Fathers and Sons, Trajectories of Self Reﬂ Ections on Pintupi Lives and Futures Fred R

!!!CHAPTER 4 Fathers and Sons, Trajectories of Self Refl ections on Pintupi Lives and Futures Fred R. Myers Totemism ‘as a social institution is a defense organized against separation anxiety’ (Róheim 1945a: 249). Questions about childhood in Indigenous Australian communities have become very signifi cant politically, but – with some exceptions – an- thropologists have not developed the ethnography of childhood as one might have imagined. What this would involve, I have often thought, is a much greater attention to the interactions and communicative practices (linguistic and otherwise) between children and caregivers as well as among children themselves (see Ochs and Schieffelin 1984; Schieffelin 1990). I always wished I had been able to do this with the attention it de- served, because the general models of childhood and socialization that have been developed (of nurturance, autonomy, and so on) – however appropriately drawn from Indigenous theories of personhood – do not engage with the range of practices and subtleties of variations that must exist and which inform actual histories of socialization.1 As signifi cantly, I believe, the questions we sought to ask were not as theoretically elabo- rated as they needed to be in order to generate the empirical materials for understanding how children become adult persons. I believe that the recent work of the editor of this volume makes important contributions to reestablishing the questions that should be asked about childhood. With these caveats, my own contribution is surely more speculative than I would like, but my interest lies in the development of ‘sociality’ in Western Desert Indigenous subjects and the relationship of this sociality to what I would call, with the existential psychiatrists, ‘ontological security’. Laing (1965: 39) describes a person who feels secure in his being as someone who has ‘a sense of his presence in the world as real, alive, whole, and, in a temporal sense, a continuous person’. My hope is that 82 Fathers and Sons, Trajectories of Self: Refl ections on Pintupi Lives and Futures ᮡ 83 some perspective from the past may be worthwhile in drawing attention to important questions around the continuity of being here posited as a social phenomenon. How is ontological security established in these communities? Indeed, what does it mean to establish this kind of trust or security? In the past two years, I have had the opportunity to revisit some of the men I had known originally as boys in 1973 – some of whom I have seen only very briefl y and intermittently since 1988. Since the early 1970s, as is known well by most who will read this, the lives of Indigenous people in remote communities have been marked by trauma and loss, with what has seemed to me to be a dramatic increase in the deaths of young men and the passing on of the elder generation. All along the road to communities like Kintore are plastic crosses and fl owers marking the location and identities of deadly motorcar accidents, commonly fuelled by heavy drinking. Deaths by violence are certainly not a novel phenomenon, as I have discussed elsewhere (Myers 1986), and the problems of ‘loss’, ‘grief’ and ‘attachment’ are enduring cultural dilemmas in Central Desert Aus- tralian communities (see also Morton 1987b). But the scale has changed, and these changes presumably are working themselves out against the existing cultural forms. The centrality of ‘separation anxiety’, as Róheim (1945a) articulated it, suggests a vulnerability of attachment in the processes of life’s trajectories towards a healthy self-regard. Indeed, in the face of these losses and with an economy of little prospect, one wonders how young people and children in these communities might envisage a future – a topic that some of my colleagues, such as those represented in this collection, are addressing. Lacking data specifi c to intrapsychic processes, I would prefer to bracket the psychoanalytic implications of Róheim’s insight in favour of a broader notion of attachment or, perhaps better, of belonging as necessary to maturation and development. I in- tend this paper to refl ect back on the lives of my young friends with the knowledge of present and past. Insofar as my knowledge is primarily of boys and young men, it should be seen as refl ecting on the processes of socialization and identity formation of males towards what appears to be a particular desert Aboriginal masculinity. Childhood and Social Production I am particularly struck by the continuing close relationships between the men I once knew as boys, sustaining their intimate knowledge of each other from childhood over thirty years ago. This sustained intersubjective continuity seems a very steadying infl uence on people’s self-regard. I was 84 ᮡ Fred R. Myers also very struck, in my original fi eld study, by the affective ways in which one young man, who had lost both his original mother and father, articulated his situation as an ‘orphan’ (yapunta). Later, I wrote about the ways in which the painter Linda Syddick constructed through her art her fi rst father’s loss and his replacement by her attachment to her second father (Myers 2002, 2004). Seeing how the Pintupi communities – like many others – have suffered much signifi cant trauma and loss, I would like to look at some details of the families and cohorts of the young people I fi rst knew in 1973, to consider how they have fared in these situations. When I arrived as a young American anthropologist at the Pintupi outstation community of Yayayi, there were nearly three hundred people living in army tents, with the tents principally providing shelter for ‘families’ and ‘single women’ (or widows) and the older boys and young men living with more informal shelters of galvanized iron. I have striking memories of the older boys: Tjampu Tjakamarra – then a young adolescent and recently in from the ‘bush’ – wearing a denim jacket with ‘Make Love not War’ on the back and the sleeves cut off, and Bobby West’s interest in me as an ‘American’ like a previous visitor, an American Viet- nam veteran, and Paul Bruno’s desire to engage with me in English. Even in such a recent community, older boys were living in a world inter- sected by many fi elds of attraction. They knew a great deal about their own culture, spoke Pintupi as a fi rst language, but were already adopting the Papunya Luritja style of speech developed at the larger community nearby, and most professed little interest in their own culture or country. Whether the boys were simply circumspect or uninterested, discussion or reference to tjukurrpa (Dreaming) either as stories or as sites was not frequent, although after initiation and deeper ritual exposure, they all demonstrated more pride in gaining knowledge about it. It was not clear that these young men were aspiring with the same vigour to becom- ing knowledgeable in the Law as their fathers did, and they certainly resisted prolonged withdrawal from secular social life for ritual matters. This speaks, I think, to some vulnerabilities of the transition to Aboriginal adulthood. These young men, or late adolescents, considered their elders and realized that the cultural frames had changed; they had other ways in which to imagine themselves. Hanging around the camps at Yayayi – especially of my friends Freddy West, Shorty Lungkarta and Pinny Tjapaltjarri – I had considerable opportunity to spend time with and learn about family life, no matter how untutored I was in developmental psychology. Four themes particularly express my strongest memories of ‘childhood’ – of the situation of childhood – there. First, the close contact of small children with their caretak- ers and the constant attention they received, some of it rather invasive Fathers and Sons, Trajectories of Self: Refl ections on Pintupi Lives and Futures ᮡ 85 and aggressive – attempting to get a response. Second, the frequent tan- trums of small children, whose desires for some object or attention were inconsolable and ultimately to be satisfi ed by older children giving way to the needs of the younger.2 Third, what I found to be a ‘strange’ affective distance of adolescent boys towards their fathers (and mothers), so much so that I was sometimes surprised that a person we were discussing was their father! Fourth, the noticeable and explicit discussion of some young people as orphans (those who had lost close ‘parents’ who were raising them) and the compassion expressed for them. This was matched by the very noticeable demonstrations of loneliness and grief expressed particularly by young men who were ‘orphans’ when they were drunk – when their loss (that is, their not having anyone to ‘look after’ them) was commonly highlighted.3 All of these dimensions of children’s lives entered into my accounts of the qualities of personhood among the Pintupi and into my understanding of the ways in which persons managed their relationships to others – and particularly into the salience of ‘nurturance’ (drawing on the metaphors invested in the concept of kanyininpa, ‘having’, ‘hold- ing’, ‘looking after’) in the organization of sociality (Myers 1979, 1982, 1986, 1988b, 1993). These analyses from my fi rst periods of fi eldwork were based on a life-history and developmental-cycle methodology and a theoretical framework focused on social reproduction. In that work, the principal orientation was to what I described as ‘the production of the social person’ and in this sense, I approached the ‘child’ as an inter- section or site of value production, a cultural subject in formation. The life cycle of a person comprised, at least for classical Pintupi society, the elementary cycle of social production. While none of my study was what could be called an ethnography of childhood, it did depend on the recognition of certain key themes in the lives of children I knew.

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