I have just returned from a field trip to the Baliem Valley, Jawawijawa, in the highlands of Indonesian Papua. I spent some time with the Dani, learning a little about their culture and economy. (Note for Googlers: I must emphasise that I mean 'a little' - I would need to live here for years to get any meaningful sense of the place, so my impressions here should not be interpreted as imparting any expertise).
As you can see from the picture, despite persistent efforts by evangelical American missionaries and scandalised Javanese government administrators, the Dani people refuse to forgo their distinctive Koteka (penis gourd) and don the second-hand clothes that were occasionally air-dropped from missionary planes.
Interestingly, the local people do not use the term 'Dani' to describe themselves, despite its widespread use by ethnographers and tourist guides. They tell me that the name probably arose from a misunderstanding when the first visitors came to the area, and were told that the local people were called 'Lani', which is actually a distinct tribe (suku). The term 'Dani', on the other hand, refers to the cultural and linguistic characteristics that are shared by a number of tribes in the valley, and is thus about as useful as 'Celt'.
Apparently, each Suku is divided into Marga (clan), which in turn is divided further into family groups (often referred to locally as 'klan', somewhat confusingly). The people I visited were from the Hubula and Walesi clans. There are two major characteristics of life in the valley: war and pigs.
War
The pecking order of Marga within the Suku, and the ascendency of each Suku vis-a-vis the other tribes, is mediated through war. Each tribe has a Panglima Perang (war chief), whose holds the responsibility to declare war, and will punish any individual (or family) who is aggressive towards another clan or tribe without his consent. War is thus a quite organised affair, and the frequently bemused local police force (all immigrants from other parts of Indonesia) have to take a pragmatic approach to policing. The heavy-handed approach seen elsewhere in Indonesia, and especially Papua, by Polres (local police) or Brimob (anti-riot police) does not seem to be an option where traditional warfare is concerned. (Though actions by OPM - the free Papua movement - or aggression against migrants is met with the full force of the law).
While I was visiting a clan up in the foothills (studying a very interesting micro-hydro project, of which more later), we were met by a large group of men walking up the track. They told us that war had broken out between two Suku, and at least one or two warriors had been killed. One of my colleagues on the field trip happened to be a Kepala Suku (tribal head), so he had to dash off to see what was up, though it did not seem to directly effect his tribe. My friends attempted to explain the antecedents to the conflict, and its likely outcome, but frankly it was an uphill struggle. I reflected on how much success I would have had trying to explain the 1914 Balkans crisis to these tribesmen, and realised that context is everything.
Most wars here seem to be about land. I was shown a large coffee plantation (60 hectares) that used to belong to a rival tribe but was seized by the Lani during a cunning invasion some years ago. Its ownership by the Lani is now undisputed, recognised by all tribes, and yet in years to come that situation may change. For someone attempting to design a rural economic development intervention, this makes for a rather complex state of affairs.
Pigs
It is hard to overstate the importance of pigs to the political and social economy of the Baliem Valley. Pigs are a store of wealth, a sign of status and the lubricant for any social or political transaction. For any marriage to take place, the rules of 'Mas Kawin' must be followed, somewhat similar to the 'Belis' system in Flores (which I must have written about before on this blog). This is a complex series of transactions, whereby the parents of the groom give a number of pigs to the parents of the bride (or possibly the uncles), and the uncles of the bride provide a number of pigs for consumption at the festival. Thus the value of wives is expressed in terms of pig currency, and although outsiders often remark that in Papua a woman is worth less than a pig (attempting to make some gender politics point, no doubt), this is manifestly untrue as a wife is always purchased for more than one pig (maybe three or four), so in strict market economy terms a woman is worth a lot more than one pig...
Important events, such as marriages, deaths, fertiity rites and the breaking of new land (as part of the shifting cultivation system - which shall not detain us here), must be accompanied by the exchange and slaughter of pigs. In fact, if no pig is involved then the event is invalid in the eyes of all present, and the clan would be held in utter contempt (and then probably invaded - see above).
As a result of this predominance of pigs as a store of value, in economic terms they are analogous to gold. Like gold, they are sold by weight, are not income producing (in fact they cost money to keep, just as gold imposes security costs), and their market value far outweighs their intrinsic value. Pigs are not quite as fungible as gold, but in general they are assumed to meet a certain quality threshold. A large pig will be worth from Rp20m ($2,000) and may be worth as much as Rp50m ($5,000). Small piglets can be found in the market for between Rp2m - Rp4m ($200 - $400). In other parts of Indonesia, these prices would be considered outlandish - a large sow in Flores would be worth around $150 - $200.
To keep all these pigs in peak condition, they are not fed any old crap as they are in Flores (we kept a pig with scraps for two years, so we know what they can eat). These pigs eat sweet potatos (Ubi Jalar), which are first baked on hot stones for their delectation. Thus the market for pigs drives the market for sweet potato, and a sty of five pigs will cost $15 per day, or $5,500 a year to feed. Of course in almost all cases the clan grows its own food, needing around one hectare of ubi jalar cultivation to feed the pigs (and thus more land to provide food for themselves), so this is not a cash cost, but it is an opportunity cost in terms of labour and land use (which wlll be the subject of my report).
Richer than you?
Outsiders observe the living conditions of the tribes and deem them to be experiencing in profound poverty. However, the people themselves (the men, at any rate) regard themselves as rather well-to-do, and in fact their whole status and self-respect is predicated on the formula of land + sweet potato + pigs = wealth and power. In that respect, their attitudes are similar to the western materialism, though perhaps in the west we lack the strong cultural ties that bind the Dani to a very specific way of going about the business of war and pig rearing.
Over the next few weeks I will try and post some more reflections on the ways of the Hubula and Walesi.
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