From oral to written: the puta tupuna of Rurutu

Alain Babadzan

The ethnologist, especially one working in French Polynesia, cannot neglect the systematic study of local oral tradition and the different documents connected with this field. Whatever his task or whatever the specific goal of his research, a particularly penetrating light can be cast upon it by any traditional oral material that can still be found — though one may doubt for how long this will be possible. Indeed, the insights gained from the study of oral traditions may be indispensable to the analysis of present-day Polynesian materials. This study seeks to reveal some of the factors relevant to the present- day state of Polynesian oral tradition, the nature of its content and the various problems posed by its interpretation, using as a concrete instance the case of the island of Rurutu in the Austral archipelago.

RURUTU ORAL TRADITION TODAY

A point which needs to be stressed is that oral tradition, in the usual canonical definition of that term, is now vanishing in Rurutu — in spite of the island’s reputation for being one of the most coherently structured and traditional communities in French Polynesia. The role and the function of the “storyteller” have already vanished, and, over the last few years, there has been no single recog­ nised authority from whom the people can solicit information, nor even sages who might give erudite comments upon particular points of tradition such as genealogies, division of lands, legends, local history, and so forth. And when one takes into account how vital this tradi­ tional knowledge may be, notably in the field of land matters, one can see the practical implications of this. This is especially the case in Rurutu, where customary law functioned practically without outside interference until 1945, when the independent ex-kingdom, which had been under French protectorate since 1900, was finally amalgamated with the Territory of French Polynesia.1 Of course, there are still some old people living on the island who

177 178 Alain Babadzan can tell, either fully or in part, a certain number of the more popular ancient legends. Several of these old people — fewer than a dozen — are still today repositories of what one might call traditional mythical knowledge. They are also the custodians of the richest of the puta tupuna, which are ancestral written registers going back for the most part to the end of the last century. But their knowledge of these myths is all too often fragmented and appears to refer only to the contents of the registers that they possess. It seems, listening to the old people of Rurutu, that an old man who died several years ago was invested with the function of storyteller and keeper of local tradition. With his death, he took with him his knowledge and, according to some, his old registers. Two of my informants who were with him before his death, aware of his impending demise, took the opportunity of recording what he had to say as well as the “exact version” of several myths.2 But despite this, the unique position that this individual occupied in his community until his death does not seem to have been filled by a successor. Moreover, if there no longer exist individuals authorised to pass on this oral tradition, neither are there any among the young people of the island today who seem to be receptive to tradition. The young people do not hesitate to express their lack of interest, even their contempt, for the past and anything connected to the past. Apart from these difficulties concerning its transmission and recep­ tion, the oral tradition of Rurutu is also characterised by the paradox that it is now more written than oral. However, the shift in the form of the puta tupuna from oral to written forms (beginning in the years 1885-90) did not at the outset involve the disappearance of a lively oral tradition. Until the beginning of this century, there were special places on the island where traditional knowledge, rhetoric, myths, genea­ logies, etc., were passed on. These ‘are vana‘a (a term and institution obviously related to the famous Maori whare wananga) were con­ cerned, it seems, with the teaching only of elder males of the main family lineages. Another institution in which the oral tradition plays a role and which has been preserved to the present day, is the custom of the tere ‘excursion’,3 which consists of a horseback ride around the island every New Year’s Day. A large proportion of the population takes part in the circuit, which includes a great number of stops at par­ ticular historic and mythical sites. During these stops the legends related to the sites are told in public, so that they are, in a manner of speaking, orally transmitted.4 Today, however, with the possible exception of the tere, there remains little knowledge or practical use of the oral tradition apart from the written documents already mentioned. The staging, the actors and the very structures for transmitting oral tradition have all disappeared. The shift to writing, among other factors, has obviously diminished the importance of maintaining an oral tradition of tradi­ tional knowledge. The puta tupuna o f Rurutu 179

THE PUTA TUPUNA

The puta tupuna may be described as ancestral registers, handed down from generation to generation within a given family, or kin unit, in most cases from father to eldest son. The aim of the puta tupuna is to preserve in written form a varied collection of traditional materials, and to hand these down through the generations in their original form, fixed once and for all in writing. The power of writing confers upon these texts not so much the “power of law” as that particular and precious attribute that can be called authenticity. The different parau ‘words’ of the puta tupuna are thus true and authentic from two points of view. This is so firstly because they are written. The manuscripts of the puta tupuna are, together with the Bible, the only vernacular texts to be found on Rurutu, and this link between the two forms has some clear implications. Writing guarantees and fixes a spoken account, be it “ancestral speech” or “the word of God”.Puta tupuna means ‘book of [the] ancestors’ and the Bible has the Tahitian title Te Parau a te Atua, which is literally translated as ‘The Word of God’. It is so also because these are ancient words, “heavy words” orparoles dresees, the origins of which are not of this epoch, nor, almost, of this world. The puta are generally in the form of old cardboard account books or exercise books, often in a precarious state of preservation. Inaugurated by a first scribe at the end of the last century, they are rarely written in one hand. Following the first texts, the successive owners of the register have added either commentaries of their own in­ spiration, or texts of the same nature as those at the beginning of the puta. Additions are common, either in the margin or following the original text, and made with the aim of “up-dating” genealogies, for example. Certain puta tupuna are 20th century copies of an original text, apparently made to preserve a register which was in very bad con­ dition. This relatively common practice can, of course, give rise to numerous alterations, either voluntary (textual or genealogical manipulations, cuts and even censoring) or involuntary (unfaithful rendering of the original text in the case of badly written words or cer­ tain archaic expressions in the language of Rurutu which are no longer understood today, for example). But modifications in the form and content of the puta tupuna, although they incontestably exist, are relatively rare.5 Respect for the original text is strong, almost obsessive, and generally results in the reproduction of the puta as an exact fascimile, even down to pagination. The date when the puta was written or copied is always placed at the head of the manuscript, but mention of the author’s name is rarely made. Lastly, we may note that some of our informants have in their possession texts which are merely resumes of older puta tupuna made specially for themselves, and with that intention in mind. Although they may often be interesting, these latter texts should not be confused with the authentic puta tupuna, nor 180 Alain Babadzan

with the copies of these puta: in the first place, they are extremely abbreviated versions, and secondly, and above all, they are written for a third party using the original manuscript as a basis. The intended destination of such an abbreviated text is obviously not the same as that for a copy of the original manuscript which is to be kept in the family of the scribe. It must be obvious that these abbreviated texts cannot be legitimately included in the category of puta tupuna. The true puta tupuna may be further distinguished from the puta [f]enua, or puta operera‘a \j]enua (literally ‘book of lands’ or ‘book of land divisions’)6 which are the registers recording the circumstances and conditions of the different land divisions of interest to the kin unit concerned, and which made up, together with oral evidence given by experts in the matter, the traditional elements for decisions about land ownership cases in the days when customary law was still in force in Rurutu. The conditions for drawing up and preserving these puta ‘enua are the same as for the puta tupuna. Their “strategic” importance is still considerable, precisely because these registers are today (given the more and more doubtful oral evidence) the sole documents certifying land ownership practices before 1945. Up till then practically no pro­ perty titles had ever been drawn up.7 In Rurutu, these manuscripts are still referred to in the often stormy public debates on land conflicts.8 This said, the difference between the puta tupuna and the puta ‘enua is not absolute; sometimes the two form a single document, the puta tupuna including lists of toponyms, records of land divisions between relatives, and so for forth. But in both language and reality, the two types of manuscripts can still be differentiated, and indeed often are.9 Let us now consider the content of these puta tupuna. Generally, the content is somewhat disparate: texts of a different nature are juxta­ posed, and are apparently considered to be on the same level. Apart from the genealogies of social and kin units such as ‘ati, ‘opu and tui ta‘ata, w’hich make up a considerable proportion of a manuscript (sometimes several dozen pages out of 100 pages or more), and in addi­ tion to the land divisions I have referred to above, the puta tupuna generally bring together a certain number of parau pa‘ari ‘mythical stories’, as well as commentaries and descriptions on the state of Rurutu “at the time of the savages”. These are both of great interest to the ethnologist, in more ways than one, as we shall see. In addition, there are often ancient paripari ‘chants extolling the mythical significance of places’ as well as various name lists ofaito ‘pagan warriors’, sea-going canoes, etc. In most cases the last, and hence most recent, part of the manuscripts include a few biblical commentaries and sometimes chronicles of parish meetings or minutes from meetings of the council of deacons. In a single case, I found in a puta tupuna a traditional almanac indicating, for each lunar day, the different possible fisheries and planting schedules. In more detail, what I call here ‘mythical stories’ are generally composed of the following kinds of accounts: The puta tupuna of Rurutu 181

1. Myths of creation. Myths of the origin of the island and of the successive waves of population. In one puta a text written in an archaic form of the language refers to the creation of the world without mentioning the creation of the island; this is the only text of this kind that I was able to find. 2. Myths about culture heroes. Often confused with the first category, these myths refer to the voyages of Hiro (Rurutu tradition speaks of seven Hiros) and of Amaiterai. 3. Myths concerning warrior heroes. The exploits of the numerous aito of Rurutu are the subject of many stories based on an identical thematic structure. 4. Myths about sites and toponyms of the island. Often linked to 2 and 3, some of these myths are recited publicly during the tour of the island mentioned above. 5. Myth of [Hjina. Hina, a famous figure in Polynesian mythology, is represented here as a woman cannibal who eats children. This myth is very popular. 6. Chronicles of the wars of Rurutu. Resides these five categories of mythical content, the puta always deal extensively with other types of stories which are difficult to define, having their origins both in myth and in history. These are the chronicles of numerous wars between rival political factions in pagan times. Last but not least, most of the manuscripts contain a large section which describes Rurutu society “before the arrival of the Gospel”. These texts naturally include a good proportion of ethnographic infor­ mation, often of great value, about the ancient society. But, in our opinion, their main interest resides in the vision that the Rurutu people of the end of the last century had of the pagan society whose religion, rites and many practices they had abandoned little more than 50 years before. This section occasionally includes a few of the myths mentioned above as well as some new ones, conceived from a particular point of view. The etene ‘pagans’ and their beliefs are spoken of in the third person and are consigned, not without a measure of ambiguity, to a bygone time. However, this “distancing” by amateur historians or ethnographers in relation to an object which is considered foreign or exterior (“theirs” and no longer “ours”) is in practice put aside when they review (and thus “rehabilitate”) the ancient myths and beliefs via a quite original syncretism. I shall comment on this later. The internal organisation of this section of the puta tupuna follows cultural priorities. It always begins with a chapter10 on the divinities of Rurutu or “the gods worshipped by the savages”. These gods are of three kinds: the first group always includes the Christian Trinity in the form of three pseudo-pagan divinities, each with a vernacular name — Te Atua Metua ‘God the Father’, Te Atua Tamaiti ‘God the Son’, and Te Atua Varua MaitaH ‘God the Holy Ghost’. The second group is reserved for ‘fabricated gods’ or ti'i (essentially the famous effigy named ‘A‘a which is now in the British Museum). The third group of 182 Alain Babadzan divinities is also made up of a triad, in the form of three fearsomeAtua Varua ‘Ino ‘Evil Spirit Gods’, and are opposed to the Atua Varua Maita‘i or ‘Good Spirit Gods’. Following this chapter concerning the divinities, there comes the creation of the First Man, a theme which is compatible with Polynesian cosmogonies as well as Christian. Syncretism plays a part here as well since there is sometimes added to the figure of the First Man, called Ti‘iauone,u that of the “first woman”, called Eva, who comes, moreover, from a rib plucked from Ti‘iauone. In the chapters following this section, certain variations come into play in the order given to the different themes or myths that are evoked. For the most part, they speak about the customs of the pagans, their domestic and social lives (without a word about their rituals or their liturgy),12 and about the Arioi society, the ani, the chiefs and the aito, enumerating each of these in detail.

THE PROBLEMS OF ANALYSIS AND INTERPRETATION

The form and content of the puta tupuna are not without numerous particular implications, nor are they without certain pro­ blems that I shall attempt to point out.

Problems Posed by the Written Form The task of writing the puta tupuna was accomplished, at the earliest, at the end of the last century, and as I have pointed out, it was dialectically accompanied by the decline of oral tradition in its tradi­ tional forms. Now each family had at its disposal a register where genealogies, inheritances, and land divisions were written down, and this made recourse to specialised keepers of traditional knowledge (orators, etc.) less and less indispensable. That said, because they focus on a given kin group, the puta can no longer be a substitute for an overall knowledge of the community, something which has now vanished. However, as far as we and future generations are concerned, it is thanks to these documents that this knowledge will be preserved at all, especially when the voices of its keepers will no longer be heard. The shift to writing which has fixed the oral tradition has at the same time set it in a form foreign to its nature. The oral versions of these mythical stories are now lost, together with what would have been their warmth, their style and their original rhetoric. Now we possess only the written stories, and one can hear from today’s infor­ mants only more or less faithful recitals of these texts. An intermediate case showing the denaturation of the oral tradition by its shift to a writ­ ten code is represented, in a puta tupuna from Rurutu, by a text in which it seems that the declamatory style has been respected (perhaps through dictation) and in which there are repetitions, esoteric for­ mulae, and final incantations repeated three times. Another alteration due to writing comes from the fact that these The puta tupuna o f Rurutu 183 texts have been written in an introduced foreign language, Tahitian. The authors of the texts had, in fact, learned to read and write under the guidance of missionaries in Tahitian, the language of the Bible which had been translated, published and distributed during the latter part of the 19th century.13 This has several consequences for today’s ethnologist; the texts are easier to read but there is also a loss of many useful pieces of information, especially ethno-semantic information. One will thus find many Rurutu words translated14 into the Tahi­ tian of the day and the sporadic reintroduction of the two consonants/ and h which do not exist in Rurutu. The task of translation is not made easier by this reappearance of missing consonants, which is at times misguided. Other more serious difficulties surface due to the language itself, when Tahitian is not used. Whether because the language used is archaic (and maybe esoteric) as is the case here and there, or whether because of particular Rurutu expressions (the Rurutu lexicon differs from that of Tahitian, to a not inconsiderable degree), the owners of the puta themselves are often incapable of commenting on them or of translating them into Tahitian.

The Question of Syncretism The mythical texts of the puta tupuna cannot, for the most part, be considered as written versions “faithful” to the ancient oral tradition. This is due to reasons linked with writing, as pointed out above. These texts are also marked by a characteristic form of reinterpretation and of borrowing from the values and concepts of the missionaries. And precisely because these texts were not written by Europeans but by Polynesians, they reveal the degree of acculturation of the Rurutu elite of the time15 and the manner in which they bore the change of religion and morality following contact with Europeans. Hence, one can find in certain texts, especially those on “the state of Rurutu at the time of the savages”, an entire set of concepts affected by missionary teachings. The Rurutu people of that era are calledetene ‘heathen’ and their gods Atua Varua Tno or Atua etene — so pressing is the need to distinguish them from the single God of the Christians, te Atua [mau] ‘the [true] God’, etc. There is an emphasis also on the deplorable warlike and cannibal practices of the savages whereas elsewhere, with a certain ambivalence and a very notable pride, the ex­ ploits of the aito are magnified and the mana of the gods and the a n i of ancient times are celebrated. Also, in mythical stories which are traditional in form, there sometimes appear various modern notions that have nothing to do with the problems consequent upon translation into Tahitian. Hence, for example, in the myth of the origin of the people of Rurutu, the puta mention a certain ‘ati ‘ura, a wave of people explicitly defined as ‘redskins’, supposed to have come from “America”.16 Likewise, the epic of the mythical hero Amaiterai, of whom we shall speak below, leads this character on a vast and complicated journey from east to west, 184 Alain Babadzan bringing him back to whence he started after he has touched “the end of this world” namely, Japan and England.

The Myth of Amaiterai It is appropriate here to discuss in slightly more detail a particular example of syncretism as applied to myths. The story of Amaiterai presents a valuable example. The myth of Amaiterai is a very long story which appears in most of the puta tupuna. It is structured in a manner similar to many Polynesian myths concerning the tribulations of the great culture heroes. We shall not, however, be concerned with this. What is of in­ terest here is that this myth provides an opportunity to witness the grafting, the interpolation, of new themes and preoccupations on to the structure of a traditional myth. Here is, in substance, the summary of this myth.17 Amaiterai and his elder brother, Tuivao, are the sons of thea n i of Rurutu, Teuruari‘i. Amaiterai, who wishes to obtain the royal succes­ sion despite his position as second-born, quarrels with his brother about the latter’s adopted daughter whom he, Amaiterai, wishes to marry. Tuivao refuses, so Amaiterai then addresses himself to his father, the king, demanding the office of ani. His father answers, tell­ ing him to “leave in quest of wisdom and of the God of wisdom”.18 After adventures which lead him in turn to Tupua’i, to Tahiti, to the Windward Islands, and then to China (or Japan, according to different variants), Amaiterai finally arrives “at the end of the world”, that is to say, England (tefenua Peretane), where he obtains (roa‘a mai) wisdom and the ‘God of wisdom’. The ‘God of wisdom’ in question is, in fact, a trinity: Roometuaore, Auraroiteata and Te Atuaiteroa. In a puta where this myth is extensively told, the god summons Amaiterai and orders him never to come to him again. On the return journey, Amaiterai will “fish up” islands and will go to New Zealand (Niuterani) and then to the Cook Islands before coming to the Austral Islands — the islet of Maria where he founds a m arae and then Rurutu, where, his mission accomplished, he becomes the a n i , taking the succession of his father. From this point, which seems to be a conclusion, some of the puta continue as follows. The ani, Amaiterai, decides to institute (ha'amau) the cult of the ‘God of wisdom’ (who was then a new God, one whose cult was not practised on Rurutu). The people of Rurutu, however, demand to “see with their own eyes” this new God. So Amaiterai made an “idol” in the image of the God that he had seen in England. Thetii is none other than the famous ‘A‘a, the widely known anthropomorphic tii of Rurutu which has the peculiarity of having a door in its back closing a cavity filled with small effigies. According to the puta tupuna, the three-dimensional pipinia atua ‘small gods’ which cover the body of ‘A‘a number 39 (or 37) and repre­ sent each of the ‘opu ta‘ata ‘lineages’ of ancient Rurutu. In fact, there are only 30 effigies. As for the tii placed inside the statue, today we The puta tupuna o f Rurutu 185

know little about them except to say that there were no fewer than 24 according to the missionaries (Williams 1837:43-4). But according to the puta tupuna and to the Rurutu islanders today, there were three small effigies, and only three, in the hollow body of the god. These effigies, says tradition, represent the divinity of which ‘A‘a is only the outer covering. They are Roometuaore, Auraroiteata and Te Atuaiteroa, the famous trinity mentioned above. This triad is always present in the puta where there is talk of the “gods of the pagans”. The triad is ordered in a hierarchy; the names of the three gods, preceded by a number, are always placed in this order. Other names, the biblical connotations of which are evident, are juxtaposed with each of the three vernacular names. Thus, Roometuaore is also called te Atua Metua, literally ‘God the Father’; Auraroiteata becomes te Atua Tamaiti ‘God the Son’, and Te Atuaiteroa becomes te Atua Varua Maita'i ‘God the Holy Spirit’. With the exception of Ro‘o-metua-ore (Ro‘o-without-father), which refers to the famous Polynesian deity Ro‘o (Rongo), it is more than likely that these deities have little to do with the ancient deities of the Rurutu pan­ theon; and even though Ro‘o seems to have been known on Rurutu, nothing (especially not a text such as this) can prove that he may have been the first in the hierarchy. This is, of course, a specific, post-missionary reinterpretation. However, merely stating the case does not exhaust the possibilities of this question, given that we must not lose sight of the fact that these deities are presented in the puta as new Rurutu deities from a time before “the arrival of the Gospel”, the time of Amaiterai. According to one puta, the triad was “worshipped from the time of Amaiterai until the arrival of the Gospel in 1822”. Nor should we lose sight of the fact that they are indeed counterparts of those later imposed by the mis­ sionaries. Let us now examine the subject of this new cult, the ti'i ‘A‘a. He is the only tii that the Rurutu islanders have, so to say, remembered. Some people of Rurutu have a photo, or a crude drawing, of the tii and there is even a large colour photograph of it on the wall of the meeting room of the Rurutu Municipal Council. Occasionally oral tradition makes mention of other tii, for example those thrown into the sea dur­ ing the “destruction of the idols” at the opening of the missionary era, which are said to have been transformed into varua ‘ino ‘evil spirits’. In any case, no tii remained on the island after the autos-da-fe of the mis­ sionaries (in contrast with another Austral island, Ra‘ivavae). The ‘A‘a idol, which has not been on Rurutu for more than 150 years, plays the role of a national emblem which is regarded with a certain measure of pride. Curiously, the usual beliefs about the mana and the evil powers of tii in general are not associated with ‘A‘a.19 This has a particular significance, and is the result of the special status conferred upon this effigy by oral tradition. Two sorts of factors need to be taken into consideration in order to 186 Alain Babadzan clarify the original powers with which this tii is invested. Firstly, mythology informs us how the effigy of the new Atua pa‘ari ‘God of wisdom’ was reinterpreted as being the effigy of the true God, or at least as the tabernacle for a trinity similar to the Christian Trinity. In this way, through the effect of mythology, ‘A‘a falls into a con­ temporary world, the world of the Gospel, and leaves the pagan world behind. In other words, ‘A‘a is no longer considered to be an “idol”. I shall return to this point, which constitutes the inherent ambiguity of the tii. Secondly, the lack of mana of this effigy is explained by the fact that ‘A‘a is no more than the envelope of a divine principle, with which it cannot be confused. Thus, ‘A‘a may really be considered, this time, to be “a pagan idol” but one withoutmana, half-way between a tabernacle (its function as an envelope) and a national emblem, assuredly pagan, but in no way empowered with the evil forces attributed to the other ti‘i of Polynesia. These considerations are naturally somewhat contradictory. I shall attempt to define this contradiction a little more closely, and to show that, on the one hand, it belongs in general terms to this syncretism, and that, on the other hand, it can be abolished on a conceptual level which allows its formulation: the level of denial. ‘A‘a the tii is called an itoro or idolo ‘idol’, or Atua-itoro ‘God-idol’, a term borrowed from biblical vocabulary and which carries with it a severe measure of condemnation — the Bible condemns idolatry, the etene are idol-worshippers, etc. However, the pagan effigy is presented as an idol which is not really pagan, since this tii is an effigy which con­ forms to a new God, itehia ‘seen, known’ in England, and which is clearly analogous to the God of the Christians. But it is not only the “idol” ‘A‘a which is in a contradictory position within this mythology. The divine figures which the effigy is supposed to represent are in the same position. In the same puta tupuna in which the pagan gods are calledAtua Varua ‘Ino, the God that Amaiterai met in England is designated by a different term, which is used only in this precise context; he is called Atua pa‘ari, which I have translated as ‘God of wisdom’ in order to keep some of the traditional connotations linking this term to the parau pa‘ari, the myths and stories of the begin­ ning.20 Atua Varau ‘Ino is a term which always contrasts with the true God of the Christians, called Te Atua or Te Atua mau in the puta. The rather curious introduction of the concept of Atua pa‘ari permits the masking of one of the ambiguities inherent in this myth. Atua pa‘ari, at one and the same time the last god of the pagans and also the Trinity, seems in fact to find a place between the categories of Atua Varua ‘Ino and Atua mau or ‘true God’. This is not only for chronological and historical reasons but also because the attributes of this new deity belong in both religious systems, that of the pagans as well as that of the Christians. Moreover, the limits between the two categories Atua pa‘ari and Atua mau are difficult to define, not only in the texts of the puta tupuna but even more in the glosses The puta tupuna o f Rurutu 187 furnished by the Rurutu islanders today. The singularity of this Atua p aari is a result of the deity being presented both as being and as not being Atua mau whereas both these terms contrast with the category representing the rejected gods of the pagans, the Atua Varua Tno. Indeed, it is the function of the syncretism to blur these semantic limits. It is thus feasible to consider the category Atua pa‘ari as am­ biguous, its contradictory position determined by logical imperatives underlying the myth itself, in the same manner as these imperatives define the status of the object representing this strange deity. As can be seen, it is by this denial (which has as its aim a simultaneous verification of [A] and [non-A]) that the myth suggests the status of the new divinity, which is and is not pagan, and its effigy, which is and is not an “idol”. Moreover, on another level, it is as if Rurutu society, at the time when this myth was constructed, had wanted to justify not so much the new cult that Amaiterai had brought back from England but rather another religious change which followed the arrival of the missionaries, by denying the very borrowing itself and thus denying acculturation. It is in this fashion that the religious conversion (the new cult of the trinitarian ‘God of wisdom’ imported from England) is presented as having its origins not outside the community but within it, in the form of a de motu proprio conversion.21 Implicit in this is the denial of the determining role played by contact and acculturation in this con­ version. Certainly a reinterpretation of the arrival of the Scriptures is not the explicit or manifest aim of the myth. This could not be done, in any case. The events and the role of the missionaries in them are too well known and too famous, and cannot be reinterpreted in any manner which brutally denies them. It is, however, clear enough that this reinterpretation is the implicit or latent aim, the expression of which could only be ensured by a displacement in time, the era of Christianisation becoming the era of Amaiterai, that is to say, relocated in the last phase of paganism. We are witnessing an attempt at “rewriting” history, an attempt which has a dual aim. Firstly, to deny contact and the reality of a con­ version imposed by a foreign agent, and secondly, to “rehabilitate” to some degree a past condemned by missionary teachings. What theputa tupuna seem to be saying is, “We are certainly savages, but not as savage as all that since we, the Rurutu islanders, already had, before the arrival of the missionaries, the English cult of the Trinity.” The condemnation brought down on principle by the missionaries on the collective head of ancient Rurutu society, and naturally on their Polynesian religion in particular, left an indelible mark on the islanders’ conscience. Willy-nilly, the Manicheism of the first missionaries was able to put to good use one of the essential divisions in Polynesian dualism, the opposition of ao and pō — the world of light and life versus the world of night and death — consigning in one easy blow all that be­ longed (or was thought to belong) to the world of the pagans to the abject and perilous domain of pō.22 Whence the difficulty, even the im- 188 Alain Babadzan possibility in the 1890s, of openly holding a discussion on the subject of the etene other than one based either on official missionary teaching (etene = idol worshipers) or on popular syncretic thought (etene = spirits of the dead, cannibals). From this arose the need, in order to express both this “rehabilitation” of the past and the reappraisal of self in denial, to resort to a particular type of discourse, the rhetoric of which permits the formulation of this denial without any possible refutation and which is moreover perceived, for other reasons, as a guarantee of authenticity and as truth: the myth in its traditional form. The denial which is a component part of this mythical represen­ tation of conversion, appears to be determined by the contradiction be­ tween, on the one hand, the need to reject ancient customs and religion (this contemporary need arising under pressure from the missionary moral imperatives) and, on the other hand, the need to reinterpret and conserve to some degree the ancient society, given that it still remains, despite everything, the focal point for a collective identity. This contradiction, which is very noticeable in many of the puta tupuna, can hence be resolved by way of a complex procedure, that of denial.23 It is in this way that the dominant characteristic of this dia­ lectic will imprint itself on each of the elements of the myth (the idol ‘A‘a, the new god, “England”, etc.), the ambiguous status of these elements being nothing other than the expression of this same spuriously resolved contradiction.

TRUTH, CONFORMITY, BELIEF: PUTA TUPUNA TODAY

Let us turn now, briefly, to the value of the puta tupuna to the Rurutu islanders, and to the degree of truth (or otherwise) that they invest them with. For the youth of today, the old scribblings contained in the puta tupuna are either devoid of interest, or at best, of minimal interest. As their name indicates, the myths (parau pa'ari) are linked to the world of the old people and of tradition. They are thus in general the object of a certain lack of interest. This is quite understandable, given that the young people are increasingly seeking to define themselves outside the framework and the values of their community, which are seen as be­ coming more and more irrelevant to today’s world. There is a question which often comes to the lips of the young people, and even from certain adults, “You don’t really believe those parau pa'ari, do you?” That this question concerns “belief” is no sur­ prise, given that it is always linked to the concept of the “truth” of these texts, a truth conceived of as an historic truth that one might be justified in expecting from texts which claim to relate events which in­ deed occurred. Young people dispute the totality of the puta tupuna, claiming that such events never occurred and oppose themselves, “those who do not believe”, to the old folk, “those who believe in the parau pa'ari", exactly as if one were meant to believe. . . . Such an at- The puta tupuna o f Rurutu 189 titude reminds one of discussions on the tupapau ‘spirits of the dead’ as if, under the one category of “helief” both theparau pa'ari and the tupapau were but two sides of the same subject, to be confused by young people (despite their obvious heterogeneity) with all the con­ demned aspects of their pagan past, a past which is doubly rejected now that young people refute the values of a traditional society which are still the values of their parents.24 The attitude of those whom one may call, by opposition to the young people, the “believers” (that is to say, the many for whom the puta tupuna and their parau pa'ari are still valuable) is somewhat different. The question of “truth” is posed in a different manner. It is not that they systematically believe in the contents of the puta. Rather, the criteria of true and false are still as pertinent but operate in the following fashion: distinctions are made between parau mau ‘true words’ with a connotation of authenticity and permanence, andparau ha'avare ‘false words’ which are ‘false’ because they are lies. A text which is suspected of manipulations and falsifications (generally intentional — \ia tavirihia te parau ‘the word has been twisted’, literally ‘turned about’) will be called parau ha‘avare. Thus, a text will be h a‘avare if it does not conform, deliberately or not, to the original (in the case of a text copied from a previous puta) or else if the written version of the parau does not conform to the reality of events such as they were supposed to have happened or to have been told. In other words, a statement only becomes “false” if it is the victim of an error in transmission, thus preserving the truth of the original state­ ment, or else if it “says badly” or erroneously something which could have been said in a better way — but which nevertheless exists. In any case, the existence of the category parau ha‘avare, although it raises questions within the puta, never brings into question the existence or the reality of the “facts” that the texts relate, any more than it disputes the existence of the parau mau and their authenticity. The authentic story (parau mau) is by definition opposed to the parau ha‘avare just as an original is to a falsified or unfaithful copy. The question of truth thus becomes a question of authenticity, this being understood as the text’s conformity to a primary original form. The “belief” of those for whom theparau pa‘ari are chronicles, in short, for whom these myths have an historical truth, is naturally supported by proofs. These proofs are furnished in several different ways, all of which, however, have their roots in experience. The “book”, the puta tupuna itself provides the first of these proofs, a fact which is not such a tautology as it might first seem. Hence, a word which has come down through history must in itself constitute an authentic historical proof, all the more so when the “book” is, so to speak, a tangible relic of the past and when the texts written in it carry a living trace of an ancestral word saved from oblivion. The second proof is based on the premise that the content of these texts can always be verified, even today. In this respect, the toponyms 190 Alain Babadzan which fill the myths function as anchors which hold the myth to reality. Hence, an experimental verification of a group of known toponyms (either contemporary or archaic) connected to a sometimes fantastic or obscure myth, can be used to provide a global verification for the myth itself, showing it to be an account of real events which, in fact, occurred.25 The third type of possible proof is, to say the least, special, but it is still based on experience; it is what one might call proof by halluci­ nation, which proves a posteriori the veracity of the parau pa‘ari, although this is not its primary objective. It is not, in effect, unusual for elements of a mythical text referring for example to the exceptional size of the ancient heroes, or to the evil powers of the ancient metamor­ phosed pagan gods (the varua ‘ino), or to the tapu placed on certain places or caves used for burial purposes, etc., to pass into present-day reality and hence be corroborated by certain experiences such as discoveries of graves, visions and mysterious illnesses, which are often psychosomatic or hallucinatory in origin. But this goes beyond the limits of the present work.

* * *

One cannot insist too strongly when viewing the problems posed by the puta tupuna that these texts represent for their owners, as well as for the community, the conservation, the memory of the past. I have spoken about the practical importance that these documents have on the islanders’ lives, but it is also important to underline that they are witnesses (almost the sole witnesses) not only of the history of this island but also of a specific account of the things of the past, an account which is dated and marked by the historical conditions under which it was written. These conditions are the syncretism which was elaborated under pressure from outside, a pressure which condemned, on the basis of morality, the past and its associated values. They are accounts written up at a time when no one dreamed of providing the Polynesians with a representation of themselves and their identity, a task which they took upon themselves. These texts also provide us with a record of the values and the philosophy at that time, a time which is crucial for the study of social and cultural changes in Polynesia. As I have tried to point out, it would be futile to look for a direct account of the state of ancient society in the content of the puta tupuna or even to seek an account of Rurutu mythology before the arrival of the first Europeans. These texts are valuable for what they are: documents echoing the effects of a syncretism determined by conflict and contradiction between traditional Polynesian thought and the adoption of a foreign world-view. We must be highly critical of the common tendency in anthropology to make connections, without any mediation, between the present-day cultural situation and an allegedly archaic substratum, in order to “discover”, in spite of acculturation, “unaffected relics of the past”. The puta tupuna o f Rurutu 191

We need to surmount two common misunderstandings before pro­ ceeding any further with contemporary cultural anthropology in these societies. The first concerns the importance of the phase of accultura­ tion following the arrival of the missionaries; the second common misunderstanding is of the structure and coherence of the syncretic world-view which was gradually formulated after contact with Euro­ peans. A thorough study of the different syncretisms which arose in this region of the Pacific should, therefore, be a major aim for an­ thropologists in Polynesia, rather than being a stumbling-block for them, given that these syncretisms are in their turn disintegrating. This is a necessary condition for the analysis of Polynesian culture, not only as it stands today but also as it was yesterday.

NOTES

1. On these historical points, see Verin (1964, 1965) 2. This shows the high regard in which this storyteller was held, as well as our infor­ mants’ obsession with “authenticity” in the research which they did, comparing the different versions of theparau pa'ari with the aim of verifying them. 3. The origin of this custom is probably recent, dating from the arrival of the English missionaries. Note that one can also find in the neighbouring Cook Islands a custom called tere comprising, it is true, different modalities such as interisland exchanges (see Beaglehole 1957:153-6). 4. During 1979 arrangements were made for two storytellers, experts in the legends of their island, and chosen by the pastor, to take part in a sort of “congress” on the oral traditions of the islands of Polynesia, organised at the Maison des Jeunes-Maison de la Culture in Papeete. According to the pastor, they were representatives of the “young” generation of those who guard the oral tradition, and not necessarily those whom the local vox p o p u li recognised as having the most knowledge or as holders (true or supposed) of the “best”puta tupuna. 5. It has been possible to examine the original manuscript and its copy/copies in certain cases. The existence of these variants is, of course, of great interest, inevitably underlining certain “tender points” and enabling the researcher to recognise the series of pertinent associations. 6. In the Rurutu language, the consonants / and h are replaced by the glottal stop (‘). However, in both the written and spoken language, these consonants are more and more frequently being reintroduced by the people of Rurutu. 7. For this information, I should like to thank M. Ravault (ORSTOM, Papeete) whose intimate knowledge of land problems on Rurutu has been invaluable. 8. As an informant once told us (in French), “Last night they were clobbering each other with theirp u ta .” 9. One of the informants of whom I asked about the nature of one of the old manuscripts in his possession, and whether it contained mythical accounts, replied: “‘e‘ere i te puta tupuna, puta parau pa‘ari, e puta ‘entta ‘It noa is not a puta tupuna, a book of myths, it is only a book of lands.’” However, although the p u ta fe n u a are not strictly speaking puta tupuna, they are nevertheless closely associated with the tu p u n a ‘ancestors' and their sayings, a fact which may, here and there, create a certain confusion in terminology. 10. Often the t u h a ‘a or tufa'a ‘chapters’ are numbered with Roman numerals, which is another form of hierarchisation. 11. A typically Polynesian motif of Ti‘i, or of the ti‘i made out of o n e ‘sand’. 12. When the missionaries had persuaded the Rurutu islanders that their ancient religion was no more than a bloody animism demanding human sacrifice and that the 192 Alain Babadzan

“savages” were cannibals, it is not surprising that such censorship occurred. Nor is it surprising to see arise in other sections of theputa tupuna a strong insistence on the theme of cannibalism. As for contemporary accounts about ancient society, they are literally haunted by these questions. 13. Davies’ Tahitian and English dictionary was published in 1851. Meanwhile, Nott had translated the Bible and had had a first Tahitian edition printed; it arrived in Tahiti in 1840. 14. Not all. There are many words in the text with their Tahitian translation in paren­ theses, whereas there are others which are not translated at all because there is no Tahitian equivalent known to the writer. This is almost always the case when the vocabulary is not of an everyday nature. 15. In all probability, the first authors of the puta tupuna, in their dual role of brilliant pupils of the missionaries (if only due to their mastery of writing in Tahitian) and heads of families or lineages, occupied a prominent place in their community. 16. ‘ U ra is an ancient term designating, among other things, the colour red. It also denotes the sacred red feathers and them a ro ‘u ra ,the famous belt worn by theari'i-, from ‘ati ‘ura ‘red people’ to “redskins” there is but one small step, thanks to a characteristic cultural amnesia. 17. I shall not linger on the analysis of traditional themes such as the rivalry between older and younger brothers, disputes over primogeniture, voyages to the mythical land in the west (which is also the land of the dead), the emergence or “fishing up” of new islands, etc. 18. “Te parau pa'ari e te Atua pa'ari”. Note that parau pa'ari, translated here as ‘wisdom’ is also the phrase for ‘myths’. It is thus a question of the younger brother seeking elsewhere (and westwards) something which he lacks and which will give him a claim to royal power, a right which is otherwise denied him by the law of primogeniture. It is not fortuitous that this lack is associated with the notion of p a ‘a ri, which has connotations of maturity and stability as opposed to youth and its inexperience. 19. With only one isolated exception, but one which conforms to the rules of the genre. According to one informant, reporting what he said was the account of a traveller, the back of the ti‘i, where the door is located, could not be photographed, the photos mysteriously all coming out blank (as opposed to those photos taken of the front). 20. The status of theparau pa'ari contained in theputa tupuna is itself ambivalent, being neither Christian nor pagan, since these accounts are considered as being truepa ( rau m a u ), which would not be the case if they were identifiedparau as etene, accounts which derive unchanged from the universe of the “savages”. 21. An exterior agent is always necessary, but here the agent in question is a Rurutu islander, Amaiterai, travelling on the orders of his father, theari'i of the island. Indeed, Amaiterai found only what he was looking for, and what his father expected him to find. 22. This dualism still exists today in these communities, where the figure ofe the te n e is still regarded in the same light. As a point of interest, a young Rurutu islander, in speaking to the ethnologist who was heading towards a group of Protestant elders during a religious festival, made this paradoxical reflection, “Don’t go with them, they are etene. . . Etene in this context still means “men from the past”. 23. Concerning the role played by denial, for example, in the establishment and the evolution of beliefs, see Mannoni (1969). 24. The generation gap seems to be ever-widening compared with the temporary and socially codified “gap” traditionally existing between thetaure'are'a ‘adolescents’ and the ta'ata pa'ari ‘adults’. The dreams of the younger generation, as well as the exodus towards Tahiti, are nowadays fed by a confused and hopeless desire for another life­ style, that of the city. 25. This is valid for the numerous local toponyms and sometimes also for foreign toponyms, both Polynesian and extra-Polynesian — other Austral islands, Tahiti, Japan, New Zealand, Rarotonga, etc. There are many names of places, lands or sites (m a ra e ) as well as, of course, of people (warriors, a ri'i, ancestors). T h e puta tupuna o f R u ru tu 193

REFERENCES

Beaglehole, Ernest, 1957.Social Change in the South Pacific. London, George Allen and Unwin. Davies, John, 1851. A Tahitian and English Dictionary. Tahiti, London Mis­ sionary Society’s Press. Mannoni, O., 1969. “Je sais bien mais quand même”, Clefsin pour Vimaginaire, ou Vautre scene. Paris, Le Seuil. Verin, Pierre, 1964. “Notes socio-economiques sur l’Tle de Rurutu.”Cahiers de Vlnstitut de Science Êconomique Appliquee, 7. ------1965. “Les etats de Rurutu et Rimatara, etranges petits protectorats oceaniens de droit interne.” Revue franqaise d’Histoire d’outre-mer, 52(186) :225-231. Williams, John, 1837. A Narrative of Missionary Enterprises in the South Seas Islands. London, J. Snow.