INTER-HIERARCHICAL ROLES: 2 PROFESSIONAL AND PARTY ETHICS IN TRIBAL AREAS IN SOUTH AND CENTRAL AFRICA Max Gluckman, UNIVERSITY

OF MANCHESTER -----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------This paper is one of three interlinked essays written during April, 1966, when I was a Visiting Lecturer in Law and Anthropology at Yale University. The first draft of this essay was also presented at a seminar in Manchester: I am grateful to all my colleagues at these seminars for pertinent criticisms and comments which I have tried to incorporate1. When I was at Yale, I was invited by Professor L. Kuper and Professor M. G. Smith of the University of California in Los Angeles to participate in a seminar they were organizing on plural societies in Africa (Kuper and Smith, in press). In any symposium, the organizers allot duties to cover a range of problems. I was asked "to discuss in the perspective of recent development, factual and analytical, the view of plural societies" which I had derived from the research I carried out in Zululand in the mid-1930's and had exposited in a number of essays (Gluckman, 1940a, republished partly in 1963; 1940b; 1942, republished 1958; 1947; 1960). One reason behind the request was that the other papers in the symposium were either broad analyses of large-scale plural societies looked at over a long period of time, or comparative discussions of major problems over several such societies. No paper dealt with the structure of minor segments, or special groups, or specific sets (Epstein, 1958) or domains (Fortes, personal communication) of relationships within a single society. My own paper on "The Tribal Areas of South and Central Africa" was therefore designed to cover some more limited region of social life within an African plural society. But when I read the other papers I felt that I would myself lay weight on rather different points in the wider analysis; and for my own satisfaction I wrote out at length my views on the dominant characteristics and problems of so-called plural societies, under the title "Tribalism, Ruralism and Urbanism in Tribal Societies." I presented this paper at a seminar in Cornell University and Professor V. W. Turner asked if he could publish it in a symposium he was editing on Profiles of Change: The Impact of Colonialism on the History of Africa (in press). [69] In the course of my paper on tribal areas for the Kuper-Smith symposium on plural societies there emerged as requiring fuller analysis the problem of the position of district representatives of central governments, and also of political party representatives. It was on this problem that I concentrated for this essay for this conference on local-level politics. This essay has therefore to be seen in the perspective of the other two essays. From my discussion of major alignments in the essay on "Tribalism, Ruralism and Urbanism," I narrow my analysis to a fuller analysis of the situation in tribal areas, and then-here-to the d: tail of the roles of commissioners and party representatives. In this essay I make only summary reference to the arguments in the other two essays. In this essay and in the essay on tribal areas in the Kuper-Smith symposium I use some of the same field material, and I therefore crave the indulgence of any who may read both papers; the field material is placed in somewhat different perspective in the two papers.
1

I am grateful also to the Nuffield Foundation under their Small Grants scheme for research assistance, secretarial assistance, and material aids which have greatly facilitated the writing of this essay.

The problem considered here was raised as far back as 1938 when Schapera said that "the missionary, administrator, trader and labour recruiter must be regarded as factors in the tribal life in the same way as are the chief and magician . . ." (1938, pp. 27-30). Unfortunately, Schapera's statement has never been followed up adequately in South, Central, and East Africa. While much research has been done on the position of chiefs under colonial regimes, we lack detailed data and searching I analyses of district officers and native commissioners at work. Let me say at once that, as a worker in this region, I do not exclude myself from criticism. Now that the British district officer (though not the South African native [Bantu] commissioner) has disappeared from the scene, a theoretical examination of his position may still encourage those who have appropriate data to publish these. In addition, by posing questions, we may sharpen observations on the position of representatives sent to the tribal areas by the newly independent African governments. When Malinowski wrote an introduction to the symposium in which Schapera made the above statement, he changed Schapera's (and Fortes') plea that white personages be regarded as integral parts of the field situation, in the following manner: "The concept of a well-integrated society [my italics] would, indeed, ignore such facts as the colour bar, the permanent rift which divides the two partners in change and keeps them apart in church and factory, in matters of mine labour and political influence" (Malinowski, 1938, republished 1946). That is, he shifted "integral" to "well-integrated"; and then he argued that chief and administrator, magician and missionary, often performed opposite functions, and certainly not the same functions. I have earlier pointed out this misinterpretation by Malinowski (Gluckman, 1940, republished 1958; 1947, republished 1963). I now find it somewhat ironic to realize that at a deeper level we may find that in structural terms there were considerable similarities between the roles of administrator and chief, in that they both occupied [70] what I shall call "inter-hierarchical positions or roles" on which were focused the clash of interests between tribesmen's values, goals, etc., and those of the wider colonial system. Both administrator and chief were, to some extent, the foci of the same conflicting pressures. I shall call these positions "inter-hierarchical" because they are the administrative positions in which distinct levels of social relations, organized in their own hierarchies, gear into each other. Originally I had used the phrase "inter-calary" as had other of my colleagues, following Fortes' (1945) use of "inter-calary lineages" to describe the situation among the Tallensi where a lineage had membership of two different clans. But this kind of "intercalation" is of equals. At the seminar, Charles Hughes suggested "articulating" roles; but articulation is already established as any linking together in a system. It does not bring out the key point here, which, in the words of John Barnes, is that these persons occupy positions where there are major discontinuities in the total hierarchy and the sets of social relations become radically different. That is, distinct subhierarchies within a total hierarchy meet in one person, who is the lowest member of the superior hierarchy and the highest member of the subordinate hierarchy. Hence I suggest "inter-hierarchical positions or roles." Clearly the district commissioner occupied such a position between the major territorial-imperial hierarchy and the inhabitants of a local district. Almost immediately below the district commissioner, but in a similar position, cane chiefs, each the head of the hierarchy of a tribe and at the same time a junior official in the official imperial hierarchy. Thus Barnes concludes his study of the Ngoni historic conquerors in the eastern part of Northern Rhodesia (Zambia) thus: "the great warrior chief has become in effect the only member of the Administration who never goes home to Britain on leave. But in the eyes of

his people, the Paramount Chief still belongs to the Ngoni, and not to the Administration" (1954, p. 172). It is similar to several positions which have been analyzed by various sociologists. Among anthropologists, Barnes, Mitchell, and 1 (1949) considered the position of the village headman in these terms, and Mitchell (1956) treated this position at greater length. In my Custom and Conflict in Africa (1955) 1 discussed the particular "frailty in authority" which attends these situations, and compared it with the positions of foremen, shop stewards, non-commissioned officers, and ward sisters; when I lectured on the theme to students at Manchester, one of them said, "Why, it is just like being a school prefect." Hence we are here dealing with a widely occurring social phenomenon, found in many situations, though each has its specific incidents. I believe I was the first to draw attention to this aspect of the position of chiefs under colonial regimes in Africa, in African Political Systems (Fortes and Evans-Pritchard, 1940). Kuper took this up for the Swazi in her The Uniform of Colour -(1947). Colson (1948), Barnes (1948, 1954), and Mitchell (1949, 1956) followed similar lines in their [71] analyses of the positions of chiefs in Northern Rhodesia and Nyasaland (now Zambia and Malawi). In general, the approach to all these analyses was to stress the extent to which chiefs, as subordinate officers of the white political hierarchy, were caught in the dilemma of trying to work within that hierarchy under pressure to support its demands and values, and at the same time felt pressure in many instances to represent the suspicion and even hostility of their people against the policy resulting from those demands and values. Watson (1958) analyzed how acute this dilemma had become for Mambwe chiefs during the resistance of Northern Rhodesian Africans to the imposition of the Central African Federation, a point developed by Van Velsen (1964) for the Lakeside Tonga of Malawi. In his study of the Soga of East Africa, Fallers (n.d., circa 1956) shifted the emphasis somewhat from the pressures to which the chief was subjected between the values and interests urged on him by the (British) Uganda government and the values and interests of his people as seen by them to be in conflict with the former. He saw the conflict as one between two ethics operating on the chief: first, the personal particularistic ethic of Soga indigenous society, with its emphasis on kinship and patron-client relationships, and the universalistic bureaucratic values of the British government-that is, he drew his central formulation from Max Weber. This was the main focus of the essays edited by Richards under the title East African Chiefs (1959). These two different approaches may be profitably combined. What then of the conflicts which might center correspondingly on the local administrator? Was he able to pursue a clear and unquestioning line on every point? Here, with the exception of Kuper on the Swazi (1947) and a brief paragraph in my own essay on the Zulu (1940) and Barnes on the Ngoni (1954), anthropological studies of this field are on the whole silent. For example, Fallers seem to make the assumption that the district officer in Sogaland, as against the chief, operated effectively in terms of universalistic bureaucratic ethics, an assumption which in the light of my own and my colleagues' experience in South and Central Africa I find unacceptable. We noted particularly that the district officer was controlled, in Mitchell's words, by "the clerks, interpreters, messengers, policemen and other intermediaries between the Administrator himself and the people" (1949, p. 1-53). More important still is an examination of the extent to which the district officer may be moved by his responsibilities for a particular tribal district into opposing as far as he can, in his "subjects' " interests, the policy of the central government he represents. Theoretically there should be pressures on the local administrator to become a local

representative as well as an officer of the government, and, like the chief, to occupy an inter-hierarchical role, wherever there is conflict between national policy and district interests. National policy is likely to prevail in the end, and [72] district officers are likely to vary in their reactions; but given enough data we should be able to set out a continuum along which officers and their actions will fall. I believe it is important to evaluate this situation since it seems to emerge from some anthropological analyses that the district officer represented government policy in a straightforward manner. I say "seems" advisedly, because clearly these anthropologists have closed the system they were examining at the district officer, and they have not involved themselves in analyses of what went on within the higher echelons of government which they could not observe. This is valid methodology2, yet I believe we can get some understanding of the local tribal area by looking at the effects of actions emerging from these higher echelons. It may lead us to an understanding of some of the cohesion3 in tribal areas before the surge of national independence movements, and some of the doubts which may arise among tribesmen after independence. Moreover, if the ethic of local officials should alter under the new regimes, relations of the tribal areas to the center may be affected. Furthermore, it is necessary to clarify what the position of traditional tribal authorities was in the past, since there is a tendency now to view them as having been pliable agents of the colonial regimes, certainly by those involved in politics, and even by some scholars4. The problem of the position of the district officer impressed itself on me fairly soon after I started work in Zululand in 1936. The native commissioner of Nongoma District, E. N. Braatvedt, had organized a series of cattle sales which had benefited the Zulu greatly. In the past, the Zulu had sold their cattle individually through traders at prices well below those which cattle fetched when they reached the main markets. The, native commissioner persuaded cattle buyers from the cities to come to Zululand on appointed days. Any Zulu wishing to sell a beast brought it to the sale yards, where the veterinary department sorted all cattle into small herds of beasts of equivalent value which could be offered conveniently for auction. The cattle buyers then bid, theoretically competitively, against one another for each herd. Even if they made up price rings, the prices were much higher than under earlier arrangements; and the income of the Zulu from the sale of cattle rose. Commissioners in other districts followed this example, so that cattle buyers could drive round a circle of sales to make a journey into Zululand well worth their while. This was in 1937, when the depression was over. Mines and industries were expanding again and were seeking African labor. Since they offered higher wages than white farmers, this meant that these farmers were even [73] shorter of labor. The South African government set up a commission to enquire into the shortage of labor in European farms, and I listened to its hearings in Nongoma. The native commissioner who had established the sales clearly felt, when he gave evidence, that he had to defend these sales against statements appearing in the newspapers that because more money was coming to the Zulu from the sales they were not
2 3

See Gluckman, (1964), particularly the essays by Bailey and Epstein therein. The sense in which I use "cohesion," "conflict," and other terms is fully discussed in my essays in Turner (in press) and Kuper and Smith (in press). I in elude an abstract of this discussion of terminology in the appendix to this essay, since to present it here would break the argument. 4 E.g., by Worsley (1965).

offering themselves for wage labor outside the tribal reserves. He argued that the number of Zulu involved in migrant labor showed no falling off, and hence that the sales were not affecting adversely this flow of labor. (With an expanding economy, the number of migrant laborers should have risen.) Only after making that point did he argue that it was essential to reduce holdings of cattle because of pressure on the soil, and that this was government policy, which his sales were supporting by inducing more Zulu to sell cattle, since prices were higher. The two contentions were to some extent contradictory. He did not argue that it was sound policy to have the Zulu develop an autonomous economic base in the reserve, since seemingly he feared that this might induce the farming interests to exert influence on the government to close down the sales-though I am sure his own view was that the more Zulu could earn money at home, the better it was for their family and social life. This fear that those whites who were interested in a large flow of laborers out of the reserves would oppose economic developments in the reserves was held also by technical officers. An agricultural officer told me he was playing down the success of cooperative creameries he had established among the Zulu lest these be closed down. During the course of my work in Zululand in 1936-38, I got to know the technical officers particularly well, since two of them had been at school and university with me and this gave me entry to a whole set of these officers. We had long hours talking about problems into the night, or while driving through the country. What was striking was that all of them, as trained professional men, saw their primary duty to be local development. Their constant concern was to solve such technical problems as producing better breeds of bulls from local Zulu stock in order to improve the cattle, or to find some means of inducing Zulu to adopt paddocking of cattle so that pasture could be improved, or to aim at effective propaganda to induce Zulu to improve their agriculture in order to reduce their dependence on money earned at work in distant labor centers for food. I myself believe that it was major policy of the South African government to maintain a steady flow of labor out of the reserves in order to staff expanding industry without being committed to the support of a permanently urbanized population through unemployment insurance, etc., and also to having a labor force part of whose income came from the soil. These major policy limitations restricted what could be achieved by administrative and technical officials. The basic shortage of land remaining to Africans who were increasing in number was such that [74] no land development program, on the scale I saw, could possibly succeed, though the situation in Northern Zululand was not yet critical. When I went with Zulu from there into the southern district of Mapumulo they looked at the sheet erosion visible on the hillsides, and one said, "These poor people are short of land: and our country will soon be like this. We are taking in the Zulu turned off white farms and they are ruining our soils. But how can we refuse our people who are in want?" Furthermore, possibilities of development were restricted by the funds allocated for this purpose, and these were, not commensurate with need. As an indication of major attitudes in the wider political system, we may note that of seven members of the Union Government Native Economic Commission of 1932, which was instructed to inquire into the African contribution to national revenue as against African needs, five discussed the allocation of funds for development of African areas in relation to direct taxes paid by Africans, though they stressed the need for heavy expenditure in the reserves. In a minority report, the two others argued that: (a) in no civilized country were the poorer sections of the population granted only those services that their tax contribution could pay for; (b) the Africans should be credited with a share of the

taxes paid by mines and industries in which they labored; and (c) they should he credited with their contribution to taxes paid in customs duties. These limitations must be borne in mind throughout the succeeding analysis. Nevertheless, within these limitations the technical officers showed strikingly the ethic of the professional, eager and aiming to do his professional job well. Through working with this ethic, technical officers became involved in Zulu hopes and fears, aspirations and objections. While some Zulu were suspicious of the technical measures advanced, they did appreciate that some of the white officers themselves were of "good heart" and were endeavoring to help them. A fair number of Zulu also saw that at least some of the measures proposed were in their interests, and this established between them, and through them to other Zulu, a personal relationship of friendship with these white officers. The stereotype of suspicion held by Zulu against white men, and government officials particularly, persisted; but individual officers were distinguished as such by their own characters and skills, and they were often highly valued by Zulu. These high evaluations were on a personal basis, and in some respects constituted exceptions proving the general rule that white men were not to be trusted. As a result of this grant of trust, the officials became further personally interested in the Zulu and the prospects for improving their lot. As I have said, these technical officers came to their jobs with professional training which in itself gave them a professional ethic. Native commissioners did not have the same degree of professional training in universities-and it must be noted that some of the technical officers were trained in universities like the University of the Witwatersrand and the University of Cape Town which stood and still stand for liberalism on [75] African affairs. The white administrative officials mainly worked their way up the hierarchy from clerical positions, taking legal and other civil service examinations on the way. They were thus indoctrinated with the vocational ethic of the administrative service and acquired professional training in order to act as magistrates at law. The ethic of this administrative service was complex. It was compounded out of a history in which the first administrators brought peace to a country torn by civil war after its defeat by the British (Gluckman, 1940a, 1940b, 1958), and then set about establishing law and order and protection for people who still remember the tyranny and arbitrary killings of the Zulu kings Shaka and Dingane. These people welcomed the peace brought by the whites. In addition, because some of the senior administrators were sons of missionaries who had worked in Zululand, some of the tone of the service was set in terms of devoted service to a people who suffered from material and spiritual ills, and who had to he helped as a Christian duty. These were men who spoke Zulu and knew much of Zulu history and culture. Some of them, indeed, took great pride in that history, as is well evidenced in the romantic gloss put by E. A. Ritter-a commissioner and the son of a commissioner-on his otherwise magnificent epic, Shaka Zulu. The pride of Afrikaner commissioners in Zulu history and culture fitted to some extent the ideology of apartheid, which asserts that every people (yolk) has its own culture to which it should adhere. As Leo Kuper has stated, the Afrikaners feel that as a small people they fought for their language and culture against the powerful English language and culture; and correspondingly therefore some of their professional men and intellectuals feel that all other peoples should wish to do this too. Hence, they are positively sympathetic to tribal cultures, as is shown in the rather idealistic descriptions by Afrikaner Nationalist Party anthropologists of African culture.

There were of course personal variations among commissioners. One commissioner, E. N. Braatvedt who started the cattle sales, was known by the Zulu as "Chief of the women," because, they said, whenever he was involved in a case between a man and his wife, or a woman and her father or brother, he always sided with the woman. (He was also called, and to his face, Intsingizi, "the secretary-bird," because of his physical appearance.) I do not suggest he did side with women, to the extent of bias; but many years later when his brother, H. P. Braatvedt, also a native commissioner, published his autobiography, Roaming Zululand with a Native Commissioner (1949, p. 9), he included the following incident about life on their father's mission station in Zululand when they were boys: "When the first girl from the Kraals (Zulu villages] came for tuition, she was not only thrashed and removed, but Father was threatened by her father and her friends, who invaded the house armed with assegais." This may have made a lasting impression of the plight of Zulu women on the white boys, judging by H. P. Braatvedt's later comments. [76] On the other hand, the assistant native commissioner to E. N. Braatvedt was considered by Zulu men, but not women, to be a fairer judge in matters of this kind. Even taking this into account, their admiration and respect and liking for Mr. Braatvedt were unstinted. They praised him for his work in starting the cattle sales-even though some said the sales with their good prices would induce Zulu to sell all their cattle until they ceased to be a nation. In short, the personal ethic of most commissioners was one of high service, and Zulu appreciated this. In addition, when British administration was first set up in Zululand, the officials brought with them a whole complex of ideals and values from the developing technology of Britain. As I have described elsewhere (Gluckman, 1940h, republished 1958) in some detail from archival records, the first administrators began pushing through roads, administering quinine in malarial areas, bringing in famine relief, and encouraging schooling which soon became valued, and so forth. Here a whole series of technical activities were set in train. One of the most notable facts in the history of Zululand is that the work of the white administration grew quickly, and not solely for repression and taxation and urging men out to work. Magisterial districts were steadily reduced in size, while the staff at each office increased in number. When Northern Zululand was first "occupied" by the British administration one resident commissioner was directly responsible, with a small staff, for the whole area. This area by 1920 was divided into five separate districts, each under a native commissioner with a larger staff. In Nongoma District, which I knew best, in 193638 the commissioner had to assist him one assistant native commissioner, a white clerk, a white court messenger, and three Zulu clerks, and there were three white noncommissioned police in charge of a couple of dozen Zulu police. This is aside from technical officers in agriculture, veterinary, health, education, and public works services, and their staffs. The district was inhabited by 30,000 Zulu, divided into three tribes under chiefs, one of whom was the lineal head of the Zulu royal house. In other districts, there were more tribes. Meanwhile, as the commissioner's staff increased, the number of men in attendance on chiefs fell-and since all except a few educated and semi-educated Zulu were emotionally more deeply attached to their chiefs, this measures the increasing influence of the white officials. Individual Zulu felt they could turn to officials for advice and help. Personal links were built up between some Zulu and some officials. Officials were emotionally involved in the hopes and fears of the people of their district. When they discussed chiefs it was not in terms of any threat that the loyalty to chiefs of the people might contain against their

own influence, but in terms of what chiefs did or did not do to help the people develop their agriculture and improve their animal husbandry, and so forth. In time, many of the activities of the native commissioner himself, who started as a jack-of-all-trades in that he was health officer, veterinarian, [77] agriculturalist, road builder, and peacekeeper, were allocated to specialist technical officers. Theoretically the native commissioner was responsible for overseeing this work; but I observed that there developed some competition and jealousy, particularly where a technical officer was responsible not to higher officials within the Native Affairs Department, but to superiors in some national technical department. Zulu attempted to play on these differences, which they thought existed. But (respite these divisions among white officers, and despite his loss of control and work in technical activities, the native commissioner remained with what one may call an ethic of development, material and spiritual, and a determination to do all he could for his "subjects." This was on top of what one may call an ethic of good administration: that law and order should be well maintained, that cases in Zulu courts should be fairly tried, that both bridegroom and bride should publicly and freely affirm their consent to marriage, etc. There was one further important element in the ethic of the native commissioner. He was also a magistrate, in this role working for the Department of Justice. And as such, he attempted to apply the law fairly. Normally in Zululand itself this application was in cases between Zulu. Most of the harassing laws which beset Zulu in urban areas did not apply in the tribal area: they complained of the law against growing of dagga (marijuana), some veterinary and agricultural restrictions, and of course tax laws. Few cases involving Zulu and white arose there. One case which caused bitter feeling was an allegation by the daughter of a poor white that an educated Zulu had written her a letter proposing sexual relations. He was charged with crimen injuria. Whites split in their reaction. The Zulu was highly respected, and many whites felt that he was not guilty, and suspected that the letter was forged. Others spoke of tarring and feathering him: they were led by the most prominent nationalist in the district. Since the senior magistrate was away, an assistant had to try the case. He spoke to some of us about the high feeling that had been aroused and felt that if he acquitted the accused, his career might be adversely affected. But he said he would decide according to the law, and risk that. At the trial, he held that even if the Zulu had written the letter, no offense was disclosed; and said he doubted if the letter was authentic. His career was in fact not compromised. Here, then, the commissioner stood for justice for the Zulu in the district against a strongly awakened fear, ever present, that whites had about the security of their women from the Zulu. It must finally typify the extent to which commissioners undoubtedly came to represent the Zulu of their districts against current and general white attitudes and values. Here again magistrates varied considerably. Some had reputations for harshness; and one was believed to be liable suddenly to arrest people on trivial offenses whenever he had some public work to carry out and lacked laborers for it-convicts would do well. Otherwise, he was highly regarded. But the variation among all those I knew and observed was [78] around a pole of good administration, and even a preparedness to try and oppose central government policy. I am in a position to report on the work of the commissioners themselves, since I sat for many days in magisterial offices noting the work done there. I cannot say what the position of central government was, since relations between commissioner and higher echelons of government were out of my observation. One instance suggested some

difference. At a time when agricultural improvements, sales of crops, the cattle sales, cooperative creameries were developing well, after the depression changed into a boom, the Minister for Native Affairs answered a question in Parliament by saying that his department was encouraging the growth of crops for sale by Africans, but only such crops as it had been proved whites could not grow economically. I suspect this apparent cynicism was a deliberate attempt to switch attention off real efforts at improvement. Given major national policy, dominated by white interests, the commissioner's position was ultimately hopeless. But in local activity his actions, activities, and attitudes contributed to a certain solidarity between Zulu and administration. Hilda Kuper gives a description of bitter British commissioners in Swaziland (1947, p. 92). When I was in Zululand, things were going well. I found hard-working, enthusiastic men. I concluded that this inter-hierarchical role of the commissioners and other officials contributed substantially both to the cohesion of the tribal area and even to establishing a certain consensus over values and loyalties across the color bar. I here contrast cohesion, covering the stability of a system as achieved both by deployment of force and by interconnecting interests, with consensus, which is agreement on goals and values. Zulu lived in a tribal system within which they found many satisfactions and rewards. These they derived from working on the land, marrying, raising children, participating in an ongoing culture, and seeking prestige in ways accredited and approved. As Mitchell and Van Velsen have stressed, they moved out of this system when they sought to satisfy their wants by earning money in white enterprises, into another system where many relations were indeed continuations of tribal ties and associations (see also Gluckman, 1960, in press b). The other system contained less satisfaction: to watch a man return from the towns to the tribal system was to observe a sea change of personality. The tribal system offered its rewards largely by contrast, and as I reported as far back as 1940 in African Political Systems (Fortes and Evans-Pritchard), the position of commissioners and chiefs formed the points on which the system operated. I therefore summarize and develop that early analysis before proceeding to consider the position in Northern Rhodesia and Nyasaland, and later in the newly independent African states. Within a district the commissioner was the superior political and judicial officer. His court was both a court of the first instance and of appeal from chiefs in cases tried between Zulu. Among his subordinate [79] officials were these chiefs. Statutorily there was a simple hierarchy. But in Zulu life the commissioner and chief occupied different, and in many ways, opposed positions. The commissioner was supported by police in the district and the threat of greater force which he could call in. This ultimately maintained white control. But he had also all the authority and prestige of the white upper class. As noted, his office was the focus of activities in which government had led to radical amending of Zulu life. It had established peace, encouraged men to go out to work for wages and acquire new types of goods, supported schools, started health, veterinary, and agricultural services. The commissioner was therefore head of an organization which brought new enterprise and adaptation to new conditions to the Zulu. He was essential to the Zulu as helper because his office could do for them many things which they could not manage on their own and over which the chief could not help because he, lacked power, organization, and knowledge. People went to the commissioner and his staff with many troubles. Thus he stood for many new values, and the achievement of many goals, for the Zulu.

Yet Zulu attitudes were largely suspicious and hostile. They blamed the whites, and particularly the government, for new conflicts in their community; they pointed to laws which they considered oppressive, and some of which were oppressive; they feared government meant to take yet more of their land, as they had lost so much to whites in the past. They recited records of promises made to them by whites only to he broken. Therefore, while government required chiefs to support its measures, the people expected chiefs-who were often as suspicious as they-to oppose them. Hence a chief who opposed the building of cattle-paddocks was praised by his people, but condemned by technical officers; while a chief who asked for cattle paddocks was praised by technical officers and condemned by his people. For the people looked to their chiefs to examine government's proposals and to "stand up for the people" against them. Chiefs here were used sometimes as sounding boards by the people who appeared to follow them. At the same time Zulu chiefs and sonic people attempted to use the commissioner, and other officials, protectively both against higher authority and against the disruptive effects of their internal difficulties and feuds5. The chiefs had had their powers radically curtailed by the presence of white rule. A chief could ask for, not compel, labor service; he owned the land still, but relatively less, and subject to government control; he had lost his relatively high wealth, and no longer distributed it to his subjects; many of his people were more skilled than he in new crafts and knowledge. [80] Men had less time to devote to hint. Resentment and even disputes arose if chiefs tried to enforce old allegiances and services which subjects were no longer prepared to render. And if a chief tried to oppress or exploit a man, that man could get protection from the commissioner, though the chief's disfavor was still a severe penalty in public life. Nevertheless, though the weaker, the chief had a quite different position from the commissioner. The commissioner could not cross the color line, and the chief stood with his people on the other side. The commissioner could attend to people's problems but his social life was among other whites. The chief's social life was with his people. Despite his superiority, he felt the same pains and sufferings as they. Chief, and especially Zulu king, stood for Zulu values as no white could, since their positions were rooted in traditional history and institutions, including Zulu successes in the wars f against other tribes and whites. The commissioner was the persistent symbol of their ultimate defeat. Moreover, the chief appreciated the same institutions and goals as most of his people did. He and his family were intermarried with commoners. That was something the commissioner could not do. The people expressed the difference by speaking of the chief, who inherited his position, thus: "He has the blood and the prestige of chieftainship and they extend to his office; the commissioner has only the prestige of his office and his relatives are nobodies." One can thus set up commissioner's and chief's positions as contraposed. This opposition appeared constantly; but it was obscured in routine administration. Chiefs and their councillors-who had their own traditional ethic of good rule-assisted in the maintaining of law and order, and in running certain activities. And since the commissioner came to represent his district, he drew the chief into common consultation on many
5

See Frankenberg ( 1957) for an elegant analysis of this type of situation. He brings out general problems in dealing with social relations in a Welsh village. The higher-class people are seen as having both ability and means to influence those yet higher in the system of stratification.

problems. Ultimately force maintained the system in balance and the whites controlled that force; much more achieved the balance and the cohesion, so that people went about their affairs in peace and security. (See Gluckman, 1940a, 1940b; also in Kuper and Smith, in press.) But this balance, which dominated the structure of the system, shifted from situation to situation. A minimum allegiance to commissioner and chief, set by statute, was enforceable by the police. Beyond that their influence varied according to their respective characters and the matter at issue. Even more it shifted for different individuals in different situations, according to the values guiding them or the goals they sought to achieve. Zulu were to some extent divided in their allegiances and the goals they sought. Though the division into "schooled" and "blanket" people (Hunter, 1936; Mayer, 1960) was not as rigid as further south, schooled Zulu had different attitudes and acted differently from pagans in many situations. Often they criticized chiefs by the standards of what the commissioner did, and in general they favored the commissioner more. Some were employed by government. Only some of the best educated who came up most sharply against the color bar reacted in sentimental and [81] symbolic fashion against it; and in the 1930s they are forming with government's help-the Zulu Cultural Society, praising and attempting to reestablish traditional Zulu ways. Given that the division of South Africa into grcups defined by color has become increasingly marked6, one would expect that the pressures on commissioners would have become more severe; and if they were to continue working for the government, they would have to move out of the position in which they came to represent their subjects. Moreover, the policy of apartheid has a demand for high adherence to its tenets, and deviation is increasingly and more forcibly repressed; it is easier to be defined as a heretic, renegade, or traitor to the cause of separation of color groups. No information that I know is available about commissioners in Zululand; but we know something of their position in the Transkei further south. As far back as the 1930's the Transkei was much more heavily eroded and degraded than Zululand; and even in that period my impression is that the administration was more concerned with repression than was the administration in Zululand. In recent times, with the stirrings of revolt in the. Transkei-as not, apparently, in Zululand-the commissioner (now the Bantu commissioner) is concerned to see that the Africans accede to the requirements of government policy. This comes out clearly in Mbeki's penetrating analysis of the Transkei in South Africa: The Peasants' Revolt (1964), even if the book be a political analysis, not looking at facts which run counter to its main thesis. Similar revolts are reported by him, accurately, from areas in the Northern Transvaal-but none of consequence in Zululand. In the Transkei, the truly rural areas are worn out; on the borders of the Bantu reserves there is a depressed population of workers in white-owned industries sited near the borders. The sharpening of the situation there seemingly has compelled the Bantu commissioner to become an authoritarian representative of the central government. Meanwhile, the chiefs and elected councillors have been placed in a greater dilemma than the chiefs I knew in Zululand in the 1930's. Some emerge in ever more open, opposition to the government; others strive to see some hope in the declared policy of development of the Bantustans. The inter-hierarchical situation persists; but the continuum along which particular chiefs can find positions is longer, and the two poles between acceptance and
I described the probability of this development under what I called "the principle of the developing dominant cleavage" (Gluckman, 1942, 1958; also in Kuper and Smith, in press),
6

rejection of white domination are clearer than they were for Zulu chiefs in the 1930's. There is less flexibility in the system. This is made very clear in Mbeki's book, and also in Mayer's excellent analysis of "The Tribal Elite and the Transkeian Elections of 1963" (1966), which was published after my analysis in this essay was worked out. What I have described for commissioners in Zululand applied also to [82] instances where a commissioner stood "in defense" of "his district" against the central government. In Barotseland, the Barotse National Council asked the provincial commissioner to represent them at negotiations with the central government about the Barotse king's traditional fishing sites on the Kafue in Ila country. They said he could protect their rights better than one of them could. District commissioners were required to enroll Tonga men to work on European-owned farms for the six months' agricultural season in order to produce more food for the copper nines workers during the war. Central government letters referred to these possible workers as "volunteers"; district commissioners referred, in their replies, to the Tonga as "conscripts." One refused to enroll any of these workers on the grounds that they would be required to go to work at the planting season; he wrote to "remind" the central government that at that season of the rains in October Africans planted the crops which would feed their families from May of the following year to the May in the year yet further ahead; he preferred to offer his resignation unless government would guarantee to cover the costs of the equivalent food during that year. His plea successful. I lack space to multiply examples here. Both the Northern Rhodesian and the Zululand commissioners I knew were obviously working within the major restrictions imposed by certain fundamental policies and also by the relatively meager provision of funds for development. The commissioners in South Africa could do nothing to alter the fundamental inequalities in the system, or its glaring contradictions. The major demand on the Zulu was that they go to labor in industries and mines. They had no say about, or control over, their ultimate destinies. The rate of population increase, both natural and from immigrants being turned off white farms in neighboring districts under new laws, was such that by this time the fairly fertile Northern Zululand I knew is probably eroded and degraded. The ethics of a few administrators cannot change a system whose major organization aims at different objectives. The commissioners probably could not succeed in attaining their ideal of service. My own work in Zululand was carried out in the period when the Herzog policy providing for the purchase of trust land for Africans and the allocation of money for development had only recently been announced, and officials were optimistic. That policy was stultified. The hardening of apartheid policy seems also to have altered the situation radically. But since in this volume we are concerned with local-level politics, we have to examine how even the agents of a government which was basically "uninterested" in the local district for itself, assumed an inter-hierarchical role and worked for the local district. An important factor allowing assumption of this role was of course the isolation of the reserves. Save for the newspaper reports of the success of the cattle sales, they were backwaters away from the main stream of South African developments, and no one really noticed what native commissioners were [83] doing or how they felt, so their actions and feelings did not influence the course of developments or become involved in national political strife. Clearly, when this work is repudiated by national policy, men who have committed their careers and families to the service are unlikely to resign. What else can they do? At best, they may comfort themselves by saying, as did most of those British district commissioners in Northern Rhodesia and Nyasaland who opposed the establishing of the Central African

Federation of the Rhodesias and Nyasaland, that by staying on they might be able to help the Africans. Many British officers did oppose that federation, though it was supported by the central governments. That opposition expressed the tendency I have described from Zululand. In Northern Rhodesia (Zambia), officers were less dependent on the white population in general in the sense that they expected ultimately to retire to England, while South African commissioners expected to retire to South Africa. When settlers complained in Northern Rhodesia that British administrators had no real stake in the country, to meet this case the government made it easy for retiring officers to acquire land in the territory. The Barotse's response was to state that their situation was weakened. As they put it to me: "As long as officers return on leave to Britain, they forget the interests of the settlers. When they are to retire there, they are not so interested in keeping our wages low. If they are to settle here when they retire, they will be like the other settlers." I found great variation in the attitudes and actions of the district commissioners I knew. But it seemed to me that the standards set up were such that in South Africa the commissioners were more liberal to Africans than the Parliament in Cape Town they "represented," while the Northern Rhodesian standard was more liberal than the local legislature but less liberal than Parliament and Colonial Office in London. I knew officers who were marked exceptions to the last statement, and actively opposed colonial government policy over the federation in a way that no commissioner openly acted in Zululand; but I believe my contrast is fairly accurate. I hope this analysis draws attention to problems even where it does not handle them adequately. These problems clearly will alter in the independent African states. In some, indeed most, Central and East African states, chieftainship is being severely curtailed, and this applies to some West African chiefs; but there other chiefs have been drawn into the central political and administrative system. Nevertheless, I consider that it is illuminating still to see their position in terms of inter-hierarchical roles. The reason why colonial powers could build their administration on chiefs, while independent African governments cannot, is that since the authority of "colonial" commissioners was not based in the support of the people, they were not in as severe competition with chiefs as are the new elites, who seek popular support. Colonial administrators derive power from the metropolitan source. This curtailing of chiefly authority after independence [84] may be necessary in the interests of national unity: but it also means that the tribal system with its goals and values may decay. Then the people in the rural areas may find less satisfaction there, and certain disorganization may result before new associations develop. The query remains whether the new local representatives of the dominant ruling groups can represent also the interest of these outlying areas, and give them stability and cohesion, as commissioner and chief did. I have stressed that the commissioner could get involved in the local system because it was isolated, out of the main stream. In detail, there was in early years no demand for high consensus from the central government against these local officials. They did no harm. But even the regionally isolated parts of the newly independent countries are no longer politically isolated. In the aftermath of the struggle for political independence has come high revolutionary, and perhaps unreasonably hopeful, consensus. One is deeply moved by the surge and enthusiasm among young and many old. With this enthusiasm, and the demand for consensus, comes the de facto single party, even if it be not entrenched in law. The party representatives will have, normally, not a professional ethic, but a party ethic. This party ethic will be severe on any deviation, for deviation will, as in South Africa,

come under Simmel's rule that the heretic and renegade, with the traitor, are more hated than the open enemy, and, as Durkheim has argued, the more elevated the social conscience, the more are minor deviations treated as crimes. Will the party representative, with this ethic of high consensus, be able to assume an inter-hierarchical role, in which he represents the people of the local area where he works? This seems less likely than that wherever the locals diverge from accepted policy, or seem not to achieve what is expected of then, the representative of the party will see them as defaulting from the great task set by the party and nation, as is indicated by the treatment of even minor offenses as reported by Swartz in his essay in this book. This has been a marked feature of the history of the USSR and China: in periods of high revolutionary enthusiasm, the locals are always "wrongdoers." Increasing strain results. We have too little data on how, in this type of situation, professional persons, both administrative and technical, react under pressure of the party. Will they, in Africa, develop a professional ethic which they are prepared to try to push, and by doing this, come to stand for the local area against the center? Again, it seems to me, that this may be difficult. I am guessing at the answers: but I hope the questions I have asked, pose problems that can be tackled. APPENDIX ON TERMINOLOGY Throughout the seminar reported in this symposium, as in reading hooks on these problems, I felt that there was tendency in social anthropology and sociology to cover too many situations with the single word "conflict." In addition, I have found throughout the decades during which [85] I have worked on African problems, that in some professional analyses, as in political debate, there is a tendency to see a situation such as the one which exists in South Africa in terns of sharp divisions only, with attitudes of overall opposition, hostility, and animosity. I myself went to study Zululand with something of , attitude, established while I was growing up in South Africa, and me, 'g more and more to the African side. I felt that the whites had acquired their position by conquest and maintained it solely by force. In Zululand I found, as described in this essay, considerable cooperation and even consensus, in the everyday sense of these words. I noted that on the whole white and African people went about their daily business in peace and security; and I realized that this had been the position also in Johannesburg, my home town. Therefore, as a social scientist I felt I must examine the bases of this everyday peace and security and cohesion, even though clearly if the control of whites over force were removed (which was not likely to happen soon) the whole political system would be revolutionized. I therefore found it necessary to emphasize the interdependence of whites and Africans7. To do this, I had to develop a more complicated vocabulary, and have had continually to develop it yet further. In this appendix I set out the kind of vocabulary I feel is necessary for the analysis of these problems8: to have put it in the text would have broken the flow of my argument (see also my papers in Turner, in press, and Kuper and Smith, in press).

In the opening paragraphs of my essay in Kuper and Smith (in press), I describe this development in my views at somewhat greater length. 8 I am most grateful to Dr. Martin Southwold who has helped me considerably in this task.

In order to carry out our descriptive and analytical tasks, we need a series of words to refer both to the observable interactions, both of persons in their varied roles and of groups, and to ranges and levels of societal interdependence. English has a fair number of words that we can employ thus. I stipulate that I specialize different words for different purposes. Immediately, I note that in English .there are many more words to describe clashes between persons than to describe collaboration between them. We can therefore use "work with," "help" ("aid," "assist," "succor"), "depend on," to describe observable interaction, with "cooperate" as a general word to describe them all. Against forms of cooperation stand "argue," "dispute," "quarrel," "fight," "contend," "compete," while in noun form we can add "disturbance," "riot," "strike," "war," all covered by the general word "strife." I shall use these words to cover observable action and presumed associated motivation. On the descriptive level of ideology we can generally speak of "agree" aid "disagree." Martin Southwold has urged on me that when we move to first-order abstraction from observable reality we must distinguish between the ideas which people have about what is occurring in their relationships, and the relations that we as social scientists abstract from our observations. I shall use consensus and [86] dissensus as polar types to refer to agreement or disagreement between particular persons on a goal or value or closely associated set of goals or values. Coherence and the neologism discoherence are polar types to cover whether all goals and values, and held views of what the society is like, are considered to be compatible with one another. When we come to look at the patterns of relations which we as analysts abstract from our observations we need first to distinguish between motivation and social interest. In my essays I speak of whites and Zulu having common interests in peace and in low maternal and infant mortality rates and so forth, as one may speak of managers and workers having a common interest in a factory or mine continuing to work and produce. I have been told it is specious to say that workers have this common interest. Workers go to work to earn wages. I consider that this criticism is, in sociological or social anthropological analysis, to commit the error of "psychologism." The motives which induce people to do certain things are not the same as the complex of social interests which their actions serve: this is clear from social-anthropological and sociological analyses of rules of exogamy, or of ritual. Nevertheless, I believe that a common or shared social interest must be demonstrated in the actions of persons. The interest of English workers in factory and mine had developed when Luddism ceased, and when striking workers did not damage the machines or plant on which the productive process depended. The manner in which, for example, striking miners keep essential services going expresses their common interest with mine owners and maangers in the mine. It is significant that though the Zambian (formerly Northern Rhodesia) Copperbelt mines were opened in the late 1920's, and some closed down in the depression of 1931 before reopening in 1933, in 1935 and 1940 the plant and machinery were not attacked by striking African miners who concentrated their assaults on personnel offices. Aparently in 1935 essential services were kept going. In the 1940 strike at three mines on the first day "the smelter staff were called to work to prevent damages to the furnaces through their going out"; but on the next day the smelter shifts were threatened by other workers and they were no longer called out. (Note that in 1926 British steelworkers did not join in the general strike because if the furnaces went out it would take months to repair them.) Clearly, then, by 1940 African miners at all mines did not appreciate the consequences of not keeping the smelting furnaces working, for, according to the district commissioner's description of the first day of a strike in 1952 at a

mine, "no one came to work except for a handful of essential service workers." Yet though the maintenance of essential services was written into an agreement with the African Mineworkers Union, when a more militant leadership of underground workers was elected at one mine in 1954 it called "a strike of all African employees, including essential servicemen, which lasted nearly a week" (Epstein, 1958). Recognition of common interest was demonstrated in these events, but not always [87] observed, since miners were aware of these interests in varying degrees. Yet Epstein in his masterly analysis of Copperbelt history in Politics iii an Urban African Community (1958, pp. 132-33) was able to write:
[In 1935 and 1940] conceivably, the Africans might have taken to smashing machinery as an expression of resentment against the new system, just as the Luddites had done at a corresponding period of Industrial Revolution of England. Significantly, they did not do this. By their behaviour on these occasions they showed that they were not protesting against an industrial system as such, they were complaining of the position accorded to them within the system.

He then points out that there was, however, an important historical difference. In England, production was being moved from cottages into factories: in Central Africa, workers from a traditional subsistence economy were moving into highly developed industry which gave them new wealth. Acceptance of the industrial system thus involves recognition of an interest in the system. Kuper in his A n African Bourgeoisie (1965, p. 6 ) writes in terms similar to mine: "Social relationships extend across racial barriers, weaving complex and varied patterns of interracial contact and creating common interests transcending those of race." One might speak of "convergent interests" if "common interests" causes confusion. But I feel that one must speak of "common interests" because this emphasizes the high degree of fairly longterm collaboration that establishes systematic interdependence in the economic sphere. "Convergent" seems to me to imply that there is a temporary coming together of interested parties, as among allies like the Soviet Union and the Western powers during the War. African interest in the industrial system of South Africa is not temporary; it is permanent. But out of the common interests between them and whites arise new clashes, as the citation from Epstein above clearly shows. We therefore need a number of descriptive words for forms of cooperation, etc., involving common interest in a system of collaboration. At further levels of abstraction we may see collaboration as arising out of solidarities and/or the exercise of authority with force at its command. Against this we need a number of descriptive words for forms of strife, leading to clashes within that collaboration. These clashes may arise from straightforward competition between different persons for the same thing. Or they may manifest periodic eruptions of strife out of permanent struggles between types of persons, groups or categories on different sides of a dominant cleavage or subsidiary cleavage in the total system or one of its parts. Struggles may arise out of what I call conflict of interest or loyalty or allegiance or value in the system, whenever these conflicts can be resolved by a return to something like the original pattern of social relationships. I am trying here to specialize struggle and conflict as [88] concepts used as we move more deeply into our analysis of the social system. Both can be used, and have been used, to describe surface interaction: but there are many other words for description, and only struggle and conflict can be given these deeper connotations. If the clashes arising out of struggles cannot be resolved by anything like a return to the preceding patterns of social relations, I speak of a

contradiction in interests, values, loyalties, and allegiances. When a cleavage involves a contradiction, it must develop through more forms of a struggle. Despite the development of the dominant cleavage, such as that between whites and Africans in South Africa, the various parts of the polity are linked together in a relatively high degree of interdependence. We may then speak of South Africa as highly articulated. Articulated and unarticulated are A polar concepts to define the extent to which parts of a system are linked or not linked together. (Unarticulated is a neologism, since "disarticulated" strictly describes not the state of not being linked together, but "undoing the articulation of," "separating.") If parts of a system are highly articulated, I speak of that part as having "cohesion." Some scholars have told me that they consider that "cohesion" implies moral approbation. I find no such implication in the dictionary's "tendency to remain united," "force with which molecules cohere"; but "cohesiveness" is a possible substitute. The crucial purpose of my terminology is to emphasize that it is essential to distinguish between' "consensus,'" as agreement on values and goals, and structural "cohesion, as defining the extent to which the structure of, a particular social field is maintained in something like continuous pattern by a variety of factors, such as outright force, and/or economic interdependence, and/or agreement of all the people involved on ultimate goals and their readiness to sacrifice for those goals, and/or the crosslinking of individuals within the total field in terms of a variety of associations and values which prevent most persons from becoming wholeheartedly loyal to one bond and hostile to all other bonds. Consensus and cohesion are therefore to some extent independent of each other. The distinction can be made most explicitly by emphasizing that one can have, in regard to certain ultimate goals, a very high degree of consensus among the actors in a social field, while the degree of structural cohesion is very low. This seems to be the position in many newly independent African states: the goals of independence, of PanAfricanism, of some kind of welfare policy, etc., may be accepted by most of the population and emphasized through a one-party organization. Yet these goals are not realized by consensus: they can only be achieved through industrial and agricultural development leading to what Durkheim called organic interdependence and solidarity between the segments of new states. This would produce cohesion. On the other hand, there may be in South Africa radical disagreement between various ethnic groups and within them about the goals and values ultimately to be aimed at, so that at national and [89] provincial, and perhaps city or district levels, there is little overall consensus, but structural cohesion may he relatively great, since it emerges at least both from determined use of force by the white government and from the relatively great development of the industrial sector and the farming-for-markets sector. Cohesion arises from high articulation of the parts of a system or subsystem. If cohesion exists in a system where there is also a high degree of consensus, we may speak perhaps of a society with a high degree of integration. Integration is lacking where there is cohesion but relatively little consensus, or the consensus exists only within restricted groups. I am here, I repeat, trying to stipulate that I use these words in this particular way. I do so because I cannot think of any other suitable words. But I consider that my proposals do not clash with the uses of these words in sociology and social anthropology in general. I set these varied terms out in Table 1 to aid readers. Please note that a spatial representation oversimplifies the complexity of reality. I have to show separately, and apparently opposed, cooperation and strife, when in fact cooperation itself is the source of

strife, and certain forms of strife can lead to cooperation. The chart is only a listing of terms, not a substitute for analysis.
TABLE I: TERMINOLOGY FOR ANALYZING SOCIAL CONSENSUS AND COHESION

These terms are used to describe elements in a system marked by:

1. ideologically: various degrees of participants' agreement or disagreement: (a) degrees of consensus to dissensus on single or sets of values and goals; (b) degrees of coherence to discoherence in all values and goals. 2. analytically: (a) degrees of cohesion to discohesion in parts of the total system; (b) of articulation to unarticulation in the relation of parts within the whole system. 3. analytically and ideologically: degrees of consistency and inconsistency in the relation of consensus H dissensus and cohesion discohesion. High consensus and high articulation produce high consistency and high integration. Low and high consensus with, respectively, high or low cohension, produce inconsistency and little integration.

I speak therefore of ideological consensus ,and structural cohesion in parts of a total system. Clearly then consensus and cohesion occur in [90] different areas or in different domains of relationships, and they are present for varying periods of time. We may speak of consensus and cohesion at different levels and for varying runs of time9." These remarks apply also to dissensus and lack of cohesion. Above all, consensus between Zulu and whites was mobilized for specific limited purposes in particular situations, while dissensus was manifested in other segregated situations. There were enough, and sufficiently varied, situations of consensus occurring in the articulation of economic and administrative interdependence to produce a fair degree of consistency and integration in Zululand as a whole. Meanwhile the dominance of the potential force which whites could exercise prevented the Zulu from taking action on the basis of their dissensus from whites. White force was a persistent essential in the cohesiveness of Zululand society [91].

Discussed in Gluckman, in press c.

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