LIVING WITH DISTRUST. MORALITY AND COOPERATION IN A ROMANIAN VILLAGE Radu Umbreș Chapter 1: The deep play of tavern distrust Imagine yourself suddenly set down in the middle of the village, while the bus which has brought you drives away out of sight. I begin with a paraphrase of Malinowski’s thoughts on the beginning of ethnography since the first chapter proposes an experiment. The approach offers a first glimpse into the reality of village life while also reflecting the process and results of participant observation, the main methodology of this research. But rather than tackling serious anthropological topics such as kinship, religion, or mode of production, I will describe an apparently frivolous domain of Sateni society. There is a perfect place to start comprehending Sateni distrust if plunged directly in the centre of the village. On an ordinary day, you will not see many people around as most work inside their fenced yards or far in the fields. But the atmosphere enlivens around two bars across the road from the mayoralty and the bus stop. A few dozen men sit in musty, smoky rooms or out on the verandahs during scorching summer afternoons. Drinks are a bit more expensive than in smaller peripheral pubs, mostly beer and dubious beverages aspiringly called “vodka” and “rum” going for 20 cents a shot (which, to my surprise, means 100 ml). In the background, TVs broadcast news, football and folk music and every now and then, someone jokingly switches on the porn channel to the wolf-calls of patrons. Boys will be boys, and taverns are quintessential masculine spaces. The choice of going to one rather than the other tavern has social importance. Berescu, Popular party councilor and publican, practices a peculiar form of client selection. When the other place closes at midnight, he ostentatiously locks the iron grillage of his door and denies access to late-night drinkers except regulars and bigwigs. Although losing him quite a few customers, Berescu’s spiteful reasoning was born of frustration with disloyal patrons who took advantage of his late-closing hours after having spent most of their money elsewhere. But for top clients, the Popular-party mayor being a typical example, Berescu shut down the place and joined select customers for a secretive late-night libation in a private room. I was flabbergasted by how people who barely kept on their feet still managed to drive home, a few flipped-over cars notwithstanding. The other tavern would close earlier because ‘aunt’ Florica and ‘uncle’ Costel were not owners, but an elderly couple from a nearby town employed by a local businessman associated with the Republicans. Attracted by electronic gambling machines, higher-stakes Rummy games, turbo-folk manele, and a slightly more modern design, young people were ​ ​ more likely to frequent the “Republican” tavern (draped in electoral mauve during elections) and associate with its political faction. Still thirsty at closing time, these young men found themselves time and again arguing with Berescu through the locked grillage. Despite his sanctions, they were even more adamant not to be cowed into submission. Drinks may be cheaper and the wobbly return home shorter in peripheral taverns for consumers more interested in the contents of their glasses than the location’s social atmosphere. But only in central Sateni can one rub shoulders with the “who’s who”. Except for a few hard drinkers, men come to the two taverns for their social importance. “I’m going to/let’s meet in the center” usually means going to these pubs and meeting relatives, friends, and acquaintances. Some villagers (ethnographer included) drove or walked a few miles only to be a part of the main daily congregation of men in Sateni and observe the others doing the same thing. Such open spaces where men may interact with any other of their co-villagers offer a microcosm of male public behaviour. Compared to the privacy of homes, the tavern is a space of social dramaturgy (Goffman 1959) where people perceive themselves and others as actors engaged in constant public communication. If everyone is both actor and spectator, what is the play? What do men do in taverns? They drink, they gossip, they bet, they fight, they joke. Contrasting to private interaction, tavern sociality conveys more of the competitive aspect of Sateni society where men can evaluate themselves and others in a setting of overt communication. Patrons engage in games of generosity, luck, physical and intellectual domination. They carry on with political scheming and everyday gossip. What is at stake? Money, alliances, jobs, dominance, politics, bodies, minds and morality. What ties these things together under the spirit of competition is the public nature of interaction. Actors knowingly put themselves in the spotlight of general observance where personal qualities and social ties are put to test. Beyond apparent bacchanalia, tavern activity carries a special kind of informational content: the stuff that reputations are made of (Origgi 2017). The resulting social interactions have the characteristics of a tournament where reputations are chiseled and pored over with heightened vigilance to the actions and minds of others. 1.1 Reputation and vigilance in dramaturgical tournaments Imagine my surprise when entering the Republican tavern one night to see the Popular mayor for the first time in the “enemy” lair. He sat across the table from Gheorghe, a sheep-owner and Republican leader from Catuneni, the nearby village. Around the table sat three Satenis: Grigore - local councillor, Vasciuc - ex-land registry official, Mitica - a migrant returned from Spain, and another young Catuneni. The configuration was surprising since Gheorghe was a known Republican supporter ferociously opposing the mayor’s faction. Excited that enemy factions were sharing a drink, I greeted Gheorghe whom I knew well and asked for permission to sit. He pulled me a chair, bought a round for everyone, and put their conversation back on its energetic track. The main speakers were Gheorghe and the mayor, with others intervening sporadically in an argument about the botched renovation of Catuneni’s school, shut down for over a year while schoolchildren were shuttled by minibus to Sateni. The wealthy shepherd asked the mayor for explanations, furiously complaining that his children had to wake up early in the dark, freezing winter mornings. The renovation had been an electoral pledge from the mayor and Catuneni votes decisively tipped the electoral balance. The project received funding only as long as Populars formed the national government but villagers became angry when works stalled while Sateni projects didn’t. The mayor blamed the current government (Republicans i.e. Gheorghe’s party) for denying funds. The conversation was rife with reciprocal accusations of sloppy management and malevolence. Public exposure encouraged their loud rhetoric about high social stakes. Entourage interventions followed the social configuration of the (still verbal) contest. The young Catuneni loudly supported Gheorghe, even though his arguments projected more vocal strength than clever wording. Buttressing the mayor’s side were Grigore as Popular party member and Vasciuc, a known supporter looking forward to re-entering the lucrative nexus of land administration. Meanwhile, Mitica kept an ambivalent status, but slowly shifted his sympathies. He began to present evidence supporting the mayor’s side, invoking his professional knowledge in construction. Mitica’s interventions were more even-handed than the sycophantic participation of Republicans, yet his impartiality - as well as everyone’s allegiances - were to be tested. Gheorghe became irritated with the mayor’s stooges and insultingly brushed Grigore’s comments aside. He was not discussing the matter with “puppies”, but with the man with real power. He even lightly slapped Grigore, as one would an exasperating child. Protesting the rudeness, the mayor asked Gheorghe to maintain a civilized attitude, or things would turn bad. Despite the tension, the conflict rested on mostly metaphorical mentions of violence, punctuated by personal vows to avoid conflict as long as the others maintained a respectful manner: ‘fight we will if we must, yet we are responsible individuals who can do without violence’ as the mayor said to Gheorghe’s approving nod. Everything unraveled when Grigore silently rose to his feet, went behind Gheorghe’s back, and put a knife to his throat. The ensuing drama was over in seconds. Before I could find my bearings, two other villagers, Răzvan and Matei, jumped from different tables across the room and Matei got hold of the blade with his bare hands while Răzvan put himself between Grigore and Gheorghe. The young Catuneni grabbed the assailant and launched a vicious round of kicks and punches before being himself restrained. Meanwhile, Mitica armlocked Gheorghe from behind and, in the confusion, Grigore managed to run away. During the clash, the mayor kept a low profile, but raised his hands afterwards and loudly proclaimed that he had no more business there – and lo and behold! how the Republican supporters are behaving in their pub. He left despite Gheorghe’s calls to finish his drink and the conversation. By a stroke of luck, I observed a rare Sateni event from its midst. But observation is, in this case, both the anthropologist’s tool and an object of study. It may very well be that social actors constantly manage their presentation of self (Goffman 1959). Yet certain social spheres are more imbibed with expectations of the performance of the self. When men¹ ​ interact in taverns, much of what is being said and done depends upon the awareness that one observes and is being observed. This fundamental quality gives tavern life a deep dramaturgical aspect, and the academic ethnographer is just one more observer or player from the crowd of folk ethnographers.