind
him to hit him back, but just as I was about to do it I looked back and he
was behind me! I was going to hit the wrong person!
b Tommy's story: "The Day Our House Was Robbed." [Observer has
recorded thís in the third person.] He was coming home from school one
afternoon. He knew his Mom was away that afternoon. He started to go
in the side door, but decided, he doesn't know why, to go round the back.
He found the door open, went into the kitchen, looked into the front room
where he saw a thief. Tommy "Iroze stiff" ( chuckle of appreciation from
the class), ran out, shouted, "Stop thief" as the man ran out after him. He
went to a neighbor, rang the bell, called his mother at the store. The cops
carne, asked questions, but the man had gotten away with $99 and his
mother's watch. If he had gone in the side door he would not have had a
chance to see the man. Changing to the back door "may have saved my
life." [Teacher's only remarks about this story were: 1) instead of having
said "froze stiff," Tommy should have said, "froze stiff as something";
2) he should have left out the word "then" in one place; 3) he could have
made the story clearer; 4) he changed from the past to the present tense.]
e Polly's story: "Custard the Lion." Custard the Lion was the most
timid animal in Animal Town. The doctors couldn't cure him. Then
they found a new medicine. It had strange effects, but Custard wanted
to try it. When he did he f elt very queer, ( Child gives details of queer
feeling.) But he soon realized he wasn't afraid of anything. [Teacher's
first remark: "You dídn't let us hear the last sentence."]
el Dan's story: "The Boy Hero." Bill wanted to be a fireman, so he
went to the firehouse. The Chief was telling him to go home when the
bell clanged. While the Chief was getting into the engine, he dídn't see
that Bill was getting on too. (Class or teacher picks up Baw in sentence
and it is reread correctly.) The Chief said O.K. as long as Bill was
a board, "But you're not to get into no mischief ." ( Class choruses, "Any .
. . . ") Everyone was out of the fire except a little girl and her doll. The
Iiremen cannot figure out what to do, but Bill, seeing a tree near the
house, climbs it over the protests of the firemen. He misses the girl 011 his
first try, but gets her on the second. While sliding down the tree she
slips and almost falls, but grabs Bill's pants, and they make it to safety .
. . . [Chíldren's remarks center 011 position of "clang, clang, clang" in the
story. Teacher talks about how to use direct quotations, which, it seems,
Dan had not used properly.]
156 ATTITUDE ORGANIZATION

e Bertha's story: Title not recorded. The story is about Jim who was
walking home past the Smith's house one night and heard a scream.
Penny Smith carne out and said there was a robber in the house. When
the cops carne they found a parrot Hyíng around in there, and Penny's
parents told her to shut the parrot up before she read mystery stories
again. [This story was followed by much carping criticism, which was
terminated by the teacher's telling Bertha to change the story to suit the
class.]

These stories contain elements of anxiety and even of terror. As each

child finishes, the carping criticism of students and teacher then reminds
him of his vulnerability. As the child sends out his cloud of fear, it re-
turns with the leaden rain of hostility.

DOCILITY

It comes as a somewhat shocking surprise, perhaps, to middle-class

parents, to find their children described as "docile." Yet we have already
seen the perfection of docility in the Vigilance Club, and we shall pres-
ently see its manifold forms in more normal classrooms.
( 15) First grade. The children are to act out a story called "Pig
Brother," which is about an untidy boy. The teacher is tellíng the story.
One boy said he did not like the story, so the teacher said he could leave
if he did not wish to hear it again, but the boy did not leave.

( 16) In gym the children began to tumble, but there was much restless
activity in the lines, so the teacher had all the children run around the
room until they were somewhat exhausted before she continued the
tumbling.

( 17) Second grade.

The children have been shown movies of birds. The first film ended
with a picture of a baby bluebird.
Teacher: Did the last bird ever look as if he would be blue?
The children did not seem to understand the "slant" of the question,
and answered somewhat hesitantly, yes.
Teacher: I think he looked more like a robín, didn't he?
Children, in chorus: Y es.

Item 17 is one of a large number of instances, distributed throughout all

grades, in which the children exhíbit their docility largely through giving
the teacher what he wants. Thus in the elementary schools of the middle
class the children get an intensive eight-year-long training in hunting for
the right signals and giving the teacher the response wanted. The rest of
the examples of docility document this assertion.
 ATIITUDE ORGANIZATION 157

( 18) Fourth grade.

a An art lesson.
Teacher holds up a picture.
Teacher: Isn't Bob getting a nice effect of moss and trees?
Ecstatic Ohs and Ahs from the children ..
The art lesson is over.
Teacher: How many enjoyed this?
Many hands go up.
Teacher: How many learned something?
Quite a number of hands come clown.
Teacher: How many will do better next time?
Many hands go up.
b Children have just finished reading the story "The Sun Moon and
Stars Clock."
Teacher: \Vhat was the highest point of interest - the climax?
The children tell what they think it is. Teacher is aíming to get from
them what slie considers the point of climax, but the children seem to give
everything else but.
Bobby: When they capture the thieves.
Teacher: How many agree with Bobby?
Hands, hands.

(19) Fifth grade.

This is a lesson on "healthy thoughts," for which the children have a
special book depicting, wíth appropriate illustrations, specific confüctful
incidents among children. The teacher is supposed to discuss each inci-
dent with the children in order to help them understand how to handle
their emotions.
One of the pictures is as follows: A sibling pair is illustrated by three
boys : (1) One has received a ball. ( 2) One is imagi ned to react wi th
displeasure. ( 3) One is imagined to react benignly and philosophically,
saying, "My brother couldn't help being given the football; we'll use it
together."
Teacher: Do you believe ít's easier to deal with your thoughts íf you
own up to them, Betty?
Betty: Yes it is, if you're not cross and angry.
Teacher: Have you any experience like this in the book, Alice?
Alice tells how her brother was given a watch and she envied him and
wanted one too; but her mother said she wasn't to have one until she was
fifteen, but now she has one anyway.
Teacher: How could you have helped - could you have changed your
thinking? How could you have handled it? What could you do with
mean feelings?
Alice seems stymied. Hems and haws.
Teacher: What did Susie (a character in the book) do?
Alíce: She talked to her mother.
158 ATTITUDE ORGANIZATION

Teacher: If you talk to someone you often then feel that "ít was foolish
of me to feel that way .... "
Tommy: He had an experience like that, he says. His cousin was given
a bike and he envied it. But he wasn't "ugly" about it. He asked if he
might ride it, and his cousin let him, and then, "I got one myself; and 1
wasn't mean, or ugly or jealous."
Before continuing it will be well to note that since the teacher <loes not
say Alice was wrong the children assurne she was right and so copy her
answer.
Two boys, the dialogue team, now come to the front of the class and
dramatize the football incident.
Teacher (to the class) : Which boy do you think handled the problem
in a better way?
Rupert: Billy did, because he dídn't get angry .... lt was better to
play together than to do nothing with the football.
Teacher: That's a good answer, Rupert. Has anything similar hap-
pened to you, J oan?
J oan can think of nothing.
Sylvester: 1 had an experience. My brother got a hat with his initials
on it because he belongs to a fraternity, and 1 wanted one like it and
couldn't have one; and his was too big for me to wear, and it ended up
that 1 asked hím if he could get me sorne letters with my initials, and he
did.
Betty: My girl friend got a bike that was 26-inch, and mine was only
24, and 1 asked my sister what 1 should do. Then my girl friend carne
over and was real nice about it, and let me ride it.
Teacher approves of this, and says, Dídn't it end up that they both had
fun without unhappiness?
Here we note that the teacher herself has gone astray, for on the one
hand her aim is to get instances from the children in which they have been
yielding, and capable of resolving their own jealousy, etc.; yet, in the
instance given by Betty, it was not Betty who yielded, but her friend.
The child immediately following Betty imitated her since Betty had been
praised by the teacher:
Matilde: My girl friend got a 26-inch bike and mine was only 24; but
she only let me ride it once a month. But for my birthday my mother's
getting me a new one, probably (proudly) a 28. (Many children rush in
with the information that 28 doesn't exist.) Ma tilde replies that she'll
probably have to raise the seat then, for she's too big for a 26.
As we go on with this lesson, we shall continue to see how the children's
need for substitute gratification and their inability to accept frustration are
the real issues, which even prevent thern frorn getting the teacher's point.
We shall see how, in spite of the teacher's driving insistence on her point,
the children continue to inject their confücts into the lesson, while at the
 ATIITUDE ORGANIZATION 159

same time they gropingly try to find a way to gratify the teacher. They
cannot give the "right" answers because of their confücts; teacher cannot
handle their confücts, even perceive thern, because her undcrlying need is
to be gratified by the childrenl The lesson goes on:

Teacher: I notice that sorne of you are only happy when you get your
own way. You're not thinking this through, and I want you to. Think of
an experience when you didn't get what you want. Think it through.
Charlie: His ma was going to the movies and he wanted to go with her,
and she wouldn't let him; and she went off to the movies and he was mad ·
but then he went outside and there were sorne kids playíng baseball, so he
played baseball.
Teacher: But suppose you hadn't gotten to play baseball? You would
have felt hurt, because you didn't get what you wanted. We can't help
feeling hurt when we are disappointed. \Vhat could you have done; how
could you have handled it?
Charlie: So I can't go to the movies, so I can't play baseball, so I'll do
something around the house.
Teacher: Now you're beginning to think! It takes courage to take dis-
appointments. (Tuming to the class) What did we leam? The helpful
way ...
Class: is the healthy way!

Befare entering the final section of this paper, we need to ask: Why are
these children, whose fantasies contain so many hostile elements, so docile
in the classroom; and why do they struggle so hard to gratify the teachcr
and try in so many ways to bring themselves to her attention ( thc "forest
of hands")? We might, of course, start with the idea of the teacher as a
parent figure, and the children as siblings competing for the teacher's
favor. We could refer to the unresolved dependency needs of children of
this age, which make them scck support in thc teacher, who manipulates
this seeking and their sibling rivalry to pit the children against each other.
Other irnportant factors, however, that are inherent in the classroom
situation itself, and particularly in míddle-class classrooms, ought to be
taken into consideration. We have observed the children's tcndency to
destructively criticize each other, and the teachers' often unwitting re-
peated reinforcement of this tendency. We have taken note of thc anxiety
in the children as illustrated by the stories they tell, and obscrved that
these very stories are subjected to a carping criticism, whose ultimate
consequence would be anything but alleviation of that anxiety. Hence
the classroom is a place in which the child's underlying anxiety may be
heightened. In an effort to alleviate this he seeks the approval of the
teacher, by giving right answers and by doing what teacher wants him to
do under most circumstances. Finally, we cannot omit the teacher's need
to be gratified by the attention-hungry behavior of the children.
A word is necessary about these classrooms as middle class. The novel
160 ATTITUDE ORGANIZATION

Blackboard Jungle ( Hunter, 1954) describes schoolroom behavior of

lower-class children. There we see the children against the teacher, as
representative of the lower class. But in the classes I have described we
see the children against each other, with the teacher abetting the process.
Thus, as the teacher in the míddle-class schools directs the hostility of the
children toward one another and away from himself, he reinforces the
competitive dynamics within the middle class itself. The teacher in lower-
class schools, on the other hand, appears to become the organizing stimu-
lus for behavior that integrates the _lower class, as the children unite in
expressing their hostility to the teacher.

CONFESSION

The Vigilance Club would have been impossible without confession,

and the children's pleasure in confession. But, as with the other parts of
the syndrome, confessing occurs in other classrooms also, it can be elicited
when the proper conditions are present, and the children can be seen to
enjoy it - to vie with one another in confessing. Let us follow the lesson
on "healthy thoughts" a little further. We will see how confession occurs
as the children seek to give teacher precisely what she wants.
( 20.) Teacher asks if anyone else has had experiences like tha t [ of two
children who have just recited], where they were mean and angry.
Dick: He has a friend he plays baseball with, and sometimes they fight;
but they get together again in a few minutes and apologize.
In this first example we note one of the important aspects of the con-
fession element in the syndrome: the culprit must have given up his evil
ways, and now be free of impurities.
In response to Dick's story, teacher says: You handled it just right. Now
let's hear about someone who had a similar experience and didn't handle
it just right.
Tom: His little brother asked far the loan of his knife, but it was lost,
and he got angry with his little brother far asking. [This knife story fal-
lows a sequence of severa} stories about knives told by other children. The
exuberance of knife stories fallowing immediately on the teacher's ap-
proval of the first one suggests that sorne of them are made to arder and
served up piping hot far teacher's gratification.]
Teacher: Now Tom, could you have worked it out any diffcrently?
(Observer notes that Torn seems to enjoy this confession; certainly he is
not abashed ar ashamed.)
Tom: Later he asked me if he could help me find it. He faund it in a
wastebasket, and then I let him borrow it.
Harry: Sometimes I get angry when my friends are waiting far me and
... ( observer missed sorne of this) and my little sister asked if she could
borrow my auto-racing set, and I hit her once ar twice. ( Class laughs.)
 ATTITUDE ORGANIZATION 161

Here we see another factor so important to the flourishing of the syn-

drome: the audience gets plcasure through the confessor's telling about
deeds the audience wishes to commit: who arnong Harry's listeners would
not like to have hit his sister, or anyone, "once or twice"?
The teacher then goes on: \Vhat would you do now- would you hit
her?
Harry: Now, I'd probably get mad at flrst, but let her have it later.
Thus Harry has mended his ways - in teacher-directed fantasy at least
• - and returned to the fold.
So far we have had confession of mean and angry thoughts and vio-
,¡. lence. We shall now see confession to unacceptable fear. In all cases the
1 teacher says what type of confession she wishes t¿ hear, and what the
resolution should be of the unacceptable behavior;) and the children vie
1 with one another to tell commensurable tales, as the~ derive pleasure from

the total situation - through approval of the teacher, expression of their

o own real or fantasied deviations, and the delight of their peers. In these
situations the pleasure of the peer group is seen to derive not so much
from the "happy ending" the children give their stories but rather from
the content of the story itself. It is interesting that no carping criticism
appears; rather the entire situation is a jolly one. It seems that within
unspoken limits the children permit one another to boast of "evil" behavior
'! because of the deep pleasure obtained from hearing it. Thus impulse ex-
¡ pression becomes a device for role maintenance in the classroom.
The lesson proceeds:
Two children enact a little skit in which they have to go to the principal
to ask him something. One of them is afraid of the principal, the other is
not. The moral is that the principal is the children's friend, and that one
should not be shy.
Gertrude: Well, anyway, the principal ísn't a lion, he's your friend; he's
not going to kill you.
Teacher: That's right, the principal is a friend, he says hello and good
momíng to you. . .. Have you ever felt shy?
Meriam: The first year I sold Girl Scout cookies I didn't know how to
approach people; and the first house I went to I dídn't know the lady; and
I stuttered and stammered, and dídn't sell any cookies. By the second
house I had thought it all out befare I rang the bell, and I sold two boxes.
(Triumphantly.)
Teacher: It helps to have self-confldence.
Ben now tells a story, with a happy ending, of being afraid of a principal.
Then Paul tells a story, amid gales of laughter, about his being scared on a
roller coaster. By this time there is so much excitement among the chíl-
dren that the teacher says: Wait a minute - rnanners!
John: He was scared to go on the Whip-the-Whirl (scornful laughter
from the class); but after he went he liked it so much that he went eight
times in a row. (This is well received.)
162 ATTITUDE ORGANIZATION

Many hands go up. Teacher waits ....

Michael: He was at Pleasure Park on the ferris wheel (scornful Aw
from the class) and a girl kept rocking i t, and I started to get green ( roar
of laughter).
Teacher: Now we'll have to stop.
Certain phenomcna not emphasized befare appear in this section.
Confession is used by the authoritatíve figure, the teacher, to strengthen
attachment to significant but potentially terrifying figures like school
principals, and to polish up cultural shibboleths like "self-confidence."
For the child storytellers confession becomes an opportunity for bathing
in the emotional currents of the peer group, as the child stimulates the
group's approval through presentation of group standards, and awakens
group pleasure as the peer group responds to its own anxiety about weak-
ness, and experiences resolution of the anxiety through the happy ending.
With a perfect instinct for what is right, each child provides catharsis for
bis peers. By presenting himself as weak, he enables his peers to identify
with him; and then, as he overcomes his weakness, he enables bis com-
panions too to feel strong.
What this lesson on healthy thoughts may have accomplished by way
of creating a permanent reservoir of "healthy thoughts" is difficult to say,
but that it helped create solidarity among the students, and between them
and the teacher is clear from the fact that when she suddenly shifted
ground to say, "Do you think you are wide enough awake for a contest in
subtraction of fractions?" the children responded with a unanimous roar of
"Yes," as if she had asked them whether thcy were ready for cookies and
ice cream!
Thus in this lesson, in which all have participated more with their
uncotiscious than with their conscious emotions, solidarity has been
achieved. Teacher thought she was teaching the children to have healthy
thoughts, but she was showing them how to gratify her. The children
sensed this and struggled to gratify her, while they sought acceptance by
their peers also. The essential difference between this teacher and the one
who perpetrated the Vigilance Club is that though the latter tended to
demolish solidarity among the children while placing the teacher in
supreme command, the lesson on healthy thoughts tended to a dubious
solidarity among all. Both teachers organize sorne of the same elements in
the children, but into different configurations, of total feeling and be­
havior.

BOREDOM

It seems unnecessary to document the fact that children become bored

in class, for much of modem thinking and curriculum arrangement is
aimed at eliminating it. The shifts at 15-minute intervals from one subject
 ATIITUDE ORGANIZATION 163

to the ncxt in the elementary school classrooms is one example of this

effort. Boredom, which means emotional and intellectual separation from
the environment, is an insupportable agony, particularly if the emotional
vacuum created by such separation is not filled by gratifying fantasies, or
íf it is filled by terrifying ones. To fill this vacuum people in our culture
will throw themselves into a great variety of even relatively ungratifying
activities. Since in this situation, bored children attack almost any novel
classroom activity with initial vigor, the witch-hunt syndrome or any
modification thereof helps to overcome boredom: better to hunt than be
bored. In a full and satisfying life there is no place for witch hunts. The
school system that can provide a rich program for children has no need of
Vigilance Clubs, nor even of lessons on "healthy thoughts."

DISCUSSION ANO CONCLUSIONS

In this paper I have used suggestions from communications theory in

an effort to order the data obtained from direct observation of elementary
school classrooms. Information, the central concept of communications
theory, refers to measurable differences in states of organization. In
human behavior, as seen in the classroom under discussion, we observe
qualitatioe shifts in state, for different teachers organize the same underly­
ing emotional characteristics of the children to achieve diff erent organiza­
tions of tlie emotions. One teacher so organizes the children's emotions as
to accomplish an intensificatíon of the fear of intragroup aggression, while
she turns the children's hostility toward one another. A different teacher
may organize the cmotions of the children so that a euphoria in which
students and teacher are bathed in a wave of emotional gratification is
achieved. Thc great skill in being a teacher would seem to be, therefore,
a learned capacity to keep shifting states of order intelligently as thc
work demands. This does not mean the traditional classroom ordcr,
where you can hear a pin drop, but rather the kind of order in which thc
emotions of the children are caught up and organízed toward tlze achiece­
ment of a specific goal. It is not necessary, perhaps, that even the most
prominent emotions of the children, like competitiveness, for example,
form part of the organized whole. Yet, on the other hand, it is difficult to
, see how, in the present statc of our culture, competitiveness can be over-
looked. It would seem, perhaps, that the important outcome to avoid is
that the competitivcncss should become destructive of peers, while rein-
1 forcing dependencc on the teacher.
The phenomenon I have labeled "docility" occurs because of the abso-
lute dependence for survival of the children on the teacher. That is to say
success in school depends absolutely on the teacher, and self-rcspect, as a
function of the opinion of others, in the home or among peers, is in parta
function of success or failure in school. In thesc circumstances the child's
164 ATTITUDE ORGANIZATION

capacity to respond automatically to the signals he gets from the teacher

is bound to acquire somewhat the appearance of instinctive behavior.
Although it occurs at a much higher level of integration than instinct, the
child hunts for the proper signals from the teacher, and the child's re-
sponses take on instinctual quality. They musi; otherwise, like the nestling
who does not open its mouth when the mother arrives with a worm, he
will never eat the ambrosía of teacher's approval, so necessary to bis sur-
vival. In this situation both children and teacher easily become the instru-
ments of their own unconscious processes, as they, like J oseph and his
brethren, fall on each other's necks in a shared ecstasy of exuberant de-
pendence. Teacher and pupil will have gratified each other, but it
remains an open question whether the children will have learned what
the curriculum committee planned.
We see in the organization of the components of the witch-hunt syn-
drome an important phase in the formation of American national char-
acter, for tendencies to docility, competitiveness, confession, intragroup
aggression, and feelings of vulnerability the children may bring with them
to school, are reinforced in the classroom. This means that independence
and courage to challenge are observably played down in these classrooms.
It means, on the other hand, that tendencies to own up rather than to
conceal are reinforced - a development which, in proper hands, might
beeome a useful educational instrument. It means, further, that while
many teachers do stress helping others they may inadvertently develop in
the children the precise opposite, and thus undermine children's feelings
of security. One could come from a very secure and accepting family and
yet have one's feelings of security and acceptance threatened in these
classrooms. On the other hand, what seems most in evidence from the
stories they make up is that the children come to school with feelings of
vulnerability which are íntensífied in the classroom.
Meanwhile we should try to understand that all the teachers in the
sample were probably trying to be good teachers,2 and all the children
were trying to be good pupils. Their unconscious needs, however, natu-
rally dominated their behavior. The teacher who organized the Vigilance
Club probably thought she was teaching her children to be upright and
honest, and to perform good deeds, but her unconscious tendencies caused
these worthy inclinations to seek the wrong expression. All teachers need
conformity in the classroom in order that the children shall absorb a
respectable amount of academic knowledge. But the teacher's ( often
unconscious) necd for acceptance by the children, and her fear ( sorne-
times unconscious) of her inability to control free discussion, compel her
to push the children into uncritical docility at times, while they seek her
approval.
The creation of stories, and their discussion by the class, are accepted
principles of progressive education. But the teacher's own ( at times
 ATIITUDE ORGANIZATION 165

unconscious) need to carp and criticize gets in the way of her adequately
developing the creative and supportive possibilities in her charges. Thus
these are not "bad," "vicious," or "stupid" teachers, but human beings,
who express in their classroom behavior the very weaknesses parents dis-
play in their dealings with their children. The solution to the problem of
the contradiction between the requirements of a democratic education on
the one hand, and the teachers' unconscious needs on the other, is not to
carp at teachers, and thus repeat the schoolroom process, but to give them
sorne insight into how they project their personal problems into the class-
room situation,

NOTES

l. In order to prevent identification of teachers and children, the names of my

student observers are not used.
2. I am indebted to B. Bettelheim for this suggestion.
 13

An Anthropologist Views
Technical Assistance

CHARLES J. ERASMUS1

This paper is concerned with conscious attempts to direct or to acceler-

ate culture change, and is based largely on personal observations in
several Latín American countries. It does not pertain specífically to the
work of any one agency or to technical assistance programs directed only
by agencies and governments foreign to the countries concerned. Many
ífnot most of the examples used are drawn from cases where local govem-
ments have attempted to introduce change within their own countries.
The purpose of the author is to synthesize these observations ínto.,a _dis-
cussion of the patterns of resistance and acceptance demonstrated by the
­­ ­ ­ ­­·­­( ... ,...._ ... __ ,. ,, ­ ..... •r­­

P~_2ples 2f ~underdeveloped" areas in the face of directed attempts to

change their ways and to point out the implications of these patterns for
the successful and economical operation of technical assistance programs.
"An Anthropologist Views Technical Assístance" by Charles J. Erasmus is reprinted
from Scientific Monthly (Science) 78: 147-158, March, 1954, by permission of the
author and publisher.

166
 TECHNICAL ASSISTANCE 167

EMPIRICISM
\(
Introduced changes that bear clear and immediate proof of their effec-
tiveness and desirability usually achieve a more rapid and widespread
acceptance than changes of long-term benefit or changes in which the
relationship between the new technic and its purported results is not
easily grasped on the basis of casual observatíonx In agriculture, for
example, the introduction of improved plant varieties ( higher yielding or
more disease-resistant) which result in a greater profit to the farmer has
repeatedly resulted in spectacular success stories in many of the Latin
American countries, and with a variety of cash crops. A foreign agency
in one country developed an improved hybrid corn through local genetic
selection. The first year that samples were distributed to farmers, the
yield was so much higher than normal that the agency was deluged with
requests for seed at the next planting time. In fact, the demand was so
great that private enterprise quickly becarne interested in taking over the
job of seed multiplication. In contrast, attempts to introduce soil con-
servation practices frequently encounter considerable difficulty. Practices
that do not bear clear and demonstrable proof of their efficacy in a short
period of time usually do not diffuse well on their own, with the result
that their diffusion may often be no greater than the range of the agrono-
rnist's personal contacts.
The spectacular nature of certain introduced agricultura} practices may
vary considerably, however, with local environmental conditions. In arid
badlands, as those found in sorne parts of Arizona, for example, whcre
rainfall is confined to one brief season in the form of intense downpours,
soil conservation practices may demonstrate remarkable benefits within a
very short period. Dobyns shows us how eagerly such practices may be
accepted under these conditions, in bis case study of a conservation experi-
rnent arnong Papago Indians (H. F. Dobyns in Spicer, 1952:209).
In the tropical lowlands of one Andean country, improved varicties of
mosaic-resistant sugar canc have all but rcplaced the "criollo" varieties
since their introduction sorne ten years ago. The newcr varieties demon-
stratecl their usefulness so successfully in the forrn of higher yields and
greater profits that they diffused from one farm to another with a míni-
mum of extension support and promotion. In only two or threc small
valleys ha ve the olclcr criollo varieties persisted and in thcse cases beca use
mosaic disease was never a problem, apparently as a result of ccrtain pre-
vailing dry winds. Hcre the farmers sce no aclvantage to the newer vari-
eties and prcfer thcir criollo in the belicf that it is easicr to refine.
In public health programs, spectacular curative measures seem to take
precedence over preventive ones in the rapidity with which they are ac-
cepted. Yaws campaigns carried on by the Institutc of Inter-American
168 TECHNICAL ASSISTANCE

Affairs, in collaboration with the governments of Colombia and Ecuador,

have quickly and successfully overcome the initial resistance of the coastal
Negro groups, among which the disease is endemic, and these campaigns
are profaundly altering the falk beliefs and the fatalistic attitude farmerly
surrounding this disease. Even native curers now admit that modern
medicine is more effective in the treatment of yaws than their own herbal
and magical treatments ( Erasmus, 1952b). On the side of preventive
medicine, however, thc story in most countries is quite different. For ex-
ample, the symptoms of intestinal infection in a young child may be diag-
nosed as "evíl eye" by rural populations. In arder far these people to be
convinced that boiling their polluted drinking water will prevent the
symptoms we attribute to intestinal infection, they must be able to observe
sorne measurable decrease in the incidence of the symptoms as a result of
the preventive technic. Owing to the conditions under which they live
and their failure to understand the reasons behind the new device, intes-
tinal infection may take place through other media, and consequently no
relationship between the two is empirically established.
In the case of crops, naturalistic explanations are usually and under-
standably given to insect plagues whilc ailments due to microorganisms
are sometimes attributed to supernatural causes far which magical pre-
ventive measures may be employed. However, when a commercial fungi-
cide, which effectively protects one man's crop against the supernatural
maladies that affiict bis neighbor's is introduced into a rural farming area,
an empirically mcasurable relationship is established between the pre-
ventive device and the malady. Even though the farmers may not fully
accept and understand the modern explanation nor completely abandon
their forrner beliefs, they quickly adopt the fungicide ( if they can afford
it).
From these examples we begin to sec that the people of the so-called
underdeveloped areas do not reason very differently from those of areas
considered more advanced. Unaccustorned or una ble to read, they lack
the one great avenue by which more sophisticated populations avail them-
selves of a broader range of experience ( including laboratory and statis-
tical analyses) than would be possible if they werc limited to thc range of
their own casual observations. The rea_?.9_gg~g prqcesses, of both_ groups,
ho~ev~r, are largely empirical and rest primarily on a frequencyinterpre-
!~E.-~~L~Y..~nts. Thus, in the case of a preventive measure far plant
diseases or a remedial campaign far an easily distinguishable endemic
disease such as yaws, the great number of individual cases plus conditions
involving fewer variables permits a frequency interpretation in their favor
within the limits of casual obscrvation, whereas conditions involving a
preventive measure far intestinal infections in a family of two or three
children may not. Therefare, where a new practice can dcmonstrate its
 TECHNICAL ASSISTANCE 169

relationship to the improvements in such a fashion that a frequency in-

terpretation is possible within the limits of casual observation, it has a
much greater chance for rapid acceptancc among the populations of
underdeveloped areas.
Very often the nature of an innovation will depend upon proper follow-
through by the innovator. In most of Latin America, new technics must
be adapted to conditions on which few reliable data are available. Under
such circumstances, an unknown factor, which would have bccn known
and allowed for ín the United States, will upsct the rcsults in such a way
that the new practice fails to make what might havc bcen a spectacular
demonstration. In one country, a U.S. technician who was attempting to
introduce the practice of broadbase terracing had no data available re-
garding maximum rainfall and soil conditions to guide him in calculating
slope and channel capacity. By diligently checking bis first experimental
terraces under rainfall conditions, he corrected all errors befare any dam-
ages might occur. As a result of this careful follow-through and sense of
obligation to the farmers, not a single terrace failed when the area was
later subjected to a heavy rain of Rood proportions. In fact, the erosivc
action of the storm on adjoining nonterraced fields was such as to makc
the terracing demonstrations more valuable.

NEED

The ..!!.eed~JeJ! by the peo ple, as._distinguished from thQ§,9 felt by thc
innovators, constitutc one of the most important factors pertaining to thc
acceptab1rlty of an innovation in any particular case. If the peoplc fail to
f~el or to recognize the necd for an innovation, it may preve impossible to
introduce it on a voluntary basis.
- Severa} of these examples, pertaining to the introcluction of ncw agri-
cultura! practices, involved not only the factor of their cmpirical verifica-
tion at the lcvel of casual obscrvation but also appcalcd to a profit motive.
An improvcd crop variety, which rcsults in a highcr yield or a greatcr
margin of profit, appeals to thc profit motivation and thc dcsirc for grcater
purchasing power when the improvcd varicty is a cash crop. Whcn it is
not a cash crop, the story may be diffcrent. From a stucly by Apodaca of
the introduction of hybrid corn into a community of Spanish American
farmers in Ncw Mexíco, we can sec how motives othcr than those of
greater profit may affect the outcome when thc crop to be improved is not
being grown for markct (A. Apodaca in Spicer, 1952: 35). Within two
years after thc introduction of the hybrid, three-fourths of the community
had adopted it. But after four years, all but three farmers had reverted to
planting their original variety. The hybrid had doubled production pcr
acre; the farmers had met with no technical difficultics in planting it, and
170 TECHNICAL ASSISTANCE

the seed were readily obtainable. However, the corn was raised by thc
comrnunity only for its own consumption. As these people eat their corn
largely in the forrn of tortillas ( unleavened com cakes ), an important
mainstay in their diet, and since the new hybrid did not yield tortillas of
the same color, texture, and taste as their own corn, they reverted to their
older variety. These reasons were more important to thern than was the
quantity produced. Apodaca notes the fact, however, that the hybrid was
dropped with considerable reluctance by the farrners because of its much
greater yield. They had ernpirically verified the fact that the hybrid was
an improvemcnt over the old in one sense, but not in the prime sense
which pertained to their particular needs and values. This illustrates what
can happen when an improvernent that would normally have high appeal
under cash-cropping conditions is introduced into a subsistence-oriented
cropping pattern.
Let us now turn to exarnples where subsistence-oriented agricultura!
improvements are introduced into a cash economy situation. Several years
ago the ministry of agriculture in a South American republic sponsored a
program to introduce the planting of soybeans in many rural areas. Today,
the only place where this crop is plantcd on any scale is near a city where
it is rnanufactured into vegetable oil. The object of this prograrn was to
induce the rural population to improve their diet. Soybeans, considered
more nutritious, were to be produced solely for family consumption. The
farmers not only found the new food distasteful but discovered that no
one cared to buy it, and the movernent quickly collapsed. In this case the
appeal was made to a better health rather than a greater profit motive, but
for the farmers the improvernent was not empirically verifiable. Syrnptoms
of rnalnutrition are often confused or cornbined with syrnptoms having
other etiologies according to rnodern classifications of disease and are
ascribed to supernatural and other causes which bear little or no resem-
blance to the rnedical explanations of the innovators. Therefore, in such
cases no fecling of need for a new practice may arise to offset the dis-
agreeableness of changing long-established food habits.
In nurnerous countries atternpts have been rnade to induce rural popu-
lations to cultivate vegetable gardens for home consumption. In all cases
observed this, too, usually fails after the prograrn has terminatcd, if the
farrner has found no market for the new product in the meantirne. Veg-
etable crops generally enter an area close to cities and towns, or along
reliable communication mutes leading to thern, where the market is
greater. Once farmers grow vegetable crops for profit, thcy invariably
consume sorne. In one Latin American mestizo community where a hcalth
program had enjoyed sorne degree of success in introducing farnily vcg-
etable gardens, several farrners said that the best way to pacify govern-
ment programs was to go along with them and do as one was told; evcntu-
 TECHNICAL ASSISTANCE 171

ally the program would terminate, and then they would abandon the
nuisance of vegetable gardens without creating any disturbance.
In another Latin American republic, a government-sponsored agency,
designed to look after the welf are of farmers growing a cash export crop of
importance to the national economy, instituted a program of aiding farm-
ers to build new homes and improve farm structures that werc necessary
for properly processing the crop. The agency found that it received many
more requests for the processing structures than for the homes, although
the cost of both types of units was being borne largely by the agency. The
farmers were required to pay a small percentage of the total construction
costs, and a majority of them preferred to invest in the labor-saving de-
vices. Frequently the field men of the program scolded the farmers for
thinking only of their own convenience and never of the cramped and
unsanitary quarters of their families. Again we find an example where
the needs felt by the people were not entirely in accord with those felt by
the innovators. Farmers accustomed to living under housing conditions
which the innovators considered undesirable did not necessarily share this
view. The processing structures, however, were already known to the
farmers who were aware of their labor-saving advantages. The theory
underlying the housing program was that more sanitary living conditions
would result in more able-bodied farmers and in higher production. But a
majority of the new houses rapidly returned to the samc state as those they
had replaced, a further indication that the needs felt by the innovators
were not generally perceived by the farmers. Ncw houses built on fanns
located along main highways or near population centers showed better
maintenance than those that had to be reached by mule-back. Apparently,
greater contact with externa! influences and the cultural environment of
the innovators creatcd a sense of need similar to that felt by the innovators.
Let us turn next to an instance of rapid change independcnt of any
superimposed direction. Near two large cities along a semitropical coast,
dairy farming recently has come into greater prominence because of the
increasing market for milk. Large and poorly rnanaged haciendas, For-
merly devoted to the pasturing of beef cattle, are breaking up into smaller
and more efficiently operatcd dairy farms. The dairy farmers on their own
initiative have improved dairy strains and have adopted improvcd feeding
practices and silage. Sorne farmers have learned to keep daily records of
the milk production of each cow, and on the basis of these records to
practice selective breeding of their bcst produeers. These dairymen are
sensitive to new technics and knowledge. The local economy already has
created an urgent need for new ideas, with the added promise of a high
degree of acceptance. Diffusion of ideas from the most advanced to thc
least advanced farms is proeeeding at a rapid rate.
We can see that when the objective of technical assistance is to increase
172 TECHNICAL ASSISTANCE

production in an underdeveloped area, it is easier to realize among people

who participate in a cash economy. Rural people who are cash-cropping
for national or international markets frequently tend to specialize. More
attention is usually given to a particular crop, such as coffee, sugar cane,
wheat, or potatoes. The local group often forfeits a great <leal of its self-
sufficiency in the proccss of specialization and consequently grows more
accustomed to purchasing specialized products of other areas. An in-
creasing tendency to purchase products externa! to the area is in turn
usually accompanied by an increase in the number of new products and
ideas entering the area, and the number of new needs thereby created.
This type of situation seems to be more conducive and sensitive to change.
Needs created by the process of specialization and the desire for increased
production and profit actually seem the easiest for technicians from an-
other culture or subculture to meet. The solution is often largely technical,
fewer cultural barriers to a common understanding are presented, and the
perception and feeling of needs are more easíly shared by the innovators
and the people.
However, when change is being attempted in a field not directly related
to increased production in a cash economy, in other words not directly in
terms of profits, the difficulties increase. In the field of public health, for
example, the innovator may consider it highly desirable to introduce basic
disease prevention measures into an underdeveloped area. But the folk
still subscribe to an age-old system of beliefs about the cause, prevention,
and treatment of disease, a system so different that the preventive meas-
ures of the innovator were meaningless. Lacking an understanding of the
modern concepts of the etiology of disease and consequently the reasons
for modern methods of prevention, they may feel no need to adopt the
prescribed changes. Thus, despite the fact that they feel a general need
for assistance in combating the ailments common among them, they may
fail to perceive the necd for the specífic measures proposed and may
actively rcsist them.
COOPERATION

Until now this paper has purposely been limited to examples of changes
whose acceptance and diffusion are largely an individual matter. As has
been seen in the case of spcctacular innovations such as improved plant
varieties, this type of change frequently spreads with phenomenal rapidity
from one individual to another with very little outside stimulus. However,
sorne changes may require group or community adoption, a circumstance
that can greatly increase the operational difficulties of introducing them.
Not only must the need for the change or changes be perceived by the
entire group or a large majority simultaneously, but the members of the
group must cooperate for the given end.
 TECHNICAL ASSISTANCE 173

Holmberg provides us with an excellent example of an assistance project

which depended upon collective acceptance and which failed even though
it was con cerned with a need already felt by the people (A. R. Holmberg
in Spicer, 1952:113). In a community in the Viru Valley of Peru, villagers
had petitioned the Peruvian government for aid in obtaining well water to
supplement their river supply during periods of shortage in the dry season.
A permanent and reliable water supply was important to these people fo
household and for irrigatíon and production needs. Although a well wa
successfully dug, the entire project failed because the technicians did no
consult with leaders of local opinion or seek to involve the people. An
tagonisms based on local social and política! conditions became so grea ·
that it was necessary to withdraw the project.
Throughout one Andean country an attempt was made to establish
farmer committees, by means of which it was planned to bring about agri-
cultura! improvements. In only one small mountain sector did the move-
ment have success, and here only among farmers who until a few years
before had been living in indigenous communities. Accustomed to a
mcasure of independent local government in the past, they were organized
with very little effort. Obviously, then, the failure of this program must
have been due in part to the organizing technics, for the few successful
cases were the result of highly favorable local circumstances.
It would seem that in many parts of Latin America there is a tendency
to consider rural populations as more cooperative than thcy really are, or
at least to take t~eir cooperatíonfor granted. However, in Latin America
today many of the age-old custorns promoting cohesion and cooperation in
rural society are being or havc been rcplaced by social relationships of a
more impersonal and individualistic nature. Such replaced customs would
include the mutual aid and assistance patterns involved, for example, in
reciproca! farm labor and the ceremonial kinship obligations of god-
parenthood. Apparently the economic aspects of such mutual assistance
customs were functional in a subsistcnce-oricnted rural economy, where
the peasants cropped largely for family and local consumption. As roads
increased the possibilities of marketing farm surpluses over larger areas,
farrners began to specialize and carne to be more dependent on other
regions and countries for marketing thcír products and for the food and
goods no longer produced on their own farms. Thus, the interdependen-
cies cxisting between membcrs of the local group in daily contact were
gradually superseded by national and international interdependencies
bctween peoples who never met. When the economic interdependen-
cies betwecn members of the local group wcre supersedcd by larger and
more impersonal oncs, the cooperative functions of older customs were
unnecessary. The rural peasantry became more individualistie and less
dependent on their daily contacts.
174 TECHNICAL ASSISTANCE

Actually, it may be fairly argued that the rural populations of Latin

America are becoming more competitive than collective. Perhaps one of
the clearest illustrations of this may be found in 4-H club work. Results
are usually better when the young people work separate plots in com-
petition than when they work the same land together in such a way that
they cannot compare their work. Similarly, when earnings of club mem-
bers are pooled for the purchase of livestock or tools used in common, the
results are usually poorer than when each individual has the right to the
fruits of his own labor. In such instances we can see how the profit motive
coincides with individualistic and competitive tendencies.
When a technical assistance project in a certain country attempted to
contour level rice fields across ownership boundaries in order to facilitate
irrigation flooding in a pilot area, it was faced with the problem of ob-
taining the permission and collaboration of all the small landowners
within the area. However, the technicians neglected to unite the various
landowners concemed, to explain the project to them, and to seek their
cooperative support. The project was carried out as if it were a type of
change which could be effected on an individual or family basis. One
farmer was induced to permit the contouring, then another, and so on.
Because of the severe land fragmentation problem, the owners of neigh-
boring plots were not necessarily neighbors insofar as the residence pat-
terns were concerned. Even when a farmer and severa! of the friends
who lived near him were convinced of the benefits of contouring, their
plots within the area were found to be widely separated. As planting time
approached, the project officials felt obliged to rush the job through, and
so began contouring the individual and wídely separated plots as func-
tionally separate units. As the work progressed, other landowners began
signing up. Eventually, nearly all gave permission to contour their land
and agreed to pay the costs. But the sequence of requests was such that
practically all contouring had to be done within, rather than across,
ownership boundaries. Inasmuch as nearly all the farmers eventually
collaborated, there is reason to believe that with the proper inducement
they could have been encouraged to do so before the work began. As a
result, one of the major objectives of the project, to contour according to
the topography rather than ownership boundaries, was lost.

INDUCEMENT

The problem of inducement, as we shall use the word here, refers to the
task of overcoming popular resistance to a proposed change for any of the
reasons discussed so far. Even in the case of new technics or traits which
demonstratc their effectiveness in a spectacular fashion, there is still the
initial problem of bringing them to the attention of the public. If the
 TECHNICAL ASSISTANCE 175

problem is one of introducing an improved plant variety, sorne farmer or

farmers must be persuaded to try it. If these initial experiments result in a
much greater yield, the new variety usually sells itsclf. Generally, farmers
are suspicious of government authorities and prefer to let sorneone clse
try the new technic before they adopt it. If a well-known neighbor obtains
satisfactory results, others will often rush to follow his example. Demon-
stration farms are not so readily copied, as the farmers are not sure what
additional advantages beyond their own means may have biased the
results. When a large brewery in a certain country found that the home
production of barley was insufficient to supply its needs, it hired agrono-
mists to stimulate production in new areas. The agronomists circulated
through the highland regions, promised farmers a good price for barley,
gave instructions for planting, and provided seed. The first year very few
farmers in a given area tried the new plant on a very modest scale. How-
ever, by the third or fourth year, after all had been convinced that the
agronomist would keep his word about the price and that the plant would
give profitable yields, barley had become one of the important crops.
Where the advantages of a new technic or trait are long tcrm in nature
or difficult to demonstrate empirically, long-term methods of introduction
through formal education should seriously be considered. Extension work
with adolescents through 4-H clubs and the like frequently demonstrates
that it is easier to instill new habits among individuals who do not have to
unlearn old habits. Furthermore, young people usually find it easier to
substitute the prestige of the specialist for the prestige of tradition (Eras-
mus, 1952a). E ven when introducing nonspectacular innovations on a
long-term basis through formal educational procedures, it will usually be
necessary to take popular belief s and practices into account so that per-
sons may perceive a relationship between the needs thcy fccl and the
remedies proposed. In Quito, Ecuador, tests were given to school childrcn
who had been receiving formal lecturcs in health education, including
the use of visual aid technics for sorne two ycars. Hcsults showed that the
period of instruction had made little or no impression. Whereas modern
explanations of the etiology of disease and its prevention were now
familiar to the children, they werc largely related to modcrn discase
terminologies that had no meaning to them. The symptoms of those dis-
eases were still bcing classified according to a folk system which includcd
such causes as fright, evil eye, malcvolcnt air, and witchcraft. According
to the school chíldren, these folk illnesses could not be causcd by módem
etiologies, could not be prevented by modern means, and could not be
cured by medica! doctors. In collaboration with the educators, attempted
changes in the methods of instruction were madc so as to allow the chil-
dren to discuss their folk beliefs freely in class. During the discussions
the educators attempted to show the children, without deriding their
176 TECHNICAL ASSISTANCE

beliefs, that the symptoms they ascribed to fright, evil eye, and the like
were the symptoms of the very diseases that the educators had been talk-
ing about for the past two years. They also tried to disassociate folk
symptoms from folk etiologies and practices and to link them to modern
methods of treatment and prevention. Retesting after the lectures gave
very different results. Written tests, of course, do not necessarily indicate
a change of habits, but these certainly indicated that for the first time the
children were cognizant of a relationship between the measures and ex-
planations of the educators and their own maladies. This illustrates the
necessity of thoroughly understanding the local culture of a people, in
cases where it is difficult for them to perceive the needs felt by the tech-
nicians under the ordinary limitations of casual empiricism. Ironically
enough, salesmen for patent medicine concerns frequently give very care-
ful consideration to folk beliefs in order to adapt the advertising of their
products to the local concepts of disease.
In some cases people can be induced to accept new technics and
changes, which they find difficult to accept, by linking them or making
them conditional to other changes or services more desirable to them.
For example, in anticipation of an irrigation project that they know will
materially benefit them, farmers may be more willing to satisfy govern-
ment wishes concerning secondary improvements which thcy would ordi-
narily resist. In the example of the contour leveling of rice fields, it seems
very possible that one of the principal mistakes of the program was in
failing to obtain commitments by the farmers for the leveling before the
irrigation project was completed. As the farmers had already been pro-
vided with irrigation water, the inducement value of the irrigation project
had been lost.
Similarly, where public health centers give attention to curative as well
as preventive measures, their rapport with the public as well as their
influence in implementing changes in disease prevention habits is notice-
ably greater. At a charity maternity hospital in Quito, those new prac-
tices, in confüct with popular beliefs but with which mothers had to
conform in order to receive treatment at the hospital, were found to be
having an important and permanent influence in altering their beliefs. In
agriculture, the distribution of seeds and tools at cost may offer a decisive
inducement to adopt recommended new cultivation practices. Where
farmers can see no need for a program objective, it may be possible to
alter the emphasis of the objectivc so as to enhance its appeal. In one
Haitian valley, agronomists were able to effect measures of soil conserva-
tion by appealing to a local interest in coffee planting and by helping the
fanners to start seed beds of coffee and shade trees for transplanting to
hillside plots.
Where joint and cooperative action on the part of a community is
necessary for the success of a project, considerable attention must be
 TECHNICAL ASSISTANCE 177

given to involving the people in the activity at an early stage. Thc leaders
of opinion in the community must be discovered and consultcd first.
Whenever possible, the community should be made to feel that it has
participated in the planning of thc program. When cooperative programs
are simply dropped upon the peoples of underdeveloped areas from sorne
high planning echelon within their government, without any explanation
and without any consideration for local opinions, the programs are very
likely to fail either partially or totally.
In any technical assistance program one of the most important and
most variable aspects of the problem of inducement involves the factor of
person to person relationships. Much has been expounded on this sub-
jcct, but the desideratum usually consists of little more than a considera-
tion for the beliefs and customs of otlier peoples and a sincere attempt to
understand them. Yet understanding can be no greater than allowed by
the amount of personal contact and the ability to communicate.
A most effective foreign technician was a U.S. soils scientist attached to
an agricultura! research station in an Andean country. Good-natured and
affable, he set out at once to make a friend of every member of the staff.
Within bis special field he led the local technicians to adopt severa! new
research procedures, and saw severa! research projects of considerable
importance well under way. Yet he never allowed his namc to be at-
tached to any project. He encouraged thc local man most interested in
the plan to initiate it, carry it through, and take the crcdit, while he
played the part of a counsellor who continued to make suggestions but
never gave an order. Three nights a week on his own time he held classcs
in English because he had discovered that many local tcchnicians wanted
to learn the language and that he made fricnds by helping them.

COMPLEXITY

Frequently a change which secms desirable to the innovator may de- (

pend upon so many other secondary accompanying changes that its ~
introduction is difficult. Perishablc food products, such as fresh vegetables
and fish, are most easily cxploited near markets where transportation to
markets is reliable, inexpensive, and rapid, or wherc storage and proces-
sing facilities have been developed. Successful adoption of improved live-
stock may depend upon many correlative changes in husbandry practices.
The latter in turn may depend upon the farrner's finaneial ability to
provide better feed and care.

¡
Failurc to recognize the factor of complexity is one of the most serious
problems in technical assistance work, partly because there are no estab- """
lished principies of di~g~1osis which can be applied "' every ~ase. Oftcn-
times the standard of living may be so low that the mnovator s heart goes
out to the evidenees of suffering which seems unnecessary to him from
 178 TECHNICAL ASSISTANCE

his different cultural or subcultura! viewpoint. Let us take for example

country "X," whose density of population and infant mortality rate are
among the highest in the world and whose per capita production is
among the lowest. Is the first job of technical assistance to save lives and
reduce the immediate evidences of human suffering, or is it to help the
country itself to solve its health problems? The answer to this question
depends on who provides the funds to build the public health centers,
the water purification systems, and the public hospitals, and to educate
the doctors and nurses. If the innovators provide these funds, the effort
may involve much more than technical assistance; it may involve heavy
financia! assistance. As a result the population may increase more rapidly
than ever, and with it all the existing economic and political stresses may
be aggravated. However, if the innovators are concentrating on purely
technical assistance, they may endeavor to help country "X" raise per
capita production to a point where the country can pay for its own secon-
dary improvements as it feels the need for them. In short, this would
\ mean that technical assistance in country "X" might be aimed first at in-
¡ creasing productivity in agriculture and industry, while assigning the high
infant mortality rate to a secondary position on its list of problems.
1 This extreme case is used simply as an example and does not mean
that technical assistance in public health should be relegated to a secon-
dary position in all countries desiring technical aid. In sorne countries
productivity per capita is much highcr than in others and public health
services for the population are already well established. In such cases,
technical assistance for making these services more efficient is readily
grasped and utilized and effects of the technical assistance are far more
permanent and far reaching. U.S. public health technicians in one small
country have played an important role in a malaria campaign to clean up
a wide coastal zone that was formerly poorly exploited. Roads are now
being cut through the jungles, exploitation of forest products is intensify-
ing, and new settlers are entering the area to establish banana and other
plantations. Thus an entire nation has been benefited by these public
health workers.
A price-support program for cotton was adopted in one country in
order to induce greater home production for local textile industries.
Within a period of three years agricultura! changes in sorne areas have
been almost revolutionary. On Hat coastal plains to the east, land that
was formerly yielding a very low rate of income per acre from an exten-
sive type of beef-cattle ranching is rapidly changing into a zone of
mechanized agriculture. Cotton has become white gold. N ot only have
many farmers rushed to exploit the new opportunities vvith mechanized
farm equipment, but they have adopted new farming technics such as the
use of fcrtilizcrs, insecticides, and crop dusting. This example is not used
 TECHNICAL ASSISTANCE 179

to justify price-support programs, but it does show how increased profits

facilitate the adoption of new practices. They do not make such change
automatic, however, for the same factors of need and empiricism still
apply. Many farmers started planting cotton without heeding advice to
use insecticides. They suffered serious crop damages the first year and
saw the difference between their yields and those where insecticides were
used, and then they adopted the practice the second year. Nor did cotton
planting itself become generally adopted until a few enterprising farmers
had made a handsome profit,
In situations of extreme land fragmentation where farmcrs must sup-
plement their agricultura! earnings by means of other endeavors, it is
usually extremely difficult to initiate changcs in farming practiccs. A
higher yielding plant variety may be readily adopted, but many other
innovations are difficult to introduce on uneconomical farm units. How-
ever, a desire to help impoverished farmers may lead administrators and
technicians to attempt the introduction of improvements of a subsistence
nature which require little or no capital expenditure. Programs may
thereby develop with the purpose of introducing the household manu-
facture of family clothes, home gardening of all food necessities, home
Food-preservation practices, and incxpensivc animal varietics such as
rabbits as a source of meat for the family. All such devices are aimed at
making farm families more self-sufficient and less specialized, a process
contrary to the usual economic trends. Social welfarc programs of this
type seem to require more extension personnel and promotional activity
than those designed to bring production-increasing technics to fanncrs
who have the financia} means to exploit them.
In one South American country wherc soil erosion has bccome ex-
tremcly severe, U.S. soil conservation experts found that practically no
remedia! steps were being takcn. In sorne arcas, crosion had rcached a
point where only such drastic measurcs as complete reforcstation would
suffice. In others, the erosion problem was complicated by absentce
land-owncrship pattcrns or the exploitation of uneconomical farm units.
However, by selecting an arca of mcdium-sizcd mcchanizcd farms pcr-
sonally administered by resident owncrs, thc tcchnicians wcre very suc-
ccssful in introducing many ncw soil conscrvation practices with a míni-
mum of promotional activity. Farmers responded rcadily, were quick to
rccognize the bcncfits of thc ncw mcasurcs, and found thcm casy to carry
out at their levcl of operations. As a rcsult of thc ímpetus given to soil
conscrvation by thc succcsscs in this arca, the government created a
special soil conservation division, within its ministry of agriculturc, to
attend to the crosion problcms of thc country as a wholc.
In onc scnse, the arcas of worst erosion in a country might be thought
of as presenting the greatest need for corrcction, or the poorcst farmers
180 TECHNICAL ASSISTANCE

as the ones most in need of improved agricultural practices. Frequently,

however, the persons most in need, in the judgment of the innovator, may
be those who feel the need the least. For this reason it may often be more
expedient and practica! to work where the need, from the ínnovator's
standpoint, is less acute but whcre there is greater willingness on the
part of the people to make the change. The interest shown by the people
themselves is more often a bctter indcx to theír ability to successfully
adopt a given change than the judgment of the innovator.

ECONOMIC FEASl~ILLTY

Any technical assistance project will cost money, the expense of this
assistance being in proportion to the number of man-hours necessary to
complete it successfully. It would be quite logical to suppose that, given
unlimited financia! and human resources, a technical assistance program
could effect any change desired. However, no technical assistance project
has such unlimited funds; thereforc, in any decision concerning the selec-
tion of projects, their feasibility with respect to budgetary limitatíons
must be taken into account.
From observations of technical assistance projects, the kinds of innova-
tions which would seem to be most inexpensive are those which require
the least man-hours for strictly promotional purposes. Such innovations
include those from which benefits are easily verifiable through casual
observation, which are accepted and diffused on an individual basis,
which meet a strong need already felt by the people ( of particular appeal
to a profit motive), and those which are in sequence with local develop-
ment ( not too complex). However, certain circumstances may justify
considerable promotional activity. For example, in the case of projects
requiring cooperative acceptance and action on the part of the people,
the necessary groundwork must be done to involve them in the activities,
or the time and money spent in the purely technological aspects may be
lost. In such cases the two deciding factors are the amount of money
being invested in the technological aspects, and the need which the peo-
ple feel. In the case of an expensive irrigation project, about which the
people are highly enthusiastic and for which their cooperation is re-
quisite, the extension work necessary to iron out local social and opera-
tional problems for the maximum success of the project should be con-
sidered a functional rcquirement. However, where considerable money
is to be spent on a project in which the cooperation of the people is
essential but for which they do not even feel a need, the project should
be reexamined to see íf it fits into the local sequence of development. If
a project is very inexpensive but would requirc costly promotional work
to secure the necessary cooperation from the people, the project should
 TECHNICAL ASSISTANCE 181

be reexamined to see if the ends really justify the rneans. It frequently

happens, for example, that innovators like to initiate projeets whieh re-
quire eooperative aetion from the people beeause they eonsider the en-
eouraging of eooperation and eommunity spirit as good and worthy
projeets in themselves.
The principal eonsideration in questions of eeonomie feasibility is that
of the needs felt by the people. When the people do not feel a need for
the innovations proposed, promotional aetivity neeessarily must be in-
ereased. Fortunately, actual situations are usually neither all negative
nor all positive; differenees exist in degree, and sorne persons within the
. same group or area are more reeeptive than others. In the case of soil
eonservation, for example, sorne farmers with better farm equiprnent,
more capital, and a long-terrn outlook ean be shown the benefits of soil
eonservation with relatively little diffieulty, while neighbors with more
modest resourees eontinue to take a skeptieal view. However, when a
nueleus for ehange ean be permanently established, even though the
prospeets of diffusing the ehange outside that nueleus in the immediate
future are poor, the long-terrn gains may justify the modest beginning.
Eventually others may come to reeognize the benefits of an innovation
at a time when eonditions make it easier for them to adopt it or to ap-
preeiate its advantages. Thus, rather than spend time and money to
prornote the adoption of an innovation among people who eannot per-
eeive its desirability, it may prove more expedient to establish it arnong
stratcgieally loeated nuelei or groups who ean.
Another long-term alternative to eostly prornotional aetivity to estab-
lish a sense of need for new measures is that, already rnentioned, of
appealing to the younger rnembers of the society through existing edu-
eational institutions. A few strategie lectures to groups of teachers, as
well as assistanee to thern in the form of eclueational aids ancl printed
matter, ean often have a widespread, long-terrn effeet.
The most unfavorable eonditions for introdueing innovations are fre-
quently presented by sueh marginal peoplcs as Indian groups who more
than anything else may simply wish to be left alone. Thc effort involvccl
in introdueing ehanges among them will be particularly great when thcir
eeonomy is still subsistenee-orientecl. Their conception of nccds rnay be
so different from that of the innovators that the two groups rnay find it
very diffieult to establish a eommon meeting grouncl for mutual under-
standing.
In general, the absorption of marginal peoples and cultures into the
national sphcre scerns to follow most rapiclly upon thcir furthcr involve-
ment in the national cash eeonomy. In many cases it rnay prove more
expedient to develop areas bordering on marginal groups in such a way
as to draw them more elosely into the national eeonomy than to attempt
 182 TECHNICAL ASSISTANCE

to superimpose an extraneous need system directly upan them. While

living in a Mayo Indian comunidad in southern Sonora, Mexico, during
1948, the writer had an opportunity to note the effects produced on an
indigenous community by the rapid development of bordering areas. The
development of irrigation and a more intensive machine agriculture to the
north was creating more job opportunities and prosperity. Not only were
members of the comunidad going north more frequently to work as
seasonal agricultura! labor, but they wcre returning with new ideas, needs,
and wants. In fact, a growing nucleus was advocating division of the
communal land as a means by which wealthy farmers could gain access
to much of the virgin land and extend irrigation into the area. Thus it
was hoped that a more intensive and profitable type of agriculture would
be possible far all.
A similar situation was encountered at the plantation of an American
fruit company in a Latin American republic. The manager of the planta-
tion told how the labor turnover the first year or two was over 90 percent.
Individuals worked until pay day and then went on a drinking spree, or
worked only until they had earned enough to buy something they had
specifically wanted. However, as new laborers kept replacing the old,
sorne of them would inevitably join the nucleus of steady workers. These
valued the permanent income, the clean and comfortable company hous-
ing, the superior company school far their children, and the company
medica! treatment. Within a few years thc plantation had a permanent
resident labor force. Thc company showed an interest in the upkeep and
attractiveness of the workers' housing and helped them landscape gardens
around their homes; thus a model community had been formed that was
influencing the entire area. Workers in neighboring locally managed
plantations were beginning to demand the same treatment, as they per-
ceived a need far it themselves.
· Not everyone can be induced to share the values and needs of the in-
novators at once but, by working first with those who already share them,
the changes may eventually have far-reaching results without the un-
necessary expense of promotional methods. In short, action programs
among those who already feel a need far an innovation would seem to be
more effective and less expensive in the long run than promotional pro-
grams far those who must first be inspired to feel the need.
One of the greatest weaknesses in most technical assistance programs
' is the failurc to rccognize the indispensable part played by research in
¡. increasing their economic feasibility. In this respect, government might
conceivably learn from business. One writer on the subject of business
management has said that any company that lacks an organized program
of research will eventually find itself out of business ( Trundle, 1948).
Two majar forms of business research, market and engineering studies,
 TECHNICAL ASSISTANCE 183

might be paralleled by technical assistance agencies to their advantage.

Market studies could be designed to get all the pertinent facts about the
people to be changed, including their needs and wants, their ability to
absorb a given innovation, and their previous reactions to similar pro-
grams in the past. Engineering studies might include research in any 1
number of technical fields, as well as comparative research in the methods
and results of other agencies in other parts of the world, and the con-
' tinued self-evaluation by the agency of its own programs to perfect the •
least expensive and most effective means of realizing its objectives. How- ,
ever, in government assistance programs, research can probably be re-
. alized best through an organization pattern that recognizes the difference
between staff and line functions. Government reporting is prone to be a
line function originating with operations personnel, who execute it with
a bias toward justifyíng the further existence of their programs. By avoid-
ing the disclosure of mistakes in specific operations, short-term benefits
may accrue which on a long-term basis prevent the self-evaluation and
self-correction necessary to avoid those seriously damaging setbacks that
rcsult from the accumulation of hidden errors.

NOTES

l. The author is indebted to A. W. Patterson, Point Four Director in Chile, at

whose suggestion this article was written.
 14

Anthropology in AID Overseas

Missions: lts Practical and
Theoretical Potential

RICHARD P. SCHAEDEL

The purpose of this paper is to present briefly an anthropologist's point

of view of the praetieal work aeeomplished by the anthropologist in ICA
missions overseas and to indicate sorne of the theoretieal potential that
ean be exploited in this type of work. What follows is largely based upon
the writers experienee with ICA programs in Latín Ameriea both as an
outside observer and as a partieipant.
At the outset of ICA and predeeessor ageney's operations in Latín
Ameriea sorne twenty years ago thcre was a wide divergenee of interest
between the ICA mission personnel overseas and the anthropologists who
"Anthropology in AID Overseas Missions: Its Practica} and Theoretical Potential"
by Richard P. Schaedel is reprinted from Human Organizatlon 23: 190-192, 1964,
by permission of the author and publisher.

184
 AID OVERSEAS MISSIONS 185

were doing research or teaching in the samc country. There may have
been more of an awareness of common interests between anthropologist-
consultants in Washington and ICA than in the overseas mission but it
did not reach clown to the mission level. This divergence consistedlargely
in the type of objective the ICA mission hadas compared with that of the
research anthropologist. The United States Operations Mission had as its r'\
immediate goal to plan and implement a program of measures far eco-
nomic and social development in countries which were assumed to be
underdeveloped. The anthropologists were concerned with studying the
culture from any variety of special problem angles, but generally did not
preoccupy themselves with the application of their knowledge to a pre-
defined program of economic and social progress. While the USOM
operated largely with government agencies in the host country, the 1
anthropologists tended to avoid them, seeking out academic colleagues J
and generally staying clear of any govemment involvement lest such
affiliation should mar the degree of rapprochement they might be able to
secure among the groups they were interested in studying. The diverg-
ence of interests was further accentuated by the stereotypes that each
group forrned of the other. Since at the outset many of the ICA personnel
were drawn from the ranks of county extension agents, rural cducation
specialists, farm machinery experts, etc., the highly trained anthropologist
tended to look with a certain amount of disdain on his compatriots who
were charged with a responsibility which he certainly felt to be much
greater than he would care to accept. To put it crudely he looked upon
most ICA personnel as good-natured but ethnoccntric "falks" getting
highly overpaid far being "do gooders." The ICA group far its part had
only the vaguest idea of the scope and variety of the anthropological
research. They conceived of anthropologists as an exotic group of char-
acters who either liked to go out and sleep in tents ancl study the sex lifc
of the Indians or else concerned thcmselves with digging up bones; in any
case the products of their investigation had little if any practica! value.
Nonetheless the continued coexistencc of the ICA mission, growing over
the years to include a number of nonrural, professionally traincd special-
ists, and the American anthropologist-researcher or visiting professor
eventually produced a gradual awareness of common interests ancl a
willingness to examine each other's point of view. Thc ICA group carne
to appreciate the potential application of thc anthropologist's rcsearch
and observations, largely because of the difficulties they encountered in
trying to change the host country's culture. The anthropologist bcgan to
become more convinced that his ICA compatriots were going to try to
modify thc host country's culture whether he liked it or not, and that
perhaps sorne effort at providing them with a general understanding of
the social complexities involved would be worthwhile. A point has finally
 186 AID OVERSEAS MISSIONS

been reached where an ICA overseas mission often comprehends the need
for an anthropologist on its staff. While there is still much anxiety over
the unknown consequences of employing an anthropologist, there is gen-
eral consensus in many missions that he should be able to perform a use-
ful role. The usefulness of anthropologists to ICA missions overseas has
been summarized in published articles ( Kelly, 1959; Gladwin, 1960) and
has been discussed by Mr. Miniclier. Now I should like to present ob-
jectively a brief picture of the limitations under which the anthropologist
works and briefly to review the chores to which he is customarily as-
signed; that is, what I call the practica! potential. This incidentally cor-
responds to the shabbier side of the anthropologist's role as viewed from
the standpoint of his academically based colleague.
Most important of the .Iimitations within which the anthropologist
wor ks are the ICA ( and for th'at rnatter the State Departrnent) policy,
both as defined in Washington and by the mission. However much we
feel that a series of measures being carried out in a host country rnay be
more harmful than beneficial, once the policy is established we are no
longer free to criticize it. This does not mean that we cannot rnake every
effort when channels are open to communicate our opinions and seek
· thereby to modify the policy, but it does mean a lirnitation on the out-
spoken expression which our academic colleagues are at liberty to exer-
cise.
Secondly, carrying out field work through a governmental adrninistra-
tion is much more complicated, tirne-consuming and frustrating than
doing the same operation under a research grant. To illustrate I need
only mention such phcnomena as clearances, administrative officers,
memoranda, travcl vouchers in triplicate, and you will rapidly conjure up
an image of what I mean.
Thirdly, we are subject to the limitations of a given mission program.
Programming is a constant process in ICA which provides the guidelines
for the mission's activities and is subject to frequent modifications beca use
of adjustments to allocations requested and granted from Washington. In
order to function effectively in an overseas mission, the anthropologist
'has to adjust himself to the program or the program to him. This is a
time-consuming process of memorandum drafting and personal negotia-
tions, particularly in missions where thcre is little awareness of the pos-
siblc uses of anthropology.
Finally, there is the problem of adjustment to other ICA personnel,
administrative and technical. It is seldom possiblc for the anthropologist
to "free-lance" it. He is usually expected to be available to all the tech-
nicians for help on social problems, and in many cases he depends upon
the other technicians for carrying out bis own work. Since most tech-
nicians have not had previous expcrience working with anthropologists,
 AID OVERSEAS MISSIONS 187

sorne effort must be spent in establishing a satisfactory interpersonal

relationship, followed by careful insinuations as to the sort of work the
anthropologist has in mind or the sort of suggestions he has to offer.
While this experience, as I hope to bring out later, has its positive aspects,
it should be recognized as a type of limitation which our academic col-
leagues do not have to undergo.
Within these limitations the anthropologist usually finds himself dedi- (
cated to one of four major categories of activities: program evaluation, (
planning, operations support, or community development. He may even
)
find himself involved in all four or any combination thereof. In the role
of program evaluator, he investigates the various activities of the mission,
assesses them in tenns of their adaptability and effectiveness on the host
country, makes recommendations for changes. While his talents qualify
him particularly well for this role, since he of all of the mission specialists
is trained to look for a balanced interrelationship and a pace in the
planned operations in accord with the local culture, it is rarely that the
mission chief is willing to give him more than consultative responsibility.
Planning offers the anthropologist perhaps the greatest independence.
He is assigned a specific goal and asked to come up with a plan that will
b~ in keeping witli the host country's human potential. In so doing he
carries out a certaín amount of independent research that is not only
applicable to the plan but that can be generally valuable in providing
needed information on unstudied areas of the local culture. Operations
support is a sort of "trouble shooting" job that involvcs on-call service to
the míssion's technicians who are operating programs and who have run
into difficulties of a social nature, or who would like to have additional
assistance in getting the program accepted more rcadily by the recipient
community. While this chore is a challengc to the anthropologist's dex-
terity in handling divcrse situations adroitly, it also harbors dangerous
snags. He is sometimcs callcd in as the doctor who is summoncd belatedly
to cure the patient who has becn givcn up for dcad. Anthropologists are
also used to administer what is known as community devclopmcnt pro-
grams, actually programs in applied anthropolgy. This subjcct is dcalt
with abundantly in the literaturc1 and will be discussccl in other papers.
Whatever adjustment he makes to the above chores, and this will largcly
depcnd upon his tcmpcramcnt, thc anthropologist in ICA ovcrscas mis-
sions has an opportunity to pursuc his own theorctical intcrcsts as he ·
moves from country to country that would only be available to the aca-
dcmically based anthropologist ovcr a much longer time span. While thc
main categories of thcse theorctical intcrests will be largcly in thc ficld of
applied anthropology and cultural clynamics, thcy may include many
others, such as primitivc cconomics, folk medicine, and enthnobotany.
For the purposes of illustration I have made a threefold division of the
188 AID OVERSEAS MISSIONS

types of theoretical inquiry to which ICA experience particularly lends

itself.
The first category is largely dependent upon the particular interests of
the anthropologist who may profit by on-the-job interdisciplinary ex-
change.? In the field of primitive economics the anthropologist with ICA
overseas is usually favored by the expert advice of an agricultura! econ-
omist anda horticulturist, and frequently by one or more of the following:
an entomologist, a soil chemist, a livestock specialist, or a forester. A
comparative study of productivity between two peasant cultures with a
number of ecological constants could be carried out with this type of
interprofessional interchange. Its results could be further enhanced by
utilizing the capabilities of nutritionists and other public health advisers
in establishing comparable physiological limitations.
Thc degree of utilization that a given society makes of its natural
resources, given a certain basic technology, is presumably an index of
cultural vigor, ingenuity, efficiency, or whatever concept one cares to
employ. Establishment of such indices in the field can be greatly facili-
tated by the assistance of sorne of the cadre of ICA technicians. Many of
the hypotheses that the field anthropologist can propose about this or that
resource or technique, which he feels from bis limited experience should
produce better results, can be resolved in consultation with the expert or
by having the item in question demonstrated. This problem is particularly
real to me at the moment in Haiti where concern about underutilization of
resources has assumed polemical dimensions ( see Aristide, 1958-1959).
Since practically all operations of ICA involve changing the host
country's culture, the experience of an anthropologist in observing these
cases is unique. He can study the reactions of the recipient community
and individuals as well as the roles of the innovators or agents in a
dynamic setting. He can witness the same kind of innovation that was
successful in one culture fail in another, weighing the variables of the
agency, the institutional constel\ation that accompanied the process, and
the values of the recipient cultm~. Case studies like this range in dimen-
sion from the introduction of traetíon-plowíng by mules on a single farm
to an entire regional program oé•imposed change from subsistence agri-
culture to production for export. I\hould like to suggest that a legitimate
theoretical objective of assembling ~ese case studies in the world-widc
ICA culture laboratory might be thé\ establishment of what might be
termed a scale of the thresholds of receptivity.
My final point has to do with the contribution anthropologists can
make to economic growth theory especially in these days when it is play-
ing such an influential role in government. Rostov's hypothesis of the five
stages of economic development ( Rostov, 1960) has had considerable
impact in government circles and has been favorably received by anthro-
 AID OVERSEAS MISSIONS 189

pologists. Of the societies in these 6.ve stages, I would like to confine my

remarks to those classi6.ed as traditionalist and transitional.
The traditionalist group, as Dalton and Bohannan note ( 1961), are
rather cavalierly dismissed by Rostov at the outset. It is clear neverthe-
less that there are a number of traditionalist societies (by Rostov's own
criteria), constituting independent nations today, which are included in
our foreign aid programs. Thus, not only for empirical but for theoretical
reasons, it would be desirable to extend the analysis of the traditionalist
societies and to attempt to understand the process and rhythm of changc
from the traditionalist to transitional stage. Clearly, this is a 6.eld for the
anthropologist's contribution, particularly anthropologists who are likely
to be serving in one or both type societies.
Concerning the transitional societies, Rostov makcs the point that they
are undergoing a basic institutional change prior to takeoff, characterized
by centralization, a shifting of the elite, and nationalism. He puts most
underdeveloped countries in this stage. Howevcr brilliant the generaliza-
tion, there is considerable danger in underplaying the signi6.cant differ-
ences between groups of societies sharing radically different cultural
traditions as well as between individual societies. Here again there is a
need to give the theory greater depth and specificity. Rostov implies that
one can conceive and even deal on the same time scale with a variety of
elites as though thcy all represented the same tendcncy. It should be
clear that the sequence of changes within the transitional stagc as well as
the different typcs of elite constcllations require further de6.nition beforc
the process can be sufficiently well understood to be applied in policy.
The anthropologist overseas is in an ideal position to provide such
de6.nition and clarification. Because of thc irnmediacy of thc nced for a
profound consistcnt and correct basis for foreign policy to undcrdevcloped
countries, I consider contributions in this arca of thcory to be thc most
challcnging and urgcnt wc can make.

NOTES

l. See particularly the Communiitj Development Beoieio,

2. For a good discussion of the potential and problems of "on-the-job" inter-
disciplinary exchange, see Council on Social Work Education, Interprojes­
sional Training Goals far Technical Assistance Personnel Abroad, Ithaca,
New York, 1959.
 15

Cooperation Between
Anthropologist and
Medical Personnel

CARA E. RICHARDS

The annals of applied anthropology are full of reports on situations

where behavioral science knowledge and skills have not been used. It is
a pleasure, therefore, to report on a situation in which members of the
medica! and anthropological professions work actively together, pooling
their abilities and information to accomplish their task more effectively.
The project where these desírable circumstances prevail is the Navajo-
Cornell Field Health Project at Many Farms, Arizona. This project was
inítiated on J uly 1, 1955 by an agreement between the Cornell Uníversity
"Cooperatíon Between Anthropologist and Medical Personnel" by Cara E. Richards
is reprinted from Human Organization 19:64-67, 1960, by permission of the
author and publisher.

190
 ANTHROPOLOGIST ANO MEDICAL PERSONNEL 191

Medica! College and the United States Public Health Service which had
just taken over responsibility for the health of Indians on reservations.

=('
The major objectives of the project were:
( 1) To define the proper concerns of a hcalth program among a peoplc
such as the Navajo Indians.
( 2) To find ways to adapt modern medicine for deliverv in an
able ~o:m across/ormid~ble cultur_al. ar0 ling!listic__bauiers_wjthout com-
promísipg essential medica! standards in the proces ·~
- ( 3) To study ínsofar as possible, -the consequences of this innovation
in terms of the community.
( 4) To determine whether information important with respect to
· environment and disease in our present-day society can be obtained from
the study of a people who are emerging from a relatively primitive culture
into one more closely approximating that of present-day rural United
States.1
Anthropology has been part of the project from its beginning. Dr.
John Adair has worked closely with physicians Dr. Walsh McDermott
i and Dr. Kurt Deuschle in setting up the project, and he continues as
principal anthropologist. The project thus has a history of cooperation
in the planning stage and in the initial implementation. Cooperation with
anthropologists has been and still is considered an essential part of the
project.
The purpose of this paper is to give sorne details on day-to-day experi-
ences in cooperation and to examine sorne of the factors involved in the
development of that relationship.
My role was considerably structurcd before I carne to the project.
Informally, my predecessor as resident anthropologist had created certain
role expectations by his behavior. Formally, my work was intended to
contribute to further understanding of two medica! problems, diarrhea
and heart disease. I was to make an intensive study of between five and
ten families, paying particular attention to their diet, sanitation, and
activity pattern.
As my research progressed, I discusscd data with the doctor most con-
cerned with the problem to which the data were best related. This made
it possible to refine problems further, to decide what avenues of research
most needed to be pursued, etc. For example, on routine checking of
translation, I found that Navajos have only one word for cooking fat,
which is translated "lard." Thus research based on statements from
Navajos that they use "lard" for cooking may be suspect unless the re-
searcher has made sure just what item "lard" actually refers to in each
specific case. From discussions with the doctor, I leamed that in con-
nection with the effect of diet on heart disease, the dííference between
192 ANTHROPOLOGIST ANO MEDICAL PERSONNEL

lard and an hydrogenated vegetable oíl is considerable. From the finding

that "lard" did not necessarily mean lard, we were able to focus our
research more sharply in this area.
In addition to this fairly clearly defined role, I was expected to help
in various social science aspccts of the project. This part of the role was
left rather undefined, since no one could predict in advance exactly in
what way and at what time I might be useful. On occasions my advice
was asked on how to present a delicate question to a family. On other
occasions, because of my less formal relationships, I was told about atti-
tudes, fears, etc., concerning health that the people had not mentioned
to other clinic personnel. This sometimes led to improved medica! service
to the individual.
An anthropologist can often make use of casual information that hap-
pens to come his way. In other situations, his contribution comes from
information deliberately collected as well as from his specialized knowl-
edge.
What everyone on the project calls "congenital hip" - a malformation
of the pelvic joint which results in limping - occurs with considerable
frequency among the Navajo population: a frequency between 500 and
1,000 times greater than in Anglo populations. For sorne time medical
personnel have been interested in getting Navajos with this condition into
clinics or hospitals for treatment, but there has been stiff resistance.
Surgery has been performed on a number of children in the clinic area
without success. This has tended to make people reluctant to cooperate
with medical personnel in finding and treating new cases by hospitaliza-
tion. At Many Farms we have recently been studying congenital mal-
formations more intensively. Part of the study is genealogical, part
purely medical ( i.e., diagnosis and treatment), and part is concerned with
resistance of the population to treatment. All three phases have involved
discussion and exchange of ideas ameng-staff-members.s-In this paper I
intend to discuss only one aspect ~o~
I have asked most of my informants what they thought caused "con-
genital hip" and how they felt or how they thought other Navajos felt
about attempts to cure or remedy the condition. Answers seem to indi-
cate that resistance to treatment centers on the idea of surgery, which is
not surprising in view of the lack of success surgery has had on children
in the area. Treatment that can be carried on at home however without
any painful operations ( i.e., by mechanical leg-spread~rs, speci;l diaper-
ing techniques, etc.,) apparently does not arouse so mueh resistance. In
addition, Navajos in general are apparently not convinced that "con-
genital hip" is worth all the trouble. If an individual is not in pain and
can function effcctively (as "congenital hip" victims usually can) there
appears to be no compulsion to persuade them to endure considerable
 ANTHROPOLOGIST ANO MEDICAL PERSONNEL 193

discomfort to changc the situation. "Congenital hip" is a good example of

differing cultural values. It is a public health problem in the eycs of medi- 1
cal personnel. It is not one in the cyes of Navajos. Apparently Navajos
would rather have a person who limps but functions effectively than onc
who walks more smoothly but cannot climb, crouch, or squat (most Nava-
jos homes still do not have chairs, but doctors operate in terms of a chair-
culture).
The anthropological findings concerning attitudes toward "congenital
híp" have been turned over to the project medical pcrsonnel. This case of
cooperation has no clear-cut ending inasmuch as a program of medica!
service which would lead to diagnosis and earlier correction of the malady
had not been put into operation by the time the writer left the project.
Basic genetic research is now under way in an attempt to understand
inheritance patterns of the disease.

FACTORS IN COOPERATION

As the above cases illustrate, cooperation is possible and effective

between disciplines. Since so many instances of uncooperative behavior
exist, a major problem is how to bring the much desired cooperation into l
being. J
Many problems faced in attempts to develop cooperation within an
interdisciplinary team can be traccd to the fact that people accustomed
to operating in a fairly autonomous fashion are forced to function in the
context of an organization. The problems involved in getting people in
any organization to work well together are certainly not unknown to the
readers of this paper. lnterdisciplinary cooperation is mercly a special
instance of the general case. Sorne of the solutions to general organiza-
tion problems which have bcen found can be applicd to interdisciplinary
team research as well.
A special problem faced by the social scientist in interdisciplinary
research is how to keep professional identity and still contribute to thc
general research. The temptation either to retreat to an ivory tower of
pure theory or to become a technician likc a laboratory assistant is diffi-
cult to resist. Y et it is neccssary to find a balance bctween the two be-
ca use neither extreme contributes to effective cooperation. Studying
kinship terminology may be intercsting to an anthropologist but it is
difficult to see how such knowledge will be of assistance to the medica!
practitioner. On the other hand, persuading families or individuals to do
something the doctor wants may assist the medica! practitioner, but turns
the anthropologist into a rather high-priced mcssenger hoy.
\\
An anthropologist faces another problem which is peculiar to inter-
disciplinary research. Medica! personnel are part of the field situation
194 ANTHROPOLOGIST ANO MEDICAL PERSONNEL

and must be considered as such. As in all field situations, the ,___,,__

anthrol?Q!Q-
--

gist seeks acceptance and must build-rap2ort. Ordinarily the anthro-

rviu~
p~logist ?ichieves rappcfrf on a ~o;al basiVH:e
.:> is friendly and people
like him. They want to help hírn.: In a situation where cooperation be-
tween professional groups is important, however, mere popularity is not
sufficient. An anthropologist must also build respect for bis professional
competence and judgment. The usual research population would not
know what an anthropologist was íf he told them, and would not much
~care if they did know. An anthropologist may be able to do a perfectly
,tgood job ( or even a better one) if the people regard him as a slightly
subnormal but pleasant child who has to have the simplest rudiments of
normal living explained. 'F~ i~ not the case when dealin
wi~eIQbei;s~ther professions .
.-.__In creating resp;ctforliisprofessional judgment, the anthropologist
cannot rely on techniques he uses to gain respect from other anthro-
pologists. His colleagues make their judgments on the basis of criteria
with which he and they are completely familiar. Members of other pro-
fessions, however, are no more familiar with the anthropologist's stand-
ards of judgment than he is with theirs. The criteria they use, therefore,
are the same ones used by most members of our culture in judging the
ability of another person, that is: do bis statements "make sense": is bis
reasoning logical; are bis predictions generally accurate; is he apparently
truthful; does he exaggerate or dramatize, etc.? Most of these criteria are
fairly obvious to anyone familiar with our culture.
An anthropologist must not try to influence decisions on the grounds
that he is an "authority" since that is not likely to impress members of
another profession. He should admit ignorance and uncertainty and not
try to pose as infallible. He must admit the possibility that he could be
wrong. For example, the writer has been told that on occasions in the
past, anthropologists have told physicians that Navajo women were very
modest about the area of their bodies below the waist ( which is correct)
and that therefore pelvic examinations could not be performed. Such
predictions proved to be inaccurate because they did not take into
account the ability of Navajo women to adjust to practica! requirements
of a new situation. Anthropologists are likely to make such statements
when relying on ethnographic data gathered with description or histor-
ical reconstruction rather than culture change in mind. Ideal patterns
reported in ethnographies must be carefully weighed for applicability in
the contact situation.
A fair statement of probability is extremely important because medical
personnel have the responsibility for the welfare of their patients. This is
a serious responsibility which the anthropologist does not share. It is very
easy for an anthropologist to be glib and assured, but if he is wrong, and
 ANTHROPOLOGIST ANO MEDICAL PERSONNEL 195

the medical personnel follow his advice, serious consequences may result.
Subsequently, medical personnel may lose all confidence in the anthro-
pologist. It is much wiser to state as clearly as possible what is almost
certain, which is probable, and what is only a possibility. Then the medi-
ca! personnel can weigh anthropological advice against medical necessity
and make their own decisions. An anthropologist may be a bctter judge
of the emotional reaction of a patient and his relatives to certain situations
and medical procedures, but he is not competent to judge the medical
necessity. Since the responsibility is the medical doctor's, the decision
should also be his. The function of an anthro olo ist is to provide the
doctor with the nec~Yferevant information so his decision can e
'hased on th~ best p~ssibfeknO\~ledge of all kno;~1 factors in the situation.
!neanlfífOPologist ~ust try To keep communie'ation lines open. This;
may require a great <leal of effort in a busy research situation, but can be
a very important factor. One time I spoke to an informant about her new
grandchild, born about a month earlier, and commented that she must be
pleased with him. Unfortunately, the child had been taken to the hospital
a day or so before, and had died that very day. I was unaware of this
because no one in the clinic told me. Rather than expect the clinic peoplc
to interrupt their busy routine and check up for me, I made it a point to
examine clinic records bcfore I went out to visit an informant after that.
Feedback from anthropologist to medical pers nnel and vice versa is
essentia to effective cooperation. n anot er instance, I reported to the
ined1cal officer in charge that one of my informants was quite disturbed
because he feared he had a brain tumor. I had encouraged the man to
come to the clinic. When he did, the doctor went to great lengths to con-
vince him that he did not have a brain tumor. The doctor informed me
what he had done. The next time I went to sec the family, I was able to
ask specific questions about the treatment, and was able to report the
family's satisfaction to the doctor. This case improved my rapport, the
clinj_Ss-Positi01rwith the family, and the-doctor's morale.
(An_ anthropologist must be practica! and rcmernber that medical per-
sonnel have certain goals they wish to reach. If he <loes not approve of
these goals, he should not accept the position of working with the team.
Once he has accepted the position, he has committed himsclf either to
helping the medical personnel attain their goals, or else to modifying their
goals slightly so they can realistically be attained. He is not justified in
obstructing the medical personnel, nor in trying to force them to abandon
any of their goals entirely.
An anthropologist must always remember that medical personnel oper-
ate in tcrms of a subculture and are apt to be as disturbed as anyone else
when basic tenets of their subculture are challenged. The anthropologist
must be willing to leam. Many things medica! personnel do seem unneces-
196 ANTHROPOLOGIST ANO MEDICAL PERSONNEL

sary and even faolish to nonmedical people. The anthropologist must find
out if there is a valid medical reason behind an action or if it is really only
part of "tradition" which can be discarded or changed if necessary. To
find out function or lack of it in specific cases, it is necessary to treat medi-
cal personnel as infarmants and extract infarmation from them because
they take their bases far various behaviors and assumptions far granted
and do not always realize that their reasoning is by no means obvious to
others. The best example of this occurred in connection with clinic policy
of not permitting area patients to have their babies in the clinic. Women
on the point of delivering would even be sent to nearby hogans to have
their babies instead of being delivered in the clinic. This procedure
seemed highly arbitrary and even cruel to the area patients, and to sorne
of the project personnel. Questioning to try to find out the rationale be-
hind the prohibition took approximately the fallowing course:
Anth.: Why can't women have their babies in the clinic?
Dr.: Because we don't have the equipment.
Anth.: Why can't you get sorne equipment?
Dr.: Beca use we don't have any room ("obviously" was conveyed by
the tone of voice although not actually spoken) .
Anth.: 1 don't understand. We have four examining rooms, a lab, an
emergency surgery room, plus others. 1 thought there were plenty of
rooms.
It was this question that finally brought forth the medical reason far
not allowing babies to be born in the clinic. It had been so obvious to the
medical personnel that they never explained it. None of the available
rooms could be made sterile far a delivery. All were open to other rooms
in the clinic since the partitions did not reach the ceiling. People with
various diseases passed by and moved about in the rooms all <lay long.
The dangerous "staph" organisms were undoubtedly present, and there
was no sure way to protect mother or baby from them. Because of this,
the medical personnel felt even hogans ( where few or no outsiders were
present) were preferable to delivery in the clinic. The risks of infection
that were run by any mother delivering in the clinic appalled them, and
they quite rightly refused to accept patients far delivery under the cir-
cumstances. Once this full explanation was made, nonmedical and sub-
professional members of the staff appreciated the situation and were no
longer so ambivalent in regard to the prohibition.
The anthropologíst must also be prepared to give detailed explanations
far his actions and assumptions since his reasoning is often as obscure to
medical personnel as theirs is to him. It is not necessary, however, to try
to win acceptance of anthropological abstractions. It is usually sufficient
simply to demonstrate the practicality of certain infarmation. Far ex-
 ANTHROPOLOGIST ANO MEDICAL PERSONNEL 197

ample, it is usually difficult to convince any nonanthropologist that it is

desirable to collect information about clans. Medical personnel will,
however, readily appreciate the importance of determining the unit of
infection for the study of the spread of epidemics - and to determine the
unit of infection, social relationships, including clans, must be studied.
In other words, explanatíons "make sense" when placed in the context of 1
the culture of the individual.
Another factor contributing to good or poor cooperation is one which
"everyone knows," yet which is frequently ignored in actually establishing
a team. It is essential to pick the right personnel. Rigid individuals -
people who cannot accept authority, specific job requirements, criticism,
questioning of their opinions, rapid adjustments to changing situations
- will have difficulty in cross-disciplinary research ~mLprob_<ctbly_j_n-ªny
kind of team research. People who do best iryíí~&;·disciplinary res~a_i=di
are open-minded, flexible, tolerant of other views, and willing to learn.
On the other hand, if administration is one of the functions of a position,
then a certain amount of firmness and decision is necessary.
A by-product of successful cooperation on this project and probably
similar projects as well, is that medical personnel have become íncreas-
ingly convinced of the importance of understanding the culture of
patients and in our cases are turning more and more to Navajos themselves
for answers to various questions. While this is a healthy sign, it must be
watched, since it can easíly be overdone. Project members may grow to
rely on the word of one or two informants, and as anthropologists have \
learned by sad experience, one individual may not be at all typical of his
culture. In addition, a native informant is apt to be less aware of some
things in his own culture than the social scientist is. One of the Navajo
staff told me to leave avocados off a list of food items because "Navajos
never eat those things." He was quite startlcd when I told him the ítem
was listed because on one of my visits to a hogan I had observed two
Navajos eating avocados. They told me they ate avocados every now and
then - their uncle liked them a lot.
In a team situation the anthropologist generally plays a major role in\
building rapport, That is probably inevitable. An anthropologist is almost \
never in a position of authority over members of other professions so they
are seldom required to justify their position to the anthropologist. Instead
ít is usually up to him to explain why he is in favor of or opposed to sorne
procedure. In the case of medical personnel, they know their value in the
field of medicine and public health. They do not know how useful a
behavioral scientist may be. It is up to the anthropologist to demonstrate
his value. He must not expect to be accepted on the mere assertion that
he is useful.
 198 ANTHROPOLOGIST ANO MEDICAL PERSONNEL

SUMMARY

There are severa! pitfalls to beware of in team research, and severa!

precepts to follow to increase chancesof successful cooperation.
\ There is the danger of-the-b~oral scientist becoming a technician
j or the reverse- ofrI6s'ing touch v'jth/reality. There is the problem of
academic personnel W.._9rk~_in--á type of organization with more rigid
requirements than socialscientists are usually accustomed to. There is the
possibility that the behavioral scientist will lose the respect of his col-
leagues by being too positive in his statements and therefore being wrong
too often. Communication between one professional group and the other
may collapse, causing frustrating misunderstanding and mistakes. There
is the danger that members of the other profession will be "converted" to
behavioral science techniques, and like many new converts overdo the
new things they have learned - such as using "natíve" informants.
Of the positive steps necessary to increase chances for good cooperation,
the first, chronologically at least, is to choose the best personnel - flexible
persons, willing to learn. Next, the anthropologist should consider the
other profession as part of the situation under study with all the cautions
in dealíng with people of another culture which that implies. The anthro-
pologist should win acceptance on a professional basis, however, as well
as as a person. A third step is for the anthropologist to keep the goals of
the project firmly in mind, and make his contributions to attain these goals
as practica! as possible. The fourth step is to avoid the pitfalls mentioned
in the above paragraph, if possible.
The advantages of successful cooperation are apparent to everyone.
The experience of the Many Farms project makes it clear that with care
such cooperation can be attained even in the comparatively difficult sítua-
tion of interdisciplinary research.

NOTES

l. This material was taken from the Navajo-Cornell Field Health Research
Project Progress Report covering the period April 1, 1957-March 1, 1959,
which was prepared by Dr. Kurt Deuschle, Associate Project Director, and
Dr. Hugh Fulmer, Assistant Project Director.
 16

Anthropology and lndian

Claims Litigation: Problems,
Opportunities, and
Recommendatio
ns

NANCY OESTREICH LURIE

Ethnology uscd in connection with Indian claims is sometimes referred

to as a form of applied anthropology. Howevcr, to thosc activcly cngagcd
in claims research, it is apparent that the ordinary scopc of thc tcrm,
applied anthropology, must be broadened considerably to encompass such \
endeavors as testifying bcfore a legal body in the capacity of an ethnologi- ,
cal expert. More likely a new dimension of anthropology is developing,
but whatever terminology is adopted, it is important to recognizc the
"Anthropology and Indian Claims Litigation: Problems, Opportunities, and
Recommendations" by Nancy Oestreich Lurie is reprinted from Etluiohistonj
:2:357-375, 1955, by permission of the author and publisher.

199
200 INDIAN CLAIMS LITIGATION

unique character of the work and to take stock of various implications that
transcend the Indian Claims Commission Act.
For example, the applied anthropologist is called upon to further ccrtain
courscs of action in a culturally cffective manner, which may includc the
introduction of western medical practices, the raising of economic stan-
dards, or the rehabilitation of people in new areas. He rnay even con-
tribute to the setting of policies in regard to the initial feasibility of
making given changcs. In contrast to the applicd anthropologist the
ethnologist concerned in Indian claims neither sets policies nor expedites
those alrcady provided. He is merely consulted for his expert and im-
partial opinion concerning facts of a cultural or historical nature as these
are required to test the validity of various claims put forth by the Indians
themselves. In his role as an objective scientist, he has no intellectual
stakc in the outcome or in actions taken on the basis of bis information.
It has been pointed out that the plaintiff and defendant in Anglo-Ameri-
can law may each prcsent cxpert witnesses, and in thc course of thc
current litigation there have appcared discrepancies bctwecn the data
provided by experts testifying as witncsses for the Government and thosc
testifying as witnesses for the Indians. The reasons for these differences
may be traccd to several sources, and it is well to consider their signifi-
canee to the discipline at largc rather than as simply entrenched personal
divergencies of interpretation. Such matters have in times past bcen the
stimuli for profcssional feuds. However, on careful cxamination, the
difficulties of an ethnological nature arising out of Indian claims may pro-
vide for an expansion of our knowledgc generally and for the bctter com-
munication of our ideas.
It may be notcd first that in somc instanccs thc lawycrs for onc sidc
have argucd against the qualifications of the witncss for the opposition to
speak as an cxpcrt. When this mattcr is brought to thc attention of thosc
ethnologists not involved in claims work, there is a tendency to mcntion
summarily the status of fellow in the American Anthropological Associa-
tion as an automatic and exclusive device availablc to attorneys to test the
qualifications of a given expert. Yet, sorne nonprofessional peoplc with
first-hand knowledgc of many years' standing regarding given groups may
be better able to speak of thesc societies than ethnologists making brief
survcys at the prescnt time. The distinctions bctwcen enthusiastic ama-
teurs, over-grown Eagle Scouts, Sunday relic collectors, professional nov-
ices and knowledgeable nonprofessionals are fine indeed. We cannot
ignore the problem nor look for casy solutions as long as such a variety of
witnessing is classified as ethnological and gives promise of continuing
for sorne time to come. By complacency, we may eventually risk the
plague of opportunist, of which psychology and psychiatry have barely
rid themselves since becoming "popular." \Vhcn a plethora of Hollywood
 INDIAN CLAIMS LITIGATION 201

films suddenly are devoted to alleged anthropologieal subjeets and when

other media of mass entertainment from eomie strips to radio and tele-
vision programs introduee anthropologieal eharaeters, we rnust faee the
reality that anthropology, like psyehology, is a household word. Thus, it
does not seern an unduly alarmist notion to poínt out the need to our own
proteetion while at the same time taking eareful note that worthwhíle
eontributions have been made to the diseipline of etlmology by people
who are not aeknowledged experts in the field generally. If this type of
work eontinues, whieh seems a reasonable surmise, the duty of designating
experts' qualífieatíons and ethnologieal elata as sueh ought not to be the
result of solely legal disputation.
We may note that ethnologieal testimony and ethnographie data are
already reeognized by legal people as separate eategoríes to a eertain
extent. Attorneys eoneerned in Indian elaims have taken depositions in
the field from tribesmen and their White neighbors in the hope of diseov-
ering various faets. They might also ask to reproeluee the ethnologists' raw
field notes as evidenee and not bother to retain ethnologists as witnesses.
However, the inereasing relianee on ethnologists as investigators and wit-1
nesses is indieative of the realization that sueh persons are speeially
trained to eolleet eultural elata in an impartial manner and to elraw valid
eonelusions from myriad seattered faets. That the teehniques and results
of ethnologieal field work among Indians who are "interested parties" in
their own eases seem to earry greater weight than first-hand elepositions
from those same Indians argues far the need to make explieit in testirnony
the now somewhat obseure, albeit appreeiated, eharaeteristies of profes-
sional ethnology.
This problem is intimately relateel to a seeond souree of disagreement:
differenees of opinion between equally reeognized and unquestioned
authorities. Sueh elisagreements, of eourse, are the essenee of seientifie
advaneement, but they should oeeur in the nominally objeetive atmos-
phere of professional meetings and journals where an exehange of ideas
between protagonists and others interested in similar problems may be
impartially reviewed by people in a position to judge the validity of the
arguments. A eourt of law, whieh is the basie farm of the Indian Claims
Commission, is not intended nor able to diseern the technical merits of
highly eomplex, aeademie differenees of opinion. Yet, in praetiee this is
preeisely what is being required of the Commissioners. Severa! sugges-
tions have been made to overeome the diffieulty. lt has been proposed
that advisors be available to the Commissioners to aid in assessing experts'
qualifieations as well as to explain the underlying eomplieations of their
data. In faet, the Indian Claims Commission Aet provides far an Investí-
gative Division to submit data to the Commissioners and to make doeu-
ments and other pertinent materials available to attorneys defending the
202 INDIAN CLAIMS LITIGATION

governmcnt or representing tribal clients. This provision has never been

effectively utilized, but if sufficient need were felt far it, possibly such an
Investigative Division could be established and its scope extended to
technical analysis of evidence presented in hearings. Thus, where a more
extended background of ethnological knowledge and theory were required
far complete understanding of diff erent interpretations, they could be
provided.
Another possible aid to understanding líes in agreement on the part of
the Commission and all parties concerned to allow the two or more experts
to discuss their data as fellow scientists befare formal legal procedure on
a case begins. Certainly much time could be saved which is now devoted
to repetition of data by plaintiff and defendant. In one case, far example,
after an expert had presented all of his information and expressed his
opinions, he later conceded to the greater accuracy of the statements of a
witness far the opposition who happened to have done extensive field work
with the tribe in question, but who had never published any of his field
data. Their existence was virtually unknown to anyone but himself until
his testimony was presented. It is possible that many disputes might be
as easily resolved were the experts able to discuss their information to-
gether as fellow scientists rather than as antagonists pitted against one
another.
There is the inescapable fact that legal procedure being what it is, each
attorney is going to make the best case out of the information provided by
his expert and attempt to weaken the testimony of the opposition. Most
ethnologísts have expressed pleasure at the sincere eff orts by the attorneys
with whom they are associated to use their data as honestly as it is in their
power to do so. The situation remains, nevertheless, that an ethnologist
answering questions propounded from a legal point of view is at a dis-
advantage in comparison to expressing bis opinions as he would among
other professionals or far the benefit of laymen where the salient points
and organization of the material are of his own choosing.
However, because the law is flexible to sorne extent, even this obstacle
may be overcomc if we consider closely another source of ostensible ar-
rangement between witnesses who are unquestionably qualified to speak
as experts. This relates to the recency and lack of precedents both in the
law and in ethnology rcgarding the use of ethnological information far
legal purposes. Were experts permitted to discuss their data together,
they still might not be in perfect agreement, but the reasons far their
differences might be made more clear and the utility and meaning of thcir
data enhanced when certain hidden sources of discrepancies were thus
revealed. These may be considered in respect to two related problems.
First, ethnologists have a unique approach to the world of man and
should not be expected to discard this outlook but should make it explicit
 INDIAN CLAIMS LITIGATION 203

when nonethnologists require their services. Second, the legal instrument 1

undcr which the ethnologist testifies may be inadequately propounded

for the use of social scientific data.
In regard to the first problem, ethnological testimony cannot be like
that of "exact scientists" such as physicists who can give precise mathe-
matical reasons for the collapse of a bridge. Even a physician is on fairly
uncontrovertible ground when he expresses his opinion on a death certifi-
cate as to the cause of a patient's demise. Neither are ethnologists like
historians who work primarily within the scope of written records. In the
case of Indian claims the documents stem from Euro-American sources,
were produced from the standpoint of those cultures, and are read and
analyzed by people oriented in Euro-American historical traditions. Eth-
nology is probably closest to psychology in that the subjects involved are
so intimately related to the matters in question and it is their unwitting
testimony which is strained through and refined by the expcrt witness.
Yet, ethnologists do not define normality in terms of social adequacy in
our own culture as even the most objective psychologist must do ulti-
mately in commitment cases. Finally, ethnologists are not lawyers who
sce loss and restitution if not justice per se, largely in economic terms.
Thus, when asked if a given tribe used and occupied certain lands, the
ethnologist answcrs yes or no, but not in terms of mathematical surveys,
nor as the physician or biologist might refcr to minimal nutritional neces-
sities for existence. The ethnologist, like the historian may cite old docu-
ments, and indeed has developed a greater appreciation for such records,
thanks to work in Indian claims. But the ethnologist is still far more com-
plete and secure in the use of oral tradition, first-hand observation, and
the peculiar checks of his own profession on the accuracy of such data.
The ethnologist's opinion as to land use and occupancy may have psy-
chological connotations, but of a somewhat more distinctive nature than
ordinarily encountered in the law; thc practicing psychologist would be
apt to make quite a differcnt interpretation of land use wherc an arca in
question is claimed as a place inhabited by spirits and valued as a good
location to have visions. Finally, when asked by a lawycr about use and
occupancy, the ethnologist speaks of sharcd lands, shared rights, formal-
izcd exchanges of hospitality and the like in a manncr to confuse the mind
geared to Anglo-American concepts of common-Iaw. Briefly, the eth-
nologist considers various practices as valid as any acccptcd as the basis }
of cornmon-Iaw in culture, but which may be at variance with existing
legal precedents.
Occasional recognition and attempts to reconcilc the ethnologist's basic
assumptions with standard legal procedures have resulted in such neces-
sarily labored analogies on the part of lawyers as saying that ludian tribes
used and occupied uninhabited lands in the scnse that the people of the
 204 INDIAN CLAIMS LITIGATION

United States use and occupy deserts and national parks. An example
even more painful to the ethnologist is the attempt to equate remate areas
used in the vision quest with "shrines" or sacred nondwelling places in
our culture. These approaches toward greater understanding do not make
clear that the workíng hypothescs of ethnology are relativistic in nature
and tend to assess values, property and loss in terms of the specific culture
in question rather than to attempt to justify them in terms of roughly
comparable situations in our own culture. Furthermore, the ethnologist
would run short of analogies in this type of approach.
Apart from any later generalizations, the implicit methodological pro-
cedure of ethnography is to recognize certain broad categories of cultural
facts, within which there are many and even mutually exclusive examples.
Marriage - socially sanctioned mating - is such a category and includes
among its sundry valid illustrations polygyny and monogamy. When an
ethnologist testifies, this type of assumption is not always clearly stated nor
is it tacitly understood by the nonethnologist, as we so frequently realize
is the case in conversations with laymen generally. Yet these very basic
assumptions are of particular concern in Indian claims since interest is in
specific tribes and in the facts of their existence. Such simple ethnological
faets, apart from any finely spun theories and hypotheses of culture gen-
erally, require careful definition when the ethnologist must communicate
them to laymen.
It may be that one ethnologist, dealing with attorneys as people familiar
with the values of our own society, endeavors to answer questions as these
are best understood by the questioner. Such a witness is being as scien-
tifically aware and tolerant of cultural biases as another ethnologist who
speaks from the viewpoint of social science without taking into account
that he is not addressing fellow scientists. If no precedents have been
established to indicate how an ethnologist testifies, the occurrence of
opposite interpretations of the same data is understandable. Thus, sorne
differences in testimony which would seem to reflect the greater accuracy
of scientific impartiality of one witness compared to another, are simply
, questions of communication among ethnologists and between ethnologists
1
and laymen.
Whether the profession as a whole would want to establish proccdural
preferences in this type of work or whether each ethnologist is to resolve
the problem for himself, it bchooves us to be aware of the diffieulties that
can arise as a result of incomplete communication of the etlmological
modus operandi. The matter of designating whereof an expert witness
speaks has had to be dealt with by many professions and occupations in
tum when their serviccs became of increasing value in legal situations.
The law itself has attempted to provide definitions of what constitutes an
expert witness, and it has not been a simple feat. Befare satisfactory
 INDIAN CLAIMS LITIGATION 205

designations were achieved therc arose as a result of confücting testimony

the cynical superlatives: "liars, damn liars, and expert witnesses." Since
lawyers are still chary of even "exact scientists" as witnesses, our develop-
mental difficulties need not be attributed solely to the complacent com-
plaint of social science as the eternal voice crying in the wilderness of
cultural intolerance and social misunderstanding.
One of the difficulties of which the ethnologist must be especially aware
is that lawyers think in terms of precedents while ethnologists think in
terms of cultural generalizations. Thus, the ethnologist may see bis con-
cepts of land ownership as derived from one society interpreted as firm
precedents in another case. For instance, extreme and explicit boundary-
consciousness in one tribe may not be repeated in another. Superficially
it appears that in thc lattcr case thc evidencc of use, occupancy and extcnt
of range is not as "strong" as in the former case. In the mapping of tribal
territories, the data are of equal validity to the ethnologist whether his
informants are conscious of how far they extended their operations or
whether the information lies buried in their unconscious behavior. In
fact, he makes the same observations of behavior, even if bis informants
speak of tribal varieties of metes and bounds, simply to check on the
accuracy of their seemingly dcfínitive awareness. To the ethnologist, this '/
is simply a common matter that thc field worker must be constantly alcrt
to the distinctions between so-called ideal and real behavior, but unless '¡
he makes this explicit he may find a diífercnt legal construction placed on ·
verbal reification of ideal behavior than he might be inclined to place on
it himself.
A further illustration that social scientific assumptions as part of eth-
nological technique require exposition is seen in the second problem under
discussion, namely, the appropriateness of the legal instrument under
which the ethnologist testifies, Thc ludian Claims Commission Act, with
its broad jurisdictional provisions, might be construed as permitting any
type of pertinent testimony in its application. However, a carcful analysis
of the Act reveals that it was based on motives of humanitarian justice
but ethnological naivete. It may be observed that the situation could be
much worse, and that the shortcomings derive largely from the unusual
and virtually unprecedented nature of the Act, as well as the unexpectedly
great reliance on ethnological data in the cases hcard. Nonetheless, it
stands as a warning that the profession in the futuro ought not leave such
matters almost exclusively in the hands of lobbyists and legislators of
commendable intent, but littlc social scientific training. Nor should we
disregard such legislation when it is in the offing as something with which
only applied anthropology may eventually be involved. It is instructive
to consider the language of the Act in certain particulars. It begins by
stating that it is concerned with claims "on behalf of any ludian tribe,
206 INDIAN CLAIMS LITIGATION

band, or other identifiable group of American Indians residing within the

territorial limits of the United States or Alaska." The framers of the Act
<lid attempt to simplify the problem of identity to the following extent as
shown in Section 10:
Any claim within the provisions of this Act may be presented to the Corn-
mission by any member of an Indian tribe, band, or other identifiable
group of Indians as the representative of all of its members: but wherever
any tribal organization exists, recognized by the Secretary of the Interior
as having authority to represent such tribe, band, or group, such organiza-
tion shall be accorded the exclusive privílege of representing such Indians.

What this means in effect is that where an organization exists, the tribe,
band, or group is autornatically identifiable. However, the implicit feature
of identifiability rests on an historical foundation; that the group, however
defined, be identified continuously from the time of the origin of the clairn
to the present day. This is reasonable, of course, but unintentional con-
fusion is presented to the ethnologíst when the identity of today rests on
formal organization influenced by administrative policies of the govern-
rnent, while ethnographic identification rests in the past on primarily
native concepts. In regard to relating living clairnants to theír ancestral
groups, cultures and territories, the term "since time immernorial" is of
such frequent reiteration that it is something of a surprise to discover that
it is nowhere stated explicitly in the Indian Claims Commission Act, but
that factors of time and title may be variously construed.
Thus, it may be noted that sorne tribes which were sole native occupants
of given lands at the time they were appropriated or purchased were
relatively recent interlopers who drove out the original inhabitants in the
course of moving ahead of the pressure of the White frontier. Although
claims are brought by Indians against the govemment and not by one
tribe against another, such situations allow of alternative interpretations
of ownership, whether based on use and occupancy or original title insofar
as this may be traced back. Sorne tribes extended their range of activities
and changed their social organization in response to the introduction of
horses and guns; others exploited increasing amounts of territory as a
function of the hunting requirements of the fur trade. Yet other groups
at the time of the loss of their lands were small remnants of once large
populations, dueto epidemics of smallpox and other diseases. While they
and their neighbors might be clearly aware of the area considered their
own, they obviously were not using or occupying it in their customary
manner. In fact, the early treaty makers used this as an argument that the
Indians could sell their lands because they no longer needed them, and
then added the tautological inducement to accept a reservation of limited
size so that with proper medica! care they could be restored to their
former grandeur.
 INDIAN CLAIMS LITIGATION 207

In sorne cases where tribes signed treaties setting fortb the areas
claimed by them, difficulties arose because most sucb areas were un-
surveyed at the time; misunderstandings between Indians and Whites
developed tbrough the use of interprcters; and sorne tribes ceded the land
of other tribes or were unaware that part of tbeir lands werc not included
in the territorial descriptions. Matters of this nature may all be grounds
for claims. The divergencies between treaty descriptions and ethnologícal
mapping point up sharply the problems of time and identifiability. The
etbnologist must be able to state with certainty the period of time to which
bis map applies for it to bave value in legal proceedings. Wbere the gov-
ernment never even recognized Indian occupation of lands by treaty, the
etbnologist is concerned with establishing where these Indians lived, when
the land was actually appropriated, and whether or not the group existed
as an identifiable entity at the time the land was taken.
To date, the cases have varied in these details with both arcbeological
data and historical documents brougbt in to provide a full picture of
various claims. Too few decisions have been banded clown to discern any
legal pattern in regard to these matters except tbat the Comrnissioners
have tended to express the greatest interest in clear statements conceming
land use and occupancy at the time land was actually ceded or lost rather
tban since time immemorial. The etlmologist is obliged to prescnt bis data
in cbronological sequences and let the decisions occur as they may.
The language of the Act is particularly confusing to the ethnologist, in
regard to identifiability, not only in terms of time but in reference to
societies. Disregarding the word group as a legal device providing the
broadest possible jurisdiction for the definition of the petitioner, and
turning to the words tribe and band, it is obvious that any given ethnolo-
gist uses tbese terms wíth multiple connotations. Not infrcqucntly the
tcrms are used synonymously. Tbcrefore, a tribc may be so defined be-
cause it consists of several bands which gathercd into increasing political
and social unity. Or, a given tribe may be madc up of bands which wcre
once one unit, but for various reasons developed into severa! groups still
maintaining a sense of over-all idcntity and greater or lesser coordination
of activity. Finally, a tribc may be a single local group. A band may be
defined as one of many local groups within a largcr cntity designated a
tribe, or severa} such groups may be considcred a band having more in
common with each other than with similar assemblagcs of local groups,
all of which consiclered thernselvcs part of a larger whole. Thus, what
may be called a band is actually an unrepresentative fragment of a largcr
tribe in one case; or a tribc may be a vague aggregation of many bands
eacb of which occupiecl its own territory, and, as to identifiability, migbt
eacb make a separate claim.
It is understandable that confusion arises whcn the Commissioners and
lawyers are faced with such alternatives within definitions of given terms,
208 INDIAN CLAIMS LITIGATION

in the coursc of hearing varied types of cases. Nor is the situation simpli-
fied for the ethnologist who sometimes must testify within the framework
of cxisting definitions that may be legally expedient but do violence to
basic ethnological concepts of the internal criteria that distinguish social
groups from miscellaneous aggregations of people. The "Chíppewa Na-
tion" and "The Indians of California" represent two extremes in regard
to accord and lack of accord respectively between the law and ethnology
as to concepts of social groups.
A claim brought in behalf of the "Chippewa Nation" before the Court
of Claims was directed to be broken clown into separa te band clairns.
Since the claims were not settled in the Court of Claims, the Chippewa
then brought their claims before the Indian Claims Commission and the
designation by separate bands was retaincd. The bands enjoyed political
autonomy but contiguous territories and cultural and linguistic similarities.
The ethnologist can consider that the legal emphasis is on functional social
entities.
However, in other instances Congress has created "statutory groups"
for the purpose of establishing jurisdictional provisions in acts permitting
claims by Indians to be brought before the Court of Claims. Such a group,
"The Indians of California," was created in 1928. When a claim of these
same Indians was later brought before the Indian Claims Commission
they remained as "The Indians of California," but are actually, of course,
a collection of the most politically autonomous and culturally and lin-
guistically varied groups living within any given area of the Uníted States.
Although ethnological data were presented for thc separate tribes in turn,
the identity of the total group is in striking legal contrast to other cases
where it is possible and even necessary to establish identity solely on the
basis of ethnological criteria regarding social organization and other fea-
tures.
Many tribes are not organized with a formally recognized council, and
sorne do not even have reservations. Y et, they may be identified on the
basís of social self-consciousness and recognition by outsiders that they
constitutc distinct societies with characteristic cultural traits. The prob-
lem is not disposed of easily, however, whcn even semantic features and
conventional terminology obscure identifiability. To mention just a few
examples, there are several "Upper'' and "Lower" varieties of given terms,
such as Kalispel and Kutenai. These have less in common and are more
clearly distinct tribes than subgroups of individual tribes each enjoying
their own particular names such as Quinault and Queets. Tribes such as
the Winnebago and Potawatomi are now divided into reservation and non-
reservation enclaves living in widely separated areas, whereas at the time
of the origin of any claim involving aboriginal conditions they were single
entities. If each group is represented by its own council, idcntifiability is
confused for the period of land loss. The situation is even more confused
 INDIAN CLAIMS LITIGATION 209

in cases such as the Winnebago where thc group in Nebraska is readily

identified as a reservation group having its formally organized council
while the Wisconsin Winnebago who have continued to occupy the north-
ern portion of their old territory and who maintain many more traditional
aspects of culture had to hold a special meeting to elect representatives to
meet with the Nebraska council and retaining attorncys.
The identifiability of such diverse groups must be clccided by the
Commissioners on the basis of the legal and ethnological evidencc pre-
sented. Had ethnological and historical considerations bcen recognized
by the framers of the Act, they might havc avoided ambiguous phrases
such as, "any tribe, band or other identifiable group of American Indians"
sorne of which may be identified by tribal organizations and sorne by
other criteria. To the ethnologist it is preferable to use definitions which
grow out of native variations on given themes, but this is precluded in
sorne instances by the common organization of several tribes or the partial
organization of a single tribe. Thus, the Act <loes not permit the develop-
ment of ethno-Iegal concepts of general application in terms of an ac-
cretive definition of a society. When the ethnologist is asked whether a
group in question is a fragment of a tribe he is not certain what is intended
by these terms. Studies such as the paper by Dr. Kroeber are greatly / 1

needed to help define for general use the concepts and terminology which
the ethnologist understands in their various contcxts, but <loes not con-
sider in larger scope. At any rate, there is now no consistent term-inology
for a matter which could be reduced to esscntials and applied as any
similar generalization; for example, the previously citcd accretive definí-
tion of marriage which includes such forms as polygyny and monogamy,
but is limited to the extent of being a socially sanctioned type of mating.
The existence of a justífiable claim is bascd on the remarkably broacl
jurisdictional provisions of the Indian Claims Commission Act.
These may be rcviewed briefly as they are set forth in Section 2:

( 1) claims in law or equity arising under the Constitution, law, treaties of

the United States, and Executive orders of the President: (2) all other
claims in law or equity, including those sounding in tort, with respect to
which the claimant would be entitled to sue in a court of the Unitcd Sta tes
if the United States was subject to suit; ( 3) claims which would result if
the treaties, contracts, and agreements between the claimant and the
United States were revised on the ground of fraud, duress, unconscionable
consideration, mutual or unilateral mistake, whether of law or fact, or any
other ground cognizable by a court of equity; ( 4) claims arising from the
takíng by the United States, whether as a result of a treaty of cession or
otherwise, of lands owned or occupied by the claimant without the pay-
ment for such lands of compensation agreed to by the claimant; and ( 5)
claims based on fair and honorable dealings that are not recognized by any
existing rule of law or equity.
210 INDIAN CLAIMS LITIGATION

The first four provisions for grounds for a claim can be assessed by
people trained in the law, familiar with precedents and legal decisions,
and with a sufficient background of historical and ethnographic facts pro-
vided to them to carry out the letter of the law. It is the spirit of the law,
as enacted and reflected in the fifth provision, that puzzles ethnologists,
and probably attorneys as well. Unless lawyers with whom the ethnolo-
gist is associated ask him about certain possibilities of fair and honorable
dealings, he may possess data that are never utilized. Nor is the ethnolo-
gist in a position to judge what this phrase might apply to; he points out,
perhaps naively, that the first four provisions are stated neutrally or nega-
tively; "arising under the Constitution ... " or "unconscionable considera-
tion." To be consistent, the fifth provision should read "claims based on
dealings that are not recognized by any existing rule of law or equity,"
or "claims based on unfair or dishonorable dealings . . " The ethnologist
thinks of broken cultures, of grievances against the Govemment not for
loss of property in economic terms but the loss of a way of life, of social
and psychological inadequacy which resulted from fair, honorable and
even benign motives on the part of the Government.
Ethnologists can point to the abolition of polygyny which in sorne
instances led to a crumbling of whole socio-economic structures. Indian
children were practically kidnapped at times and sent away to boarding
schools with devastating results, now so well known, to the societies from
which they werc derived; the intent of the Government had been to
civilize and aid the Indians. Or, the Government, unable to control the
pioneering proclivities of its White citizens, endeavored to remunerate
the Indians fairly and honorably for lost lands. Treaty minutes from many
areas contain statements by Indians to the effect that they did not want
or need money, but wished their lands to be restored to them. Any eth-
nologist can think of dozens of examples of losses not recognized by any
rule of law or equity, but any of these claims would require peculiar
interpretations in the attempt to gain restitution.
The Indian Claims Commission is frequently referred to mistakenly as
the Indian Land Claims Commission which rcílects the necessity that
claims can only be based on highly tangible losses such as land, or mat-
ters regarding payment for such land and administration of material needs
of the Indians once placed under Government supervision. However, the
legislators who wrote the lndian Claims Commission Act recognized that
all grounds for just grievances did not stem from material sources, al-
though it is doubtful if there was a conscious recognition in the fifth pro-
vision of the Act that many such grievances derive from the results of
misplaccd philanthropy. It may be argued that the Wheeler-Howard or
Indian Rcorganization Act sought to remedy the situation created by the
peculiar management of Indian affairs, and that the Indian Claims Com-
 INDIAN CLAIMS LITIGATION 211

rmssion merely seeks to offer financia! remuneration far tangible losses.

However, there remains that bothersome phrase, "fair and honorable
dealings," which indicates a social awareness on thc part of legislators
but lack of social scientific facts to develop constructive legal rneasures
far the alleviation of the gnawing bitterness on the part of Indians and
satisfaction of the sense of national obligation that led to the enactment of
the Indian Claims Commission.
No one takes the unrealistic vicw that time can be reversed or that we
should give the country back to the Indians. Furthermore, ethnologists
are clearly aware that many Indian gríevanccs are habitual expression
relied upon to excuse as a fault of the Govcrnment, any personal inade-
quacy or disappointment. Yet, had the wording of the Act been less
emotionally weighted in terms of fair and honorable dealings and con-
cerned instead with ethnological concepts of cultural integrity and func-
tional expediency it would permit objective presentation of facts on such
matters and be no more far-fetched than such established legal precedent
of claims based on "mental anguish" or "loss of companionship;" far ex-
ample, the case where a spouse is confined to a hospital far long periods
of time as the result of an accident dcriving from the defendant's negli-
gence or intent to do harm.
In view of the faregoing, the ethnologist should be aware not only of
the complications incident upon testifying as an expert witness, but also
alert to power situation on a world wide scalc where legislation similar to
the lndian Claims Commission Act is likely to be enacted. When Micro-
nesians are already complaining about thc illegal taking of thcir land, ·
when various European powcrs can misunderstand nativistic movements
as thoroughly as the Unitccl States misunderstood the Ghost Dance and
like developments, ancl when versions of our rcservation systcm are being
repeated throughout the world with similar shortcomings and problcms
arising thercfrom, it is reasonable to assume that the growing political
awareness of native peoples will have them clamoring far restitutive legis-
lation. It may be objected that in the abovc cases we are clealing with
colonialism, the abolishmcnt of which will automatically solve nativc
problems in other parts of the worlcl. Howevcr, a large proportion of
Indian claims stem from a periocl when Inclian tribes werc dealt with by
treaty as sovereign nations and wero considerecl such befare the law. It
was due in great part to the difficultics arising from tribal clairns that led
to the establishment of a special Commission since thc redress of ordinary
citizens bcfore the Court of Claims was fraught with complications far
Indian groups bccausc of thcir peculiar status as nations within the United
Sta tes.
The Unitccl Nations neccl only be mentioned as a likcly sourcc of lcgis-
lation on a world-wide scale affecting nativc peoples. Thcrefare, while
212 INDIAN CLAIMS LITIGATION

there is little to be done about the Indian Claims Commission Act, unless
it may be reconsidered if its duration is to be extended for another períod
of years beyond 1956, it does serve several useful purposes to the pro-
fession of ethnology.
First, we should be sufficiently aware of ourselves to make our data of
real utility to people who require social and cultural information but do
not have thc basic understanding of ethnology as a science to give ere-
dence to our methods and assumptions unless we state and defend them
explicitly.
Second, apart from ordinary concepts of applied anthropology, thc
ethnologist qua ethnologist should be cognizant of power situations in
which legislation may be enacted relating to the use of social scientific
data in court proceedings. Such legal measures may be greatly expedited
if the profession makcs its services available and ínterests known befare an
issue becomes law. In this way intelligent provision may be made for the
use of impartial ethnological testimony without occasion of delay and
misunderstanding of uncertain and unscientific terminology.
Finally, ethnologists presently in the field can benefit from the now
sharpened alertness to significant details in routine data concerning terri-
tory, property, values, and designations of group identity both in the in-
tcrest of increasing knowledge for íts own sake and in the event of future
significance of the ethnologists' observations for the societies in question.
 part Four includes four essays, each specifically
aimed ata discussion of critica! issues in anthro­
pology ­ theoretical and applied. Ward H. Good­
enough in Chapter 17 draws upan his experience in
anthropology and public service to point up the needs
of government for behavioral scientists' advice, and
the implications of this for both the profession and
government (see Parsons and Goodenough, 1964).
Laura Thompson, also one of the most experienced
of applied anthropologists, discusses other related
questions, for example, the possibility of developing
a "clinical" anthropology; and she concludes that
applied anthropology plays a majar role in the de­
velopment of the science.

PART FOUR

ON ISSUES ANO
ETHICS
Guillermo Bonfil Batalla's discursive essay on con­
servative thought in applied anthropology represents
a line of opinion common in sorne North American
critiques of the field and prevalent among anthropol­
ogists, political figures, and others outside the United
States. He argues that much anthropological advice
works against the national interest of the countries in
which anthropologists work. Precisely this same
issue ­ the influence of the anthropologist's existen­
tial situation on his conclusions and recommenda­
tions ­ is taken up again but with fewer polemics
by Jacques Maquet in his brilliant essay on objectiv­
ity in anthropology. Maquet discusses the reevalua­
tion of the discipline occasioned by the emergence
of the new states of Africa and examines the episte­
mology or cognitive values of anthropology.

213
 17 ...................

The Growing Demand for

.
Behavioral Science 1n Government:
lts lmplications for Anthropology

WARD H. GOODENOUGH

My remarks this evening do not rcBcct much insiclc information on

governmental activities ancl interests as thcy relate to thc bchavioral
sciences. My conncctions with thc federal govcrnmcnt are slight. So
whcn I speak of a growing clcmand far behavioral science in governrnent,
I am giving voice only to a personal impression.
Because many of our national ancl international problems rcflcct social,
cultural, and psychological processcs, at least somc of our nation's top
.policy makers are concerned to get a clearer picture of the cxtcnt of hard
knowledge in the behavioral sciences that might be appliecl to thcse prob-
"The Growing Demand for Behavioral Science in Government: lts lmplications
for Anthropology" by \Vard H. Goodenough is reprinted frorn Human Organization
21: 172-176, 1962, by permission of the author and publisher.

215
 216 BEHAVIORAL SCIENCE IN GOVERNMENT

t lems. They want honest assessments, not big sales pitehes, so that they
can see what scientific resources now exist and how these resources ean
best be improved by further support. A highly significant step toward the
promotion of closer working relations between government and the be-
havioral seiences was the publication in Science of the report of a subpanel
of the President's Scicnce Advisory Committee, entitled "Strengthening
the Behavioral Seiences" ( Science Advisory Committee, 1962). The high-
est office in the land, on recommendation of its scientific council, has
indorsed the proposition that the growth and development of the be-
havioral sciences is in the national intercst and has invited attention to
certain recommendations regarding the furthering of that development.
Those who have been trying to promote more extended involvement of the
bchavioral seiences in the governmental operations for whieh they are
appropriate have been giving strong moral support.
Assuming, then, that there is and will continue to be a growing demand
for behavioral science in government, what are its implications for anthro-
pology?
There are severa! kinds of questions that we as behavioral scientists
may appropriately be asked by government offieials. Each type of ques-
tion offers a different challenge to us. It is incumbent upon us to take
stock of ourselves in relation to each of these challenges, for how we <leal
with them may seriously affect the future of our science.
The first kind of question that we are asked may be illustrated thus:
What are the things we must eonsider in formulating a workable civil
defense program? This qnestion eoncems the classes of phenomena that
should be taken into aecount to develop a policy or program relating to a
(problem. lt can be answered satisfactorily insofar as the problems of eivil
defense can be meaningfully related to a general theory of human be-
havior. In the absence of a general theory, decisions as to what are rele-
vant eonsiderations must be made on an informed eommon-sense basis,
and the behavioral scientist qua behavioral scientist has little ímmedíately
to offer. What he can offer, of course, given his inability to answer the
qucstions posed, is a speeial research program aimed squarely at the prob-
lem. The hope is that a working thcory of the problem can thus be formu-
lated to serve until such time as general theory has caught up with it. In
eonnection with civil defense, for example, the Disaster Researeh Group
of the National Aeademy of Sciences-National Research Couneil has sup-
ported research of this sort.1
As for the seeond type of question, after officials have deeided what are
the elasses of phcnomena that they must take into aeeount in developing a
program or poliey, they may ask behavioral scientists to indieate what is
known about these phenomena. In conncction with eivil defense, to eon-
tinue my example, they might ask,
 BEHAVIORAL SCIENCE IN GOVERNMENT 217

What do scientists know about panic behavior? What are the conditions
under which it occurs? Is existing knowledge of these conditions adequate
to provide guiding principles for civil defense planning?
Here we are asked not to determine whether or 11ot panic behavior should
be taken into account, but to marshall what we know about it and trans-
late our knowledge into operating principies that are applicable to the
problem at hand. If our knowledge of the class of phenomena in question
is insufficient, we may then be asked to determine the magnitude of re-
search needed to correct this deficiency.
The third kind of question involves specific information about the
actual settings in which applications are to be made, or are being made.
Here answers require field study. We may know the conditions under
which panic behavior occurs, but we cannot decide 011 how to meet the
civil defense needs of any specific community until we have reliable in-
forrnation 011 its physical layout, the bottlenecks it presents for escape to
places of safety, and so on. This is analogous to the problem of an agrono-
mist, who cannot determine how to apply his general principies in arder to
improve the crop yields on a given farm until he has analyzed soil sarnples
from that farm to see just what the specific conditions are to which he
must apply his principies. When wc are asked as behavioral scientists to
assay the range of sentiments in the United States about a given issue or ,
problem, we are being asked to supply reliable information on the actual '
conditions to which political or other kinds of decisions are going to apply. :
The same, of course, is true when anthropologists are asked to províde
information on the culture of a community whose economic development
has become a matter of administrative concern. Another problem calling
for specific information about concrete situations arises whcn an action
program fails to go as expected. In community devcloprnent projects, for
example, anthropologists have been used as trouble shooters to find out
what-is wrong and why. Specific information is needed, again in con-
ncction with pilot projects, which seek to test the efficacy of alternative
applications and to reveal unforeseen bugs in program designs. Much of
the government's research nceds has to do with sorne form of intelligence
gathering that calls for the behavioral scientist's profcssional skills in data
collection and interpretation.
Obviously, we are challenged by all three kinds of questions. I submit,
moreover, that the challenge in each instance is good for us. What it
implies for behavioral disciplines other than anthropology, I cannot, of
course, say. But I do have a few thoughts about its implications for cul-
tural anthropology.
The first kind of question that we are asked forces us to facc our gen-
eral theoretical shortcomings. Sorne years ago, for example, I was asked
to prepare a manual for agents of social and economic development in
218 BEHAVIORAL SCIENCE IN GOVERNMENT

which I was to takc up the "human" considerations affecting the course

of development. For each of these considerations I was then to go on to
answer the second type of question, indicating what was known and
formulating guiding principles for its application. The book was to be
done in two years. It is now ten years later, and I am only just finishing it.
Nor docs it come very close to achieving its original purpose. After I
started to look over the literature ten years ago, it soon became evident
that the book could not be writtcn in the absence of a general theory of
social and cultural change, and no theory worthy of the name existed.
Here and there a beginning towards the construction of such a theory
had been made in connection with acculturation and nativistic move-
ments. There were Margaret Mead's insightful application of anthro-
pological wisdom to development problems (Mead, 1955) and Spicer's
valuable casebook ( 1952). But by and lar ge, what passed for theory did
not come fully to grips with the fact that men are the significant actors
in the change process. It did not relate prívate motives to public values
in any systematic way, or either of these to customs and institutions. We
anthropologists were talking about the systemic integration of customs
and the consequent chain-effect of change, but we had no developed
theory of how customs are actually intcgrated systernically. There were
no conceptual tools that would indicate how to go about predicting the
course that a chain reaction to a particular change would follow in a
given case. Since then, sorne useful works have appeared, notable among
thern Homer Barnett's important book on innovation ( 1953) and, more
recently, Erasmus's íntriguing contribution toward a theory of econornic
motivation in change ( 1961). Of course, I hope that my own eíforts will
have helped to carry things along as well ( 1963).
The point is that as the government dernand for behavioral science
increases, we are going to find ourselves forced more and more to face
major theoretical issues squarcly. For us in anthropology this can be
highly ern barrassing, but in the long run it can only be a blessing. When
we stop to considcr that we have not yet operationally defined any of thc
major concepts with which wc deal in our research - such as custom,
culture, status, role, institution, religion, etc. - we can only welcome our
being asked qucstions that compel us to try to do so. As of now, I think
that we rnust adrnit that there are few questions of the first type that we
are likely to be asked for which there is much in the way of established
general theory. What wc have are good beginnings, broad outlincs sug-
gestive of the rich and complex interrelationships of human phenomena
to guide our research, but little beyond them.
As for the second type of question - what do anthropologists know
about specific subject rnatters - are we much better equippcd? Vi/e can
point to the existence of all kinds of cultural and social phenomena of
 BEHAVIORAL SCIENCE IN GOVERNMENT 219

which the nonanthropologist has never heard. A botanist can point to

the existence of many out-of-the-way specics of plant of which the layman
is ignorant, too. But what bodies of verified knowledge do we have about
the phenomena we have recorded? Have we established the conditions
under which different kinds of descent groups emerge, to take an area
where we have concentrated a lot of our scientific attention? In part,
perhaps. What can we say about the functions of sorcery, about the con-
ditions promoting concern with witches, about the ways in which culture
is effectively transmitted, about the extent to which values are shared
cross-culturally, about the status of women under polygyny and monog-
amy, to name a few of the subjects that we anthropologists have debated?
We have accumulated a great dcal of information about specific so-
cieties, essential spadework for the development of a cultural science.
Out of our ethnographic experiences we have demonstrated the in-
adequacy and error of many behavioral hypotheses ancl we have formu-
lated many new ones. But only occasionally have we taken the next step
ancl systematically revíewed the ethnographic evidence with an eye to
validating our hypotheses or to isolating and defining general social and
cultural processes, distinctive natural human syndromes, as objects for
further study. We can point to Murdock's efforts in kinship and kingroups
( 1949), to Eisenstadt's work on age grading ( 1956), to Hoebel's study
of law (1954), and to Wallace's extensive review of the literature that
led him to isolate the revitalization movement as a distinctive and wide-
spread syndrome in human affairs ( 1956). There is the work of Whiting
and Child on theories of disease ( 1953), Swanson on religious beliefs
( 1960), and Roberts investigation of games ( Roberts and Sutton-Smith,
1962). But the list is not very long, and thc work done has bccn largely
exploratory. We are quickly forccd to go back two generations to the
work of such men as Frazer ( 1890), van Gcnnep ( 1960), and Wester-
marck ( 1891), many of whose concepts are ali ve toda y only beca use no
one has bothered to carry on where thcy made a start.
Obviously, carcful comparativo study is essential in ordcr to develop
bodies of verified knowledge conccrning human phcnomena. The prac-
tica! obstacles to such study are immense. But how many of us have
seriously tricd to take advantagc of the one major facility that has been
developed to overcome sorne of thesc obstacles, The Human Relations
Area Files? Even more important, how many of us have bccn sufficicntly
concerned about the mattcr to try to promote improvements in the files
or to develop additional facilities for comparative study? Wc cannot gct
very far with the questions wc are likcly to be asked if we do not seriously
face up to how wc are to break away from anecdote and makc the dc-
vclopment of a rigorous comparative method possiblc. The White Housc
rcport, "Strengthening the Behavioral Sciences" ( Scicnce Advisory Com-
 220 BEHAVIORAL SCIENCE IN GOVERNMENT

mittee, 1962), specifically recommends that a study group be appointed

to look into the whole problem of information on societies other than our
own with a view to improving the present facilities for comparative study.
Until these facilities are improved and used, most of our answers must be
expressions of "inforrned opinion" rather than deductions from verified
knowledge.
When we come to the third and last type of question, we feel much
more confident. One thing we do know how to do is to get reasonably
reliable information about the cultures of specific societies. Much of our
work as applied anthropologists, moreover, has been of the intelligence-
gathering sort. Our appeals to the Agency for International Development
and the Peace Corps for anthropological research in connection with
community development have this intelligence-gathering function pri-
marily in mind, especially as it relates to program planning, pilot projects,
r and program evaluation. Although it is doubtful that once we have the
1
relevant cultural information we will always know how best to use it, in
"" trying to use it we can learn much. Nor <loes the record lack instances
1
in which cultural knowledgc has been successfully used to accomplish
objectives that would have been unattainable without it. The Vicos
projeet in Peru is currently a very visible example ( Holmberg, 1960; see
also Chapters 6 and 7). The Army is another potential market for the
ethnographic skills of anthropologists. The successful conduct of modern
guerilla warfare obviously requires both extensive and intensive ethno-
graphic intelliegnce. At present, it is impossible to say what requests, if
any, for our ethnographic services may emerge from governmental agen-
cies, but there are straws in the wind suggesting that we may be called
upon. If this should happen, how are we to respond?
I do not have an accurate count, but I doubt that the number of pro-
fessionally trained ethnographers in this country exceeds three hundred.
When we consider the increased demand for cultural anthropologists by
univcrsities and colleges in the past two years, it is clear that in the fore-
seeable future government agencies will be unable, without a general
mobilization order, to recruit more than a handful, at most, of competent
ethnographers. Although we have the skills to provide answers to sorne
of the questions that we may be asked, we are "out of stock" in trained
personnel.
There is, I feel, only one solution to this problem. It is to establish
special training programs with the object of producing people who are
not anthropological scholars in the academic sense, but who are able to
do competent ethnography and who have sorne background in thc cul-
tural and psychological aspects of social process. A master of sciencc
program in practica! ethnography suggests the sort of thing I have in
mind. Agencies that feel a need for anthropological skills could send
 BEHAVIORAL SCIENCE IN GOVERNMENT 221

sorne of their own personnel for a year or two of training under such a
prograrn. What I have in rnind, in fact, is something akin to the Surnrner
Institutes of Linguistics, whcre rnissionarics are trained to do technically
cornpetent descriptive linguistics. I see no reason why thosc who already
work in government agencies ancl who llave overscas assignments that
require clase collaboration with the cornmon people in underdeveloped
areas cannot be trained to do fairly reliablc ethnography in much the
sarne way.
Suppose that we were encouragcd to undertake such a training pro-
gram. It sounds all right in principle; but just what would we teach?
What kind of ethnography has the greatest utility for people engaged in
overseas action programs that require the cooperation of local popula-
tions in order to succeed? Those who lack experience with cultural
anthropology and its applications tend, I think, to assume that what they
need is information on a comrnunity's conditions; its standard of living,
technological resources, customary recipes for getting things done. The
degree to which these fail to fü the community's nceds as defíned by a
prograrn's objectives indicates what rnust be changed in orcler to achieve
those objectives. Frorn this point of view, intelligencc is needcd in order
to know what rnust be changed. Those with experience, however, know
that this is an entircly inaclequate view. It is essential to know hoto things
can be changed. What is vital is not the material state of affairs that
characterizes a community as a more-or-less self-contained system, but
the ideas and values of the people in the comrnunity. The kind of eth-
nography needed is one that seeks to isolatc and describe thc categories
in whose tcrms the local people perceive their material and social world,
the values they place upon the things they pcrceive, their aspirations for
themselves, the principles by which they construct proccdurcs for getting
things done, all of the things, in short, that we must attribute to their
heads and hearts in order to make scnse of what thcy do. A dcscription
of a culture, in this sensc of that tcrm, is a statcrncnt of what one has to
know in order to understand events in a comrnunity as its mernbcrs
understand them and to conduct onesclf in it in a way that thcy will
accept as meeting their standards for thernselvcs. It is vital to know thcsc
things if onc is to cnlist people's coopcration in econornic devcloprncnt or
in guerilla warfarc, ancl if one is to assess reliably thc way in which peoplc
are likely to respond to changed conditions in the future.
The analogy with descriptive linguistics is clear. I can describe all
sorts of things about a languagc without evcr telling you what you havc
to know in order to generate meaningful uttcrances in it and understand
thc utterances of others, even when you havc never heard thosc particu-
lar utterances before. Most ethnography in the past has bccn largely of
this inadequate sort. Language descriptions that tell a person what he
 222 BEHAVIORAL SCIENCE IN GOVERNMENT

needs to know in order to speak the language effectively represent the

sort of thing that practically useful ethnography has to aim at. What we
need are descriptions that tell us how to live and act a culture.
These are things that the members of the Society for Applied Anthro-
pology know very well. I mention them in order to invite thought a bout
how we are to train people to learn and describe culture in this sense of
~the term. We have to do more than just tell them to go live with the
people they are studying, to take censuses, genealogies and other in-
ventories, to participate in as many activities as they can, to try to learn
the language, to get a good informant, and to keep notes on it all. For
years I have been struck by the answers budding anthropologists give on
grant application forms to the question about "methods to be followed in
your research." The answer hardly ever varíes, stating,
I will employ the usual anthropological methods of participant observation,
L intensive interview, census taking, etc.
This in effect states that the approach to be followed is about the same
as the one that a highly competent journalist would use. Most discussions
of method amount to the swapping of tactical gimmicks for eliciting cer-
tain types of information that have preved useful in circumscribed situa-
tions. A course in ethnographic method is not unlike a course in how to
keep order in a fifth grade classroom. The wisdom of experience has its
place, of course. Indeed, I would be the last to disparage it, but it <loes
not constitute a scientific method.
The essentially journalistic approach to ethnography that we have
tended to follow in the past has produced much crucial information of
practica! value. But it falls short of supplying the kind
)¡¡
of ethnographic
intelligence that is often needed in action situations. So, also, <loes the
approach lo ethnography exemplified by sorne members of the sociological
school of anthropologists, who describe what they observe in terms of a
general theoretical system of a logico-deductive sort, using the com-
munity under study to exemplify their ability to apply the concepts of
their a priori frame, and to demonstrate that, whatever one studies, it is
possible to find a way of interpreting it so as to make it appear that in
sorne respects it contributes to the continuity of the community. Both
practically and scientifically, the value of such exercises is dubious. All
kinds of designs can be constructed for describing what goes on in a com-
munity. The validity of a particular design, however, is established when
it enables one to interpret events as others in the community interpret
them and to act in a way that others in the community accept as their
own. The problem of ethnographic method is to develop explicit pro-
cedures by which we can inductively formulate a design for a given
community that will meet this test. Sorne ethnographers have succeeded
 BEHAVIORAL SCIENCE IN GOVERNMENT 223

in developing designs ar models of a people's culture, or part of it, that

rneet this test, but they have done so intuitivcly without making their
inductive operations explícít far replication. All rncn do in fact learn
cultures. The problem of cthnographic method is to objcc~ivize th~ steps
by which wc learn them, converting the haphazard subjcctive proccss into
a set of explícit procedures by which inductively to farmulatc a vali<l
model or design of a society's culture. The journalistic approach, as I
have called it ­ with the consequent disparaging view of cthnography
as "mere description" without scientific interest as such - has generally
failed to produce cultural descriptions of eithcr high scientific merit or of
·more than limited practica! value. Descriptive cthnography must be
faced as posing a genuine scientific problem, calling far the devclopmcnt
of a rigorous methodology far incluctively oriented model construction.
There is nothing "mere" about good cultural description.
To illustrate, let us consider one of the things that A.I.D. wants very
much to get from anthropologists, namcly good accounts of the local
codes of rnanners and etiquette, the kinds of roles that people can play
in dealing with one another, and the acts and avoidances symbolic of
these roles. What they want, so to speak, is a "dictionary" ancl "grammar"
of social conduct. They search the ethnographic literaturc far anything
like this in vain. But suppose their need should stimulate us to face up
to the problems involved and to develop ethnographic mcthod so that thc
preparaban of grammars and clictionaries of this sort becomcs routine.
This would represent a major "break-through" in anthropological science.
It woulcl appear, then, that if we are eHectivcly to fill our govcrnment's
need far our ethnographic skills by developing training programs in
practica! ethnography, we are again challengecl to dcvelop rnethods of
descriptive ethnography capable of producing the kincl of ethnographic
intelligence that is practically most needcd. A new generaban of anthro-
pologists is fartunately beginning to farmalize methods that will bettcr
enable us to providc this kind of ethnography. I am confident, thercfare,
that a suitable currículum far a master of scicnce degrce in practica}
ethnography can be clcvised. Having to devise it will help makc us even
more concernecl wíth problems of inductive method, and this in turn will
help us to operationalize our concepts.
In emphasizing the challenges that a government demand far behav-
ioral science poses far anthropology, it is easy to makc it appear that
anthropology has little to offer of a practica! nature. Actually, of course,
it has much to offer. It woulcl be unfair, moreover, to belittle our past
achievements in laying the foundations far a general science of man. We
havc come a long way in the past hundred ycars, clearing a vast tcrritory
of its dense growth of misconception and ethnocentric bias. We have
learned a lot about the resources of the territory we have cleared. We
224 BEHAVIORAL SCIENCE IN GOVERNMENT

have gathered many of its wild fruits as we cleared. We have started a

few trial gardens, here and there, and we have reaped a few small,
promising harvests. But we have yet to start cultivating on a large scale.
That, it seems to me, is a fair estímate of where we stand as an emerging
science.
lt is in the light of this estímate that we must evaluate what the grow-
ing demand for behavioral science in government implies for the future
of our discipline. In my opinion, its implications are positive. Rather
than being diverted from the paths of "pure" science, we will be stim-
ulated to take the next necessary steps toward formalizing our methods,
broadening the scope of what we know, and building toward an em-
pirically bascd general theory of socially learned, human behavior.

NOTES

l. See the series of fifteen Disaster Studies published to date by the National
Academy of Sciences-National Research Council.
 18 ••••••••••••••••• 1.

Is Applied Anthropology
Helping to Develop
A Science of Man?

LAURA THOMPSON

INTRODUCTION

In his review of Mühlmann's collection of theoretical essays, Honig-

mann ( 1963) calls attention to the current peak of brilliance in cultural
anthropology. We have but to pause a moment to note the high calibcr
and originality of much work by anthropologists today. This applies not
only to cultural anthropology but to virtually all fields of the discipline:

"Is Applied Anthropology Helping to Develop a Science of Man?" by Laura

Thornpson is reprinted frorn Human Organizatitm 24:277-287, 1965, by per-
mission of the author and publisher. A short version of this paper was presented
at the Twenty-third Annual Meeting of the Society for Applied Anthropology in
San Juan, Puerto Rico, March 25, 1964.

225
226 A SCIENCE OF MAN

human genetics, linguistics, archaeology, ethnography, and psychiatric

anthropology, for example. Applied anthropologists, working at a fast
pace amid the complexities of the midcentury, may not fully appreciate
the extent to which our specialty is involved in the current productive
period.
This paper is concerned with one phase of recent developments in
applied anthropology. I shall consider briefly whether applied anthro-
pology is playing a role in helping to develop a science of man. I shall
not discuss whether a science of man is emerging since this question has
been treated at length elsewhcre ( Thompson, 1961). Assuming that such
a science is imminent, the question here is: What íf any role is applied
anthropology playing in the birth process?
Many anthropologists takc the position that applied anthropology has
little if anything to contribute to theoretical anthropology. As late as 1959
Kroe ber wrote:

I consider the development of fundamental science, whether of human

relations or of anything else, a different matter from the solution of prag-
matic problems. The practica! problems can no doubt be solved more
wisely if there exists genuine science to draw on. But the science as
science will not develop better or faster for having its pursuit mixed with
problems of application ( 1959:291).

Shortly befare bis death Clyde Kluckhohn told me that he found it

virtually impossible to interest bis best students in a career in applied
anthropology. They simply did not regard this subdivision of the dis-
cipline as one worthy of their attention. Severa! very good government
jobs in this field went begging, he said, because these studcnts could not
be persuaded to accept them ( see Chapter 17, Goodenough).
In view of these facts and assumptions an attempt to clarify certain
aspects of the role of applied anthropology in today's world would seem
timely.
APPLIED ANTHROPOLOGY: CLINICAL VERSUS
ENGINEERING TYPES

There is considerable agreement among social scientists that two con-

trasting schools of applied social science have emerged recently. Gould-
ner ( 1956) calls these the engineering type and the clinical type.1 He
finds these types represented not only among applied sociologists but also
among applied anthropologists. In this paper I shall not discuss applied
anthropology as a whole but only that subdivision of the discipline which
falls within the category of clinical anthropology .
.Clinical social scientists may be distinguished from the engineering
type in terms of role. From this standpoint a clinical anthropologist, as
the term is used here, interprets bis role in relation to that of bis client,
 A SCIENCE OF MAN 227

whether the client be an administrator or a citizen group, as one of

scrupulously refraining from the decision-making function and leaving
that function to the client. The clinical anthropologist's role is seen as
one of providing the client with decision-making tools, ineluding relevant
information concerning the probable consequences of altemate possible
choices. Since this role requires that the clinician predict the probable
behavior of the group under consideration from a long-range viewpoint
under alternate pressures, including those implemented to induce change,
the clinical anthropologist must understand the group in an explanatory
way, including the interrelationships betwecn all variable sets operating
significantly in the group's situation relevant to the prediction problem.
By contrast, the role of the engineering anthropologist, from this view-
point, involves formulating sp~cificrec~mmendations for his client re-
garding the implementation of specific policy objectives, or even regard-
ing policy and other objectives as such. The engineering role may also
invol ve controlling, guiding, and accelerating adaptive change (Richard-
son, 1962:61). While these roles require the engineering anthropologist
to be cognizant of the group's system of interpersonal relations, and even
in certain cases of its ideology ( Shepard and Blake, 1962) and economic
resources (Dobyns, Monge, and Vasquez, 1962), they do not prevent him
from directly intervening in the lives of community members and from
attempting directly to guide or change the pace of culture change pro-
cesses in directions he or his client consider appropriate.
By the term clinical anthropology, in sum, I refer to projects in applied
anthropology which attempt to investigate, by means of a scientific ap-
proach, whole human groups as organismic units in the context of their
ongoing, constantly changing life situations, for purposes of prediction.
The life situational approach of the clinical anthropologist forces him to
experiment with a multilevel methodology reRecting thc multidimensional
nature of the real life situations he is trying to elucidate. I shall try to
clarify the point further in the following pages.

STATEMENT OF THE THESIS

Since space is limited, the discussion will focus on five propositions

rcgarding the successful practice of clinical anthropology. Although ob-
viously no single point is unique to applied anthropology, my thesis is
that, considered as a whole, they reveal and illuminate the unique,
positive role which clinical anthropology is currently playing in directly
helping to develop a science of man.

( 1) The practice of professional applied anthropology forces the

anthropologist to concentrate on dynamic, real life problematic situa-
tions rather than on academic or pure research problems.
228 A SCIENCE OF MAN

( 2) The problema tic situations with which applied anthropologists

concern themselves relate primarily to human groups rather than to
human individuals.
' ( 3) Such group problematic situations are usually critica} ones with
human lives and welfare at stake, in urgent need of resolution within
relatively fixed limitations of time, space, and available resources.
Hence the conscientious clinician is motivated to succeed in his en-
deavor over and above the challenge afforded by projects of a more
orthodox, academic type.
( 4) Resolution of such problematic situations, translated into scientific
problems, demands of the investigator demonstrable skills in forecast-
ing probable changes and future trends in human group behavior under
certain limiting conditions and potentialities. The development of such
predictive skills depends not only on professional training and experi-
ence but also and crucially on the use of a mature scientific approach
involving refinements in theory, method, and professional role.
( 5) Success in the practice of applied anthropology involving predic-
tive skills is rneasured in the long run by the empirical test, not by
consensus of professional colleagues, administrators' preferences and
prejudices, political expediency, or any other nonscientific criterion. In
turn the empirical test may serve as a corrective to theory and a spur
to greater refinement of method.

I shall discuss briefly each of these propositions in turn.

FROM THE STUDY OF CULTURE CONTACT

TO THAT OF CULTURAL CHANGE

( 1) The practice of professional applied anthropology forces the

anthropologist to concentrate on dynamic real life problematic situations
rather than on academic or pure research problems. · ·
A good <leal has been written about the relation between the rise of
applied anthropology and the shift in focus in anthropology from culture
contact to culture change ( Peattie, 1958 :4-8). N evertheless, since the
'shift is critica} to the development of my thesis, I shall dwell on a few of
\its salient features.
The emphasis of Keesing, one of the earliest administrative anthro-
pologists, on problems of acculturation ( Keesing, 1934, 1945, and 1953;
and Siegel, 1955) compared to that of most earlier anthropologists
may serve to illustrate the point. Indeed, obviously a rigid, mechanical
approach toward the diffusíon and linkage of culture traits and trait com-
plexes, often treated out of context, grew primarily out of an academic,
museum-oriented or library-oriented study of cultural phenomena, espe-
 A SCIENCE OF MAN 229

cially material culture, detached from the real life situations and prob-
lems of the peoples concerned. The term "culture carriers," stíll applied
occasionally to human groups manifesting a particular culture in their
behavioral habits, well expresses the essentially static, sum-total, non-
biological, nonpsychological model of culture which characterized many
anthropologists both in Europe and in the Americas half a century ago
and carries over to sorne extent today.2
As soon as applied anthropologists began to work on the actual life
problems of real people we found that we had to change our models of
the group and its culture from static to dynamic ones in environmental
context in keeping with the changing clinical "problernatic situations"
that required elucidation. This change in conceptual approach character-
izes most applied social science research, according to Gouldner ( 1956:
171).

CHANGE OF PERSPECTIVE TOWARD THE UNIT OF RESEARCH

A situational approach, with historical as well as ecological dimensions,

developed by Bronislaw Malinowski while he was attempting to <leal
scientifically with problems of culture change and applied anthropology
in Africa ( Malinowski, 1945), illustrates the point. The model of a cul-
tural institution which Malinowski formulated in bis later years ( Malin-
owski, 1944, Ch. 6) may profitably be contrasted to Radclíífe-Brown's
paradigm of a social system. In Radclifle-Brown's model the investigator
seeks out and focuses on a so-called natural system in the Durkhcimian
sense by attempting to isolate it conceptually and to ignore everything
else in the universe as environment ( Radcliffe-Brown, 1957; M. N. Srin-
ivas, 1958). He attempts to study the social event so conceived as though
it were a reality external to him. On the other hand, the investigator using
Malinowski's model in the field must explicitly observe, describe, and
relate to the behavior of the human group ( i.e., the personnel of the
institution) relevant aspects of the environment in their natural contcxt.
He <loes not attempt artificially to separate social relations or structures
of the human group under considcration from either the world of nature
with which it is transacting or from its human components as human
organisms.
Comparing these approaches we gain insight as to why Radcliffc-
Brown formally eschewed applied anthropology ( Radcliffe-Brown, 1930:
267-280; see also Evans-Pritchard, 1946:92-98), while Malinowski fos-
tered and encouraged it ( Malinowski, 1940). Radclifle-Brown's model is
a construct far removed from the many-faceted everyday problematic
situations with which real people living out their lives must cope, and
removed from the practica! problems they must resolve more or less
230 A SC\ENCE OF MAN

successfully or lose their identity as a human group ( N adel, 1957:158).

Malinowski's model, also a construct, of course, is one which reflects and
includes, rather than obscures, ignores and excludes, the multidimensíonal
nature of the problems with whích the successful clinícal anthropologist
must deal. Indeed, despite the fact that Radcliffe-Brown had worked in
the field hímself, his theoretical and methodological tools seem to have
been fashioned primarily to solve academic problems. Those of Malin-
owski, on the other hand, were sharpened operationally during the course
of his professional Iifetime to cope successfully with real life (in the clin-
ical sense) problems on a scientific basis. Thus it is no accident that
Goodenough uses Malínowskí's model of an institution in his general book
on applied anthropology ( Goodenough, 1963:347, f.n. 1 ).
When an anthropologist accepts a position on the staff of a local com-
munity administrator, whether the latter official be a community develop-
ment project director, a public health or anti-poverty worker, a Peace
Corps official, an educator, a mental health director, or a dependency
group commissioner, he may attempt to project an academic type model
of the community, small group, culture, or society under investigation.
But a field administrator has constantly to deal with the group's actual
problematic situations of every day experience, whether they be of com-
munity organization, poverty symptoms, schooling, housing, sickness,
mental hygiene, crime, resources conservation or economic development.
The applied anthropologist soon discovers that to do his job successfully
he too must concern himself with these situations and tune in on the
same wave-length, so to speak, as his objects of study including his client.

HOW TO DESIGN THE PROJECT SITUATIONALLY?

How to design this complex situation scientifically has, of course, pre-

sented the greatest obstacle to the development of clinical anthropology
as well as other social science disciplines. For example, how shall we
formulate the problem?
D. P. Sinha ( Sinha, n.d.) shows, in a case study of Birhor resettlement,
that the clinical problem may be approached fruitfully from at least three
dimensions:

( 1) as a practica! problem of the tribal welfare administration of the

Government of Birhor, India;
( 2) as a problematic situation of the community of Birhor, befare,
during, and after resettlement; and
( 3) as an analytical problem of scíentific anthropolgy

Thus it appears that the clinical anthropologist may fruitfully perceive

his problem from three different perspectives simultaneously: that of the
 A SCIENCE OF MAN 231

administrator or clíent, that of the local community in time and space

depth, and that of himself in the role of professional scientist.
Now, the question is how <loes he proceed wíth this three-prong per-
spective?
First, he must translate the community's changing problematic situa-
tion, including the client-administrator's practica! problem, into a scien-
tific problem ( Thompson, 1963:354-355). The task requires that he ex-
tend his frame of reference to encompass all the variables relevant to the
group's problematic situation. If necessary he may carry out a pilot field
project in order to collect sufficient empirical data about the group so
that he can formulate a heuristic workíng hypothesis on the basis of the
facts, to be verified by subsequent field research ( Little, 1963:367). Since
the group under consideration is involved with the limitations and poten-
tials of its bio-physical environment, the anthropologist may not ignore
these aspects of the environment nor slight them. Neither may he leave
out the group's history, demography, social structure, psychology, core
values, or any other dimension of the whole relevant to the problematic
situation with which the community is critically concerned.
Then he must select the significant unit of research in relation to the
scientific problem. He must seek out, adapt, or develop a dynamic, multi-
dimensional model of his rescarch unit which reflects the existing, chang-
ing realities of the group under consideration. Thus, to resolve thc scien-
tific problem successfully, with the approach and methods of science, the
investigator is forced by the action aspects of the experiment, to consider
actual problematic situations of living, ongoing human groups, not merely
academic problems.3

ROLE OF THE CLINICAL ANTHROPOLOGIST

Finally, if the clinical anthropologist is to operate professionally in the

role of an applied scientist he may never under any circumstances, as a
scientist, assume an administrative role or accept thc position of an ad-
ministrator-client. As Rapoport ( 1963; also Anon, 1954) has noted, policy
and action, frequently the dominant preoccupation of the subjects as well
as the clients of the applied anthropologist, imply value decisions. The
applied anthropologist must assiduously avoid commitments to values
other than those of the scientífic method and translate his scientific find-
ings in a value-neutral framework into specific action alternatives.
This means that in bis professional role, the applied clinical anthro-
pologist must strive to resist all pressures, whether hidden or overt, to
assume responsibility for the selection, from his findings, of appropriate
alternatives and for the implementation of a client-selected course of
action. In other words, bis role of doctor of society should be limited to
that of diagnosis.4
232 A SCIENCE OF MAN

On the other hand, it is generally accepted in the profession of applied

anthropology that

the ideal of presenting all possible alternatives and then permitting an

unrestricted selection fails to take into account the realities of the socio-
political constraints and the biases of the suggester ( Barnett, 1958; see
also Keesing, 1945:84-85 and Nadel, 1957:54-55).

I take the position, however, that in the emerging profession of applied

scientific anthropology, a firm statement of the professional role of the
applied scientist, in contradistinction to that of the administrator-client, is
imperative. The Tanganyika experimeut ( Brown and Hutt, 1935) and
others indicate that such a distinction is not impossible. Moreover, only
within such a strict division of labor can the "natural experiment," emerge
(Brown and Hutt, 1935:xvii, xviii, 4, and Ch. 4).

A FRESH LOOK AT ACTION RESEARCH

Within this context the action research methodology frequently recom-

mended as an efficient and economical method of implementing social
change, and the role of the applied anthropologist in action research
programs, should be reexamined and clarified. Equipped with specialized
knowledge of certain aspects of the cornmunity's problematic situation,
especially in regard to the finding of modern science concerning the his-
tory of the community, its relation to the larger regional, national, and
world scene, and the extensiveness of and demand for its resources, the
applied anthropologist may qualify as an expert. Certain anthropologists
who wcre engaged by American Indian tribes to undertake basic research
and to testify in lndian Claims Commission cases ( Macgregor, 1955), did
so qualify and, by supplying basic data relevant to the questions at issue,
helped to win favorable legal judgments for the tribes. lt is in such a
role that the anthropologists may be best qualified to function with a group
of community members who have organizcd themselves as an action
research team. He may also function with team leaders in the delicatc
role of catalyst of group planning and action potentialities ( Kimball,
Pearsall, and Bliss, 1954:5-8). lt would not seem appropriate, according
to the present thesis, however, for the applied anthropologist in coopera-
tion with the people to be affected to set the goals of community action
in an action situation, either on a trial basis or by advance planning.5 He
may train and even supervise volunteers in special skills, as Leighton did
young Ja panes e volunteers in the Poston \VRA center, for example
( Leighton, 1945 :375-378). But he should scrupulously refrain from
actually setting goals for the group either overtly or covertly.
 A SCIENCE OF MAN 233

SHIFT IN FOCUS FROM INDIVIDUAL TO GROUP

( 2) The problematic situations wíth whích applied anthropologists

eoneern themselves relate primarily to human groups rather than to
human individuals.
This basie point is often overlooked. Many of the disciplines which
foeus on man, sueh as medicine, psyehology, psychiatry, psyehoanalysis,
human development, learning theory, and social work, developed their
approaehes by coneentrating primarily on the individual rather than thc
group. By this I mean that the seientífic problems for whose solution their
traditional concepts and methods have been cleveloped are geared to the
individual as the signifieant unit of research. Realization of thc impor-
tanee of the group has eome late, if at all, to most investigators in these
disciplines. A change of focus from individual to group, or an extension
of the researeh unit to inelude the group or aspects of it, patently has
been diffieult.
A eertain success in this direction was aehieved by Durkheim and his
followers. But we should not forget that, in seeking to isolate sociological
events conceptually from the rest of the universe for purposes of analysis,
and to diseover soeiologieal explanations for these events whieh may be
used as a basis for formulating sociological laws of universal validity,
Durkheim and his followers removed their models from their clinical eon-
texts. Thus their usefulness in resolving practieal problems was greatly
redueed. Coldenweiser's critique of this sehool of thought, basecl on
anthropological field findings, suggests that it exaggerates the importanee
of social factors while unclerrating the role of nature in everyday life
(Goldenweiser, 1922:.371-381). Thus he points out a pitfall to be
avoided in elinieal anthropology.
When a measure of suceess in understanding group behavior has been
aehieved within the traclitionally indívidual-oriented diseiplincs, as in
soeial psychology, social psyehiatry, culture and personality approaches,
group work and eommunity development, it has usually involvecl tho
borrowing of approaehes, eoncepts, ancl methods from onc or more of the
diseiplines which foeus traclitionally on thc group. Examplcs of such
donor diseiples are eultural anthropology, eertain sehools of soeiology,
Gestalt psyehology, and eeology.

ANTHROPOLOGY TRADITIONALLY STRESSES THE GROUP

Anthropology is one of the diseiplines focusing on man which has

grown out of an interest in understanding primarily whole group phe-
nomena sueh as are expressed, for example, in the eoneepts of eulture,
raee, eommunity, soeiety, and small group. With anthropologists, interest
234 A SCIENCE OF MAN

in the individual has come late and principally as a component of the

group, that is, as a clue to the nature and dynamics of the group ( Sapir,
1949: 569-577 ) .
Sin ce Hamo sapiens is a group species, progress toward developing a
science of mankind seerns to depend on the development of heuristic
operational hypotheses, concepts, and methods which focus primarily on
whole groups. Especially does the type of conditional prediction of
change and future trends, involved in the successful solution of every
problem in clinical anthropology, necessitate forecasting probable group
behavior in a changing situation under certain stimuli such as individual
leaders in a certain group context may provide (Mead, 1964:Ch. 8, 23.3-
234; and Little, 1963:367) but not the behavior of every separate indi-
vidual member. The crucial prediction problem in clínica} anthropology
is discussed in section 4.
Here we note that clinical anthropologists, because of the nature of
the practical problems with which their clients are concerned, have to
concentrate on whole human groups. Moreover, since a situational ap-
proach which atternpts to take into consideration all relevant factors of
the problem including the group's effective environrnent (Allee, 1949:1),
is indispensable to forecasting the probable bchavior of the group under
certain changing conditions, clinical anthropologists have had to devclop
dynamic operational models adequate to the complcx phenomena in-
volved.

SEARCH FOR AN ADEQUATE MODEL OF THE COMMUNITY

Realization that the smallest unit of research adcquate to the solution

of such changing group behavior problems is the changing local com-
munity or breeding population in effective environmental context has
come slowly through trial and error ( Hockett and Aschcr, 1964: 136).
First, the differencc between, and noninterchangeability of, the concepts
of culture and society had to be spelled out. This was effectively done by
Kluckhohn and Kelly ( 1945: 78-106), etc. The role of the little local
community, long the object of rescarch by field anthropologists seeking
to understand cultural phenomena, had to be formulated as object and
sample ( see Arensberg, 1961; Arcnsberg and Kirnball, 1965; ancl Redfield,
1955). The role of the near isolated local population transacting with an
evolving ecosystem had to be investigated by means of severa! disciplines,
including ecology, geography, dernography, human genetics, and anthro-
pology ( Fosberg, 1963). And finally a dynamic multilevel moclel of a
community undergoing change under pressurc had to be produced - a
rnodel which affordcd a niche for all aspects of the change proccss in-
volved in the clinical prediction of the probable behavior of thc group
under certain conditions.
 A SCIENCE OF MAN 235

From an operational standpoint the model had to include both an

ecological dimension and a psychic dimension, as well as dimensions to
accommodate descriptions in depth of the community viewed as a social
system, as a breeding population, and as a symbol-creating and symbol-
transmitting unit.
An example is aHorded by the model of a local community under strong
externally instigated pressures to change developed experimentally by the
research staff of the ludian Education, Personality and Administration
project, in order to solve a problem in clinical anthropology. In this case
the key relationship activating change is conceived as that between con-
tact agents belonging to two quite different community systems. These
were the local community system under observation in situ and the in-
trusive community system, represented by agents of purposivc change
who are displaced from their native habitat. According to this model,
reRecting a purposive acculturation situation wherein the agents from the
intrusive system are seeking aggressively to change, and in certain ways
to displace, the local systcm, the key inRuences are represented as at the
points of contact between two juxtaposed psychosomatic and symbolic
sets - the local set and the intrusive set. An attempt is madc to represent
this view of the contact situation diagrammatically in Figure 3.6
The rnultilevel model depicting variable sets involved when the be-
havior of the members of a local community is changing under pressures
from missionaries and other agents representing an alien or cxotic cultural
community may have certain advantages as a field tool. lts twelve
variable systems reflect the complex field situation operationally and
attempt to show their interrelations as experienced by human components
of the two communities involved. The modcl contains a niche for :6ndings
derived by means of techniques from many disciplines ( c.g., ecology,
social anthropology, genetics and physical anthropology, linguistics and
the humanities,' psychology and psychiatry) used simultaneously on a
single unit of research; and it focuses on the local community ( viewed as
a population in environmcntal contcxt) as thc primary signi:6cant unit of
research in this type of scientific investigation.
Transactive processes within each comrnunity system, rcsulting from
either externally (cross-cultural) instigated pressures or internally ( intra-
community) derived stresses are represented by two-way arrows. Con-
tacts betwecn the two supersystems in contact as represented by individ-
ual agcnts ( each víewed as a psychosomatic-symbolic system rcflecting
the culture of his community idiosyncratically, including its core valuc
system) are shown by two-way dotted line arrows. The model obviously
depicts several levels of abstraction but it focuscs thc central inner covert
position of the core value system as the most stablc set of variables re-
flected in the structure of each of the other five systems and in the
structure of the community supersystcm as a whole. This major :6nding
 236 A SCIENCE OF MAN

Local Ecosystem Local Social System

Supersystem A
­­­­­­
.i­>
Local Core Value
System
.i­>
­­­­­­
l
(Local) Local Somatic Local Symbolic System
(Microracial) (including Language)
System

­­­­­­' 1
I
I
Local Psychic
System
.i­>
~
\
1
1

\
,
------
I
\ lntrusive Psychic

.i­> System

lntrusive Somatic lntrusive Symbolic

( Microracial) System
System 1 (including Language)

------ ------
Supersystem B
(lntrusive)
lntrusive Core Value

­­­­­­ ­­­­­­
System

lntrusive lntrusive Social

Ecosystem System

FIGURE 3

Model of Ma¡or Variable Systems in Contact Situation

Between Two Communitu Supersystems: A) Local and B) Inirusioe

of the project ( Thompson, 1951: 183) is being validated by subsequent

research (Ablon, 1964:296-304).
In sum, it is suggested that insofar as the problems with which clinical
anthropologists concern themselves involve whole human group prob-
lematic situations, and insofar as such problems may be resolved success-
fully by means of a sharpening of theoretical and methodological field
tools relating to whole groups, applied anthropology is helping in a critical
manner to develop a science of man.
( 3) Such group problematic situations usually are critical ones with
human lives and human welfare at stake, in urgent need of resolution
within relatively fixed limitations of time, space, and available resources.
Hence the conscientious clinician is motivated to suceed in his endeavor
over and above the challenge afforded by projects of a more orthodox,
academic type.
 A SCIENCE OF MAN 237

THE CULTURAL FACTOR IN A RAPIDL Y CHANGING WORLD

We live in an age when rapid, critieal social ehange eharacterizes most

of the world's communities. The rise of seores of new nations since the
war and eoneomitant ehanges in the balance of global politieal power
may serve as one outward sign of this ehangc. Life goes on and deeisions
are made. Are they to be made on the basis of the available facts and
clinical relationships?
Probably the most crucial facts usually omitted today from deeision-
making considerations at all levels relate to the cultural faetor. I refer to
national and intemational deliberations including cspeeially thosc eon-
ceming dcvelopment and anti-poverty aetivities at home and in so-ealled
underdeveloped nations, to military strategy, to treaty formulations, and
to other fundamental aspeets of war, eold or hot. So long as this situation
is not remedied we find ourselves unable to foreeast probable changes in
the behavior of national groups undergoing change, ineluding our own,
and hence frequently surprised and frustrated by errors of judgment.

RESPONSIBILITY OF THE ANTHROPOLOGIST

Who shall supply the missing ingredient if not the anthropologist? By

training and experienee he is equipped to diseover, deseribe, and relate
cultural facts and processes to relevant contexts. Indeed, the anthropolo-
gist's central concem, his stoek in trade, is generally eonsidered to be
culture, including the analysis of cultural change and eonílíct ( Kroeber,
1953:361-362 and Mair, 1957:71 ). It is true that rnany of our theories,
concepts, and methods at present are inadequate or barcly adequate to the
scope, depth, and subtleties, in terms of human lives, resources, and wel-
fare, of the tasks we face. Regardlcss of how we delimit our problems and
sharpen our tools, we tend to feel overwhelmcd by the magnitudc of the
challcnge in terms of the world's cxploding billions, the urgcncy of the
time factor, and thc eomplcxities of the historieal, biologieal, physical, and
cultural realities.
Nevertheless, probably never in the history of the discipline have
anthropologists opcrated cffectively in positions of sueh responsibility in
human terms. But applied anthropologists, as well as others with heavy
human group responsibilitics ( see Chapter 6, Holmberg) and Maycr and
Associatcs, 1962), have noted that the vcry difficulties of the problcms
eonfronting applied anthropologists and othcr applied social seientists
opcrate as a strong motivation to meet the challenge and overeome ob-
stacles, to develop concepts, mcthods, and operations as the projects
progress, to learn by doing, and to persevere until the task has been ae-
complishcd. Out of this work, which seems at times to verge on dedication
238 A SCIENCE OF MAN

( Tax, 1958), apparently are emerging the tools and the rules for the ap-
proaches and behavior which are moving clinical anthropologists and the
discipline of applied anthropology in the direction of success as an applied
science.
( 4) Resolution of such problematic situations, translated into scientific
problems, demands of the investigator demonstrable skills in forecasting
probable changes and future trends in human group behavior under cer-
tain limiting conditions and potentialities. The development of such skills
depends not only on professional training and experience but also and
crucially on the use of a mature scientific approach involving refinements
in theory, method, and professional role.

THE "IF ... THEN" PREDICTION FORMULA

The "íf . . . then" construction of a proposition which appropriately

expresses the findings of a social scientist in the role of applied anthro-
pologist, as contrasted to the role of administrator or client group, always
embodies a prediction (Shcpardsor , 1962:748). According to this posi-
tion, it is the function of the applied anthropologist to formulate his find-
ings in a series of statements projecting the consequences, in terms of
community action, to be expected as a result of the implementation of
severa! policy and program alternatives ( Barnett, 1963:382-383). He
would aim to indicate to the administrator or client group the implications
of alternative policies and programs so that the adrninistrator or other
decision-rnaker might rnake an inforrned choice between them ( Mair,
1957:15).
Keesing was one of the first anthropologists to appreciate the irnpor-
tance of this mandate for professional applied anthropologists and to
insist on its usefulness as an indispensable means of protecting the anthro-
pologist in the delicate political situation engendered by his employment
by a government or other client agency. Illustrations of the "if ... then"
construction as used by anthropologists rnay be found in Keesíng's work
as well as that of Elkin, Firth, Fischer, Joseph and Murray, Spindler,
Thompson and others ( Keesing, 1945:299-300; Elkin, 1964: 114; Firth,
1936:416-417; 589-599; Fischer, 1963:528; Spindler, 1963:257; Joseph
and Murray, 1951:315, 322, 325; Thompson, 1951:167). Their infrequency
in the professional literature should, however, be noted.
Use of this formula for embodying the findings of the anthropologist
insures that responsibility for policy and prograrn decisions will fall on the
client and not on the anthropologist. The latter is thus free to operate in a
situation which protects his role as a scientist and fosters his objectivity.
lt also reduces the importance of the problem of the professional ethics of
the applied anthropologist.
 A SCIENCE OF MAN 239

CASE OF THE PACIFIC TRUST TERRITORY

Barnett ( 1956, Chs. 3 and 4) has shown how dífficult it is, under certain
field conditions as, for instance, those operating in thc Pacífic Trust Terrí-
tory, to maintain a strict division of labor between anthropologist and
administrator, even though their roles are formally spelled out. Here the
District and Staff Anthropologists' work assignment was stated as Follows:

In most general terms ... the Staff Anthropologist's duties are, either
directly or indirectly, to organize and conduct research in the field and to
maintain professional relations wíth outside specialists interested in re-
search in the Territory. The District Anthropologist engages in research
and reports to his District Administrator on the Iatter's authorization or
on the request of the High Commissioner. His special obligation is to
know the native language and customs of his dístrict. The Staff Anthro-
pologist's responsibilítíes in this respect are more generalízed sínce they
cover the Territory as a whole. Both specialists are regarded as technical
experts, and as such they are expected to function as impartial inter-
mediaries between the adminístration and the Micronesians. Neither has
executive status and the value of both líes in their objectivity and in their
abstention from policy determination and implementation. As experts on
Micronesian attitudes and behaviors, they are expected to devise and
recommend techniques to accomplish the objectíves settled upon by the
administration. In short, they are responsible for means, not ends (Bar-
nett, 1956:87-88).

Despite this carefully wordcd professional charter it is reported that per-

sistent and often unwitting attempts on the part of administrators occurred
to maneuver the anthropologists into a position of endorsing and advo-
t
cating goals or ends to be sought ( Bamett, 1956: 129). )
Barnett ( 1956: 129-130) clearly points out that this chartcr <loes not
relieve anthropologists of responsibility but rather places on them a dif-
ferent kind of responsibility, namely thc "uncnviable responsibility of
forecasting human behavior." Sincc in social sciencc the ability to predict
changing group behavior under certain dcscribablc conditions may be
accepted as the measure of scientific maturity, success in applied anthro-
pology actually should depend on skill as a maturc scicntist.

THE METHOD OF CLINICAL PREDICTION

It should be noted that predicting group behavior under certain condi-

tions as a consequcnce of change, as practísed by clinical anthropologists,
usually does not depend primarily on statistical methods or extrapolation.
It thus differs markedly from probability forecasting as usually workcd
out by sociologists, demographers, economists, and othcrs. By contrast,
 240 A SCIENCE OF MAN

the applied anthropologist usually employs a clinical method which is as

yet inadequately understood. It is based on understanding in depth of
the changing culture of a community in historical and geographic perspec-
tive, including the community's covert attitudes and implicit values
( Kluckholn, 1943). Frequently the method in vol ves knowledge of the
communíty's unconscious group personality or psychic system. It also
demands a refined concept of culture as an emergent out of the past with
directioii into the future, and specification of an activity unit of analysis
as significant in relation to the scientific problem. Goodenough attempts
to explain the method which he calls "forecasting the course of change"
in his C ooperation in Change ( 1963).

A FRUITFUL TRAINING GROUND IN SCIENTIFIC ANTHROPOLOGY

Thus the practice of clinical anthropology affords a much-needed train-

ing experience for anthropologists who are concerned with learning to
predict group behavior clinically with the degree of precision required to
resolve problems in applied anthropology. It should be noted that once a
series of alternate "if ... then" propositions concerning the behavior of a
community are formally submitted to his client, the applied anthropolo-
gist is "on the spot," so to say. He is publicly committed. Implementation
of any one prcdictive proposition by the client can afford, in the long run,
a situation whereby the student may test his maturity as a scientist. It is
the only field situation, I suspect, which affords an anthropologist this
type of opportunity for professional growth through self-correction.

USES OF STUDIES IN CLINICAL ANTHROPOLOGY

( 5) Success in the practice of applied anthropology involving pre-

dictivc skills is measured in the long run by the empirical test, not by
consensus of professional colleagues, administrators' prejudices, political
expediency, or any other nonscientific criterion. In turn, the empirical
test may serve as a corrective to theory and a spur to greater refinement
of method.
During the early years when new and more adequate operational
models were being developed to cope with complex problems that wére
challenging applied anthropologists, it was fashionable to assume that the
findings of applied anthropologists "really didn't matter" since their work,
, far from being used, would probably be ignored. Speaking of the use of
anthropology in the United Nations, Métraux stated in 1953 that, although
anthropologists wcre employed in several capacities, very little attention
was paid to their recommendations ( Métraux, 1953:354-355). Without
doubt such statements were based on facts.
 A SCIENCE OF MAN 241

However, now that severa! decades have elapsed since the publication
of the first significant studies in applied anthropology, it may be rewarding
to take a fresh look at the situation regarding application. For example,
we note that twenty years after publication of the Leightons' classic study
of Na vaho health and medica! problems, The Navalzo Door ( 1944), is
basic to the theory behind the administration's public health program on
the Navaho Indian Reservation (Adair, 1964). Ten to twenty years after
publication of studies by anthropologists regarding cducational, mental
health and administra ti ve problems in Guam ( Thompson, 1947) and the
Pacific Trust Territory ( Oliver, 1951) man y of the findíngs have been
used. Alrnost twenty years after the Indian Education, Personality and
Adrninistration project was officially terminated the volumes ( Having-
hurst and Neugarten, 1955; Joseph, Spicer, and Chesky, 1949; Kluckhohn
and Leighton, 1946; Leighton and Kluckhohn, 1947; Leighton and Adair,
1965; Macgregor, 1946; Thornpson, 1950; Thompson and Joseph, 1944;
Thornpson, 1951) reporting factual findings from the research are recom-
rnended reading for Indian Service trainees and reservation personnel.
The action research methodology, introduced and taught to reservation
personnel and adrninistrators by the project staff ( Thompson, 1950); is
advocated by the Education Division of the Service as basic to both policy
and program. Approaches and information acquired by teachers, school
principals and adrninistrators duríng the project's training scminar and
field work have becorne basic to in-Service training programs for rnany
years. At least one rnember of the Indian Service who was trained and
apprenticed by the project staff has become an executive for Bureau
headquarters where he is creatively irnplernenting project findings. He
writes:
I fear my literary skill is not good enough to put into words the very
strong feelings I have about the Indian Education Research project on
which I was privileged to have a small part. My evaluation is based on
the profound and beneficia} impact this study and others have had directly
on the kind and quality of the total Indian education program.
It seems so perfectly obvious now that if any program is going to be
effective the operating personnel must have an understanding of the re-
cipients to be served. It is surprising how many people involved in work
with Indians do not realize that most reservation Indians have a different
set of values which moti vates and directs their life activities. Public school
officials with whom I work are puzzled at why children drop out of high
school on an average of 50 percent or more than non-Indian children and
say to me, "We treat them just the same as all other children. It is here
for them if they just come and get it." Unfortunately, many Indian chil-
dren do not just come and get it and for the basic reason that they and
their parents have not yet realized the utilitarian value in what we call
modem education.
242 A SCIENCE OF MAN

It was through the study sponsored by the Bureau and the University
of Chicago that I feel I gained a basic understanding of Indian people to
the point that it has made a difference in whatever I have attempted to do
in directing the educational process involving reservation Indian children
( Pra tt, 1962) ....
It should also be noted that the methods developed to resolve the pro b-
lcms faccd by the staffs of these projects have been borrowed as a whole or
in part by subsequent projects faced with similar problems in many parts
of the world. A well-known example is Lewis' analysis and restudy of a
Mexican community ( 1951) which demonstrates brilliantly the poten-
tialities of the method of community analysis developed by the staff of the
ludian Rcsearch project mentioned above, under whom Lewis trained
befare starting bis field work at Tepoztlán.

UNIVERSAL APPLICABILITY OF FINDINGS IN

CLINICAL ANTHROPOLOGY

It should perhaps be emphasized that the approaches and findings of

projects in applied anthropology, to the extent that they are scientifically
valid, are of general, universal applicability. Translated in terms of the
practica! problems faced by anti-poverty workers, technical consultants,
and community development workers on economic development projects,
sorne lessons learned from the above-mentioned projects may be formu-
lated as follows:

If their work is to be effective in tenns of the ends sought, most techni-

cal consultants, anti-poverty and community development workers need
not only more knowledge about the communities with which they work,
but also a different kind of knowledge. Facts assembled by economists,
sociologists, population statisticians, etc., are essential to our understand-
ing of these cornmunities, but still more important perhaps to a more
effective relationship between technical assistance workers and recipients
of assistance is understanding at a deeper level. Reference is made to the
level of irnplicit community goals and core values.
The term core values may be defined as the group's concept of the
world, of nature, animals, plants, microorganisms and man; its concept of
social arder, community, the relation between the sexes and social classes;
its way of thinking about the ego and its extensions, if any, beyond death
and befare birth; its attitudes about time, space and direction. To improve
significantly the relations between assisting group and recipient com-
munity we need more knowledge of the cultures of both interacting
groups at this deeper level. And it is the assisting group rather than the
recipient that must seek out, learn, or in sorne way acquire this knowledge.
If the technical consultant or community worker were to build into
himself such an understanding of the recipient community vis-a-vis his
 A SCIENCE OF MAN 243

own, he would be better equipped to participate in the contact situation in

a creative way. He would be prepared to regard not only the contact
situation flexibly but also the directions and goals of group activity, both
immediate and long-range, as emerging rather than fixed. He would be
in a position to perceive the "development" process as an attempt to help
the receiving community members to build new structures - economic,
social, psychological, perhaps within limits even ídeological - on the
basis of traditional ones, as contrasted to an attempt to superimpose upon
the recipient community a preconceived, blue-print type plan accom-
panied by preconceived techniques for its implementation toward pre-
conceived rigid goals.

The findings from projeets in clinieal anthropology indicate further that

it is very important to train technical assistants on development missions
toward sensitivity in regard to the aetual problernatie situations whích the
recipient community is faeing and resolving more or less succcssfully.
Blindness to biotie, ecological, and geophysieal realities at the comrnunity
level, for exarnple, is a major factor in the failure or near failure of many
technical development programs. A multidimensional view of community
proeess, including the organic, ecological, socio-eultural, and psychologi-
cal levels, should be projeeted in a training prograrn for comrnunity work-
ers, if enhancement of loeal human welfare is the goal.

USES OF THE NATURAL EXPERIMENT

A last point to be noted is that, a spccifie poliey having bcen imple-

mented by the administrator of a local group, this may be uscd by the
clinical anthropologist as a natural cxperirnent for testing theories and
rnethods. This point has been rnacle by Collier, Holrnberg, Lcighton,
Lewís, Thornpson, and others ( Collier, 1945; Holmberg, 1958; Lewis,
19.51; Lewis, 19.5.'3; Thompson, 1956).
As clcfinecl by Fcstingcr and Katz,
the "natural experiment" involves a change of rnajor importance engi-
neered by policy-makers and practitioners and not by social scientists.
It is experimental from the point of view of the scientist ... [since] it
can afford opportunities for measuring the effect of the cliange on the
assumption that the change is so clear and drastic in nature that there is
no question of identifying itas the independent variable ... (1953:78)

The argumcnt for the natural experirncnter is explaincd by Freilieh

to be
that this type of change can be treated as an independent variable in an
experimental setting and its effect can be observed and recorded. Or,
differently put, the socio-cultural system in which a clear and drarnatic
244 A SCIENCE OF MAN

change has occurred is, for a given time, a natural laboratory, where given
variables are in a state of control so that the effects of an independent
variable ( the change) can be studied. Thus, the argument would here
continue that it hardly matters how control is achieved, what is important
is that it is there and can be used for experimental purposes. The role of
the researcher using the natural experiment is then to opportunistically
capitalize on situations which exist. The opportunism of the researcher
lies in searching for situations where change of a clear and dramatic
nature has occurred and using such situations as "natural Iaboratories"
( Freilich, 1963) .
Thus the sígníficant unit of rescarch in this type of investigation is per-
ceived in the context of a natural "laboratory" under natural conditions
in time and space. Hence all the variable sets relevant to the solution of
the scientific problem may be assumed to be present, overtly or covertly,
including ecological, physical, and historical ones, and the burden of
identifying them falls clearly upon the investigator. In other words, suc-
cessful solution of the problem has not been ruled out by the ínvestigator's
misidentification of the significant variables and therefore his failure to
include them in a contrivcd laboratory set-up. Solution of the problem
has been drafted by nature into the unit of research. Its discovery de-
pends entirely on the training, experience, sensitivity, and ingenuity of the
investigator.

SUMMARY

In this paper I have tried to show that applied anthropology is playing

a major creative role in helping to develop a science of man. First, the
discipline affords a strong stimulus for developing new heuristic theories,
concepts, and methods. It also provides an ideal proving ground for
hypothesis testing. And finally it affords a difficult training experience
for field workers concerned with learning to understand human groups in
depth so that they may predict probable group behavior under changing
conditions within ccrtain limiting conditions and potentialities, with the
degree of precision needed to resolve practica! problems.
By providing the challenge to sharpen theoretical and methodological
tools for the scientific solution of local group problems of broad scopc, and
the crucial natural experiment for their testing, applied scientific anthro-
pology affords the means and the motivation to move the severa! subdivi-
sions of anthropology systematically and Iogically from their natural
history phases toan empirically-based mature phase; from inductive, fact-
based generalizations to heuristic deductive working hypotheses which
give promise of holding up under the empirical validation test. Thus
applied anthropology is helping in a positive way to develop a science
of man.
 A SCIENCE OF MAN 245

Applied anthropologists have apparently failed to project an image of

their discipline which reflects its significant role in present-day anthro-
pology, not to mention its true potential in today's world. This seems to
be directly responsible for loss of talent to the discipline.
I
These considerations seem to me particularly relevant to workcrs in
development projects of all types, including anti-poverty programs at
home. For development projects afford the opportunity simultaneously
to test theoretical concepts and to formulate new ones. This suggests the
promising scope for theoretical research in development. Tcchnical as-
sistance, anti-poverty, and community workers who successfully assume
the role of scientists are thus directly helping to create a science of man.

NOTES

l. Far a somewhat different approach see Lee, 1955; Ulrich, 1949; and
Warren, 1956.
2. See, for example, the work of Fritz Graebner, Ankermann, Clark Wissler,
and Harold Driver.
3. Far an attempt to illustrate a method of presenting a community's prob-
lematic situation systematically see Laura Thompson.
4. Far a different point of view, see the works of A. H. Leighton, Allan Holm-
berg, and Sol Tax.
5. Far a different view see Sol Tax, 1958 (see Chapter 8); and Gouldner,
1956:174-175. My position on this issue has been misread by Barnett,
1963:383.
6. Taken from Thompson, 1951: 182.
 18

Conservative Thought in Applied

Anthropology
: A Critique

GUILLERMO BONFIL BATALLA1

Most of the people in Latín America countries live in an actual state of

unrest which frequently manifests itself in outbursts of violence. This is
a reflection, without doubt, of a growing dcmand from large sectors of thc
population to achieve a rapid and complete satisfaction of their estab-
lished needs, as well as of the new ones which arise from contact with
forms of modern urban life. Even with national and international efforts
undertaken to raise the living standards of millions of Latín Americans,
our region continues to be one of the poorest in the world. This fact can-
not be ignored by those who work applying social science knowledge to
the integral development of our countries. Do the social sciences, par-
ticularly anthropology, possess the theoretical equipment necessary to
understand Latín American problems and to propose effective solutions
"Conservativo Thought in Applíed Anthropology: A Critique" by Guillermo Bon-
fil Batalla is reprinted from Human Organization
25:89-92, 1966, by permission
of the author and publisher.

246
 CONSERVATIVE THOUGHT IN APPLIED ANTHROPOLOGY 247

for them? Undoubtedly the social sciences are indeed prepared to con-
tribute their part in such tasks, even though, of course, the contribution
of other disciplines is needed.
Now then, the body of theory used in applied anthropology possesses a
conservative trend of thought, whose influence is wide and rnanifest. In
my opinion, this current not only prevents the proposal of effectivc solu-
tions, but it also represents a tendency whích goes against the national
interests of our countries.
The characterization of this conservative thought in anthropology is a
decisive and inevitable task which has been fruitfully undertaken by
various investigators. The ideas outlined in this paper are intended only
to stimulate the already proposed discussion. I shall atternpt to prcscnt
briefly but not exhaustively sorne of the fundamental theoretical premises
of this conservative tendency. For such purposes I have carefully ana-
lysed a number of studies in applied anthropology, particularly those
which refer to problems of nutrition and public hcalth in Latín America.
Even though the topic for which I have analysed bibliography is a very
specific one, I believe that the conclusions of this analysis can be validly
applied in their essence to other areas in which attempts havc been rnade
to apply anthropology.
This paper is largely based on the theoretical postulates included in my
work Diagnóstico sobre el Hambre en Sudzal, Yucatán. Un Ensayo de
Antropología Aplicada. (Diagnosis of Hunger in Sudzal, Yucatan: An
Essay in Applied Anthropology.) The complete biblíography frorn which
conclusions have been drawn may be consulted in that publication ( Bonfil
Batalla, 1962).
To speak of the existence of a conservative trend of thought does not
necessarily imply that a group of anthropologists sharcs bclief in thc
complete set of prernises which characterizes that tcndency; it is rather,
that the conservative point of view in the theory of appliecl anthropology
has influenced the thought of many anthropologists to a greatcr or lcsscr
degree. The central problem, therefore, is not who are thc conscrvative
anthropologists, but, what are the conservative ideas of anthropologists.
In broad terms, the conservative trend in applied anthropology may be
characterized by accepting the following postulatcs, not listcd in híer-
archical order:
First: A heavy psychological ernphasis, not only in thc selection of
problcms for study, but in the interpretation of research rcsults. In the
selection of topics for study, one need only review the bibliographics, on
problems of public health, and the essays which classify anthropological
studies on the subject, such as those prepared by Caudill in 1953 and by
Folgar in 1962, as evidence that most of them refer to subjects such as
ideas and beliefs on health and illness; concepts and rationalizations about
248 CONSERVATIVE THOUGHT IN APPLIED ANTHROPOLOGY

nutrition; stereotypes carried by the community about the personnel in

charge of sanítatíon programs; communícation problems derived from
dífferences in cultural traditíons, and other subjects. The need and value
of such studies is unquestionablc; but it is more important stíll to point out
the fact that greater attention has been paíd to these subjects than to the
study of basic causes of public hcalth and malnutrítion problems in our
countríes. In general, the problems studied have secondary importance
as causal elements; that is, they are not primary factors in the alarming
state of chronic malnutrition and poor health which affects most of the
people in Latín America. At least in many cases, the selection of topícs
responds to a trend which interprets social realíties in purely or largely
psychological terms. The phenomenon is well known and ít has been
consístently críticízed ( Mílls, 1959). It may be sufficíently íllustrated with
Dr. George Foster's observations ( Foster, 1955 :20):
It appears as íf tlie most important categories of culture that should be
more or less completely understood to carry out successful health and
hygiene programs are local ideas about health, welfare, illness, their
causes and treatment. ( translatíon - author's italícs)

If field materíals are interpreted according to Dr. Foster's proposal,

then the basic structure of a society, the low levels of technology, and the
inadequate and unjust social organizatíon, are factors which take second
place in the explanation of the problems that are supposed to be ana-
lyzed. The solutions that might be proposed with the above-mentioned
study emphasis will not produce the improvement of life conditions, be-
cause they do not suggest any alterations in the structures that havc
determined theír exístence. In summary, the psychological manifestations
of a problcm have becn taken as its causes.
Second: Another basic postulate of the conservative trend of thought in
applied anthropology is the almost axiomatíc affirmation that the main
function of the anthropologist is to avoid rapid changes, because of the
resulting maladjustments and conflicts which frequently produce social
and cultural "disorganization." This affirmation implicitly carries with it
the idea that all societies present resistance to directed changes; to avoid
confliet, anthropologists must try to promote development and general
welfare programs which adjust to the local culture, respecting the. estab-
lished social structure, the value systems and the norms of behavior of thc
populatíon to which programs are dírected. Consequently, the anthro-
pologist takes the positíon of favoríng slow and long-term changes, he
promotes small and partial reforms, and consequently rejects and con-
demns radical changes which are the only ones that affect the basíc insti-
tutional structures of a society. At times thís fear of radical change goes
to such an extreme that the anthropologíst pays little attention to the
 CONSERVATIVE THOUGHT IN APPLIED ANTHROPOLOGY 249

fundamental processes of social dynamics. Thus, Dr. Richard N. Adams

writes:

Basically, there are two different types of cultural changes: the first is a
slow, gradual and evolutionary type ... ; the other is rapid and revolu-
tionary, caused by the efforts of societal members who wish to produce
immediate alterations, of far reaching consequences. Applied anthropol-
ogy can and must focus concern, principally on the first of these types of
change (Adams, 1955). (translation)

With such an emphasis, the knowledge proper to the field of applied an-
thropology is limited and mutilated.
Third: One must now refer to the form in which the concept of cultural
relativism is usually handled in applied anthropology. The obvious ex-
istence of various value systems, of differing cultural alternatives to
satisfy the same needs, frequently leads to a theoretical position that
rcjects the possibility of pronouncing value judgments in relation to
societies and cultures. Edwin Smith points out:

As men and women we may have our opinions about the justice or in-
justice of certain acts and attitudes, but anthropology as such can pro-
nounce no judgment, far to do so is to invade the province of philosophy
and ethics. If anthropology is to judge and guide it must have a concep-
tion of what constitutes the perfect society; and since it is debarred from
having ideals it cannot judge, cannot guide, and cannot talk about
progress (Smith, 1934).

When the meaning of cultural relativism is taken to such extremes, onc

enters into a basic contradiction with the vcry claim of applying anthro-
pological science to the solution of human problems. That is, the raison
d' étre of applied anthropology is denied.
I believe that lack of historical focus is one of thc reasons for adopting
such a mistaken position. Knowledge of social and cultural history is, in
my opinion, an absolute requirernent for any attempt to apply anthro-
pology. The study of history gives origin to outlines, patterns, and laws
of changes which should be used in the promotion of development pro-
grams.
Fourth: The multiple causation theory, according to which ali phe-
nomena are a product of countless small and diverse causes, is another
common postulate of this trend. C. Wright Milis aptly concludes- that
according to this position, as long as it is impossible to know ali thc causes
of a phenomenon, the anthropologist must confine himself to thc proposal
of small modifications of little consequencc ( Mills, 1959). On the other
hand, this postulate points to thc impossibility of enunciating general
societal laws; the function of the anthropologist thus reduces itself to the
250 CONSERVATIVE THOUGHT IN APPLIED ANTHROPOLOGY

mere description of each particular case. Richard N. Adams is quite clear

in this respect when he states:
One thing is to make generalizations in a monograph or article for dis-
cussion among colleagues, and it is quite a different matter to make such
generalizations when these are to be used as a basis for the action in a
specific region and have real effect on the way of life of the people
inhabiting such an area. Applied work deals directly with specífics: in
opposition to science, it does not formula te generalizations ( Adams,
1955:219, 222). (tran~ation)

Anthropologists who think in this form emphasize the necessity for mak-
ing careful research in each particular case, because, according to Dr.
Foster's assertion,
there are no two groups of population wíth the same needs ( Foster,
1952) . ( transla tion)
It is an opinion that, on the other hand, increases our employment possi-
bilities. By this path, onc unavoidably arrives at a denial of science itself,
of whích one characteristic and specífic function is, precisely, to find
regularities in order to establish general laws.
In passing, we shall mention another postulate, very much related to
the above-mcntioned: Research in applied anthropology is usually under-
taken at the community level, and on many occasions, only one sector of
the community is studied; so, bccause according to the multiple causation
theory it is impossible to generalize, the results obtained have validity
only for the small sector of the population that the anthropologist studies
directly.
On the othcr hand, as Prof. Ricardo Pozas ( 1961) has pointed out, focus
on the community as the unit of study has led, on occasions, to under-
rating the importance of relations maintained by a comrnunity with ex-
ternal influences. That tendency is clearly seen in many monographs with
an "Indianist" orientation, which consider indigenous communities as
isolated societies, outside the spheres of national socíety, we believe that,
at least in many cases, such a stand is erroneous. Essentially, communities
must be undcrstood within a wídcr framcwork: at regional, national, and
in certain cases, international lcvcls (as in the case of the community of
Sudzal, whose basic crop, sisal, is assigned in its totality to the interna-
tional market (Batalla, 1962). The relevance of such a problem cannot
be underestimated, particularly by the growing importance given to com-
munity development programs.
According to this conservativc trcnd, the problerns of marginal societies
with traditional culture have their origin in the vcry existence of just these
kinds of societies. This is, in my opinion, an illogical point of view, a
 CONSERVATIVE THOUGHT IN APPLIED ANTHROPOLOGY 251

naive one at best, beeause it is exactly the existence or survival of these

groups that needs to be explained. In focusing on the problem, it is com-
pletely useless to apply eonservative assumptions; it would be better to
study similar situations with the aid of some other analytie eoneepts
like the "interna! eolonialism" proposed by Dr. González Casanova
( 1963: 15--32).
Fifth: Almost all the social problems in the so-called underdeveloped
eountries are related in a direet fundamental manner with low levels of
ineome. These in turn are the result of a type of soeial organization that
prevents an inerease in produetivity at the necessary paee, and also eondí-
tions an unequal distribution of wealth. Such a fact eannot be reasonably
doubted. Hovvever, most anthropological investigations conneeted with
development and welfare programs seem to eonsider level of ineome as a
phenomenon that ean be modified only in a slow and long-term manner.
Anthropologists who like to eall themselves realists and praetieal fre-
quently attempt to raise levels of living without touching the institutional
struetures that cause and permit the existenee of large numbers of people
who grow more impoverished day-by-day. In short, this refers to an
"anthropology of poverty": attempts are made to modify but not to eradí-
cate conditions whieh give rise to poverty.
Sixth: Even though one eould still point to other theoretical premises
that eharaeterize this conservative trend in applied anthropology, 1 shall
mention only one more: the consideration that diffusion is the most im-
portant, and for sorne, the only proeess which must be brought to play in
efforts to promotc ehange in the communities under study. This tendeney
may possibly be related to the faet that many investigations have been
undertaken in eonnection with international assistanee projeets, in whieh,
one naturally searches for the best way of applying externa! aid. In few
eases is there an establishment of goals to accelerate the interna! dynamies
of the societies studied. The problems which preoeeupy anthropologists
are related with greatest frequeney to the action forms needed so that the
population reeeiving the aid program benefits may use it profitably, The
intention is a valid one; but by no means may it be considcrcd as a statc-
ment of the whole problcm.
In summary, we have presented in broad terms the theoretieal postu-
lates which characterize the trend of eonservative thought within applied
anthropology. 1 must repeat that 1 do not eonecive this trencl as a school
of thought that has thus far identified its total body "of postula tes with
great clarity. Nevertheless, it is a trend followed to a greater or lcsser
extent by a number of anthropologists; sorne only hold implieitly or ex-
plieitly to one of the above mcntioned postulates, and at times, even
reject the rest. Others orient their professional activity elosely following
the above-outlined model, and separating from it only fortuitously.
 252 CONSERVATIVE THOUGHT IN APPLIED ANTHROPOLOGY

Now then, in my opinion, the realities of the countries usually called

underdeveloped, like those of Latín America, require that the anthro-
pologist intercsted in the application of this science separate himself
consciously from this conservative trend. The type of applied anthro-
pology required by our countries must begin with premises which are
very different from the ones we have singled out. The magnitude of the
problem with which we are faced and the scarcity of our resources place
us in a situation far different from that of wealthy and highly industrial-
ized nations, Iike the United States of America. We need to establish
hierarchies for our problems; we cannot permit ourselves the luxury of
1 turning our efforts to the acquisition of knowledge about inconsequential
c.... aspects of problems. Thus, as we do not believe that our poverty has a
I psychological origin, nor that it results from the ideas and images peculiar
to our cultural tradition, nor that our basic problems can be explained by
"deficiencies in channels of comrnunications"; so, we do not believe that
studies on thesc themes will give us the knowledge that we fundamentally
need to face our problems.
These are not opportune times to deceive ourselves into thinking that
efforts should be limited to the promotion of small changes, shielding our-
selves with the fear that radical changes will produce disorganization. On
the contrary, we believe that it is the task of the anthropologist to point to
the very frequent uselessness of timid development programs, and that
it is also bis task to demonstrate with scientific rigor the need to carry out
radical changes, that is, changes which get to the root of the problems
themselves. Sometimes it looks as if those who work .along the road of
slow evolution intend to achieve only minimal changes, so that the situa-
tion continues to be substantially the same; this is, in other words, to
change what is necessary so that things remaín the same. Those who act
according to such a point of view may honestly believe that their work is
useful and transforming; however, they have in fact aligned themselves
with the conservative elements who oppose the structural transforrnations
that cannot be postponed in our countríes.
The Latín American anthropologist needs to learn to work well and
rapidly. In Mcxico there are more than 100,000 localities; I do not believe
that any locality wants to be thc last studied by anthropologists, so that
it may then receive scientifically dosed attention. If we are not capable
of generalizing and proposing efficiently and uniformly applied measures,
then we must rccognize that our discipline is not prepared to respond to
the pressing actual needs of our countries. -~.
To state that science is universal is only part of the truth, because
scíence is also an institution and a cumulative tradítion and after all a
' ' '
social product; as such, it necessarily reflects in sorne way the conditions,
values and orientations of the society that produces it. To date, the theory
 CONSERVATIVE THOUGHT IN APPLIED ANTHROPOLOGY 253

of applied anthropology has been one of the items imported into the un-/
derdeveloped countries - an imported ítem, as many others. We receive
from producing countries ( such as the United States, England, France,
and other European nations) many well-elaborated theoretical postulates,
sorne of them perfectly adjusted to our reality and our needs; but others
are infused with a different spírit, foreign to our interest and on occasions,
decidedly contrary to them. This is the conservative thought, before
which there must aríse a dynamic and progressive conception of applied
anthropology, whose proposals correspond to the deep and urgent needs
of Latín America and the rest of the impovcrished and backward areas.
Others before me have discussed these subjects with greater authority
and wíth better documentation, such as Dr. R. A. Manners ( 1956), when
he studied the influence of political interest in foreign aid programs of the
United Sta tes, or Dr. Max Gluckman ( 1963), as he critically analyzed the
applíed anthropology proposed by Malinowski, in the light of British
colonial interests. After them, little can be added; however, I have found
myself in the need to do so, because in addition to my responsibility and
interest as an anthropologist, I have the responsibilities and sentiments of
a Latín American.

NOTES

l. Translated from the Spanish original by Lucy C. Cohen, Ph.D. candidate,

Department of Anthropology, Catholic University, Washington, D.C.
 ~ ~ .

Objectivity in Anthropology

JACQUES MAQUET

Is the "science of man and his works" a real science? We anthropolo-

gists like to think of ourselves as social scientists, and we understand
"social scientists" as being not mcrely students of social phenomena but
specialists dedicated to the building of a scientific knowledge of culture
and society. Is this view supported by our productions: our books and
our articles?
The problem is not new but has not been satisfactorily solved. To con-
tribute modestly to its elucidation, it may be useful to consider in the light
of the epistemology of anthropology a new situation in which sorne an-
thropologists find themselves directly confronted with this old irritating
problem.1
The anthropologists directly concerned are thosc whose research area is
tropical África. During the last decade, this area has seen the emergence
of independcnt states. Africanists had usually been considered very lib-
eral-minded by colonial administrations; they had preventcd traditional
cultures from falling into oblivion and hacl stressed the value of ways of
"Objectívity in Anthropology" by Jacques Maquet is reprinted from Current
Anthropology 5:47-55, 1964, by permission of the author and the publisher.

254
 OBJECTIVITY IN ANTHROPOLOGY 255

life alien to the West. Anthropologists expected that their discipline

would be well received in the newly indcpendent nations, particularly by
the university trained Africans who usually constitute the political and
administrative elite. The very term "anthropology" and its French coun-
terpart, ethnologie (more common in French-speaking Africa than anihro­
pologie socia le), are frowncd on in many quarters; they are suspected of
being tinged with colonialism. New research projects are not always en-
couraged, and sorne African authorities manifest more distrust than
enthusiasm when asked to support or facilitatc anthropological field work. ¡
Sorne African intellectuals feel that earlier anthropological studies were "
biased in favor of the colonial regime, and they fear that new studies
would also have an undesirable orientation.
One answer to these criticisms is to point out that scientific studies,
precisely because they are objective, are not likely to please everybody
( and particularly every government, colonial or independent); it is natu-
. ral enough that African authorities feel suspicious about everything of
European origin, particularly as researches are usually carried on by citi-
zens of the farmer dominant power. Another reaction to these criticisms
is to consider them as an interesting phenomenon likely to shed light upan
: the epistemology of our discipline. This view amounts to the affirmation
that anthropology in Africa has been influenced by the colonial situation,
and not only by its object of study, as is usually expected in a scientific
discipline. Thus an unfareseen consequence of the decolonization process
is to throw doubt upan the scientific character of anthropology.
We shall start from a hypothesis set farth by the sociologists of knowl-
edge. The existential situation of a group within a largcr society is a factor
which conclitions the knowlcdge acquired ancl used by the group. We take
"exístential" as a word referring to the multiplicity of the social, economic,
ancl relatecl determinants ( such as prestigc, power, standing) which ac-
count far the everyday existence of a group.

THE EXISTENTIAL SITUATION OF ANTHROPOLOGISTS

IN THE COLONIAL SYSTEM

During the colonial period, professional anthropologists worked in

Africa under the auspices of universities, museums, rcsearch institutes,
and scientific faundations. These institutions were located in Europc or
in the United States, or wcre African branches of organizations whose
boards of directors, administrative off.ices, and advisory bodics were lo-
cated in Europe, or else African institutions without European head-
quarters but with clase ties to similar European institutions. In the first
case ( the arrangement used most frequently by Americans), anthropolo-
gists were usually scholars who had received grants far specific investiga-
256 OBJECTIVITY IN ANTHROPOLOGY

tions in Africa. In the othcr two cases, anthropologists were permanently

attached to the African bases of thcir institutions, as were the colonial
civil servants and thc local cxecutivcs and staffs of commcrcial and in-
dustrial cnterprises. Scicntific institutions followed the usual colonial
pattern: direction in the home country, execution in the colony.
When in África, anthropologists received what amounted to a fixed
salary, somewhat higher than that of persons doing similar research in
the home country ( all colonial salaries for \Vhites were higher than in
Europe). To the extcnt that it was related to professional achievements,
promotion depended on the judgment of colleagues outside Africa and
was expected to follow thc Western hierarchy of scientific and acadernic
insti tu tions.
From this description of thc cconomic situation of anthropologists, it
appears that they were integrated into the colonial system, whose framc
of reference was extcrnal to the dominated country and in which rewards
were rneasurcd in terms meaningful only in thc outside society. Conse-
quently, the end of the colonial system was likely to have important con-
sequences for anthropologists; and it did.
What was the place of anthropologists in colonial society? The borders
of a colonial society are difficult to establish. If one includes in a society
all the persons who intcract with each other econornically and politically,
it would include both established and transient Europcans as well as all
African inhabitants. If one gives priority to psychological criteria ( feel-
ing of belonging, distinction between insiders and outsiders, recognition
of persons with whom it is normal and propcr to havc face-to-face rela-
tions), then the colonial society would be limited to the whitc minority
living in it ata given time ( Balandier, 1963: 15-22).
Although they studied African groups, and in spite of the very frequcnt
friendships between them and some Africans, anthropologists were not
assimilated to the African layer of the society. They were members of thc
white minority. They lived according to the same patterns, spokc the
same language, and were assigned a certain status within the European
group. The small white caste of a colony was dividcd vertically and
horizontally into sevcral subgroups. The main vertical subgroups wcrc
(a) administra ti ve officers with some public authority, ( b) specialized
personnel of government and semipublic agencies ( medical, vetcrinary,
agricultura! services) and nonprofit institutions ( scientific research organ-
izations, welfare agencies), (e) cxecutives and staff of industrial and
commercial companies, and ( d) settlers. These four vertical groups wcrc
also hierarchics whose main levels were: ( 1) the highcst local authority in
each vertical group ( for example, in the colonial capital, the governor,
the head of the medical servicc, the directors of the institutes, the general
agents of foreign commercial firms, the president of the charnber of com-
 OBJECTIVITY IN ANTHROPOLOGY 257

merce, and so on; similar enumerations could be made on a smaller scale

for each province and district), ( 2) the middle level characterized by
various criteria such as supervision of other European workers under
them, medium salary bracket, and uníversity education, and ( 3) the level
of petty white-collar employees, manual workers acting as foremen for
Afrícan unskilled laborers, shopkeepers, and the like.
In spite of their rather marginal activities, anthropologists were situated
in the ( b) vertical group and in the ( 2) horizontal layer. Others falling
into this group were the middle level specialized personnel of public and
semipublic institutions which organized practica! or fundamental research,
"agricultural development, public health, and related activities. This
strongly hierarchical society ( there was little social intercourse between
the three horizontal groups) was also very fluid in the sense that the
membership was constantly renewed, of thc several vertical groups, only
the settlers who had invested capital and labor were firrnly rooted.
The existential situation of anthropologists may thus be characterized as
follows: They were scholars whose material and professional interests lay
in their home countries but who participatecl in the privileges of thc
dominant caste during their stay in Africa. Their stay might last for a few
years or for all their active life, but, ultimately they returned to Europe.
Their group interests were not significantly different from those of other
middle level specialists. These characteristics of their existential situation
were perfectly compatible with holding progressive views: anthropologists
were not settlers and were not under constraint to view phenomena which
led to increases in wages - for example, advances in education - as
threats, as were the agricultura! settlers. The anthropologists' existential
situation was also compatible with the participant-observer attitude that
sorne of them assumcd, not so much for purposes of research but rather
out of their deep sympathy for the society they were studying. Moreover,
since their activities were marginal, relative to thosc of the production-
conscious European caste, who looked on thc anthropologists' work as a
romantic waste of money, the anthropologists were oriented toward non-
comformist attitudes critical of the colonial order.
Nevertheless, in actuality, the socioeconomic situation of anthropolo-
gists in Africa depended on the stability of the European domination pat-
tern. Europeans of the first three vertical groups ( all those who were not
definitely settled in Africa ) were not likely to feel that the granting of
independence would mean a catastrophic personal loss. Afterward, most
middle level specialists would pro bably rcmain in unchanged capacities:
as experts. Or, if that proved irnpossible, they could without too much
difficulty pursue carecrs in Europe. To sum up, the intercsts of the group
of the white population to which anthropologists belonged were best
served by a position of mild conservatism. The colonial order was not
258 OBJECTIVITY IN ANTHROPOLOGY

worth fighting for, but as long as it lasted, it was a most satisfactory

system for those who profited moderately by it.
It should be stressed that in the hypothesis we follow here, the deter-
mination of the existential situation of a group within a global society is
arrived at by a sociological analysis and not by a public-opinion survey
of the group rnembers. The stated opinions of group members as to their
existential situation are phenomena of another level and may differ sub-
stantially from the results of a sociological analysis; in this instance, they
did. Mild conservatism was not advocated, so far as I know, by members
of the group whose interests would have been well defended by such a
view. On the contrary, many were in favor of maintenance of colonial
rule, even by cocrcion. Individuals are often unaware of the collective
interests of their stratum, or if they are not, do not always perceive the
relation between existential conditions and political views. Nevertheless
these "objective" conditions, according to an important school of sociology
of knowledge, are reflected in the mental productions of the group.

ANTHROPOLOGICAL STUDIES DURING THE COLONIAL PERIOD

But really, are they? Was what Africanists wrote "useful" to the colonial
order? Did it, in fact, help to maintain it? Most anthropological books and
articles published during colonial times focused on traditional cultures,
certainly for scientific reasons. The discovery of ways of life, beliefs, and
art forms completely foreign to \i\Testern patterns had important implica-
tions for anthropology. Consequently, the traditional cultures had to be
studied, and the sooner the better, as they were disappearing. During the
whole colonial period in tropical Africa ( beginning, in the various regions,
in the interval from 1885 to the beginning of the twentieth century and
ending during the period from 1957 to the present - the process not com-
plete for all territories ), interest in the genuine traditional cultures has
been dominant in anthropological literature. However, the image of these
traditional cultures has varicd. We can distinguish very roughly two
periods, separated by the First World War.
Let us consider the most reccnt period first, because it is principally
during the last four decades that the existential situation of anthropolo-
gists has been as described above. The functional theories of Malinowski
and Radcliffe-Brown, different but essentially similar, renewed anthro-
pology in 1922 and had an important effect on African studies ( Malinow-
ski 1922; Radcliffe-Brown 1922). Traditional cultures were seen as in-
tegrated wholes - systems of adaptation of a group to its environment,
and delicately balanced units. Africanists made their readers aware of the
value of these ways of life, which provided adequately for the universal
needs of individuals and societies. This high appreciation of the African
 OBJECTIVITY IN ANTHROPOLOGY 259

past and emphasis on preservation of the traditional cultures werc well

received by African intellectuals. One may say that the proud affirmation
of fidelity to négritude and africanité was made possible by anthropologi-
cal studies.
In acculturation studies, anthropologists went further, asserting that the
Western impact on African societies and cultures was mainly negatíve.
Acculturation studies stressed the disruptive effects of industrialization,
money economy, and Western administration on the harmonious struc-
tures of precolonial societies. From acculturation studies to applied an-
thropology, the distance is short. At the request of colonial governments
and on their own initiative, anthropologists acted as advisers on proposed
or implemented reforms. In either case, the anthropologists have urgcd
that the reforms be as acceptable to the people and as little disruptive of
the social fabric as possible.
These activities at first sight appear to reflect a very enlightened stand,
as indeed they did to the anthropologists concerned. But in fact these
activities were conservative, in the sense that they contributed to main-
tenance of colonial rule.
Around 1920, the conquest period was over in Africa, and military
commandants were replaced by administrative authorities. It was a
period of stabilization. Under the diversity of the British, French, Bel-
gian, and Portuguese colonial policies, thcre was a common concern for
economic developmcnt geared to the metropolitan economic system. To
succeed, the economic growth of the overseas territories had to be ac-
companied by a general and gradual development of other sectors such
as education, public health, and urbanization. But what mattered more
was the gradualness of the evolution. If the process were not slow, politi-
cal and social disorder might prevail. Urban labor was indispensable, but
it could not take on undue importance and its force had to be counter-
balanced by that of the peasant masses.
Valorization and idealization of thc traditional cultures wcrc, for the
colonial regimes, socially useful trends in spite of the apparent opposi-
tions. Indeed, there were contradictions bctwcen traditional political
organization and administrative bureaucracy, betwecn customary law and
ordinances, between old methods of cultivation and new ones recom-
mended by government agronomists, between ancestors' cults and Chris-
tian rites, and the like. But the conservative forces of tradition wcre less
dangerous for the colonial order than the progressive forces emerging in
the industrial regions commercial towns, and middle or higher education
institutions. The real or fictive "legitimate heirs" of the precolonial au-
thorities, included in the colonial administrative hierarchy at the lower
levcls, had become bound up with the colonial order and were usefully
counterbalancing the progressive group.
260 OBJECTIVITY IN ANTHROPOLOGY

In another connection, the stress on the intcrest of the traditional cul-

ture emphasized the differences between the European ways and the
African ones, and this was an effective barrier preventing "natives" from
entering European groups. Traditional costumes, dishes, languages, and
the like were constant reminders that the cultural distance separating the
dominant European minority from the dominated autochthonous popu-
lation was not to be easily bridged. Here again, sympathy for African
folklore was genuinely and sinccrely felt by many whites; but as a group
attitude, it was at least ambiguous.
I do not mean that anthropological writing, by enhancing African
traditional values, has had a significant bearing on the upholding of the
colonial system. This is not our concern here. What matters is that
anthropology was oriented as though it wanted to preserve the existing
situation.
The picture anthropology gave of Africa from the beginning of col-
onization up to the First World War was different. Isolated institutions
( e.g., marriage, kinship), specific religious beliefs ( e.g., animism, poly-
theism), and particular types of material objects ( e.g., bows, arrows,
drums) were more often studied than whole cultures. Evolutionists
attempted to build temporal sequences of stages of development, and
diffusionists were intercsted in contacts and borrowings. The reader of
the ethnological literature of that time was under the impression that
"savages" were very different from Europeans, that they had queer if not
repugnant customs, that they lived in a prelogical world of curious
superstitions, that their strange behavior - deemed a submission to in-
stinctive impulses - was explainable only by a theory of racial inferiority,
and that their ways of life were therefore inferior to "civilizad" ones. All
ethnographic books were far from blunt in expressing these ideas, but of
the writings of that time, most were more or less explicit in their assertion
of these views.
At that time there were not many professional anthropologists working
in África south of the Sabara. Most field reports carne from explorers,
missionaries, and traders and were used by library anthropologists who
had no firsthand knowledge of the people they wrote about. For them,
the "savage" was an abstract concept; a culture was not a reality lived by
a group but was made of separate items which were compared with
similar items from another society; the distinction betwecn race and cul-
ture was not clear. These conceptions, reflecting the level of the develop-
ing discipline of anthropology, account for the image Africanists then
gave of traditional Africa. But again, that picture was just the one cor-
responding to the needs of the first stage of colonization.
Western Europe was at its peak, self-confident and in a conquering
mood. Its industrial development and its econornic system required an
 OBJECTIVITY IN ANTHROPOLOGY 261

expansion beyond its borders. Cheap raw materials were necessary for
the European transforming industries, and new markets were necded for
manufactured Iow-quality goods. These requisites for the prosperity of
the European bourgeoisie wcre found in Africa and other tropical regions
of the world. The partition of Africa into "spheres of iníluence," military
expeditions into the dark continent of "cannibals," and establishment of
colonial rule were made morally acceptable - even virtuous activities -
since the colonized peoples were so different, so inferior, that the rules of
behavior for intercourse with civilized peoples were obviously not ap-
plicable. Indeed, the "savages" were considered fortunate to be put under
the rule of a Western country, to be obliged to work, and to be forbidden
to engage in their immoral practices. The colonial expansion required
that a certain image of the nonliterate peoples be accepted by Western
public opinion. On a more refined level, ethnology supported that picture.
The existential situation of the two groups, which was partly responsible
for that image, was o bviously related to the Western expansion. The
amateur field reporters were directly committed to the colonial enterprise
by their main activities in África, and the library anthropologists had
professional interests in sources of information unavailable in the prc-
colonial period, while their academic institutions shared in the growing
common prosperity of the colonial powers.
In these few paragraphs, we have attempted to indicate the relevant
trends which are excmplified in a considerable portian of the literature on
colonial Africa. Although many exceptions could certainly be pointed out,
it seems not unfair to say that during the colonial period, most anthro-
pological studies were - umvillingly and unconsciously in many cases -
conserva ti ve: first, in that Africans were described as so different from
"civilized" peoples and so "savage" just at the time that Europe necded to
justify colonial expansion; and sccond, in that Iater- on, the value of the
traditional cultures was magnified when it was useful for thc colonial
powers to ally themselves with the more traditional forces against the
progressive Africans. We do not belicve that these parallels are mere
coincidences.

ANTHROPOLOGY ANO SOCIOLOGY

We are not concerned here with the distinctions between social and
eultural anthropology, ethnology, and ethnography. We take "anthro-
pology" as a general term for the different viewpoints expressed by these
four categories, and we distinguish it from sociology. Anthropology is the
study of nonliterate societies and their cultures. Why do we have a
special discipline for "primitive," "simple," preindustrial, nonliterate,
small-scale societies? Why have we reserved the term "socíology" for
262 OBJECTIVITY IN ANTHROPOLOGY

"advanced," "complex," industrial, literate, large-scale societies? Is it

justified to distinguish so sharply as to make of them diff erent disciplines
between two approaches to thc same kind of phenomena (social and
cultural) seen from the same angle (man as a social being)?
There is a justification. Although sociology and anthropology both
study social phenomena, the characteristics of nonliterate societies have
made it necessary to devise special research techniques ( interviews, in-
direct observation of behavior, long stays in the field, and the like), since
the techniques used in literate societies were not applicable ( written
answers to questionnaires, study of archives and other literary sources,
and so forth). A new attitude has also been required of the student; there
is a great difference indeed between the study of one's own society where
the whole culture is taken for granted, and the study of another one, for
which one has to cross a cultural barrier. The signíficant contributions of
anthropology to the study of man - the notion of culture, the conception
of the integrated character of the ways of life of a social unit, the uni-
versals of human societies - have largely originated in the situation of
the anthropologist as carrier of an outside culture.
Whatever the validity of these reasons, anthropology emerged in the
nineteenth century as the discipline devoted to peoples considered by
evolutionists of that time as "prímítíve" and "inferior," whereas sociology
has remained the study of "higher" societies. In recent decades most
anthropologists have avoided the use of terms such as "primitíve" and
"savage" or, if they use them, they have implicitly indicated that they
did not imply a judgment of value; all of them have made serious eíforts
to strip anthropology of its normative connotations; sorne have, with
Professor Herskovits, gone so far as to propase a philosophical position,
cultural relativism, which dcnies the possibility of finding criteria per-
mitting establishment of a hierarchy of cultures (Herskovits, 1948:61-78;
Maquet, 1946:243-56).
In spite of this, societies studied by anthropologists have tended to view
the attention of this discipline as a sign of implicit discrimination; to be
an object of research is never pleasing, and if one feels, as many educated
Africans do today, that selection for study by the "science of savages"
expresses the European conviction of difference and superiority, the un-
pleasantness becomes painful.
This impression is now strengthened as the matter considered the dis-
tinctive province of anthropology no longer exists in Africa. There are
still many African illiterates but I doubt that a single nonliterate society
remains. Everywhere people are reached by the written word, if only
through administrative relationships with their governments. There are
still many peasants tilling the soil according to traditional techniques, but
no place is completely free from the influence of money economy, road,
 OBJECTIVITY IN ANTHROPOLOGY 263

rail, and air transportation, commercial exchange, industry, and cash

erops. It is an illusion to believe that one can still study today an African
society living as if modern tcchniques and institutions did not exist. With
the disappearance of the conditions considered the mattcr of anthropo-
logical study in África, it is likely that the study of preindustrial societies
will be taken on by the historical disciplines, whereas eontemporary so-
eieties will be studied by sociology.
Whatever the outcome of this situation, it seems clear that the existenee
of a partieular discipline dedieated exclusively to the study of non-
Western eultures reBected the Victorian sense of superiority of 19th een-
tury Europe and was perfeetly consistent with, and useful to, the colonial
expansión of that period. Is it not striking that this situation persisted
in África as long as did the eolonial system and had to wait the deeol-
onization proeess to be questioned?

THE SOCIAL PERSPECTIVE OF ANTHROPOLOGY

For many of us who were anthropologists in tropical Afríea, it required

an effort to beeome aware of these disturbing correspondences between
our diseiplíne and the eolonial regime. Certainly psychological resistanees
prevented us from perceiving a function of anthropology that we did not
like. Beeause of our existential situation, eertains aspects of our work
remained in the shadows. On the other hand, many cducated Africans
- not only social seientists - noticed these close relations between
anthropology and colonialism. This eonfirms the importance of the "point
of view," of what Karl Mannheim called the "perspeetive" in the appre-
hension of social phenomena ( Mannheim, 1946:243-56). From our "per-
spective," sorne facts were difficult to see, whereas they were plainly
visible from the "perspcctive" of Afríean nationalists.
The term "perspective" seems particularly well ehoscn bccause of the
visual simile it ealls to mind. When a photograph of a house is taken, the
resulting image depends not only on thc building, but also on the angle,
that is to say, on the position of the camera. Somcone familiar with the
house and its surroundings ean, just by looking at the pieture, determine
the exaet spot where the eamera was set up, even a person who has never
seen the building will note whether the photographer was on the left or
the right side, at street level or above it. There is no picture without a
perspeetive, that is to say, not taken from a definite point.
This is just an analogy, but it helps to understand what is meant by
"perspeetíve" in anthropologieal studies. It is the faet that the anthro-
pologist pereeives the soeial phenomena he studies not from nowhere but
from a eertain point of view, which is his existential situation. To define
adequately an anthropologieal study, it is not enough to indicate its
 264 OBJECTIVITY IN ANTHROPOLOGY

object, e.g., "the social structure of the Mundang;" one should add "as

I
seen by an anthropologist belonging to the socioeconomic middle stratum
of the white colonial minority."
This addition is not just one more welcorne instance of precision, com-
parable, for example, to details of thc intervíewing techniques used. In
the most acute manner, it mises the question of the scientific nature of
anthropology. If thc anthropologist's perspective has to be mentioned, it
means that thc observer's subjcctivity is taken into account. And is not
subjectivity just what sciencc eliminates? To be scientific, should not an
assertion be verifiable by any scientist? And how can an anthropologist
verify what another has written about a certain society if the description
or analysis is determined not only by the object ( the society studied) but
by the subject ( the anthropologist) as well?
Befare attempting to answer these thorny questions, we shall follow the
different stages of the claboration of an anthropological study from be-
ginning to end to see where and how the existential perspective may be
relevan t.
INDUCTIVE ANTHROPOLOGY

On arrival in the field, the anthropologist first looks for facts; that is to
say, for facts which are relevant to the matter he wants to investigate
( e.g., economic and poli ti cal organization) and to his research hypothesis
( e.g., a specialized and permanent body of governing individuals appears
when there is surplus production of consumer goods). This is the first
step in any scientific research.
However, a difficulty arises immediately in relation to observation of
the facts. Social phenomena, cven when reduced to their simplest corn-
ponents, differ from physical phenomena in that the forrner have one or
several meanings as integral parts. The social fact to be observed is not
"a man making utterances in front of a wooden statue" but rather, "a
sorcerer trying to kill somebody by magical means." Or is it "a lineage
head paying respects to his ancestors"? Thus two completely different
social phenomena, an act of magic and an act of ritual, may have, as it
were, the same behavioral manifestations. Without its meaning, an ob-
~ servable behavior is not a fact for the anthropologist. And the meaning
of such behavior is rarely obvious; it requires interpretation - often,
much interpretation. The observer's general knowledge of anthropology,
bis intellectual skill, and bis imagination are important assets in that
interpretation. At the very first step, individual characteristics and social
perspective get into the research process.
At this point, it would be well to note that in our skctchy survey of
African anthropology we have singled out the affiliation of the anthro-
pologist in a socioeconomic group as the only determining influence on
the subject's knowledge. As we were considering only general trends, the
 OBJECTIVITY IN ANTHROPOLOGY 265

individual characteristics of the observer were not mentioned. They con-

stitute, however, another important determinant pertaining to the sub-
ject, and influencing knowlcdge. By "indivíduality," we understand what
Kluckhohn and Murray describe as the product of countless and succes-
sive interactions between the maturing constitution and different environ-
ing situations from birth onward, that is to say, thc innate equipment
developed by different educational processes and moulded by the per-
sonal history ( Kluckhohn and Murray, 1948:35-48). It is by his individ-
uality that the anthropologist ( the subject) reads into the gestores he
observes (the object) the meaning that rnakes of them social phenomena.
In the remainder of this paper, individuality wíll often be mentioned side
by side with social perspective because both are subjective factors con-
ditioning knowledge; but we shall keep our interest focused on the
existential situation.
Then we reach the second step, the factual generalization which syn-
thesizes in a general statement the numerous cases observed, without, in
principle, adding anything to them. However, the effect of generalization
is to amplify subjective factors. An anthropologist who describes witch-
craft as entirely dominating the life of the society he studies may rightly
assume that this is a factual description which simply sums up all the
observations he has made. At the same time, the subjective component
of each particular observation is, so to speak, magnified in the gencraliza-
tion.
The subject's influence on observation and generalization makes it diffi-
cult to verify if the picture givcn by an anthropologist conforms to the
facts. The test would be that other anthropologists come and observe
the same facts, or rather, similar facts - in human action, there is never
more repetition, as in physical science - and compare their dcscriptions.
To my knowledge, this comparative procedure has never been really
carried out. Had this been done, it is highly probable that anthropologists
would have evolved a set of techniques facilitating comparison like the
ones commonly used in social surveys ( e.g., scales of attitudes, sociometric
scales of behavior). Such techniques do not give the final answer to the
pro blem of o bservation and verification of the social phenomena: too
many important and significant facts pass through the too widely-meshecl
net of impersonal techniqucs. But they constitutc an cffort toward
elimination of the individual factor in observation. Such an effort has
not been made in anthropology because research has not been oriented
toward this aim. Up to now anthropologists do not seem to have been
bothered by the influence of their individual characteristics on the collec-
tíon of facts. Incidentally, I do not imply that they should have been
bothered, we shall return to this point below. /
The third step in the inductive stage of anthropology is to draw logical i
inferences from the descriptive generalizations. The logical inferences
266 OBJECTIVITY IN ANTHROPOLOGY

then combine into one or more constructs. The construct asserts more
than do the observations and generalizations, and is not directly verifiable:
it is the theory which explains the observed facts by relating them to more
general principies. For instance, from the observation of a high level of
witchcraft in a society and of an egalitarian repartition of wealth, a theory
may be induced which explains witchcraft as a regulating device acting
as if it were meant to insure a certain economic equality in the society.2
The importance of a theory is not limited to its explanatory value. It
also summarizes in a convenient form a certain number of separate
generalizations which had appeared up to then to be completely unre-
lated. Finally, with the assumption that the principie will be applied to
other behavior than that observed, a theory has predictive value.
In the building of a theory the imagination, the esprit de fmesse, even
the intuitive insight into an alíen culture, play a very important part,
because the logical inductions constituting the theory are not logically
necessary inferences from the observed facts. From observations of
witchcraft and economic behavior, one could induce a different hypothesis
from the one just mentioned; for instance, that there is a positive corre-
lation between sorcery and economic insecurity. On logical grounds, this
theory is as good as the other. The other basis on which the anthropolo-
gist chooses one theory rather than the other, is his total perception of
the society he studies and of the social reality in general.
Does this personal and creative intervention of the subject prevent a
theory from being valid? Not at all. The first criterion for judging a
theory is its explanatory value. The bcst theory is the one which makes
the facts intelligible; that is to say, the one that is most satisfactory to thc
mind. This rather flexible way of judging takes into account the simplicity
of the theory, its logical consistency, and its coherence with a more gen-
eral conception of society. The second criterion leads us back to the
facts: the deduction of the consequences of the theory which constitutes
the deductive process of anthropology.

DEDUCTIVE ANTHROPOLOGY

If a theory is valid, wc may expect that other facts than the ones from
which the theory has been inferred conform to it. If in Society A, eco-
nomic insecurity has produced a high level of witchcraft, in Society B,
where the economic situation is satisfactory, sorcery should not be de-
veloped. Or if witchcraft is linked to cconomic insecurity, it is very likely
that other forms of insecurity will also produce it; thus we should ex-
amine social situations breeding personal anxicty and determine if sorcery
is important. These examples are very crude and obviously are not repre-
sentative of the richness and complexity of anthropological deductions;
 OBJECTIVITY IN ANTHROPOLOGY 267

they are mentioned merely as illustrations of the often-used and well

known logical process of deduction.
Now again, it is easy to see where individuality and perspective may
enter. Like inductive reasoning, deductive inference is not logically
necessary. In his famous theory, Max Weber claimed that the doctrine
of predestination is at the focus of the origin of the spirit of profit in
capitalistic society, because success in trade was considered a sign of
divine election (Weber, 1930: 112-16). Sorokin remarked very aptly that
the doctrine of predestination could just as well lead to passivity and
inactivity: From the premise that human action has no bearing on salva-
tion, it is logical to conclude that it is useless to struggle ( Sorokin, 1937:
503). This means that the anthropologist has a certain leeway in de-
ducing new consequences from the theory he has constructed. As various
propositions may be deduced from a premise, he has a choice; thus he is
led by other considerations than strict logical reasoning.
But, it may be argued, uncertainty disappears when the consequences
deduced from a theory are verified, that is to say, confronted with the
facts, surely, but to a variable extent, depending on thc kind of factual
consequences deduced. If an anthropologist postulates for sorne theoret-
ical reason that in a certain socicty cross-cousin marriage should exist, it
is not too difficult to determine if this is true. But if he postulatcs that
these marriages are "frequent" or "very frequent," it will be much more
difficult to verify these affirmations. And it will be almost impossible to
check a deduction such as "there should be a high level of intrafamily
tensions in a given society." The verification of the deduced consequences
of a theory confronts the difficulties already mentioned in discussing
anthropological observation of social phenomena. Thus, at the end of
this schematic analysis of an anthropological study, we encountcr the
same obstacle met in the very first step: subjectivity in observation.

IS ANTHROPOLOGICAL KNOWLEDGE SCIENTIFIC?

From this short survey of thc different stages of an anthropological

study, it appears clearly that anthropology follows the general pattern of
any Western knowledge, as explicated by Northrop: careful observation
of data, explanation of the data by an induccd theory, and then indirect
verification of thc theory by examining if the facts are in accord with the
deductive consequences of the theory ( Northrop, 1947 :294-97). This
is also the pattern of scientific knowlcdgc.
Like any other knowledgc, anthropology results from an activity in
which a subject thinks about an object distinct from it and says something
about the object. The object is supposed to have an existence independent
of the subject ( i.e., to be "real"), and what is said of it is supposed to
268 OBJECTIVITY IN ANTHROPOLOGY

correspond to the object ( i.e., not to be projected onto it by the subject).

The aim of the knowledge-seeking activity of the mind - as opposed,
for instance, to its artistic or ethical activities - is objectivity, that is to
say, conformity with the object.
Anthropology is, like other knowledge, concerned with objectivity. We
have seen that each step is assessed with reference to the final goal, which
is to express the social reality. Thus, if anthropology is distinct from
science, it is not because they differ as to their ultimate value, objectivity.
But the content of knowledge is never entirely independent from the
subject; rather it is the result of the meeting of the subject and the object.
This is true for scientific knowledge as well as for anthropological knowl-
edge. If they have to be distinguished, it is not on the ground that scien-
tifie knowledge can reach complete independence from the subject
whereas anthropology cannot. Neither of them can. This point deserves
sorne elaboration.
In discussing science, we have in mind not the natural, biological, his-
torical or social sciences, but physics, because it is in this field that scien-
tific methods have been applied most thoroughly and most successfully,
thus affording a more useful contrast. Physical scientists attempt to sup-
press individual differences in their perceptivity: the observer's percep-
tion is limited to the reading of a few figures províded by an instrument,
or resulting from a mathematical treatment of data. Under these condi-
tions, agreement among different observers is easily secured. The image
of physical reality built by science presents characteristics which may be
checked by anybody knowing the proper techniques. This impersonal
verification should not be confused with objectivity; that is to say, inde-
pendence from the subject. The using of techniques in which neither the
individuality of each observer nor his social perspective play any part
eliminates any clue as to the personality and social affiliations of the scien-
tist. But this <loes not mean that the object is the only determinant of
knowledge. The impersonal subject determines the aspect of the reality
which is perceived. The same camera, fixed in front of the same object
illuminated by a constant light, focused at the same distance, with time
and aperture remaining the same, will give identical pictures even when
operated by different photographers, but only if each exposure is made
on emulsions having the same characteristics ( such as color sensitivity,
speed, graininess, contrast). The pictures will be different if the film
sheets used are ortho or panchromatic, color or infrared. Although per-
ceived by an impersonal instrument, the object will produce different
images. All of them are "objective" in the sense that they are partly
determined by the object but not in the sense that the participation of the
subject is eliminated.
Anthropology is not constructed by an impersonal subject. It is in this
sense that anthropology differs from science. As mentioned before,
 OBJECTIVITY IN ANTHROPOLOGY 269

anthropologists in fact have not attempted to elaborate techniques sup-

pressing the personal factors in observation, in spite of the general trend,
based on a high appreciation of achievements in the physical disciplines,
to adoption of impersonal techniques in other fields. Anthropologists
have refrained from doing so because the meaning which is an essential
part of any social phenomcnon is an obstaclc to thc development of im-
personal methods of observation; anthropologists have evcn refrained
from developing impersonal techniques in the restricted field of anthro-
pological phenomena in which it seems that such methods can be applied.
Other disciplines of knowledge - history, political "scíence," art criti-
cism - are in the same situation far similar rcasons. Unfartunately, there
is no name covering all the disciplines of knowledge which have not
eliminated the personal subject. The old term "humanitics" is very clase
to what we are looking far, but it has a broader scope than we wísh: It
includes creative disciplines such as literature or poetry and normativc
ones such as rhetoric and ethics. The supreme value of sorne disciplines
included in the humanities is not objectivity.
Whatever the category in which anthropology should be put, it is
certain that it <loes not provide an impersonal view of social reality. What
our African critics had noticed has been confirmed by our short survey of
the process of an anthropological study. A first conclusion to be drawn
from this is that our studies have too often been presented as though they
wcre based on impersonal procedures: The anthropologist seems to be an
ubiquitous, detached, even abstract observer; sometimes he disappears
altogether as an o bserver. We do not proceed in this manner with the
intention of concealing our perspectives, but because of the high valua-
tion of science, we are led to adopt the impersonal conventions of a
scientific report.
Finally, the crucial question has to be faccd: granted that anthropology
aims at objectivity as much as <loes scicnce, but by other methods than
impersonal techniques of observation, <loes it attain it in sorne measurc?
That is to say, are individual and social perspectives obstacles that hope-
lessly prevcnt us from progressing toward objcctivity?
On a general level, the answer is deceptively simple. The object in its
indcpendencc from the subjcct influences the knowledge that the subject
has of it, even if thc subject has an individual and social situation which
limits his possibilities of perception and thus partly determines his knowl-
edge. The picture of a house is not devoid of objectivity because it is
taken from a certain angle; that view gives only one aspect of the building
and not all of them. It is similar in the case of the sensitive properties of
films: The picture of a landsca pe taken with an infrared cmulsion is very
different from the one taken with a panchromatic one, and yet both have
been affected by externa! light and tell us something objective about the
landscape.
270 OBJECTIVITY IN ANTHROPOLOGY

Unfortunately when we leave photographic comparisons, the precise

assessment of viewpoints, perspectives, and perceptive sensibilities be-
comes much more difficult. It is easy to determine the spot where a
camera is placed and to understand how it affects the picture, it is easy
to analyze how the emulsion has reacted to the externa! light in order to
produce the print we look at. But individual and social perspectives of
an anthropologist are not easy to evaluate. Many more factual investiga-
tions of the relations bctween anthropologists and their studies have to be
carried on before we have at our disposal the analytical tools and cate-
gories permitting us to indicate more adequately the variables of the
observer's situation.
Nevertheless, we should not minimize the positive conclusion reached:
A perspectivistic knowledge is not as such nonobjective; it is partial. It
reílects an externa! reality but only an aspect of it, the one visible from
the particular spot, social and individual, where the anthropologist was
placed. Nonobjectivity creeps in when the partial aspect is considered as
the global one. Any knowledge, even that obtained through an imper-
sonal subject, is partial, thus inadequate to the externa! reality. In sci-
ence, the characteristics of impersonal techniques and instruments are
well known, since procedures have been invented and equipment has been
built by scientists. Therefore, there is little chance of mistaking the in-
complete view they produce for the global one.
Several perspectivistic views of the same social phenomenon help to
describe more precisely each view point and conseqiiently to determine
how each of them affects the resulting knowledge. It is just the inter-
vention of a new perspective, the African nationalist one, which has per-
mitted us to become conscious of the bearing of the previous socioeco-
nomic situation of Africanists on their studies. More is to be expected
from the confrontation of a multiplicity of perspectives than from the
quest for "the best one." If there were a priviledged one, it should be the
anthropological. Even in the colonial situation, anthropologists were
comparable - more so than any other group-to what Alfred Weber
called the "socially unattached intelligentsia" ( Mannheim, 1946: 137).
However, their existential situation has influenced their knowledge. It is
from the comparison of di:fferent existentially conditioned views, and not
by the futile attempt to cleanse one's view of any social commitment, that
more complete knowledge of the object will be obtained.

PROSPECTIVE CONCLUSIONS

In this paper, what African anthropology was and is has been consid-
ered, not what it will or should be. Let us conclude with sorne tentative
remarks .on probable future developments.
 OBJECTIVITY IN ANTHROPOLOGY 271

In the former eolonial eountries whieh have reeently beeome inde-

pendent states, it is very likely that more and more studies will be de-
voted to present-day social phenomena, partieularly to those giving rise
to urgent problems. The parts of the cultures whieh remain influeneed
chiefly by traditional patterns will no longer be studied as if they existed
in isolation, in a sort of timeless present, but rather as parts of the modern,
literate, and industrial global soeiety to whieh they now belong. Several
reeent publications have taken this approach. The diseipline coneerned
with these contemporary phenomena will probably be called "sociology"
instead of "anthropology" or "ethnology." As for societies of the past,
traditional and colonial, they will be studied by history, using its speeific
methods and teehniques.
This <loes not mean that the distinetive approach associated up to now
with anthropology will disappear. Social phenomena with their meaning,
depth, and complexity will still be approached in Africa - as well as
everywhere else in the world, in nonliterate or industrial societies - by
the methods best adapted to them, those in whieh objeetivity, the supreme
value of knowledge, is eonquered by a sociologist endowed with imag-
ination and insight. Limited by his individual characteristies and his
existential situation, he will not pretend to offer impersonal knowledge
but will claim that his results are valid and perspectivistic.
This approach is neither new nor exelusively eharacteristic of anthro-
pology. It is to this approach that we owe nearly all our knowledge of
man and soeiety. The impersonal approach eharaeteristic of the physical
scienees - so suceessful there and already used in sorne social fields -
can be very usefully extended to the few aspeets of soeial phenomena
whieh are liable to be apprehended by their use. No doubt, sorne socio-
logists will be inclined to work on the development of such deviees.
An unexpeeted eonsequence of the deeolonization process and of the
emergenee of new states in Afríea has been to lay bare, for some Afri-
eanists at least, the perspeetivistic character of their discipline and, con-
sequently, to draw their attention to the problem of objectivity in anthro-
pology. Sorne outeomes of this reexamination have been outlined here;
sorne others will perhaps show themselves in thc future. They are them-
selves another example of the influenee of society on knowledge.

NOTES

l. "Epístemology of anthropology" is understood here as the critica} assessment

of the cognitive value of anthropology whereas "sociology of anthropological
knowledge" refers to the study of the social or existential conditioning of
anthropology. The influence of the existential situation on anthropology has
272 OBJECTIVITY IN ANTHROPOLOGY

obviously a bearíng on the cognitive value of our discipline but it seems

useful to keep distinct the viewpoints of epistemology and of sociology of
knowledge (Maquet, 1951:75-78).
2. A theory is understood here as a mental construct from which one can
deduce (a) the observed generalizations, and (b) hypotheses, that is to say
its logical consequences formulated in such a way that they can be confirmed
or infirmed by observation (Maquet, 1951:236-240).
 21 .

Statement on Ethics of the

Society for Applied Anthropology

The following statement was unanirnously approved at the twenty-

second annual meeting of the Society.
( 1) An applied anthropologist may not undertake to act professionally
with or without remuneration, in any situation where he cannot honor all
of the following responsibilities within the limit of the foreseeable effects
of bis action. When these responsibilities are in conflict, he must insist
on a redefinition of the terms of bis employment. If the conflict cannot
be resolved, or if he has good reason to suspect that the results of his
work will be used in a manner harmful to the interests of bis fellow men
or of science, he must decline to make bis services available. To Science¡
he has the responsibility of avoiding any actions or recommendations that
will impede the advancement of scientific knowledge. In the wake of his
own studies he must undertake to leave a hospitablc climate for future
study. With due regard to his other responsibilities as set forth here, he
should undertake to make data and findings available for scientífic pur-
"Staternent on Ethics of the Society far Applied Anthropology" reprinted from
Human Organizatioti 22:237, 1963, by permission of the publisher.

273
274 STATEMENT OF ETHICS

poses. He should not represent hypotheses or personal opinions as scien-

tifically validated principies.
( 2) To his fellow men he owes respect for his dignity and general well-
being. He may not recommend any course of action on behalf of bis
client's interests, when the lives, well-being, dignity, and self-respect of
others are likely to be adversely affected, without adequate provisions be-
ing made to insure that there will be a minimum of such effect and that
the net effect will in the long run be more beneficia! than if no action were
taken at ali. He must take the greatest care to protect his informants,
especially in the aspects of confidence which his informants may not be
able to stipulate for themselves.
( 3) To his clieiüs he must make no promises nor may he encourage any
expectations that he cannot reasonably hope to fulfill. He must give them
the best of his scientific knowledge and skill. He must consider their
specific goals in the light of their general interests and welfare. He must
establish a clear understanding with each client as to the nature of his
responsibilities to his client, to science, and to his fellow men.
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