ISSN: 0964-0282 (print) • ISSN: 1469-8676 (online) • 4 issues per year
The Enawene are sustained by the Juruena river in central Brazil, where multiple hydroelectric dams are under construction and in planning. The Enawene are fishermen whose highly ritualised economic life centres on feeding the demonic owners of hydraulic resources. In this paper, Nahum‐Claudel takes us through tense negotiations between the Enawene and the para‐state hydroelectric company, observing the former's adroit diplomacy as they repeatedly negotiate ‘wins’ of ever‐larger hand‐outs (motors, boats, petrol, money and even fish) in the lead up to what the company hopes will be a final compensation pay‐out. In the era of hydroelectric ‘accumulation by dispossession’ (Harvey D. 2005. Oxford: Oxford University Press), the Enawene enrol the state in paying the debt to the demon‐owners, becoming – in a perspectival twist – themselves akin to these demons, engaged in an inflationary ‘potlatch against the state’. Diplomatic relations across this frontier are particular to the Enawene ritual economy, to the very recent onset of their relations with the state, and to the speed of resource capture in this region. Given the massive expansion of hydroelectric generation in Brazil, a nation currently achieving vastly accelerated growth, the analysis is likely to be of broader salience.
This article contends that the anthropological analysis of ritual can shed light on our understanding of insolvency and bankruptcy practices. Societies without such legal rituals see a far higher incidence of what was known as ‘leg‐bail’ in 19th‐century Britain – that is, people disappear, becoming effectively dead to society. As Mann crisply puts it in his magisterial study of colonial American debt system, without a bankruptcy law in place, people ‘substituted distance for discharge’ by fleeing to the unknown territory of ‘Kentucke’ to start life afresh (Mann, B. 2002. . Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 128–9). Alternatively, prior to their eradication, debtors who had no bankruptcy rituals (known popularly as 'whitewashing') to turn to could also opt for another form of social death in one of the western world's many debtors’ prisons. Thus, by contrasting not only the 19th century to the 21st, but also leg‐bailing to whitewashing, this article will ponder what has happened to leg‐bailers. Having successfully instituted national whitewashing rituals across the western world, why does the legal system still retain hidden and far‐removed spaces that mimic old Kentucke? Who is still permitted, and indeed, encouraged, to disappear into social death, while others are ritually cleansed and returned to the social?
Since the decollectivisation of the rural economy in the 1990s, Mongolian pastoralists have become subject to the new property regime of the ‘age of the market’ (). Formerly collective assets, such as livestock, machinery and buildings, have become private property and land is increasingly becoming a resource available for private ownership. International finance and development agencies have advocated credit schemes for pastoralists faced with uneven annual income and the servicing of debt has become a central burden for an increasing number of Mongolian households. In the neoliberal era, the pastoral sector has become highly vulnerable to climatic variation. The distribution of environmental risks alongside processes of collateralisation has expanded the sphere of monetised relations and made pastoralists dependent upon increasingly global markets for commodities and credit. This new regime of debt has interesting historical parallels with the Qing‐era barter trade that impoverished pre‐revolutionary Mongolia.
How might one consider debt in a highly emotional situation where its discharge is not possible? In the UK arena of bodily material procured for research or medicine, donations cannot be reciprocated. What are called ‘gifts’ are not only made to diffuse entities such as society or science, the procurement and treatment process often creates specific, if anonymous, recipients who are burdened with/grateful for a gift they cannot repay. Indeed to pay – and thus pay‐off – the perceived debt is usually against the law. The gift entails, and hence summons, the absence of money. This article offers a comment on gifts in a context where money forever hovers on the margins of the imagination, and where the more it is banned from sight, the more it creeps back in. In endless discussions about remuneration or compensation payments that are meant to fall short of outright purchase, people tend to focus on the characteristics of diverse organs and tissue, including gametes, and assume they know both what money is and what the gift is. The anthropologist is less certain. Totemic debates in anthropology come to the rescue in a rather odd fashion.
Peebles, in a recent review of the anthropology of debt and credit, found an ‘astonishing consistency’ in the moral valuation of credit which is everywhere given a positive evaluation relative to debt. But why is this? Does it apply to creditors as well? What are the theoretical implications of these questions for economic anthropology?
In this essay I propose a category of ‘human economies’ to refer to those where the primary focus of economic life is on reconfiguring relations between people, rather than the allocation of commodities. Currencies that used to be labelled ‘primitive money’, but which are primarily used to effect this, would better be called ‘social currencies’. These social currencies are often seen as inadequate substitutes for human beings, not so much ways of discharging debts as of recognising the existence of a debt that cannot be paid. By reconsidering some classic anthropological cases (the Lele, the Tiv) in the light of the slave trade, we might catch a glimpse of the violence required to transform such social currencies into commercial currencies by which debts can be entirely cancelled out.