In many societies, ideas about sexuality assume more concrete form. In fact, the pronounced nature of sexuality in other societies has taken some anthropologists by surprise. For example, Harold Schneider writes of his work with the Turn, “I did not set out to study sexual behavior, but became acquainted with an important dimension of sexual roles in the normal course of a predominantly social anthropological study”. Schapera made much the same transition upon contacting the Kgatla: “I was continually struck by the open importance they attached to the sexual aspect”. In addition to these comments from Africa, the openness of sexuality has left impressions on researchers working in Polynesia, South America, the Caribbean, and Melanesia.
However, that which takes the ethnographer by surprise—sometimes requiring her or him to re-think the focus of a project—comes as no surprise to the native. “Alligatoring” makes sense to the Mehinaku. Sexual segregation at work and in ceremony makes sense to them too. It is this sense that the symbolic anthropologist hopes to reveal and understand. With this approach symbols are investigated as the basic building blocks of the ideological system. Symbols stand in relationships; they do not stand for something else.
Returning to the matter of Mehinaku extramarital sexual activity, we find that Gregor resorts to a Durkheimian notion of mechanical social cohesion in his explanation. Mehinaku affairs create relationships which keep the community together, though one wonders how. “Extramaritality,” to coin a workable expression, is also an important basis of economic distribution, according to Gregor. Women receive “modest but regular amounts of fish throughout the year” if they are sexually active.
There is yet a third component in Gregor’s analysis. Extramaritality engenders what Gregor calls an “underground kinship system,” “wherein the relationships engendered by extra-marital affairs are performed discreetly so as not to embarrass or anger the cuckolded spouses”. Crocker, studying the Canela Indians of Brazil, reports on an “underground kinship system” that goes one step beyond the Mehinaku system. The Canela (or at least the men) appear to speak to their “underground kinsmen,” the consanguinal relatives of the “classificatory wives” or mistresses’ with the appropriate affinal term of address. He will even refer to their children as “my children,” and assume other aspects of the paternal role.
The Mehinaku and the Canela provide examples of systems in which the form of kinship relationships is extended to persons (and to persons related to persons, in the Canela case) understood to share paternity through sexual acts. In one case from Africa, however, the political dimension is constructed somewhat differently. Harold Schneider’s analysis of mbuya (“lover,” or “paramour”) among the Turn of Tanzania argues that the Turn family organization is based on productive cooperation, not romantic love. Apparently the Turu have learned that the political dimension of marriage is complicated enough without adding to that burden the emotional peaks and valleys of romantic love. In short, Turu love and marriage do not go together. Marriage is a “lease of rights in a woman to her husband in return for bridewealth”. A smart husband would hesitate to divorce a productive wife, so presumably the fact that they have romantic affairs outside of marriage is tolerated by the husbands. Wives show similar tolerance. Schneider argues that “this tenuous marriage . . . would be endangered by romantic love, with its ups and downs”. Whether or not Schneider is correct, that is, if romantic love would indeed contribute serious instability in a basically political relationship, he has directed our attention to a group whose ideology places marital relationships (I hesitate to call them sexual) and extramarital sexual relationships in tension and opposition.
The opposition appears to be somewhat differently structured among the Mehinaku and Canela for whom it has been reported that “kinship” is extended through the possibility of “multiple paternity.” For these people we probably will not find a sexual/political opposition as with the Turu; instead, they have achieved levels of kinship structure—the so-called underground and above-ground system of ratified kinsmen—that contribute to the tensions of social life. Although a Mehinaku or a Canela may have scores of kinsmen, groups of kinsmen are set off through an opposition between those who are related to ego through ego’s mother’s husband, and those whom ego knows to be related to him or her as partial fathers through their sexual activity with ego’s mother during her pregnancy. Acknowledgement of this latter group of kinsmen, on the instructions of ego’s mother, is a recognition of the multiple sexual relationships of the mother, in which case we can say that her sexuality contextualizes the child’s social world.
This cultural structure contrasts with the ideological universe of the Turu, who live in two worlds, a body politic and a body sexual, as it were. The important point here is that sexual symbolism can form part of the structure of a bisected world, the other world being political (e.g. the Turu case), or it can provide an overarching structure in which ratified and surreptitious kinsmen are identified and opposed (e.g., Mehinaku, Canela). These two contrasting cases illustrate the insight into cultural systems possible when sexuality is studied within a framework of ideology, rather than separately.
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