Jean Chapuis
Médecin,  anthropologue, psychiatre et psychothérapeute

(2006)

“For a dynamic approach to
the social organization of the
Carib of Inner Eastern Guiana :
an overview of Wayana
ethnosociogenesis.”

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Cette édition électronique a été réalisée par Jean-Marie Tremblay, bénévole, professeur de sociologie au Cégep de Chicoutimi à partir de :

Jean Chapuis

“For a dynamic approach to the social organization of the Carib of Inner Eastern Guiana : an overview of Wayana ethnosociogenesis.”

In Ethnohistory, Official Journal of the American Society for Ethnohistory vol. 53, no 3, summer 2006, pp. 507-542.

[Autorisation formelle accordée par l’auteur le 22 février 2011 de diffuser cet article dans Les Classiques des sciences sociales.]

 Courriels : doc.chap@voila.fr

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Mise en page sur papier format : LETTRE US, 8.5’’ x 11’’.

Édition numérique réalisée le 19 mai 2011 à Chicoutimi, Ville de Saguenay, Québec.

Jean Chapuis
Médecin,  anthropologue, psychiatre et psychothérapeute

“For a dynamic approach to the social organization
of the Carib of Inner Eastern Guiana : an overview
of Wayana ethnosociogenesis.”

In Ethnohistory, Official Journal of the American Society for Ethnohistory vol. 53, no 3, summer 2006, pp. 507-542.

Table of contents

Abstract.

Stake of This Work
Inventory

About the Ancient History of the Proto-Wayana
About the Research

The Preethnic Period : A Complex but Not Anarchic Universe
From the ‘‘Formative Group’’ or ‘‘Tribe’’ to the Totemic ‘‘Clan’’
Lineages, Lines
From Protoethnic Groups to the Birth of the Ethnic Group
The Ethnic Group : Provisory and Unstable Extremity of a Long Trajectory

The Tools of Ethnic Group Affirmation
The Building of a Social Heterogeneity

Conclusion : Usefulness of the Ethnosociogenetic Approach

Appendix
References

[507]

Jean Chapuis
Médecin,  anthropologue, psychiatre et psychothérapeute

“For a dynamic approach to the social organization
of the Carib of Inner Eastern Guiana : an overview of Wayana ethnosociogenesis.”

In Ethnohistory, Official Journal of the American Society for Ethnohistory vol. 53, no 3, summer 2006, pp. 507-542.

Abstract.

TOC
This article shows that a system of social organization based on totemic ancestor clans has long existed among the Carib of eastern Guiana, and more particularly the Wayana. This system so far has been ignored by researchers in spite of its heuristic interest. In addition to its political and historical richness, the approach here, which attempts to capture how social structures have changed since the encounter with Westerners, allows for a better grasp of identity’s role as a motivating force in Wayana society. The completion of the project called for here will require well-coordinated involvement by numerous researchers.

Stake of This Work

Recent archeological work shows that the so-called southern proto-Carib probably dispersed around the fourth century AD from the regions surrounding Mount Roraima in the Guiana rainforest (Tarble 1985). As this group spread, linguistic subgroups began to emerge. The ones that interest us here, which emerged later, belong to a group called ‘‘east-west’’ by some linguists (Durbin 1977) and are among the least known archeologically. Probably shortly before Europeans settled in the Americas, these groups, having traveled northwest and east, arrived in a vast region circumscribed by several rivers : the Trombetas to the west, the Jari and Marouini to the east, the middle course of the Marouini and the East Paru to the south, and the upper Essequibo and Courantyne to the north. From this human substrata were built the ‘‘Carib’’ ethnic groups now located upstream of rivers that originate in the zone of the Tumuc Humac (Grenand and Grenand 1997 : 60), that is, mainly the Tïlïyo, the Apalai, and the Wayana.
So far few attempts have been made to determine what type of social [508] organization explains or structures this Carib contribution in the past. The goal of this article, first drafted in 2000, is to show that such an approach is possible, not for the very remote past, but for the period since the sixteenth century, from oral as well as written archives showing the social forms that the Wayana consider to be ancestral and original (Chapuis 2003a). I want to suggest that these forms can be defined as clans—for lack of a better term—and to follow the modifications that have affected and continue to affect them. In breaking down, intermingling, and recomposing— in large part under the influence of external factors—these clans have given birth to increasingly large and complex social entities (which we will call, in chronological order, coalitions, federations or protoethnic groups, and ethnic groups). Their totemic appellations, however, whose purpose originally was to classify, took on a clearly socioeconomic tinge within the constituted ensembles. This approach will open new perspectives to a more exact comprehension of the social phenomena that this vast region has experienced.
In this article I differentiate clans (ancestral groups) from ethnic groups in the following way : clans are ancient social categories that existed prior to contact with the West, while ethnic groups are the current result of how history, notably the encounter with the West, has affected these proto-Wayana.
There are today some fourteen hundred Wayana, of whom two-thirds live in French Guiana, on the upper Maroni, the remaining population being divided between the upper East Paru River in Brazil, and the Paloemeu and Tapanahoni rivers in Suriname. Hunters, fishermen, and slash-and-burn farmers, the Wayana live in small villages, which are less and less monofamilial, and follow a theoretically bilinear filiation scheme with uxorilocal residency. The ones from French Guiana, with whom I lived for two and a half years, moved closer to the town of Maripasoula (which lies just over the border in Suriname) a few decades ago. Many of them have acquired French nationality in the last five years and, on the whole, enjoy the social advantages of this new status.

Inventory

About the Ancient History of the Proto-Wayana

TOC
The first reliable information, from the beginning of the seventeenth century, reveals a mosaic of small social formations in the area of the eastern Tumuc Humac. Captain Edward Fisher’s seventeenth-century report stated that some groups identified then, and since, as Carib  lived in the area of the upper Maroni in contact with previously established populations (Harcourt 1928 [1613] : 120). Some of these groups still exist today. Their [509] progression toward the east probably was blocked by the large coastal ensembles of the Galibi/Kali’na and the Arawak and, to a smaller extent, some Tupi ethnic groups of central French Guiana. These proto-Wayana then consolidated their position while advancing toward the south in the eighteenth century, according to Lefèbvre d’Albon 1730, Lombard 1857 [1730], and Folio des Roses 1733, among others, and, somewhat later, Tony 1842 [1769] and Leblond 1789, which described them as forming a continuum from the banks of the Litani and the north of the Oyapock Basin to the upper Jari and East Paru. The Okomëyana and the Kaikusiyana, notably, were among the most northern of a string of ‘‘nations’’ (Orocoian, Upului, Namikwan, Taripi, etc.) spreading from the south to the Apalai, closer to the Amazon. In another proof of the southerly movement, the Taripi, located at the eastern and southern extremes of the continuum in the eighteenth century, had been seen in 1607 around the upper Maroni by Fisher, who called them ‘‘Tareepeeanna’’ (Taripiyana) (Harcourt 1928 [1613] : 120). Some of those groups later turned back toward the west or may have left some subgroups along the way, since Sikiyanas and Piyanakotos, whom Fisher placed also in the zone of the upper Maroni, were later located around the Trombetas River.
The written sources are quite incomplete, one suspects, since only during the second half of the eighteenth century was direct contact established with some of these entities. Nevertheless, the literature occasionally offers series of ethnonyms linked to particular contexts and locations. One must imagine, then, a regular and dense network of villages located on the banks of narrow rivers and linked—when not irremediably in conflict—through forest trails. The interrelations between ‘‘tribes’’ seem to have survived in the long term, often alternating between alliance and war, with the kidnapping of women, exchange of peace tokens, and so on. Thus, Mr. de Chabrillan, sent in 1742 to the source of the Alawa (now the Tampoc) River to reconcile many clans, admirably describes the relationships among them : ‘‘the Caycouciannes [people of the feline], Aramichaux [people of the dove] and Armagoutoux [people of the bee] were at war, killed each other, and ate each other,’’ and stole each other’s women (quoted in Froidevaux 1894 : 294). Nevertheless, ‘‘each of these Indian nations has an object it traded [dogs for the Caicoucian, graters for the Ouen] and things it makes, none entering into competition with another. This serves to link them together, making trade and sociability indispensable’’ (ibid.), which, in spite of the conflicts, implies a voluntarily preserved complementarity.
Pierre and Francoise Grenand (1997 : 57) warned us about the impossibility of reconstituting a pre-Colombian vision of these societies, since we only have later documents. Yet, ‘‘at the end of the sixteenth century, [510] the Spanish penetrations to the west and the Portuguese infiltrations to the south had already indirectly overturned the ethnic map, provoking migrations and an unprecedented demographic decline.’’ We therefore may wonder whether the social forms that we are calling ‘‘clans’’ existed before the conquest. In any case, it is very probable that mostly the limited introduction of Western metal goods, and the perspective of their possession with all its innate advantages, largely inspired the generalized wars that we will discuss, as did the Wayapi’s interest in French Guiana. These Tupi, who came from the south, would exercise a considerable pressure on the groups that interest us.
What is certain is that these different factors conjoined to overwhelm the society of the area (Hurault 1989 [1972] ; P. Grenand 1972, 1982 ; Gallois 1986 ; Chapuis 2003a). Over time, the lists of ethnonyms shortened in written reports. In the twentieth century, few such designations are recalled : for the Carib, these are mainly Wayana, Apalai, and Tïlïyo. It is obvious that this nominal—and geographic—concentration results in part from the perceptions, acts, and expectations of Western protagonists, expectations that the indigenous people, for politico-economic reasons (Chapuis forthcoming), had no interest in leaving unfulfilled.

About the Research

TOC
Among these Carib ethnic groups, some researchers, such as Jean Hurault (1968, 1989 [1972]), Pierre Rivière (1969, 1984), Daniel Schoepf (1972), and even Manfred Rauschert-Alenani (1981), none of whom really looked, have noticed only a small number of ‘‘formative groups.’’ Relyingmostly on written sources, they have tended to consider tribal references more as curiosities than as useful material for a pertinent approach to history and, by the same token, to the present. In fact, everyone had the feeling that it was impossible to go further and that it was time to break with the details of the past : an unbridgeable gap was seen as separating the era of the ancestral groups from that of the ethnic ensembles. The elision of these references by researchers is due in part to a heuristic bias linked to the lack of interest in history that long has marked ethnology, notably of the Amazon. This omission further has complicated researchers’ efforts to characterize the social groups to which these ensembles belong.
Only Protásio Frikel (1958 : 119 ; 1961 : 1) made a consequential list of the former and current ‘‘tribes’’ of the area according to oral tradition,  noting that they were united by a sort of ‘‘standard culture’’ that he called ‘‘Karibism.’’ Though not exhaustive, this list includes some 130 different groups, almost exclusively Carib according to Frikel, who distinguishes five dialectical ensembles. Unfortunately, he did not try to relate the groups he [511] discovered to each other, or use them to reconstruct the steps involved in the organization of regional societies. Although Rauschert-Alenani’s (1981) work is more recent, he only gathered a few data of much interest, especially regarding the Apalai, but without trying to paint a general fresco or question the origin of the ethnic groups.
Because they did not take seriously the references to ancestral groups among the Carib, researchers remained closed to valuable insights.  This neglect prevented any new research from being undertaken into the formal and social relations of the past, leaving this subject to archeologists. However, although the diachronic perspective was not chosen, researchers have tried to palliate this lack through artifice. Thus it has been claimed that it is possible to translate the names of some tribes into ethnic names and by so doing attribute to them a temporal depth they do not have.  It also has been believed that the problem could be eliminated by sending these ethnonyms into the realm of the imaginary, of fable (see, e.g., nn. 12 and 13 below). In addition, instead of starting from ancestral groups and going back to the ethnic ensembles following the outlines of history, these researchers affirmed vaguely that the ethnic group was the sum of such and such a ‘‘tribe’’ or ‘‘formative group’’ (Hurault 1968 : 19–20 ; Frikel 1960 : 2 ; P. Rivière 1969 : 11–12) without trying to specify the details and steps of these accretions. However, it is precisely this diachronic and dynamic approach that deserves to be undertaken, because it is pertinent for understanding these societies, as I will try to prove with a few Wayana examples.
The ethnologists specializing in Guiana have shown a notable lack of interest in history ; Jean Hurault (1989 [1972]) and Pierre Grenand (1972, 1979, 1982) are exceptions and pioneers in this area. However, things are changing : a number of recent studies have explored the history of Guiana groups. Some noteworthy examples are Collomb 1999 and Collomb and Tiouka 2000 on the Kali’na, Passes 2002 on the Palikur, Hill and Santos-Granero 2002 on the Arawak, Guss 1986 on the Ye’kuana, and Whitehead 1996b and 2002 on the Patamona. More general studies of this kind include Roosevelt 1980 on the Orinoco Basin as well as Whitehead 1988, 1992, 1996a, and 2004. My contribution is part of this trend.

The Preethnic Period :
A Complex but Not Anarchic Universe

TOC
My research on witchcraft and the hemït magical plants (Chapuis 2001)  shows that the reference to ancestral groups has not entirely lost its active role among the Wayana and continues to structure contemporary social relationships, though less and less. In any event, it is important to acknowedge [512] this if one wants to penetrate the mysteries of the past and their prolongation into the present. This is how I have been led to look at Wayana history (Chapuis 2003b). First, from their autohistory, mainly the stories of one man, Kuliyaman, the most erudite of the community (of Upului origin, Kuliyaman was recognized as a scholar, but he possessed no secret or specialized knowledge ; what I have learned from other elders entirely confirms his account), and, second, by comparing oral archives and written traces (Chapuis forthcoming). Now it is only a question of beginning a broader study.
Nonetheless, I was greatly astonished to find in the words of this unique informer an important number of groups, a good deal of them appearing, dispersed and spread over time, in the literature on the area since the first travelers visited it. Kuliyaman, who spoke only his own language, obviously had not read the ancient texts or the more recent ones that mention ‘‘tribes’’ of which he had never heard. Despite this, he managed to describe a galaxy of interrelated groups, even providing many details about them.  Indeed, some of the groups of which he spoke had only been sited in places far from where he lived ; other groups he referred to have never been mentioned in writing. From the beginning, Kuliyaman seemed comfortable within this seemingly confusing proliferation of social entities.
How can the immense geographic space covered by the knowledge of this single man be explained ? Of course, the Wayana have been important peddlers, traveling through this vast region  that extends from the Litani, the Jari, and the East Paru rivers to the area of the upper Trombetas. Moreover, they have absorbed many fragments of groups and have borrowed stories from them. Finally, they also could adopt traditional elements from their Wayapi, Emerillon, or Tïlïyo neighbors. However, we must stress that Kuliyaman assigned to most of the social formations he mentioned a role, a geographic localization, and cultural characteristics, while placing them in a group dynamic. We therefore are dealing with not simply isolated, nominal reminiscences but rather an organized knowledge.
In addition, these ethnonyms still identify, as Eithne B. Carlin (1998 : 16) has noted among the Tïlïyo, even if the identity they refer to has lost much of its social function—or rather, even if that function has been considerably modified : ‘‘My experience is that when one asks an Amerindian from Kwamalasamutu what ethnic group he belongs to, he will first say Trio [Tïlïyo]. Only much later and after persistent questioning will he say that he actually belongs to another group originally’’ (my emphasis). In the same way, almost every adult Wayana is able to give his or her ancestral origins, and often to cite the friendly or conflicting relationships that dominated between past neighboring groups, as well as the location of the best Wayana [513] known ones. The old people even claim they can tell the origin of individuals in the contemporary ethnic group by their physical traits. Thus, according to them, the Upului have blunt features, a strong nose, dark skin, big ears ; they are stocky with short, wide feet. The Opakwana (‘‘people of the opak mosquito’’) are light-skinned and short, with short legs and arms ; and the Okomëyana (‘‘people of the wasp’’) are tall and skinny.
Indeed—and Frikel showed this clearly—most of these ancestral groups were part of an ancient and unbroken knowledge shared by the peoples of the region. When Robert H. Schomburgk (1845 : 83–84) traveled the upper Courantyne in the mid-nineteenth century, the Tïlïyo (Drio) and the Piyanakoto (Pianoghotto) hemet evoked for him Carib groups, some of whom were well known by the Wayana, such as the Tunayana, the Maipulisiyana, the Waiwai, or the Sikiyana. Sixty years ago, an Oyaricoulet chief of the upper Palumë–upper East Paru area told Lodewijk Schmidt (1942 : 18) fourteen clan names that are also familiar to the Wayana. Almost all the ‘‘tribes’’ referred to by Frikel (1960 : 2) as Tïlïyo, even those he considers the least accessible, were mentioned by Kuliyaman.
The actors in the region’s history are thus consciously dramatized within a tradition, that is to say, a shared memory. Through these groups the Wayana, and, it seems, the Tïlïyo (cf., e.g., Frikel 1961 : 4 ; and Carlin 1998), think their history. For them, these are original and primitive social forms, the materials from which modern societies were built (Chapuis 2003a).
The long history of these peoples (certainly not as ancient as indigenous groups elsewhere in the world, but relatively long for this region) is fundamentally important (cf. esp. Frikel 1960 : 3). The Apalai are mentioned in stories from the beginning of the eighteenth century, the Okomeyana in 1760, the Upului in 1729 and even possibly in 1555, if one accepts the data of André Thevet (in Métraux 1933). In fact, some of the ethnonyms of tribes that Fisher visited in 1607 (Harcourt 1928 [1613] : 120) and that were mentioned by Schomburgk (1845 : 55, 73, 77)—such as the Kukuyana (Cocoanno)—were still used to identify local groups in the twentieth century (Farabee 1967 ; Frikel 1958, 1960) and were mentioned again by the Wayana in 2003 ! These four centuries of longevity prove how resistant these entities are to time’s uncertainties and forbid us from assigning a recent date to their creation or from supposing that they are ephemeral, as did Pierre Rivière (1984 : 8).
How, given the long existence, the stability, and the regional diffusion of knowledge about these social formations, can we agree with Rivière (1977 : 39) that a characteristic of the Guiana Carib societies is ‘‘the absence of any formal social groupings that have any permanency’’ ?  Rather than [514] opposing invariance (i.e., the uniformity of social structures of the region’s groups) to the so-called continual flow of new tribes that have crossed it (Rivière 1984 : 8), it might be more judicious to verify that this has always been the case, and to study if need be what is concealed by such durability. And how can one assert the permanence of certain traits without any idea of how long they have existed ? Is it not rather the denial of indigenous historicity and disinterest in the diachronic approach generally that has allowed researchers to consider the ‘‘social structure’’ as an immutable reality ? It has been shown elsewhere, in Africa particularly (Amselle and M’Bokolo 1985 ; Chrétien and Prunier 1989), that this type of bias can lead to errors in perspective and, above all, prevent us from properly identifying the political mechanisms at work in these societies.
Let us note, finally, that the oral data assign to this collection of social entities clear geographic limits. Almost no group in the zone east of the Jari, west of the Trombetas, and south of the Amazon, or in the lower and middle Courantyne or Essequibo, is cited. All the knowledge about the Wayana’s relationships is oriented toward the west and northwest (except for the Amerindian groups and blacks of the Maroni Basin).
This set of elements leads us to consider ancestral groups—and the knowledge associated with them—as potential sources of information about the past. If we are careful and, as often as possible, cross-check against other oral archives and written sources, it would seem pertinent to use them for historical study and, as I will show, for an understanding of the ethnic group’s present sociology. These references can help us trace back in time by providing details that have escaped travelers’ attention. Above all, it is essential that we specify, insofar as possible, the social ensembles to which these references applied, and how those groups were interconnected.

From the ‘‘Formative Group’’ 
or ‘‘Tribe’’ to the Totemic ‘‘Clan’’

TOC
By showing what type of social organization prevailed at the time, the oral data gathered enable us to go further than the simple and vague notion of ‘‘formative group’’ that is usually accepted. Frikel (1960 : 11) referred to these groups as sibs (sipes), apparently in the sense not of clans but of extended families or patrilocal lineages. Pierre Rivière (1969 : 28 ; 1984 : 4) disagrees on this point. For him, these subgroups are neither clans, nor lineages, nor totemic or other formal alliances. For Rivière it is as if these entities had no formative role and the creation of ethnic groups dissolved any reference to them.  Writing at the same time, Hurault (1968 : 19) is a little more circumspect : ‘‘The Wayana now have no clan properly speaking... they only claim tribal names.’’ He does not define these terms. In [515] any case, these authors are hard put to determine the nature of these social forms and finally abandon attempts at definition, their analysis discouraged by the groups’ supposed nebulousness and fluidity. The nonrecognition of clan unities has led to confusion in the terms used to designate them, such as ‘‘groups,’’ ‘‘subgroups,’’ ‘‘formative groups,’’ ‘‘ethnic groups,’’ ‘‘tribes,’’ ‘‘subtribes,’’ ‘‘nations,’’ and ‘‘indigenous populations’’ (cf. Chapuis forthcoming). The quasi-systematic use of an identifying reference and the evocation of a similitude between persons of the group and the referent, while mentioned (e.g., n. 3), was never questioned by the researchers.
And yet Claudius De Goeje (1955 [1943]) had already formulated the clan hypothesis : he claimed that the ‘‘tribes’’ could be ‘‘clans’’ (27) and have a totem like the Arawak and other groups (28, 37). A set of elements confirms this intuition, attributing to aggregates present and identifiable at the moment of contact the shape of a system of clans based on totemic ancestors, most of which are animal. I will explain why these terms, and notably the term clan, in spite of its debatable and approximate value—and maybe for this very reason, since the ‘‘heuristic scope of these notions . . . lies in part in their relative lack of definition’’ (Lenclud 1987 : 110)—seems to me appropriate in characterizing these societies.
It is common knowledge that the classical concepts of anthropological analysis are usually inapt or insufficient for characterizing Amerindian societies (Seeger, Da Matta, and Viveiros de Castro 1979), and it is often by adjusting or simplifying that we can use them for want of something better. Perhaps an overly orthodox understanding of these concepts prevented the authors I have mentioned from applying them to the groups they were studying. There is, however, no need constantly to change words. But it is appropriate to question their content continuously in order to adapt it to the progress of analysis.
We should not forget that the content of the term clan evolved with time and that today there are many ways to consider it. Thus for instance Elisabeth Copet-Rougier (1991 : 152) finds that ‘‘today, the territorial criteria and exogamy are not considered to be pertinent... The clan is defined minimally as a sole descent group whose members cannot establish real genealogical links tying them to an often mythical common ancestor. The clan is founded on a ‘presumed perpetuity’ and its members are permanently attached to it. Belonging to a clan entails an internal requirement of social solidarity manifested by mutual aid, participation in ceremonies, the duty of revenge.’’ These very elements, common to all attempts at definition, are the ones I will use. As for totemism, it implies the existence of a classification system (and a conception of the world) of social groups depending on elements from the natural environment.
To begin with, let us observe that the notion of the clan is present in [516] Wayana representations, as well as in their language, if only in the limited frame of oral history. Indeed, if the term wekï (‘‘family’’ or ‘‘kin’’) can be used in that sense,  even if it can have broader meanings (‘‘people’’ or ‘‘ethnic group’’) or narrower ones depending on the context, it is precisely through the lexeme yana that Kuliyaman referred to something approaching what I define here as a clan.  On the one hand, he used it in isolation, as a common noun, in many passages : thus, if a group was not exterminated, this is because it had numerous yana with it, acting as allies (tïmalonke). On the other hand, he used -yana as a suffix to form the names of these clans (see appendix) : it has so far been translated as ‘‘the people of,’’ or ‘‘those of,’’ which is admissible, but its usage by Kuliyaman leads me to propose ‘‘from the clan of,’’ which is more informative about the social organization to which it refers.
The genealogy cannot be traced back to any of the clans’ origins, and the links with their eponymous ancestors remain mysterious. However, the justification of the name is most often provided and almost always is related to a cultural, behavioral, or physical trait : the Alakwayana (see the list of clans in the appendix) had red hair like the plumage of the small chachalaca (alakwa) ; the Awawayana swayed as they walked, like the giant otter (awawa) ; the Kulumïyana had shaved heads like the king vulture (kulum) ; the Pilisiyana had high-pitched voices like the golden-winged parakeet (pilisi) ; and the Leleyana lived in caves like bats (lele).One can presume that these particularities/differences were created and selfperpetuated by these social formations in order to create identity or alterity, the foundation of any social relationship, as has been described elsewhere (see, e.g., Erikson 1996). This was all the more necessary because, apart from minor cultural and especially linguistic differences, these clans seem to have greatly resembled each other.
A very strong feeling of identity, a sense of respect, and solidarity among the members of the group are linked to the representation of proto-Wayana clans by their descendants. It surfaces, notably, in the horror and silent condemnation with which the groups responded to assaults by their own members, at a time when murders were a daily occurrence, according to the autohistory. These members were driven to insane bloodlust by their chief Kailawa, who fed them with magical potions that caused an irrepressible thirst for murder and blind violence.

	And even though the Pïlëuyana were of their family, they killed them ! [Kailawa’s men] go to other peoples, to the Mawayana, who are killed by members of their own family... They take only hemït to be cruel... thanks to that, they are always ferocious and kill. And they go to still other peoples. They find Pïlëuyanas and kill them. They do [517] not even say, ‘‘This is my family, I will not kill them !’’ They go far, to the Sikaleyana. They just kill them, even though this is their family, they just kill them ! (Kuliyaman, quoted in Chapuis 2003b : 701–3)

We also learn of a similar response in the Kanpëyana’s general mobilization following the murder of one of their own, as in the next block quotation. Hurault (1989 [1972] : 24) noted that ‘‘the members of a same tribe were united by the feeling of a common origin,’’ which can be confirmed easily.
Again according to this autohistory, the era of clans would have been characterized by endogamy, or at least by a very restricted exogamy between related clans. As for descent, Frikel (1958 : 120) affirms the existence of a patrilineal rule—while evoking an exceptional matrilineal group. Considering the present state of my research, I will be less categorical : some data show instead a cognate system identical to the one that dominates today : this is true of a comment following a tirade in which the storyteller praises the ‘‘mixture’’ that accompanies peace : ‘‘It is thanks to the children that we were not killed. We were not killed [because the children] are not really bad, they make [things] better : ‘No, [don’t act] like this !’ they say. ‘Don’t make us ashamed !’ say their children to the clans of both their parents (Kuliyaman, quoted in Chapuis 2003b : 641). However, we are dealing here with a relatively recent period. Did descent only become bilineal as a result of wars ? Or is Kuliyaman guilty of an anachronism, projecting the current bilineal system onto the past ? For the moment, we cannot be certain.
As for the totemic reference, it is sometimes understood literally, as in this scene from the battles between Upului and Tïlïyo that reveals the ‘‘interlocking’’ system that we will discuss further—since the Kanpëyana (‘‘people of smoked meat,’’ thus named because ‘‘they sleep always next to the fire’’), like the Patakasiyana  (people of the patagay [fish]), although individualized, are clearly integrated into the Tïlïyo ensemble : 

	Two Upuluis [proto-Wayana] go to see the Tïlïyo. They slice some Kanpëyana [in the form of a piece of smoked meat], they cut up the Kanpëyana : ‘‘I’m hungry, I’m really hungry !’’ they say. ‘‘Well, I’m going to slice off a piece !’’ he says. Once he has cut it : ‘‘Oh, this is a Tïlïyo !’’... Then [the Upului] eat a Patakasiyana [in the form of the patakasi fish], nearly getting themselves killed... They stab a patakasi this big and see a crown of feathers : ‘‘Darn it ! We ate a Tïlïyo !’’ (ibid. : 515–17)

The storyteller skillfully plays on the ambiguity. Fooled by appearances, the warriors think they are using a grill and eating fish, but suddenly they see the truth : they have killed and eaten men ! The symbolic relation [518] ship is taken literally here. On several occasions, the similitude between referent and emblem carrier is thus foregrounded.
Moreover, Kuliyaman shows very clearly that the similarity dictates behaviors such as the yana’s alimentary preference for their totemic animal : ‘‘[The Kuwalakwayana] wanted [to eat] real kuwalakwa [frogs] ; they did not eat much game because they were like the [frog] : this is because they resemble it, because it is of their clan [iyana] that they eat it, like the Akuliyana [eat agouti], like the Pakilayana [eat peccary]’’ (ibid. : 579). Obviously we are dealing not with unstable nicknames such as those common among other nearby Carib (Butt-Colson 1983–84 : 86–87, 97–100) but with true totemic emblems. We should note the fact (certainly not coincidental) that one finds a clan organization with animal totemic referents (using the same -yana suffix) among the Carijona of southeast Colombia, distant ‘‘cousins’’ of the Tïlïyo and the Wayana (Schindler 1977).
The referents are mainly mammals and birds (see appendix), which suggests that these societies preferred hunting to fishing (the only fish mentioned, the patakasi, lives in creeks, not large rivers), and which confirms the clans were forest dwellers, living near narrow streams, far from big rivers. But we know that the interfluvial areas, like the inselbergs, were the usual places for the groups to take refuge when threatened. The oral tradition often comes back to this point : it is only with the advent of peace, and therefore with the intensification of trade, that the riverbanks became sought after (Chapuis 2003b : 645–46). It seems that fish only became important later, when large river fish, much more appreciated, began to take the place of game in people’s diet.
In fact, for the Wayana, the period of the clans is clearly that of wars. The duty of revenge recurs like a leitmotiv in their oral tradition. Almost all the stories start like this : ‘‘They kill each other. The X shoot arrows at them, then the Z give them a taste of their own medicine. They used to hate each other.’’ We have here a veritable vendetta used to affirm identities. However, depending on the circumstances, some alliances were built. Kuliyaman gives many examples in his stories. Some of the symbolic associations he reveals in this regard reinforce the impression that social entities were classified according to totems. Thus, the people of the great tinamou (Hololoyana) were associated with those of the red undulated tinamou (Mahkauyana) as well as those of the variegated tinamou (Maipoyana) and fought the people of the laughing macagua, a ground bird (Akawaktauyana) ; in the aquatic register, the people of the fish (Kayana) were allied with those of the giant otter and with those of the Guiana otter (Yukiniyana) but fought those of the mawa and kulankulan frogs. Among those with mammal totems, the people of the collared peccary (Pakilayana) were [519] friendly with those of the agouti (Akuliyana or Akuliyo)  and of the acouchi (Pasiyana) (the agouti and acouchi being two types of rodents), but they fought the people of the feline (Kaikusiyana).
Although these symbolic and geographic linkages may not be systematic, they are still frequent and deserve to be studied more in depth. Beyond the clans, they show the existence of privileged links between some of them, who were ready to join forces in case of conflict. A ‘‘homogeneous social system, an ensemble of local groups of the same nature who maintain regular relationships for a sufficiently long period, independent of the nature of these relations’’ (Menget 1985 : 136), can be conceived by looking at each clan’s oral history, in a concentric fashion ; we thus see the system’s different levels : (1) a strong nucleus of a few clans located near each other and linked by close and frequent relationships (intermarriage, exchange, revenge ; see Chabrillan’s experience, which I discussed earlier, at the source of the Tampoc River), (2) looser relationships with other clans, and (3) very loose relations with those with which the group has very episodic or indirect contact.
Each clan was thus part of an ensemble of more or less virtual but defined associations that took shape as coalitions only in case of danger : in such cases, local groups’ antagonisms were set aside while they fought the common aggressor. If the threat was too great, the coalition could merge into a larger circle of partners. Here is an example from Kuliyaman’s (quoted in Chapuis 2003b : 583) tale of the Upului-Apalaiwar : After a series of particularly deadly battles, ‘‘the Upului are not annihilated because they are very numerous, with a large number of Opakwana, Kwalakwalïyana, a lot of Alakwayana[,]... because their local clans are very numerous in the forest. Thus, because they have their own allies [tïmalonke inamolo], they gather and say, ‘Let’s go !’’’
Earlier I used the term ‘‘interlocking’’ system instead of fusion to show that the formation of these ensembles did not cause the clan fragments to lose their identity, which explains why we still find them today. Kuliyaman confirms this hypothesis when he notes that each of the clans integrating into the Apalai ensemble ‘‘has its own villages, but when they go fight, they go together’’ (ibid. : 573).
These notions diverge from the general opinion, according to which the Carib groups of the region have always lacked any supravillage organization, evolving in a vague social universe that was disorganized beyond the level of the family unit. The evidence begins to confirm that, at least for the past of the zone I have delineated, ‘‘there is little evidence to show that the ‘Caribs’ were united by any form of pan-village organization or widespread social institution’’ (Whitehead 1988 : 3).
[520]

Lineages, Lines

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Concerning lineage [lignage], it should be remembered that Hurault (1968 : 20), following a general hypothesis by De Goeje (1955 [1943] : 27), thought he recognized its existence among the Wayana. We know today that there are different conceptions of lineage, and it is not certain that any of them apply exactly to theWayana,  who, like other Amazonians, use the notions of kinship and descent quite pragmatically. In fact, we must consider that for the Wayana as for the Hawaiians, ‘‘individuals are born kin to each other, but their kinship is also made’’ (Sahlins 1989 : 42).
For these reasons, I prefer the term lines [lignées]. A clan seems to be composed of a certain number of lines, each corresponding to an anthroponym. What I call a line is the set of those who can claim to be descendants of the same ancestor (whose name generally appears in war stories or in the tale of Kailawa discussed below), an ensemble made identifiable by the recurrence of that anthroponym every two or three generations. The continuity of the clan is guaranteed by a nontransferable stock of ‘‘veritable names’’ (ëhet tïhle) that belong to the clan and are given to a child when the last bearer of a name dies (see Chapuis 1998 : 675–80). With lesser known, more distant Wayana, the mere mention of this anthroponym (each individual has only one true name) is supposed to enable them to place—even today—the name’s bearer immediately and use for him or her the appropriate kinship term. Through these names, line and clan identities are reproduced. A passage from Kuliyaman related to the time of the end of the wars confirms this and evokes a cognitive type of descent : ‘‘‘Are you of my family ?’ ; ‘Yes, why ?’... ; ‘Ah ! You are thus, grandmother ?’ says [Kailawa]... ‘You are of my family, you have one of my family names, like my grandmothers had !... I am [therefore] not your enemy !’ ’’ (quoted in Chapuis 2003b : 809). The inheritance of names is associated with a recycling of souls, as I have shown elsewhere (Chapuis 1998 : 609–11).Moreover, for the Wayana physical and behavioral resemblance is linked to this inheritance through sperm, itself born of blood, the soul’s double (ibid.). Each of the clan’s local groups was under the authority of a man and identified according to his line ; women’s lines did not mark geographically, anymore than those of the ‘‘obligated’’ (peito) did, and this is a fundamental difference. Each individual only bears one ‘‘veritable name’’ (chosen today by his grandparents from those of maternal and paternal ancestors of the same sex as the child). It is a political choice in the sense that it reflects belonging to one line without abolishing links with the other. If one chief was particularly illustrious, it is conceivable that following generations privileged use of his name, reinforcing this line. But of course many [521] men were never chiefs, much less prestigious ones, so their names, when transmitted, have been linked to a glorious and close line to which they can claim to belong. Even of women it is said : ‘‘She is a child (of the famous) X.’’ In contrast, female lines, if they exist, are never valorized.
In short, the notion of line is present but remains vague : one of its main appeals is that it promotes the emergence of eminent men who become privileged references with auras that can be transmitted over several generations or who influence their group’s destiny through their behavior (creating clan unions, establishing peace, etc.).
Lines do not appear as independent actors in war stories : they are components of clans, geographically differentiated. In the case of a coalition, and only for the time of the conflict, a supreme chief (yapotoli) was elected (see Chapuis 2003b : 429, 745–47) in order to coordinate the actions of the warriors of different clans—he was certainly co-opted among the chiefs of the dominant clans (753). Reference to hierarchy is common in stories of war : ‘‘He, because he was a chief, said... ‘‘the chief of all the Wayapi and the chief of the Opakwana...’’ ; ‘‘Aman who wasn’t a chief said...’’ Wayana autohistory is a history of important men. Tony (1842 [1769]), one of the first Westerners to come in contact with the proto-Wayana, who at the time were fighting the Wayapi, describes a fortified village and a ‘‘spartan’’ (228) social organization dominated by a ‘‘general chief’’ (231) whose village—that is, whose number of obligated—was the most important. We have, therefore, at least during the eighteenth century, a cyclically structured, hierarchical organization linked to the endemic state of war. As subgroups of clans, subgroups whose genealogy we can link to a distant, prestigious ancestor, lines are clearly marked through the theatrical performance of plural unity that is found in the tale of Kailawa as told by Kuliyaman. We will return to this.

From Protoethnic Groups
to the Birth of the Ethnic Group

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Let us now return to the period of conflicts between clans. First united into loose and ephemeral associations that comprised only a small number of groups, they were forced to strengthen ties to confront external adversaries, notably the Wayapi in the south, but also to win or preserve privileged access to Western metal goods, while many of them were dying in epidemics.  These chain associations probably occurred first between lines of the same clan and between lines (or local groups) of symbolically (or geographically) close clans, such as those of the birds, as we have seen. Later, they obeyed diverse logics, principally geographic and linguistic proximity [522] as well as the length of time they had been in contact, even if that contact was conflictual : this is the case of the Kwananïyana, for example, who fought against the Opkawana before forging an alliance with them (those reversals were common according to the autohistory). Linguistic distance is often exaggerated and foregrounded either to stigmatize an incompatibility or, on the contrary, to justify a possible alliance. There is the case of a spy who recognizes the language of those he observes, exclaiming : ‘‘They are good enough to be our parents !’’ (Kuliyaman, quoted in Chapuis 2003b : 533). Some local groups, isolated and their numbers diminished, probably had no choice and were eliminated or integrated into the first group that passed through.
Aggregates of various complexity coexisted. For example, in the war opposing the Upului and Tïlïyo (understood as clans but also as coalitions), their allies and, simultaneously, subgroups, such as Sikaleyana, Saluma, Tunayana, Piyanai, Patakasiyana, Sikiyana, Kanpëyana, Pïlëuyana, Okomëyana, Leleyana, and so on, intervened. The battles test associations in the process of being created and bond ones already formed, a point that Kuliyaman well recognizes. There thus exists a whole series of levels, from the most general to the most particular. Beyond the collective political groupings, accepted freely or enforced, we cannot neglect the integration of prisoners. Lastly, changes in affiliation, as well as opportunistic bricolage, must have been frequent.
Progressively, more stable federations (protoethnic groups) tended to replace these ephemeral and pragmatic coalitions. Their numbers were fed by all the lines of ‘‘compatible’’ clans in the region, which found relative security there while increasing their access to Western metal goods. In the fights for a privileged place in the distribution circuits of these goods, dominant lines that had played a prominent role in the future of the group as a whole were strengthened or eliminated. The last battles opposed the Apalai and the Upului, whose goal was to control the upper East Paru River (see Chapuis 2003b : 611). The latter won.
If the formal similarity between protoethnic groups could appear absolute to the observer, the groups themselves never mistook each other. Jean-Baptiste Leblond (1789) noted, for example, that it was impossible to differentiate the Upului from the Roucouyenne (a name given in the past by travelers to a nebulous group formed of proto-Wayana, usually neither Upului nor Apalai), two important and interconnected aggregates, ‘‘although they have no problem distinguishing each other.’’ In those ensembles, the clan reference did not fade away but was made secondary to the federal reference. Within a federation, the individual was identified by his clan, and within the clan by his line ; externally he was identified primarily by his federation.
[523]
In the nineteenth century, three main protoethnic groups occupied the territory between the Tïlïyo and the Wayapi : the Apalai on the East Paru, the Upului on the upper Jari, and the Wayanahle on the Mapahony and especially on the Marouini : the regional dispersion of the past had been replaced by a certain concentration spread between the main places of transit of Western goods (Portuguese in the south, French in the north) in a calmer social climate.
Diverse factors that I have analyzed in detail elsewhere (Chapuis 2003a, 2003b) helped establish a more or less uniform peace. With peace (in the mid-nineteenth century), two phenomena appeared : a fluvial territoriality  and a generalization of exogamy. Grenand and Grenand (1987 : 17) have already noticed a similar phenomenon among the ancient Palikur of the Amapa. It is possible that the exogamic exigency developed more in relation to line than to clan, as is always the case among the Tïlïyo (Cortez 1975 : 5–6). A famous text, ‘‘The Distribution’’ (‘‘La répartition’’), shows, in paradigmatic fashion, that these new orientations were a real revolution for the protagonists : opposed clan groups switched wives (indirect proof of the systematic endogamy that had prevailed thus far) with the explicit goal of ending deadly antagonisms, before fanning out, thus ‘‘mixed,’’ along the branches of the East Paru and the Jari (Ëtakpapïtpë, in Chapuis 2003b : 627–29).
The fluvial inscription of the line thus became dominant only at the end of the wars, and it enabled the ‘‘marking’’ of eminent lines that occupied strategic locations. The totality of the local group was characterized in relation to the village chief (tamusi) of the clan to which his line belonged. Let us not forget that, among the Wayana, a group that first occupied a river would have preeminence over those that settled later (it is impossible to say if this mode of acquiring prestige preceded the establishment of trade networks, or if the former was rather a consequence of the latter).
In fact, line, which before had been only a secondary part of the clan, became a prime element of social organization in the event of an irreversible political upheaval. The epic of Kailawa—a line chief whose existence is historically proven (see Chapuis 2003b)—is particularly eloquent on this matter. Indeed, in it appear names, considered to be those of (exclusively male) ancestors, each linked to a precisely cited clan. The founding hero, along with his men, destroys all the groups in the region, each time with the exception of one or two boys whom he asks for their name : ‘‘They only take Tunayana. They kill them. They bring back maybe two [boys]. ‘Who are you ?’ asks [Kailawa]. ‘I am Tunaleikë !’ [the boy] answers. ‘And he, then ?’ continues [Kailawa]. ‘He’s Yulu,’ he says. ‘OK, let’s go !’... They kill some Sikiyana [and bring some children back] : ‘Who are you ?’ asks Kailawa. ‘I am Suliwa.’ ‘And he ?’ ‘He’s Amila and he’s Kalale,’ etc.’’ (Kuliyaman, [524] quoted in ibid. : 677). In adopting these young boys, it is as if the hero created their names from scratch : the reference to the clan is not abolished ; it simply reads as a clue.
Unlike war stories, which identify some of these personages as chief warriors with ancestral, immemorial roots and functions, the tale of Kailawa, which comes later, considers their political existence as a consequence of the actions of the hero. This report does not anchor these lines in the clans’ indefinite or original past, but it gives birth to them in this tale, as elementary particles of the gestating ethnic groups. Through these children and their anthroponyms, Kailawa is the ancestor of all the Wayana and the Apalai. These names, whose bearers formed the ethnic group, ‘‘are our names so far,’’ adds Kuliyaman (in ibid. : 667), thus stressing their continuity, maintained until today. There is a reversal of perspective, corresponding to a fundamental political change : the ethnic group, as a dominant political organization, progressively overtakes the clan as the referential structure—without the latter’s identification being dissolved, since each anthroponym belongs to one clan only—thus imposing a reorganization of the lines.
By retaining only certain names, by acting as if the others had disappeared when their bearers were decimated by the hero, this text leaves aside ordinary people : it is as if the ethnic group were built from glorious lines to which each person can be linked. And it is around the most prestigious of these lines that others will gather, and around whom the stakes of power will manifest.

We have an idea of how lines aggregate : by clan affinity, clan or linguistic proximity, or the integration of prisoners. A question comes then to mind : how did most of the clans survive, through some lines, while others disappeared ? This question can be answered through multiple scenarios. Our data have shown us that each local group, even composite, is identified according to the clan of its chief. Men’s names were, in a way, more important than women’s for social organization. Each male child was allowed to receive the name of one of his ancestors. Name choice thus had a political aspect. There is no doubt that at this level, as well as others, pragmatism prevailed. Depending on the context, one might retain the name of one line at the expense of others. If this occurred repeatedly, a line could disappear. The role of epidemics must also be taken into account : in many cases, the successive representatives of a same line all must have perished at once, so that their names were no longer used. Then we must consider interlocking : when a line of a clan integrated into a larger group that belonged to another clan, it did not lose its identity in the group but lost it vis-à-vis external groups. If this ensemble was then [525] itself integrated into a larger federation, its members preserved a preferential identity (either that of the initial clan or that of the amalgam succeeding it) while acquiring the federation identity, and so on. By this process of dilution, numerous lines changed groups to the point of only being identifiable in relation to the most recently invested aggregate. This was probably the case of the still prestigious Kayana Kumi-yumu, absorbed by the Piyanakoto and/or the Wayana (Frikel 1955 : 206–7). It also clearly happened with the Upului. We know that this important federation was very inclusive and is probably the one that regrouped the most abandoned elements. Today, some Upuluis are unable to name their original clan, at least the one prior to their integration into this federation, as if the most recent label had erased those that preceded it. Finally, a line could disappear when the last bearer of its name was taken prisoner and forced to adopt the clan denomination of his captors.
I have insisted so far on the similarity between the clans considered in my study. However, in addition to deep similarities, there existed important differences  that testify, not just to a group’s strong desire to differentiate itself but to very old cultural disparities linked, on the one hand, to specific choices and various adaptive strategies (Tarble 1985) ; and, on the other, to the influence of non-Carib groups. Nothing, in fact, prohibits us from thinking that fragments from another linguistic stock had been integrated into the Carib ensemble. In fact, the clan form lends itself to this. Pierre Grenand (1982 : 141) has shown that the Wayapi integrated some Kaikusiyana (Carib) and made room for a Carib fraction recycled into a clan named ‘‘the ancestors of the anaconda.’’ The integration here is not at all disordered ; on the contrary, it is clearly formalized. It is probable, in any case, that foreign groups were ‘‘Caribized’’ by being made part of clans. The way one became Carib, like many other points, remains to be precisely explained. Another consequence of this reflection is to teach us that the clans—and the lines—of which we have learned are not original. They are not all of the same age : some appeared throughout history, while others were about to disappear. These are points we cannot neglect in future analyses.

The Ethnic Group : Provisory and Unstable
Extremity of a Long Trajectory

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The ‘‘ethnic group’’ emerged in the early twentieth century, when local populations were decimated by epidemics, from a powerful process of social aggregation that consolidated alliances under pressure from exogenous economic factors (Western metal goods engendered, from the first contact, a real dependency in Amerindians). Now we understand the reasons [526] and the justifications for the Wayana’s claim that they are a métis group (an ethnic group) that has resulted from large-scale mixture and ensures ‘‘the presumed perpetuity’’ of the clans. Of the past multitude, only the Apalai and the Wayana (the latter ethnonym becoming dominant in the final third of the twentieth century) join the Tïlïyo as ensembles that are politically significant at the regional level. The ethnic group may be seen both as a unified diversity and as a plural unity. The clan is now a past reference used to classify the lines inside the ethnic group, but it is no longer truly operational.

The Tools of Ethnic Group Affirmation

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This new social entity, the ethnic group (which emerged against the backdrop of linguistic homogenization), was legitimated and given visibility by a complex symbolic and institutional mechanism. Let us outline its principal elements.
The tale of Kailawa is a story composed to provide a ‘‘theoretical’’ foundation for the ethnic group. It proposes a version of the mixture of all the clans within one large ‘‘family’’ (wekï). According to this conception, the ethnic group (Apalai and Wayana together) is formed from the union of numerous male lines under the political and spiritual paternity of the founding hero as ‘‘father of the nation’’ (see Chapuis 2003b). As a discourse, the tale of Kailawa has enabled the integration into a unified social ensemble of fragments from different clans separated by the events that we have discussed. It reconstructs kinship, grounding it in historical elements selected for this purpose. It is an act of institution as well as of performative speech.
Another major element of this mechanism is the initiation ceremony (maraké) in its modern, ecumenical version, which (ideally) brings together all the Wayana south and north of the Tumuc Humac for a long and very ritualized celebration whose main primary, explicit goal is to produce adults. On this occasion, Kalau songs (H. Rivière 2003) allusively call up the past while splendid olok headdresses, the only good transmissible between generations in this society, manifest the existence of what I have called lines. Each line has a single headdress ; it is transmitted to the eldest son or, if he is not considered worthy, to another son or to the sister’s eldest son. The olok have not been studied so far, but they could be a good way of analyzing the lines.
The Amerindians’ adoption of the Wayana ethnonym, under the noncoercive but effective influence (because of its politico-economic consequences) of whites and their intermediaries, the black maroon Aluku  (Chapuis 2003b, forthcoming), should be mentioned again. This ethnonym, [527] discovered at the end of the nineteenth century by Westerners, who until then had applied the term Roucouyenne indiscriminately to pre-ethnic Wayana formations, does not seem to have denoted a particular group. It is a generic term, of variable extension, that we can translate either as ‘‘the person’’ or ‘‘the people,’’ but also as ‘‘the Indian,’’ ‘‘someone,’’ or ‘‘the human.’’ It has the advantage of being applicable to all the clans it subsumes without privileging any of them.
A question must be asked at this point : why have only three ethnic groups (the Apalai, Wayana, and Tïlïyo) emerged out of this multitude, and not five, ten, or fifteen ? The presence in eastern Guiana of three strong nation-states, each endowed with a distinct supply network of Western goods, has played a determining, but not exclusive role—(historical and cultural influences, notably linguistic ones, have been decisive) in the constitution, setting, and number of these societies, in which we can induce three relational systems :

•	Brazilians ---> East and West Paru ---> Apalai (+ Wayana + Tïlïyo)
•	Dutch ---> Courantyne ---> Sipaliwini ---> Tïlïyo ; and Dutch ---> Ndjuka ---> Tapanahony ---> Tïlïyo (+ Wayana)
•	French ---> Maroni ---> Upper Jari ---> Boni ---> Wayana

Finally, the contemporary ensembles could be considered as the product of regroupings engendered for the most part by material interest, native actors both having pushed to its extreme the logic of dependence on Western products and having become caught in the game of ethnic identity. In contrast, it is more to the west, far from the main centers of trade, that small, dispersed postclan units have survived (or taken refuge ?). Whether they wanted to or not, these units have not formed an ethnic group. They have chosen instead a certain independence, away from large gatherings (Frikel [1958] met some of them). According to Wayana oral tradition, the Mawayana also have made this choice (Chapuis 2003b : 523, 527). The dynamic approach not only accounts for the internal structure of these groups ; it also largely explains their genesis, division, and distribution.

The Building of a Social Heterogeneity

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Now that we have outlined the group’s ethnogenesis, we can indicate how it influenced its sociogenesis. In other words, we can examine the tensions that traverse and help reproduce modern Wayana society and where these tensions come from : unification does not imply unity.
The introduction of metal goods had notable and well-known consequences on Amazonian societies (see, e.g., Whitehead 1988 : 52 ; and Grenand and Grenand 1997 : 62). The most important—apart from the [528] Amerindians’ dependence on their providers—was the learning of new ways of exploiting the milieu and new production relationships. The introduction of metal goods has also guided social transformations, oriented population flows, and been a deciding factor in current human settlement. Moreover, the rarity of these products has caused conflicts (Chapuis forthcoming) that have favored the preeminence of certain clans, and above all, of certain lines (or of local groups, which can be a line or a part of a line).
Indeed, it seems that the ability to acquire guns, hatchets, swords, and so on reinforced the power of eminent men able to unite several lines : what was an essentially ephemeral situation, occurring only in wartime, thus persisted in another form. This recalls the example of Ouane`, a war leader who accompanied the cacique Tamoui, scion of a valorous line, during the treaty agreed to around 1830 with the gran-man Gongo, chief of the Aluku. Ouanè was the father of Twenke, who was well off when Henri Coudreau (1893 : 104, 108) met him at the end of the nineteenth century. Paikë, son of Twenke, was raised, according to Coudreau, among the Aluku and became one of their emissaries among his own people. A descendant of Paikë was gran-man of the Wayana of the Litani between 1960 and 1985 (under the name of Twenke), and it is his son who now holds this office. This line, characterized as Wayanahle (like Kukuyana according to another version ; I will not discuss these terms here), presently forms a sort of ‘‘caste’’ that inspires respect, jealousy, and animosity. Its members were, notably, among the first ones to get French nationality and the socioeconomic advantages this entails. In any case, in this situation, there has been continuity between war prestige and economic power thanks to privileged relationships with Westerners or their black maroon intermediaries.
Population concentration is another and later consequence of contact with the West. It happened at the expense of the group’s Brazilian component, which is largely in the majority. In the course of the twentieth century, this component passed from the south to the north of the Tumuc Humac, that is, from the Amazon Basin to the basins of the Marouini and the Litani in French Guiana (e.g., Hurault 1989 [1972] ; Schoepf 1972). In fact, it is the order of arrival of groups on the Marouini/Litani that most helps us understand the current social stratification and the stakes of power involved in it : thus Twenke’s group, one of those that has been settled longest on the river, is preeminent politically, whereas the later arrivals, the Apalai (and more recently the Tïlïyo), are not regarded as highly. As for the group settled in between, sometimes a long time ago, and invited by the first occupants (Chapuis 2003b : 565, 864, 889), they have an intermediary social position and do not hesitate nowadays to ask for more power in collective decisions : the Upului are their largest element. To highlight this stratification, these groups, who generally represent the former federations, are [529] labeled according to their former locale rather than the protoethnic group they belonged to : therefore, the Wayanahle are referred to as ‘‘the people of the Marouini,’’ the Apalai as ‘‘the people of the Paru,’’ and the Upului as ‘‘the people of the Jari.’’
According to Carlin (1998 : 16), this notion of social differentiation within the ethnic group can be found among the Tïlïyo : ‘‘In the village itself one’s descent is known and can often be guessed at by the location of one’s house, that is, in all the villages, there are signs of ethnic cluster formation. These ethnic clusters are also indicative of social stratification.’’ Carlin also finds that the Akuliyo, recent immigrants to the village of Tëpu, on the Tapanahony, are considered as domestics (19–20). It should be noted that this assertion contradicts those made by Pierre Rivière (1969 : 27), who argued that ‘‘these subgroups or tribal remnants’’ are not very important ‘‘in the present composition of the Trio’’ and that there is little ‘‘advantage to be gained in distinguishing them.’’
Similarly, both ethnic groups use nuances of skin color to mark social differentiation : it materializes, in a way, the federal past linked to a geographic position and makes the social categories involved ‘‘visible.’’ According to this view, the Wayanahle (‘‘Real Wayana’’) have red, the Upului dark, and the Apalai clear skin. A similar distinction is also practiced among the Tïlïyo (Frikel 1960 : 6), where the clear type also applies to the most recent immigrants. The reality of variation in skin color matters little : its interest lies in how Amerindians use it to establish social categories, as if, no longer using numerous and subtle body markers to distinguish clans, they nevertheless still need their bodies to mark the few social differences remaining. Corporality is the indispensable idiom for expressing social structure and the manifestation of identities and differences, among the Wayana as elsewhere in Amazonia (Seeger, Da Matta, and Viveiros de Castro 1979).
As we can see, a diachronic reading enables a subtle political approach to contemporary ensembles. Without going into further detail, we must admit that these societies are less homogeneous than we have often wanted to believe. A close study of the ‘‘dynasties’’ mentioned above and of the social categories involved would help us to better understand the mechanisms of power among these ethnic groups.

Conclusion : Usefulness
of the Ethnosociogenetic Approach

TOC
It is possible to reconstruct the main steps of the evolution of the political structures and of the social organization that prevailed during the time of the proto-Wayana and the proto- Tïlïyo (see Frikel1961 about these denominations), [530] but with a certain degree of approximation for the moment. It is likewise possible to identify some forces in contemporary politics. Even if it is for now only in the form of a schema or outline reconstituting stages in the region’s past, this historical approach has undeniable heuristic advantages, some of which are worth mentioning.
This dynamic approach enables us notably to understand how, in spite of upheavals, these groups kept a solid hold on their past and used it to reconfigure themselves ; how they were able to marry social renewal and continuity (using the method of interlocking). The permanence of clan and line identity, common to isolated groups as much as to those who participated in the creation of an ethnic group, has enabled individuals to position themselves strongly in one or many common regional pasts while efficiently locating themselves in the present. This flexibility seems to be linked to the existence of a strong conceptual totemic frame, associated with a cumulative and pragmatic conception of identities.
This approach is also useful in that it provides elements to help understand how identities of clan, line, federation, territory, ethnic group, and now nation coexist and are available for use according to the context. The multiplicity of identity levels eases the choice of actors and offers them many ways to fulfill themselves. Here again, some changes are at work : the young claim that they belong to no clan, that they are simply Wayana, that is, a variety of French citizen. It must be said that, during the past several decades, the Wayana have become increasingly integrated into the ‘‘world economy.’’ The last truly ‘‘traditional’’ male initiation took place in 1989, and the Wayana have generally lost the original, profound meaning of the tale of Kailawa (the ethnic group’s theoretical foundation).
This approach also enables us to note that the ‘‘ethnicization,’’ in the sense we understand it here (as a process resulting from a series of amalgams), was accompanied by a reorientation of mechanisms of identity and differentiation. On the one hand, we note that following wars, the vendetta between ethnic or fluvial groups persisted in a different form, principally that of shamanic attacks, as observed among the Akawaio (Butt-Colson 1983–84 : 115). On the other hand, a system of reprisals still exists between ‘‘hostile’’ families, who, however, manage to coexist within the same ethnic ensemble : the imputation of poisoning is probably one of the best indicators of divisions within the group, divisions that reproduce, in part, the memory of past clan or lineal antagonisms (Chapuis 2001).
In comparative terms, this approach offers the basis for understanding how and why the ethnic groups are simultaneously different and identical, and which level and type of integration each has achieved, knowing that, for almost a century, they have been part of distinct and strong national [531] ensembles. The main two factors at work are : (1) the formation of totemic clan ; and (2) the historical conditions that presided over the elaboration of the ethnic groups.
To explain the similarities, we first must note that these are essentially clans of the same Carib roots that we have seen mingling and entertaining each other throughout the disjunctions, accretions, and knotting of flux that marked this zone, and which finally formed the present regional ethnic groups. In addition, the process that ended in the formation of these groups is globally homogeneous, and the stakes (notably the desired metal goods) that have guided it are similar. These ethnic groups, finally, all have been able to conciliate politico-economic interest (responding to and taking advantage of Westerners’ expectations in certain circumstances) with a historical reality that has brought schisms.
But the Tïlïyo, the Apalai, and the Wayana have not created the same type of aggregate, and this is an important difference. Whereas Apalai society is divided into three groups, Wayana, Apalai, and métis (Schoepf 1972 ;Morgado and Camargo 1996), the Tïlïyo appear much more divided sociologically and geographically, as Carlin (1998 : 8–9) has noted : ‘‘The present-day population of the Trio villages comprises at least ten groups of people of ethnic descent other than Trio and is the result of migration and convergence... However, not all the non-ethnicTrio have fused with the Trio.’’ The French Wayana—the only ones to have escaped missionary control—are perhaps the most integrated. Having set up mixture as a foundational act of their society, they have been able to build on this base an ethnic group simultaneously united and split.
One can account for these disparities, first, thanks to the differences in socioeconomic and political conditions offered by the host nation ; and second, by considering the diversity of those who formed the ethnic groups and the relations that they maintained. In fact, the particularity of ethnic organization, be it Tïlïyo or Wayana, is that it regroups clans according to a density proper to each aggregate : one certainly finds more Kaikusiyanas and Okomëyanas among the Tïlïyo than among the Wayana, more Upuluis or Opakwanas among the Wayana than among the Tïlïyo and the Apalai, and larger numbers of Pilisiyanas among the Tïlïyo and the Apalai than among the others. And certain clans are specific to an ethnic group because they are not represented elsewhere (which signifies that an ethnic group comprises the quasi-totality of several clans and only a few lines of other clans). This may have produced divergences that have polarized around former linguistic divides.
The differential study of how these social formations were constituted, as well as of the clan fragments that chose independence and isolation, [532] strikes me as particularly interesting for understanding the genesis of regional social organizations and for comparing the different formulas realized and their contributing factors.
To go beyond the general frame of reference sketched here, to explore the hypotheses and paths I propose, a collective, comparative, systematic, and regional study will need to be undertaken, both bibliographical and based on fieldwork, of not just the Apalai, Wayana, and Tïlïyo, but also the Akuliyo and surrounding groups of Tupi-Guarani speakers such as the Emerillon and Wayapi, since the oral tradition shows frequent mixture.

Appendix

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The following table recapitulates some of the data (incomplete and of varying quality) on the clans discussed in this article. The numerous other names that come up (and which I do not discuss in my essay) allow us to situate the clans within a much vaster ensemble. For a complete list, see Chapuis 2003b and forthcoming.

Name	Referent	Particularity retained for denomination	Related groups (allies/enemies)	
				
Akawaktauyana	laughing falcon
(Herpetotheres cachinnans),
Falconidae	to be determined	Hololoyana,
Maipoyana,
Mahkauyana	
Akuliyana	agouti (Dasyprocta aguti),
Dasyproctidae	to be determined	Pakilayana,
Pasiyana,
Kaikusiyana	
Alakwayana	small chachalaca
(Ortalis motmot),
Cracidae	hair red as the bird’s feathers	Tïlïyo	
Alamayana	bee	very dark color	Tïlïyo	
Awawayana	giant otter
(Pteronura brasiliensis),
Mustelidae	walked with swaying hips like the giant otter	Kayana,
Yukiniyana,
Mawayana,
Kulankulanyana	
Hololoyana	great tinamou
(Tinamus major),
Tinamidae	to be determined	Akawaktauyana,
Mahkauyana,
Maipoyana	
Kaikusiyana	feline	cruel as cats ; or dog breeders	Këlëpukëyana
(people of the fisher cat),
Ëwokoyana
(people of the crested currasow),
Wayãpi	
Kanpëyana	smoked food	dry and black
because they liked to stay by the fire	Mawayana,
Kasoyana,
Patakasiyana,
Awawayana,
Tïlïyosan	
Kayana	fish (generic)	aquatic habitat	Mawayana,
Kulankulanyana,
Yukiniyana,
Awawayana	
Kulumïyana	king vulture
(Sarcoramphus papa), Cathartidae	shaved head like a king vulture’s	Mekuyana (people of the wild spider
monkey
[sapajou]),
Kusiliyana (people of the pale-faced Saki monkeys),
Malakanayana
(people of the green macaw),
Owauyana (people of the capuchin bird)	
Kwalakwayana
Kwananïyana	type of frog
Saimiri sciureus,
Cebidae	similar voice	Opakwana,
Okomëyana,
Pïlëuyana,
Tunayana	
Leleyana	vampire bat	cave dwellers like bats	Kumalawai,
Wayanahle,
Akawaktauyana,
Piyanai, Mïloyana
(people of the Nyctibus griseus, Nyctibidae)	
Mahkauyana
(or Makahoyana)	undulated tinamou
(Crypturellus undulates),
Tinamidae	high-pitched laugh like the bird’s	Sikiyana, Tïlïyo,
Wetuhyana
(people of the pick)	
Maipoyana	variegated tinamou
(Crypturellus variegates),
Tinamidae		see Akawaktauyana and Hololoyana	
Maipulisiyana	tapir (Tapirus terrestris),
Tapiridae (tapir)	very strong ; they imitate the tapir when they go into battle	Akuliyana,
Alamayana,
Mamhaliyana
(people of the agami), Pipakyana
(people of the pipak frog)	
Mawayana	mawa frog
(Leptodactylus penta-dactylus)			
Okomëyana	species of wasp 	aggressive like a wasp	Taira, Tïlïyo,
Saluma,
Peitopïtyana,
Pïlëuyana,
Kukuyana (people of the firefly)	
Opakwana	species of mosquito	no home, can tolerate a swarm of mosquitoes	same as Kwananïyana	
Pakilayana	collared peccary
(Tayassu tajacu),
Tayassuidae	had a big nose	Kaikusiyana,
Akuliyana,
Pasiyana	
Pasiyana	Acouchi
(Myoprocta acouchi), Dasyproctidae	had their loins painted red	Kaikusiyana,
Awaleimëyana
(people of the water opossum),
Munpëyana
(people of the mouse)	
Patakasiyana	fish (Hoplias malabaricus),
Erythrinidae	aquatic habitat	Okomëyana,
Pïlëuyana,
Sikiyana	
Peitopïtyana	child	small like a child	Taira, Tunayana,
Mawayana	
Pïlëuyana	arrow	always had arrows in their hands *	Sikaleyana,
Alakwayana,
Kumalawai,
Wayanahle	
Pilisiyana	golden-winged parakeet
(Brotogeris chrysopterus),
Psittacidae	very high voice	Upului, Apalai,
Apama,
Umuluyana	
Piyanayana	harpy eagle
(Harpia harpia),
Accipitridae	grey markings on the breast, according to H. Coudreau 1893 : 91	Wayãpi puku,
Wayãpi sili	
Sikaleyana	black-bellied cuckoo (Piaya melanogaster),
Cuculidae	ate inchworms	Leleyana,
Kulumïyana,
Sikiyana, Piyanai
(Piyanayana)	
Tunayana	water	aquatic habitat	Tïlïyo	
Umuluyana	species of frog	fat arms like the umulu frog’s	Maipulisiyana,
Kulikwiyana (?)	
Yukiniyana	Guiana otter
(Lutra longicaudus),
Mustelidae		see Awawayana	
Translated by Véronique Olivier. Thanks to Pierre Grenand for his close reading of and judicious remarks on this article.

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