ABSTRACT
Much has been written about Yolŋu social organisation since Lloyd Warner’s early ethnography (1937). Debates within this literature have predominantly focused on the relative independence of bäpurru groups, a significant social unit within Yolŋu society, and whether these can accurately be described as ‘corporate descent groups’. To develop a fresh perspective on Yolŋu social organisation, this paper presents an exploration of five drawings by Dhambiŋ Burarrwaŋa and her waku (daughters, sister’s daughters), a novel methodology which has allowed us to recast well-known anthropological tropes within a setting of relational growth and cross-cultural communication. Rather than outlining a structural model, themes of raki’ (strings), luku (foot, footprint, anchor, root of a tree), gamunuŋgu (white clay), and lirrwi (ashes, shade) are explored in detail, as they reveal multiple layers of complexity and connection within otherwise abstract notions like ‘clan’. The drawings and accompanying exegesis situate Yolngu identity within living social connections. What emerges is a relational portrait that embeds the ‘clan debate’ within those relationships that make understanding possible in the first place.
Introduction
Much has been written about Yolŋu social organisation since W. Lloyd Warner’s now classic structural-functional ethnography of 1937 (Warner Citation1937 (1964); Morphy Citation1991, Citation1997; Williams Citation1983, Citation1999; Keen Citation1995, Citation2000). Each approach has offered further insight into different aspects of the Yolŋu regional socio-political system; all attest to the integrity and continuity of definite sociomaterialFootnote1 forms comprising this system. At its most basic, this comprises an underlying and universal system of gurruṯu (kinship) relations across northeast Arnhem Land, within which the most prominent and important social groupings comprise approximately 60 bäpurru groups, generally defined as patrifilial clan groups.
One widespread approach describes bäpurru as corporate, exogamous clan groups, each of which is included in a number of cross-cutting sets or aggregates of different kinds (see Warner Citation1937 (1964); Morphy Citation1991, Citation1997; Williams Citation1983, Citation1999). Keen challenged this conventional view of Yolŋu social organisation in his major ethnography (Citation1994) and a number of subsequent papers (Citation1995, Citation2000), arguing against the description of bäpurru as corporate decent groups. The concept of the corporate descent group, he argues, relies on images of ‘equivalent segments, external boundaries, and levels of taxonomic hierarchy’ which themselves depend on spatial metaphors of enclosure and boundaries. Seeking to foreground Yolŋu narrative metaphors, Keen argues that Yolŋu group identities instead extend outward from foci and consist of ‘strings of connectedness’ (Citation1995: 502, Citation2000: 421). Yolŋu modes of group identity and relations, he argues, involve images drawn from the human body and plants, and beliefs about ancestral journeys and the traces these ancestors left in the landscape:
Far from being constituted by enclosure within boundaries or related in a taxonomic hierarchy of group and sub-group, Yolŋu identities, like their concepts of place, extend outward from foci. Connections among such identities are not those of enclosing sets but are those of open and extendable ‘strings’ of connectedness. (Citation2000: 421)
Both Keen and Rudder employ the concept of ‘focus’ or ‘foci’ to express the anchored nature of bäpurru as well as ‘points where a set of relationships come together’ (see Rudder Citation1993: 23). Rudder suggests that a bäpurru identity can be considered as functioning as ‘one of the nodes or points to which a set of relationships is attached’ (Citation1993: 23).
While such debate has been shaped by a desire to better understand and communicate integral dynamics within Yolŋu society – dynamics which extend to practices of ecological management, politics, and ceremonial performance – what is lacking is a consideration of structural forms outside the self–other binary of the Western individual, and of the undercurrent of movement and vitality that underlies the Yolŋu system.
Compared with these approaches, this article represents a slightly unconventional approach to the description of Yolŋu social organisation and a cross-cultural collaboration between Dhambiŋ and I, who have worked with one another since around 2007. Along with our late yapa (sister), Batumbil Burarrwaŋa, Dhambiŋ has been my closest sister, mentor, and teacher. Dhambiŋ and Batumbil adopted me into the Maṯamaṯa based Burarrwaŋa lineage of the Gumatj bäpurru as their yapa (sister). One’s bäpurru, and specifically one’s place within that bäpurru, situates a person structurally within the Yolŋu system of gurruṯu (kin/ship) and rom (law) and, as we will see in this paper, in physical space as well. This is true for Yolŋu as well as Balanda (white people), like myself, who are adopted into the system. Your bäpurru gives you an anchored place in the world, a place from which you learn to orient yourself, a place from which to consider connections to other people and places. I use inclusive pronouns like ‘us’ and ‘our’ when talking about Dhambiŋ and ‘our’ bäpurru throughout this paper because this is the polite and proper manner of speaking, given my relationship to Dhambiŋ and our family – but, of course, I remain a Balanda (white person) and I am under no delusion that my connections and experiences are comparable to those of my adoptive Yolŋu kin.
This paper is structured around a series of drawings made by Dhambiŋ and our close waku (sister’s child)Footnote2 to help me understand why my questions about social organisation were always met with further questions – rhetorical responses that spoke of raki’ (strings), ḻuku (foot[-print], anchor, root of a tree) gamanuŋgu (white clay) and lirrwi’ (ashes, shade). While this discussion is grounded in the well-known literature on Yolŋu social organisation relating to bäpurru or clans and their relation to land and associated, broader social groupings, less known are the local terms and concepts through which these sociomaterial forms and relations are articulated and how they express local understandings about personhood. This series of drawings illustrates the form of Yolŋu social organisation. Together with the considered exegesis offered by Dhambiŋ and waku, they introduce the regional system of social organisation in Yolŋu terms and present a relational portrait of Yolŋu social organisation.
Series of Drawings and Associated Exegesis
Dhambiŋ and waku produced the following drawings to help me understand the nature of bäpurru and relations between them. This was the only time during this period of fieldwork that Dhambiŋ suggested using drawing as a methodology; it was solely for my understanding of the nature of bäpurru and the relationship between them, that these drawings were made. Dhambiŋ could see that I was not understanding the verbal descriptions and explanations of bäpurru offered by her and others, especially the relevance of raki’ (strings, ropes) to these groups, so suggested I bring the large roll of butcher’s paper I’d previously used it to map out genealogies with Dhambiŋ and others, and felt pens, and meet her down at bottom camp the following day. Bottom camp refers to the three dwellings located in the lower half of the community, closer to the water’s edge. We sat under the shade of the mango tree near Dhambiŋ’s house where waku was also staying.
The informal session began with Dhambiŋ telling me to draw a dharpa (tree). ‘Ŋilimurru bäpurru, Gumatj’ (Our bäpurru, Gumatj), she began. The instruction and subsequent discussion followed from there. Dhambiŋ and waku led the process and I interjected only when I needed clarification on what to draw or write. At times, Dhambiŋ told me what to draw and I drew it; sometimes she took the pen and drew for herself. Audio of the conversation was also recorded.
The First Drawing
The first drawing is of a tree, which Dhambiŋ and waku described as ŋilimurruŋgu bäpurru, Gumatj (Our bäpurru, Gumatj) (). The exegesis given below relates to the numbered parts in the drawing.
‘Dharpa, rumbal, body, ŋilimurru waŋgany bäpurru, where we come from’.
Tree, torso, body: we are one bäpurru, where we originate, where we come from.
Luku nherran gamunuŋguŋura, lirrwiŋura, wäŋaŋura.
The footprint/root of the tree is emplaced in the white clay, in the ashes/shade, in place on Country.
The various branches, from left to right are as follows:
Figure 1. The first drawing.
(4) On top of the soil:
(5) Slightly above the soil:
The tree is ‘us’, the collective body of the bäpurru. All bäpurru, and indeed everything in the Yolŋu world, belong to one of two moietiesFootnote3 – Dhuwa and Yirritja. Gumatj belongs to the Yirritja moiety. The trunk of the tree represents that part of the bäpurru that is gäna (separate, alone) and wiripu (different, distinct). The trunk is where the bäpurru is ‘one’ and represents aspects of the bäpurru that are unique and not shared with others.
The root or base of the tree is the site at which the bäpurru is anchored in place on country. These are actual geographic locations on each bäpurru’s hereditary estate. These places are referred to as dhuyu wäŋa (sacred places) or luku wäŋa (footprint/anchor places). These ḻuku wäŋa have existed in place in their present day locations since before Balanda (white people, European) records began. They are the most salient and significant form of social differentiation in the Yolŋu social world and the focal point of each estate – as per Keen’s foci (Citation1995, Citation2000). White clay and ashes are essential elements of this sacred footprint, which we discuss further in relation to the second drawing.
The branches are ‘branching out, becoming separate’ from the anchored body. This branching occurs in geographic space relative to the body of the bäpurru, which is anchored in place at the ḻuku wäŋa (footprint, anchor place). They are also branching out and becoming separate in terms of kinship relations, which are understood through a sense of relative distance to the unity of the anchored body of the bäpurru. The distance of kinship is measured from this site: Yolkala gumurrlili (with whom towards the chest), i.e. one’s closest kin are ‘towards the chest’ – the rumbal (trunk/torso) of the bäpurru.
Similarities are drawn between the gurrkurr (branches) and waṉa (roots/veins, branches, arms). Here, it is important to note the overlapping and differentiated terminology. The branches and roots are the same in the sense that they are both raki’ (strings, ropes)Footnote4: branches and roots are ties of kinship that bind people together through mutual obligations and responsibilities and draw people together through mutual ties of affiliation and affection. While they are the same in this sense, that are also qualitatively different from one another: the branches, waṉa, are above the soil and ‘outside’, whereas the roots, gurrkurr, are underground and ‘inside’ (Frances Morphy pers. comm. 2014). This distinction between ‘inside’ and ‘outside’ is a key ordering principle in Yolŋu epistemologies and one that is crucial to understanding the Yolŋu system of knowledge (H. Morphy Citation1991: 78). While this contrast is a logical schema that can be applied to many situations, the opposition between inside and outside generally refers to a continuum of esoteric and exoteric meaning – to a continuum of more restricted to less restricted knowledge (Morphy Citation1991, Keen Citation1994). It also refers to an opposition between ‘inside’ things that are ancestrally powerful and sacred and are thus restricted, as opposed to ‘outside’ things which are neither (Morphy Citation1991). Things that are ‘inside’ are maḏayin (sacra) and dhuyu (sacred) whereas things that are ‘outside’ are yaraŋu (ordinary, profane) and garma (public, in the public domain).Footnote5
The roots might therefore be considered as established a priori, ‘underneath’ as a foundation of rom (law). The roots denote ‘inside’ ceremonial relations between bäpurru on the basis of shared maḏayin (sacra). They are raki’ established underneath, romkurru, wäŋakurru (through law, through country; ). These roots not only spread apart but come together, an important social form known as riŋgitj: ‘Wanhamala ŋayi riŋgitj?’ (Towards where is that joint ceremonial group/ground? ). Riŋgitj groups are made up of multiple bäpurru on the basis of shared maḏayin (sacra). Riŋgitj sites are actual places on country where riŋgitj groups come together for ceremony.
In contrast, the waṉa (branches, arms) are secondary in the sense that they grow and are given form through matrilineal affiliation and marriage. As the second drawing shows (), the branches represent significant kinship relations between people in different bäpurru formed in this way.Footnote6
Figure 2. The second drawing.
The tree, as we have explained, is a model of the bäpurru or collective self – it is the ‘we’ and ‘us’ of each bäpurru. Relatedness here is a measure of distance from the trunk/torso, anchored in place at the ḻuku wäŋa (footprint, anchor place). This is the ‘sacred place, where we are from’ (). This is also the proprietorial shade of kinship, further discussed below. The footprint/anchor of the tree-body, we suggest, is the anchor of identity or self-understanding. Dhambiŋ’s comment, Wanhamala ŋilimurru gorru[-ma] wäŋalili (We exist towards that place) speaks further to the luku wäŋa (footprint places) as the anchor of self-understanding. The term gorru[-ma], in fact, literally means ‘well, soak, womb, vessel’ and refers to the paramount source of fresh water at the centre of each ḻuku wäŋa. This is the place from which the mali (image, reflection, shadow) of children of each bäpurru are said to originate and to which the spirit of the deceased is returned after death.
The Second Drawing
The second drawing was labelled ‘northeast Arnhem [Land]’ and shows the connections between different bäpurru in a regional setting.
The tree at the top-left of the page is labelled:
Bäpurru, gamunuŋgu, dhulaŋ.
Bäpurru, white clay, (clan) design.
At the base of the same tree (top, left) is written:
(2) Wanhamala ŋali yurru gumurr-yulkthunmirri gamunuŋgu?
Towards where is the place we always paint on our chests?
Ḻikan ga gamunuŋgu.
Elbow (names) and white clay.
Written diagonally on the left side of the page reads:
(3) Wanhamala ŋali yurru giritjirri likanlili, riŋgitjlili?
Towards where will we dance, towards the elbow (names), towards the joint ceremonial group/ground?
(4) Nhaltjan ŋali yurru ŋama’ŋama’yun litjalaŋgu gurrutumirri?
How will we create kinship for ourselves?
The circled cluster near the centre of the page was labelled in English as ‘roots’. The writing on this part of the drawing, diagonally below the cluster reads:
(5) Raki’ dhurrwara manapan riŋgitjgu, manikaywu, gakalwu.
The ends of the roots join together for the riŋgitj group/site, for songs, for ceremony/dancing.
Just below this writing and written in pen is:
(6) Dhuwala manapan wäŋalili mittji ŋuli.
The group is linked together forever to that place.
The writing in pen in the space in the upper left centre of the page is:
(7) Wanhamala ŋilimurru gorru[-ma] wäŋalili
We exist towards that place.
Here we see the tree-body anchored in place in relation to others. We get a sense of the relationships between bäpurru from a regional perspective and a description of the attributes that make each bäpurru ‘wiripu’wiripu’ (distinct, different) as well as the shared attributes that they hold in common with significant others.
As in the first drawing, the rumbal (trunk/torso) and the ḻuku (root of the tree, footprint, anchor) are those parts of the bäpurru that are discrete and unique. But what of the attributes of this part of the group? What do these members have or ‘hold’ together to the exclusion of others? Each bäpurru has a unique corpus of maḏayin that they alone hold. This is, in effect, their ‘title’ to country. These are aspects of the identity of the bäpurru that are unique – attributes that it does not share with any other bäpurru. Minimally, this includes a ḻikan design (clan design) and a number of ḻikan names pertaining to the rapam (big name Country) for which they are wäŋa-wataŋu (land-owners). Such designs are, in a very real sense, the imprint of the footprint or anchor of the bäpurru, impressed in place in the foundation of rom (law). The ḻikan design is described as the ‘image’ of the ḻuku, the footprint or anchor of the bäpurru, and the place where it is impressed is the ḻuku wäŋa (footprint, anchor place) for that bäpurru and everyone in it. These are actual sites and the focus of life on Country in the sense that each homeland community – the houses, airstrip and other infrastructure – is typically located near this site on each estate.
The ḻuku (footprint, anchor) is described as being impressed in the foundation of rom (law), gamanuŋguŋura (in the white clay) and lirrwi’ŋura (in the ashes). The mention of gamanuŋgu (white clay), specifically white clay on the chest, is a reference to the painting of the likan design on the chest of initiands and on the chest of the deceased in preparation for burial. The ḻuku impressed in the ashes refers simultaneously to three things: the hearth of one’s homeland or yirralka (sometimes used as a synonym for ḻuku wäŋa) around which generations of kin sit, live, share food and grow; the shade of the tree as the proprietorial shade of kinship, relative to the trunk of the tree,Footnote7 and; the shade of the mortuary shelter under which the body of the deceased is kept prior to mortuary rituals. These are all considered as part of the ‘footprint’ of the bäpurru anchored in place at the ḻuku wäŋa (footprint, anchor place). As our late yapa (sister) once explained: ‘Lirrwi’ ḻakarama wanhamala ŋilimurru lirrwi’. Lirrwi’ representing wäŋa, wäŋa nhinanarawu. Footstep lirrwi’ŋura, warraw’ŋura, shadeŋura’. (The ashes/shade tells us where our shade/ashes are. The ashes/shade represent our place, our place for stopping/living. Our footstep is in the ashes, in the shelter, in the shade.)
For Yolŋu, the hearth of one’s ḻuku wäŋa (footprint, anchor place) is the centre of life for generations of Yolŋu of the same bäpurru and residential group (see Tamisari Citation1998). The footprint in the ashes speaks of residential rights but it is far more than that too – it is the focal point of life and death for generations of kin living together and belonging on the same homeland or yirralka (sometimes used as a synonym for ḻuku wäŋa).
The roots, manapan riŋgitjgu, manikaywu, gakalwu (join together for the riŋgitj group/site, for songs, for ceremony/dancing; ). These are the ‘underneath’ strings of relatedness from that join people, groups and places together through madayin (sacra).Footnote8 These are the ceremonial raki’ (strings, roots) that cross-cut the region. Where they come together in a dense cluster, as in , this represents both a riŋgitj group and a riŋgitj site where the different bäpurru comprising the riŋgitj group literally gather for ceremony. Recall Dhambiŋ’s explanation in , Dhuwala manapan wäŋalili mittji ŋuli (The group is linked together forever to that place): this is about riŋgitj as a group and riŋgitj as an actual geographic site on Country.
The Third Drawing
Waŋgany manapanmirri.
Joined together as one.
The writing in the branches (from left to right) reads:
(2) Ŋathi, momu.
Mother’s father (MF), father’s mother (FM).
Ŋändi, ŋapipi.
Mother (M), mother’s brother (MB).
Waku-walala
Woman’s children (wC)/sister’s children (ZC).
Märi.
Mother’s mother (MM), mother’s mother’s brother (MMB).
The top branch, ‘branching off’ the ŋändi, ŋapipi branch is labelled:
(3) Ŋilimurru.
Us.
Extending from the branch labelled ŋilimurru (not visible) is:
(4) Dhuway.
Father’s sister’s child (FZC)/husband.
Extending from the branch labelled dhuway is:
(5) Gaminyarr, gutharra.
Woman’s son’s child (wSC/ZSC), woman’s daughter’s child (wDC)/ sister’s daughter’s child (ZDC).
Here we see the self and its relationship with significant others in more detail. Once again, the trunk/body represents the minimal unity of the bäpurru as a discrete or autonomous entity: this is where the bäpurru is waŋgany manapanmirri (joined together as one).
The branches here are kin from different bäpurru who are nonetheless joined to the rumbal (trunk/torso) of the bäpurru through the matriline and by marriage. These are particularly significant galki (close), yindi (big) or dhaŋaŋ’ (full) kin from different bäpurru (and thus different tree/bodies according to this model) but who are nonetheless joined together via the branches to the collective self. At this level, the tree can represent an individual or a bäpurru.
From a socio-centric point of view and looking at the system in the abstract from an outsiders perspective, the kin waku and Dhambiŋ identified as branches of the bäpurru are all from one of four bäpurru involved in the marriage bestowal cycle.Footnote9 (below) provides a diagrammatic representation of Dhambiŋ and waku’s diagram. This is a genealogical diagram illustrating bestowal relations and a genealogical bases for socio-centric clan relations (adapted from Morphy Citation1991: 55). Each ‘tree’ is a bäpurru joined together with significant others. It is therefore important to point out that the ‘tree’ does not actually constitute a singular bäpurru. The various kin relations denoted by these branches belong to from different bäpurru and thus different collective bodies, as per Dhambiŋ and waku’s drawings (). There is great stability in this system and the branches of each bäpurru grow, fall away, and regrow as interdependent forms.
Centred on a male ego, the marriage bestowal cycle involves interrelations between five bäpurru. Excluding one’s own (and thus one’s father’s) bäpurru these include two of each moiety: märi-pulu (MM bäpurru) and ŋäṉḏi-pulu (M bäpurru) to the right of ‘us’ in the diagram, and waku-pulu (wC/ZC bäpurru) and gutharra-pulu (wDC/ZDC bäpurru) to the left. Men look to their male märi (MMB) to bestow his own daughter (gäthu) as their mother-in-law (mukul rumaru), and to their ŋapipi (MB) to bestow one of his own daughters to them as a wife (galay MBD). This is possible because ŋapipi marries mukul rumaru (Frances Morphy pers. comm. 2012).
With some exceptions, F. Morphy observes, ‘People in the past tended to intermarry with bäpurru whose countries were close to their own’ (Citation2008). Intermarrying bäpurru from close or contiguous countries, linked through recurring ties of kinship, form what F. Morphy has termed ‘connubia’ (Citation2008): ‘Dense connubial networks are recognised by Yolŋu as a social fact and are often associated with regional names’ (F. Morphy Citation2008: 7). The networks were effective at a regional level, at which patterns of seasonal mobility and residence were organised (F. Morphy Citation2008: 7). This is still very much the case in the network of homeland communities around Maṯamaṯa near Arnhem Bay. This will be discussed further in the next section which illustrates our final point, namely that this model has motivational force. That is, this model implicates people’s sense of identity, affect and movement and the understandings that underlie it motivate people to action.
The Affective, Moral and Directive Force of rom (law)
We would like to draw your attention to the way Yolŋu talk about this model of trunks, branches, and roots, using rhetorical questions that concern orientation, direction, and movement. This is partly a reflection of the way Yolŋu think about relationships as ‘strings’ that manapanmirri (connect, join link) people and places together. Raki’ (stings, ropes), as previously suggested, are ties of kinship that bind people together through mutual obligations and responsibilities, and also draw people together through mutual ties of affiliation and affection.Footnote10 They are not static but implicate feelings about oneself in relation to others (people, places, bäpurru) and, importantly, they instigate action (gakal) through affective ties, responsibilities and obligations. This echoes the way Daniel Wilfred speaks about the affective ‘pull’ of raki’ in his experience of manikay (ceremonial songs): ‘I can feel it on my mind, I can feel the old people. The raki’ is still there, pulling me’ (quoted in Curkpatrick Citation2020: 78).
However, it is not just raki’ connections that implicate strong feelings and instigate action. This can be said of the tree-body model as a whole which seeks to articulate the affective, moral, and directive force of rom (law). Further examples of this way of talking about this model can be given. For example, on one occasion, in talking with Dhambiŋ about relations between ‘our’ bäpurru and how it relates to certain estates owned by other closely related bäpurru (a distinction which relates to what might be described as primary versus secondary rights to Country). Dhambiŋ explained as follows:
Dhuwala nhe gulun’ wäŋa.
This here is your stomach place.
Wanhaŋuru ŋayi dhurrwara-manapan.
From where the ends of the string join [together]
Wanhamala ŋayi raki’ dhuwala?
Towards where is the string?
Ga nhepi nhe yurru miny’tji dharrpum wanhaŋura nhe Yolŋu.
You yourself will paint the designs to show the place you are [truly] from.
Wanhaŋura ŋayi ŋunhi raki’ nhuna dhunupa-yirra ga wanhaŋuru nhe yuwalk.
From the place that makes your string straight, that is where is you/your body is truly from.
Strings that are dhunupa (straight, proper, correct) describe relationships that are proper and correct relative to the anchored body of the bäpurru. This contrasts with strings (i.e. relationships) that are djarrpi (crooked, improper, incorrect), which threaten to upset or cause conflict between people and bäpurru. Put another way: straight relationships are those that ‘follow up’ the raki’ (string, rope) and make people dhunupa (straight) in relation to each other. In times of unrest or conflict, when elders seek resolution or restoration, they appeal to the strings between people and bäpurru involved – the need to follow up the strings (between people) and make them straight. Strings can only be straight in relation to one another when people stand with their feet in place in the proper foundation of rom: strings are straight in relation to the anchored body of the bäpurru, emplaced in the foundation of rom (law).
For Dhambiŋ, raki’ ultimately provide orientation, clarifying the relationships between different bäpurru and their associated country, ceremony, and kin. Seeking to clarify my understanding of the relationship between our bäpurru and significant others, she put her hand on my chest and said,
‘From every riŋgitj, gamunuŋgu, gapan, it’s becoming separate, do you see? But that is our front.’
From every riŋgitj group/site, white clay/clan design, it’s becoming separate, do you see? But that is our front.
Dhambiŋ’s words above conveyed the importance of recognising differences between bäpurru to gaining a sense of orientation that is at once social, geographic, political, and moral. From an anthropological point of view, the force of this model derives in large part from the ‘naturalness’ and ‘rightness’ of the a priori commitments and understandings that underlie it. From a Yolŋu point of view, these drawings tell a story about what is normal, proper and right for Yolŋu people. This model has strong feelings behind it because it tells a story about 'who we are, what we are like, and how we relate through gurruṯu to each other and to Country. These relationships all entail responsibilities and obligations that Yolŋu strive to fulfil, not because of any ‘rules’ but because that is what it means to be Yolŋu and to have gurruṯu (kin/ship). To dismiss such commitments would be to act as if we were gurrutumiriw (without kin/ship), one of the worst insults in the Yolŋu world.
Topography of the Anchored Body and Strings of Relatedness
What does it mean in topographic terms to suggest that the shared understandings underlying this model are imbued with affective, motivational, and directive force? In the broadest sense it means that the luku and raki’ closely reflect patterns of residence and mobility. The tree-body model of the collective self in relation to significant others can literally be mapped onto place in terms of geography and even mobility data, as illustrated in .
In , we can see the most salient relationships between bäpurru in the immediate area surrounding Maṯamaṯa, which is the focal site of the estate held by Burarrwaŋa Gumatj (identified as ‘ego’).Footnote11 The bäpurru pictured are the significant bäpurru that together comprise a bestowal cycle, as per and , in relation to the Burarrwaŋa Gumatj. The position of the tree in the Figure shows the ḻuku-wäŋa (footprint place) of this bäpurru’s estate. On neighbouring estates can be seen our waku-pulu (WC, ZC bäpurru), our ŋändi-pulu (M bäpurru) and our märi-pulu (MM, MMB bäpurru). While these are each anchored in place on their respective countries, they are also joined or linked together through raki’ – both gurrkurr (roots, veins) and waṉa (branches, arms) – which connect ‘inside’ ceremonial relations of shared maḏayin (sacra) and ‘outside’ relations through maternal relationships and marriage.
Figure 3. The third drawing.
Figure 4. Bestowal relations (adapted from Morphy Citation1991).
Figure 5. Topographically locating kin and bestowal relations. The trees drawn over the satellite image show the location of the ḻuku-wäŋa (footprint place) of different bäpurru estates around Matamata.
By looking at mobility data () we can see movements between the homelands of bäpurru and gauge the significance of connections that link people, bäpurru and place. The mobility data that I collected over a twelve-month period illustrates the motivational force of these significant, close raki’ (strings). While based at Maṯamaṯa in 2007–2008, I recorded daily movements of people in and around the community over a twelve-month period. I noted how many people came in and out of the community each day for twelve months. Each person leaving or arriving was counted as ‘one unit’ of movement for the day. I also noted where they had come from and where they were going. Collated, the data shows the pull of the raki’ joining people to this place as a close and important connection. Movement was predominantly between countries of one’s closest kin and their bäpurru. It is interesting to note, however, that the data is skewed by the larger townships of Galiwin’ku Island and Nhulunbuy, where many close kin now reside and where particular resources and services are readily available (such as grocery stores, government services, banks, etc.).
Figure 6. Movements of people between Maṯamaṯa and other locations, over a 12-month period.
The homeland community of Rrorruwuy belongs to our waku-pulu, Dätiwuy. The Homeland community of Nyinyikay is part of the larger Warramiri estate held by Burarrwaŋa Gumatj. Gikal is our ŋändi-pulu, belonging to Gälpu. The area surrounding the township of Nhulunbuy includes Gumatj county, and thus visitations to the township are also visitations to kin, although family often stop with our ŋändi-pulu (mother’s bäpurru), Gälpu. Galiwin’ku Island belongs predominantly to our ŋändi-pulu (mother’s bäpurru) and waku-pulu (WC/ZC bäpurru). When family stop at Galiwin’ku they typically stay with close kin from the same bäpurru or one of the bäpurru in the local connubia. In this way, we see that the mobility patterns reflect what it means to be anchored residentially, at or near one’s footprint place as the primary place of residence, and also the pattern and frequency of movement between places. This illustrates the weight of the ḻuku (footprint, anchor) and the ‘pull’ or ‘draw’ of strings of relatedness.Footnote12
In death as in life, this model motivates action. After a person’s death senior ceremonial men gather to make important decisions about what songs to perform as part of the mortuary ceremony to guide the spirit of that person back home to their ḻuku wäŋa (footprint, anchor place). As our late yapa (sister) said when explaining about song choices for funeral ceremonies:
We have to go back wanhaŋuru ŋayi yuwalkndja, to sing from that place, from the root of the tree, märi-pulu, yapa-pulu, ŋandi-pulu, momu, dhuwayku manikay, Datiwuy, Gälpu, Djapu, Djambarrpuyŋu, Ŋaymil. We can’t cut off any of the tree!
We have to go back to where they are truly from, to the trunk/torso, to sing from that place, from the root of the tree, mother’s mother bäpurru, sister bäpurru, father bäpurru, father’s mother bäpurru, husband-country songs, Datiwuy, Gälpu, Djapu, Djambarrpuyŋu, Ŋaymil. We can’t cut off any of the tree!
Conclusion
In the three drawings by Dhambiŋ presented above (), bäpurru have been represented as collective social bodies, drawn as trees ‘rooted’ in place and known as luku wäŋa (footprint, anchor place). While the collective social body of any one bäpurru is discreetly identified in important ways, every bäpurru is manapanmirri (linked or joined together) to a number of significant others, through ceremonial relations and marriage, here represented as raki’ (strings, ropes). The rumbal (body or trunk) can be seen as the minimal unity of the group or ‘least inclusive bäpurru’ (Keen Citation2000: 421). These are aspects of the identity of the bäpurru that are unique, attributes that it does not share with any other bäpurru. These unique attributes minimally include a ḻikan design and a number of ḻikan names associated with the big-name country that they own or ‘hold’. The most unique and important design of the bäpurru – their ḻikan design or dhulaŋ – is described as the ‘image’ of the luku of the bäpurru – as it is impressed in place, in their ‘footprint, anchor place’. These are actual sites and the focus of life on Country. The dhulaŋ designs that pertain to the ḻuku wäŋa of each bäpurru are effectively their ‘title’ to Country. These are considered identifiable attributes of the bäpurru and they are also properties of the people of that bäpurru, a part of their identity as a person.
On this point, our late yapa (sister) Batumbil Burarrwaŋa described the intimate, co-substantial identities of people, place, and maḏayin (sacra) of one bäpurru. Maḏayin are in fact considered the manifestation or product of the waŋarr who created them as are Yolŋu people themselves.
‘Ŋarra nhänharamirri?
What, who am I? What am I [like]?
Yolŋu ŋarra, ŋarra Yirritja, ŋarra Gumatj.
I am Yolŋu, I am Yirritja, I am Gumatj.
‘Ŋarra nhä? Gurtha ŋarra, ŋarra bäru, ŋarra maranydjalk.
I am what? I am fire, I am crocodile, I am stingray.
’Gumatj ŋilimurru, ŋilimurru Djutarra – Bayini ŋilimurru [. . . ]
We are Gumatj, we are Djutarra, we are Bayini [ . . . ]
Ŋuli ŋilimurru yaka ŋunhi waŋarr ŋilimurru manapanmirrinha, we would be jus’ nothing.
If we didn’t have waŋarr joining us together we would just be nothing.
Emptynha, sitting here jus’ emptynha, ŋuli ŋilimurru yaka manapanmirrinha waŋarryu ŋuli wäŋa dhuwala yaka madayinmirri.
Empty, just sitting here empty, if we weren’t joined together by those waŋarr, if this country was without madayin (sacra).
Revisiting the Literature
Rather than supporting any one side of the debate about whether Yolŋu clans should be considered corporate entities or not, Dhambiŋ’s drawings introduced a new position in agreement with aspects of both sides. We would affirm that Keen is partly correct in his critique of the clan model, in which he argues that bäpurru are not discrete, bounded, corporate entities, nested in a number of cross-cutting aggregates of various kinds. This can be seen in our drawings. No one bäpurru stands alone as an independent, discrete, social entity; bäpurru are anchored social forms that are ‘linked’ or ‘joined together’ to a number of significant others through ceremonial relations and marriage. Further, the ḻuku (footprint, anchor, root of a tree) closely reflect Keen’s description of focused group identities, and the raki’ (strings, ropes) his description of group identities extending outward from this point. However, the raki’ (strings, ropes) in our model indicate specific gurruṯu and inter-bäpurru relations, which suggests a more distinct or definite form than Keen’s description of connections among such identities as open and extendable ‘strings of connectedness’ (Citation2000: 421). Perhaps another minor difference relates to Keen’s argument against the description of bäpurru as ‘corporate’ – here our model supports aspects of Morphy and Williams’ position. This material suggests that bäpurru are indeed corporate, as Morphy (Citation1991) and Williams (Citation1999) argue, but only in the sense and to the degree that each bäpurru ‘holds’ a distinct corpus of maḏayin, here represented as the ḻuku (foot, footprint, anchor) and the rumbal (body, trunk or torso), anchored in place on Country.
What was an impromptu methodology – drawing on some butcher’s paper – within an ongoing cross-cultural conversation between the authors, has proved to be a useful pedagogical tool with which Dhambiŋ was able to help me understand the nature of bäpurru forms and interrelations. It also proved to be a useful heuristic tool that enabled us to reinterpret or recast well-known anthropological tropes as a living portrait of Yolŋu social organisation. Our method captures a living portrait of bäpurru as relational structural forms – structural forms that are both discrete and anchored in place, and inextricably linked to significant other kin, bäpurru, and places.Footnote13 The drawings also introduced the dimension of affect and motivation which allowed the focus to shift toward the movement of relations, rather than a static model. We were able to show that there are strong feelings underlying this model because, for Yolŋu, it tells a story about what is normal, proper, and right for Yolŋu people – how Yolŋu relate to each other and to country through gurruṯu (kinship) and rom (law). These relationships implicate strong feelings of connectedness and belonging and entail responsibilities and obligations that people strive to fulfil because this is what it ‘is’ and means to be gurruṯumirri (kin, to have the quality of kinship), to people and to country. Yolkala gumurrlili? Towards whose chest? This is an anchored orientation and movement: it is about knowing where you are from, where you belong, and it is about gakal (action) through one’s connections – our responsibilities and obligations – to others.
Acknowledgements
My deepest gratitude to gurruṯumirri walala for your generosity and kinship. Without your generosity and patience my research, and collaborations like, this would not be possible. Fieldwork for this paper was originally undertaken on an Australian Postgraduate Award (APA) scholarship. Many thanks to Samuel Curkpatrick, Howard Morphy, and Frances Morphy for your helpful feedback on the draft.
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Notes
1 Sociomateriality is a concept used to describe the entanglement of social and material elements in the production of human action and meaning-making.
2 I use a kinship term to refer to waku throughout because, while she was happy for this article to be written, has asked not to be named.
3 A moiety system is a structural system which divides the social world into two divisions.
4 On raki’, see also Curkpatrick and Wilfred (Citation2023), who explore the ways different voices entwine in song as akin to rärrk (crosshatching) in painting and the texture of raki’ (many fibres intertwining). Corn and Gumbula (Citation2006:178–179) write about yarraṯa (string lines of descent) which ‘represent within each moiety and, more specifically, within each mala the direct patrilineage or yarrata (literally ‘string’ ‘line’) of contemporary Yolŋu from their waŋarr and the authority that Yolŋu have always possessed over their wäŋa and madayin [sacred law] by virtue of those lineages.
5 Joseph Gumbula (in Corn and Gumbula Citation2006) has drawn an insightful diagram of the different ‘domains’ of Yolŋu knowledge and associated polities, entitled ‘the Yolŋu knowledge Constitution.’ See also De Largy Healy (Citation2022).
6 Thank you to the anonymous reviewer who pointed out a missing annotation for the red fruit in this drawing. Dhambiŋ and waku reported that the fruit represents the children of the bäpurru.
7 Kinship is considered as a measure of distance, from galki ‘close’ to barrku (distant, far away). That is, spatially, the place kinship is measured from is the ḻuku and that the ḻuku impressed in the lirrwi’ (ashes/shade) is the possessive and protective shade of kinship.
8 Ian Keen notes that people who share a particular set of maḏayin will contextually say they are ‘one bäpurru’ for that maḏayin complex (Citation1994, Citation2000). This is consistent with the terms explored here. With reference to Dhambiŋ and waku’s drawing, we can see this potential relation between two bäpurru who share the same inside string, root or set thereof. People certainly say that bäpurru are ‘one’ where they come together as riŋgitj groups, for example, on the basis of shared maḏayin and connections to place. Keen describes these as ‘extendable’ strings of relatedness – new connections that may be discovered. However, I have not come across the notion of ‘extension’ used by Yolŋu in this way.
9 The Yolŋu marriage system is actually defined by the mother-in-law bestowal rather than the bestowal of women as future wives (Morphy Citation1991).
10 A number of anthropologists have also noted that socio-political, ceremonial relationships are frequently represented in ceremonial performances by handmade strings (e.g. Williams Citation1999, Rudder Citation1993: 20).
11 Maṯamaṯa is the father’s country for Warramiri but has been ‘looked after’ by the Burarrwaŋa Gumatj as their märi (MM) country in line with principles of succession since a time before European arrival in the area. This does not affect the relations between people and country depicted in these drawings because the foundation of rom does not change: language and maḏayin exist a priori in the form and identity of country. When a bäpurru succeeds to a particular country they become the people who stand with their feet in the foundation of rom in that place and they ‘look after’ the country and associated maḏayin as it existed before and always. It simply becomes part of their ‘body’, as it were. There is a clear line and process of succession in Yolŋu rom between particular clans of the same moiety. Howard and Frances Morphy (Citation2023: 10–11) have recently written on this topic: ‘The Ancestral footprint of the land cannot be changed. Land has belonged from the beginning of time to a clan of the same moiety. Hence a group cannot succeed to its mother’s country – a clan of the opposite moiety. The primary claim to succession is for gutharra to take over their märi’s country. The group taking over will sing the songs that were already there, will take on the ritual responsibilities associated with place and will speak the dialect associated with that estate.’
12 Frances Morphy has written about this patterning in terms of Yolŋu cultural topography exploring the way it manifests in contemporary Homeland life, in the location of the settlements themselves and also in the ‘mobilities and immobilities’ among and between settlements throughout the region (Citation2010).
13 This echoes the concept of ‘relative autonomy’ that Frances and Howard Morphy have written about regarding Yolŋu orientations and political desires in a cross-cultural context (Citation2013).
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