Ssorin_Representing “Primitive Communists.

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Unformatted text preview: EDITED BY IANE BURBANK, MARK VON HAGEN, AND ANATOLYI REMNEV Indiana—Michigan Series in Russian and East European Studies Alexander Rabinowitch and William G. Rosenberg, editors Russian Empire Space, People, Power, 1700—1930 INDIANA UNIVERSITY PRESS Bloomington and Indianapolis 10 Representing “Primitive Communists”: Ethnographic and Political Authority in Early Soviet Siberia Nikolai Ssorin-Chaikov Let me begin with a photograph (Figure 10.1 ) taken in 1926 on the banks of the Podkamennaia Tunguska, a northern tributary of the Yenisei River basin. The photograph, taken by ethnographer and reformer Innokemii Suslov, bears the following caption: “All participants of the communal meeting [suglan] perform the Evenki national dance, iokhor’io.” In the 19705, Suslov donated this photograph, together with some other field ma. terials, to the museum in Tura, the administrative center of the Evenki Autonomous District. From Suslov’s commentaries to the photo, which are also in the museum archives, we learn that the “circle dance” was per- formed on the occasion of communal meetings of nomadic “clans” of Evenki hunters and reindeer herders, when several tents were pitched to- gether in a larger camp for a communal meeting. He concluded his com- ments, however, by pointing out that the photo of the dance was not “eth- nographically correct”: On the Baikit shot, the ethnographic veracity of the iokhor or osukhai (in the Yakut language) is somewhat distorted: the tarpaulin tent is not removed, and the figure of M. I. Osharov is in the center of the circle dance. [Osharov] . . . began the iokhor, and could not hear my request to leave the center and join the circle. I was calling him from atop a birch tree, from where I took this unique shot. Because of this, Com- rade Grishikhin, the photographer of the Museum of Ethnography 0f the Peoples of the USSR [in Leningrad], at my request, removed from the negative both the tarpaulin tent and the figure of Osharov. The negative thus was made ethnographically correct. [ . . . J I took this shot i l l l l l J! Figure 10.1. Participants in a communal meeting perform the Evenki national dance. Reproduced courtesy of the Kraievedcheskii musei Evenkiiskogo avtonomnogo Okruga [Regional Museum of the Evenki Autonomous District]. from atop a tall birch tree, where I was hidden in the branches. June 1926. Baikit (emphasis added).1 The photo and commentaries reveal the fabric and the fabrication of the Soviet ethnographic canon. What makes this event not sufficiently “ethnographic” for Suslov are the signs of “modern” life: the tarpaulin tent does not fit the image of “authentic” Evenki traditions. The most impor— tant target of Suslov’s editing, however, are the signs of the staging of this event. Once the photograph is edited and Osharov is removed from the center of the dancing circle, we see Suslov secretly observing a supposedly spontaneous social gathering. This photograph reveals the construction of ethnographic fact “in its fabricated originality,” to use the words of Michael Ames.2 Not only eth- nographic representations were staged on the banks of the Podkamennaia Tunguska in the 1920s and early 19305. When Suslov rafted down the Pod— kamennaia Tunguska in 1926, the dual purpose of his trip was both to Representing “Primitive Communists” 269 if collect ethnographic data and to organize the new Soviet state instituti. ,,,_ in this area, Suslov chaired the provincial branch of the Soviet State (W mittee for the Assistance to the Peoples of the Northern Borderlands (here~ after referred to as the Committee for the North), which between 1924 and 1935 administered the integration of Siberian aborigines into Soviet so. ciety. He participated in drafting the key document of this Committee, the Provisional Statute of Administration over Native Peoples and Tribes of the Northern Borderlands (1926). The goal of his trip was to set up 10ml soviets among the Evenki of the Podkamennaia Tunguska in accordancc with this statute. The mid-19205 represent a peculiar historical moment when political and ethnographic representations collided in the cultural construction of their designated object—the “priiriitive—communist soc1al(istl, Ol'g'dllij tion, which, according to the Provisional Statute of 1926-, should have lit,“ both socialist and “ethnographically correct.” These soc1al projects were to follow indigenous social organization “organically” in terms of “locality” and “genealogical” differences, despite the fact that Suslov and other re. formers knew very well that Siberian indigenous's'oueties in the early twentieth century did not exist in their “pure” primitive communist form. Iust as a random photo of the Evenki traditional practices revealed the Russian presence, indigenous clans and local communlties were said to ex- hibit the presence of the tsarist colonial system. The organization of the clan soviets followed, as I show below, the logic of making Ethnographi. cally correct” photographs—it was to proceed by clearing up the picture from “contaminating” elements of the old tsarist regime. . . . My goal in this chapter is to explore the micro—politics of this yision. I read the state reforms of the 19205 and early 19305 as a location for the Soviet ethnographic imagination, and, vice versa, early SOViet anthro- pology as a site of state reforms in the indigenous North. I look, kfirst, .it the making of facts in the materials from Suslov s trips to the Pod atgteni naia Tunguska River; then, at the broader ethnographic and policy de late: that drew on materials such as these; and, finally, at regimes of migro- politics that were socially produced through these practices of knowle ge. Two points underscore the narrative that I present below. ‘ First, I would like to historicize the notion of “clan—based community, which gained considerable currency in post—Soviet Siberian inglglelfizllll: politics. In the 1990s, “clan-based community’ emerged as an u iq hem and controversial institution that coexists with and, in parts of Nort um Siberia, replaces state collective farms. In late- and post—Soviet literd 270 Nikolai Ssorin—Chaikov i i l t r A m’m-wwn—_..—. . . “.— _———-—_ "Inm— md legislation, the indigenous “clan—based community” was conceived as institution that would provide a viable economic alternative to the gaudy bankrupt state collectives, an “organic” alternative to the “imposed” collective farm order. I he purpose of this chapter Vis-a-V1s these debates E to deconstruct the opposmon between “imposed”. and “organic” polic1es and institutions. Current ethnographic literature in Russra tends to ro— manticize the policies of the Committee for the North as collectivization’s more humane yet not completely realized alternative, genuinely (at least, in intent) “accounting for” (uchityvaia) differences between indigenous ,ocieties and the emerging Soviet social order.3 In this chapter, I demonstrate that, if anything, organic institutions of the 19205 were as “staged” and “imposed from above” as the collective gyms that followed. Furthermore, I argue that power technologies em— ,titWCd in the cultural production of both reveal a continuity rather than abreak. Both depended on an ethnographic understanding of what in- digenous social structures “really” implied, and both expanded, therefore, through social science discourses. I will not focus here on collectivization, vet, as I argue elsewhere, both the “organic” institutions of the 19205 and, later, the collective farms sought to establish a form of government that constitutes analytically and politically autonomous indigenous collectives ind voices through practices of surveillance and reporting.“1 My second goal is to examine the operation of the category of the “real” in these research and reform practices. The problem with “ethnographi— cally correct” facts is not merely that they are “incorrect,” or that policies htsed on these facts do not, as they claim, “account for” real cultural forms. The real problem is, rather, the regime of social relations that operates with, and within, these notions of “correctness” and “accounting for” re— ality. I argue that without examining this operation, a mere deconstruction of “ethnographically correct” facts simply reproduces the opposition be— tween “imposed” and “organic.” Early Soviet indigenous reforms articulated several meanings of the real that I will chart here. First of all, the “real” stands for “ethnographically torrect” facts, that is, what, in the View of Suslov and other ethnographers 3nd reformers, indigenous societies “really” are. In these discussions, the ‘real” also refers, however, to the deep underlying structure—“the real wcio-economic foundations,” as in Marxist discourse. In this sense, the ‘real" is invisible, since it is posited in opposition to the “overt” form or 'dppearance” of social relationships. Finally, particularly in the terms of ‘he Committee for the North and scholars who were associated with the Representing “Primitive Communists” 271 Committee, the “real” invokes “natural.” as in “natural selection.” AS on . of the members of the Committee for the North put this, i The [Siberian] peoples have accumulated thousands of years of experience . . . this is the practice [ byt] that was formed through long» term natural selection . . . In this case we have the organic approach) really grounded in life experience. We take what was formed by natural selection, by the very way of life [putem zhizni], by experiments that took place over thousands of years, which we do not destroy but out of which we breed the basis for the future of the Northern borderlands (emphasis added).S My focus in this chapter is on the relationships between these meanings of the “real” in ethnographic and policy debates over a very short period of time, namely from 1925 to 1928. I argue that these meanings articulaiL Russian/Soviet macro-narratives of power. The politics of representation of the mid- 1920s are an episode in the long—term transformation of forms and meaning of statehood in northern Siberia from tributary framewarks to ones based on ideologies of social science. During the tsarist period. Tungus identities within the Russian empire were formed by tributary for- mulas that marked them as “aliens” in contrast, for example, with Sibe- rian peasants who paid regular tax (obrok). The term “tribute” (iasak), with its old Turkic roots, evoked an older Mongolian vocabulary of power in which “tribute” distinguished conquered “others” from the tax-paying “us,” but also signified “law” and “state” (cf. the term for Chingis—Khan’s empire, and for its legal code, laser, which comes from the same root as the word insult"). After Speranskii’s reforms of the 1820s, and, more fully, un— der the Soviet system, this connotation also acquired a new meaning of “law” as “science,” which glossed over the older usage of “law” as “tribute.” From the early nineteenth—century reformers who sought to ground in- digenous administration in “history, ethnography, and climatology”; to Soviet discourses on “primitive” and “scientific” socialism, Siberian gov— ernance expanded as the management of a “natural history” that con- structed the Siberian peoples as its “savage slot.”8 Yet the micro-historical reading of one of the episodes of this transfor- mation allows us to see what a broader perspective obscures. I shall argue that, while the meanings of the “real” articulate the meanings of state or- der as “science,” they do not operate as closed discursive formations of points of View. The textual and political elaboration of these meanings did not purify them, but on the contrary, revealed others. In the 19205 and 272 NikoluiSsorin-Chuikov ——n.———u——\‘——— -—_—-—--—.‘—-— _—-———_—_—-——-—— —_—————_.. . 631.13, 19305, the “organic” and orthodox Marxist approaches to socialism md indigenous social organization traded places several times. The ad— mjnistrative and ethnographic elaborations of these points of View did not take the form of a developmental sequence from “primitive” to “scientific” SOcigilism, as later Soviet historiography would have us believe.9 Rather, this elaboration accumulated the asystematic (“rhizomic”1°) totality of an archive, much like, for example, the Complete Essays by Marx and Engels, where for each canonic text there is always a draft of that same text or a letter that n€gates it. Therefore, to the extent that these visions can be sys- tematized as “points of View,” they form points of their own discursive displacement. Technologies of Vision In conducting Sovietization meetings, initiating agents removed themselves from the close-up shot in a fashion similar to that by which the ethnographers were deleted from ethnographic pictures. What was made “real” by this act of removal? Suslov’s report on the Podkamennaia Tun- guska meetings starts with him at the center of the events: “The delegates of the Tungus suglun sat down in a circle in a forest glade. The head of the Committee for the North [Suslov] sat in the middle of the circle, read the statute, explained it point by point, and opened the discussion.” Note how the circle stands for the communal meeting and for the community itself, and particularly for the new, socialist ways of governance: “After 300 years the natives were asked for the first time how they wanted to be governed!”11 The meeting concluded with a round dance, similar to the one that Suslov photographed. In this report, however, the dance manifests not the Evenki “old ways” but a new collectivity. It affirms the reality of the newly estab— lished “clan soviet,” as Suslov observes from outside of the circle of the dance how the Evenki take turns singing: It was Shaman Barkaul’s turn to sing. His art of singing is known widely. . . . All listen carefully to his voice. And “the Big Russian master” [Bol’shoi russkii nuchul’nik], having just now conducted the first [So— viet] suglan on the Chunia [tributary of the Podkamennaia Tunguska], gladly hears words of the shaman who is well respected in the area [v0 vsei okrugel—the evaluation of all decisions of the suglun. This evalua— tion is very favorable . . . Representing “Primitive Communists” 273 And Suslov wrote in his field diary: “Barkaul told in his song all that had happened at the meeting. Oh, if only we had a phonographl How many truthful, healthy, sincere opinions we hear about the measures that we are taking among the natives [tuzemtsev].” 12 A report used in this publication was authored by Suslov. Suslov also took the minutes of the meetings, recording the indigenous voices in writ. ing: “We . . . the Tungus, illiterate but deeply feeling, deeply honor the Soviet power” and “all as one offer up our gratitude . . . for the help pro. vided to us.”13 From these minutes, however, we cannot understand exactlv where Suslov was at the meeting, and what role he played. He did not chair the meeting; in the minutes he lists local Evenki activists as assuming this role. In one of his later publications, Suslov mentions that he Was elected to the presidium of the meeting at the suggestion of one of the Event; elders.H But in the minutes themselves we find that he was “simply” gm of the speakers who just “joined the circle,” to use the language Of the commentary to the “circle dance” photograph. If Suslov himself is not visible in these notes, he makes sure that readers see that the new soviets are based on “genealogical clans.” His diary sped. fies that “Pankagir, Kurkagir, and Chemdal clans,” whose members came out to form the Chunia Clan Soviet, “are not administrative units but blood—related clans, whose Tungus founders were Chemdal, Kurga, and Panka,” and that these clans are local to the Podkamennaia Tunguska area: they “live in concord, marrying their daughters to one other.” We learn that, in the past, all three were registered together to pay fur tribute in Kezhma, a Russian village on the Angara River, and therefore constituted a single “Kezhma county.” The Pankagir clan joined them relatively re- cently, however, having migrated from the Nizhniaia Tunguska River. This signaled “real” (“ethnographic”) differences between them, and the Pan- kagirs were to form the soviet separately from the other two clans.15 As in the case of the photo, however, this vision of indigenous social organization did not present itself easily. Evenki “genealogical clans” had long been integrated into Russian administrative ones, and clan ideology was controlled by the local elite—rich reindeer herders and former “princes, who were appointed before the Revolution to govern administrative clans and collect fur tribute. It is interesting to note that in Soviet writing the solution to this prob- lem also comes from the members of the indigenous communities them- selves. In an historical novel that describes the early Soviet reforms among 274 Nikolai Ssorin—Chaikov _._._.._..__..., . . ... “fin—.0“... _ M-.-» ......_..._. F“... m................ a...” . ....._.. -_..._..‘..., Evenki of the Podkamennaia Tunguska, an old Evenki man, Girmancha, molt the floor at one such meeting and spoke of how the new “elementary moperation” Would, in fact, be in harmony with the old Evenki traditions. He first criticizes the uses of the clan in socio—economic domination: “The Strength of the rich is in the poverty of the herders. Where would one go if the prince promises reindeer in exchange for labor? . . . The rich princes W”; ‘We are all kinsmen. We have gnimat, the law of clan mutual aid’ . . . ibut] pastures are in their ‘clan ownership.’ The princes are not stupid: if there is joint herding—they would have fewer herders. They want small herds by the poor households.” Then he reminds the audience of the “old ways”: “Long ago, however, there was a good custom—joint herding. Have vou forgotten? Yes, the young don’t remember . . . ” Finally, Girmancha isks the assembly if the “new laws don’t return us to the old custom of him herding.”161n doing so, he leads those at the meeting to “clean” these traditions from the overt layer of recent colonial and capitalist appropria— tions, to recover the “old ways” in their pure, yet socialist, form. The “Real” as the Form: Siberian Social Organization in Early Soviet Scholarship The recipe for this social technology was made available to early Soviet reformers in 1924 when the Moscow journal Arkhiv Marksa i En- gelsa published an 1881 letter that Marx wrote to the Russian peasant s0— cialist Vera Zasulich. The Russian peasant commune, Marx argued in this letter. is not an obstacle for socialist development but “a fulcrum of social revival in Russia.” The socio-economic crisis of capitalism that “must end with its elimination” will also be “a return of modern societies to the ‘ar— chuic’ type of communal property, or, to quote an American writer [Lewis Henry Morgan] . . . ‘the new system’ towards which modern society is tending ‘will be a revival in a superior form’ of an archaic type of so— ciety.”17 In order for such a commune to serve as a fulcrum for Russia’s social revival, Marx goes on to say, it “should be, first, cleansed of the per- nicious influences to which it is exposed from all sides and, then, provided with normal conditions of free development.”18 While this passage bears a striking similarity to the technology of vi— sion that Suslov deployed in his 1926 trip, the connection between the two is not obvious. The Committee for the North did not use Marx’s let— Yt‘r to Zasulich in their discussions of socialism among Siberian hunter— E‘dlherers and reindeer herders. This passage does not appear in ethno— Representing “Primitive Communists” 275 graphic publications until the mid—19303.19 If anything, ethnography m the 19205 made often very insightful uses of the more mainstream Mam ist methodology: the critique of the form of clan organization as? Colonial product. From Within, it was seen as analogous to the operation of the commodity form: mutual help and sharing Within clan-based commum~ ties was theorized as masking class-like social inequalities In these com- munities. From without, clan organization was seen as analogous to the operation of “circle binding” (kragovaia poruka) among the peasantry, which created collective responsibility before the state or. landlord. For example, the ethnographer and head of the Novonikolaevsk branch of the Committee for the North, Lidiia Dobrova—ladrintseva, argued thai the clan was an administrative construct created for the purposes of taxa— tion; moreover, an administrative unit that was “newly created yet rescm bling the relationship of blood relatives” (emphaSis added).20 The Kras- noiarsk scholar Dmitri Lappo emphasized the importance of Speranskii’s Statute of Alien Administration (1822) in this social-construction. The Tungus and other indigenous people in the early twentieth century, he ar. gued, accepted the “rules of the Statute [of 1822]. . . . as their national [common] law, although such institutions as the native headquarters [mo- rodcheskaia aprava] and the communal meeting of clansmeri were created in accordance with the rural administration of the peasants. in the course of the nineteenth century these norms remained practically intact (unlike the peasant legislation), so that “attempts on behalf of the government to reform the indigenous administration [in the late 18005] met With resis- tance on the indigenous side; the natives saw every attempt of change or reform as a threat to their nationality, . . . placing themsn the same foot- ing as the peasantry” and, ultimately, “Russianization. Drawing on his earlier work in south Siberia, he even suggested that underlying the ad- ministrative and legal regime of Speranskii’s statute, a historically in: formed ethnographer could discern not some kind of organic commum}? but the legal code of a defeated empire. “Indigenous groups accepted't 6 older codes of various states, to which they abided before the: Russran: came, as their common law,” submitted Lappo: “underneath the-18.2- Statute was the 1640 Steppe Code of the Oirat Mongols, With Chlngls' Khan’s Iasa further “underneath” the Steppe Code.22 ' d )- This is an early example of an approach that emphasrzed state an Cf“ lonial construction of indigenous communities and identities, and it incorporated the Marxist vision of inequalities on the capitalist periFwer; For Lappo, kinship connections between members of a given unl 276 Nikolai Ssorin—Chaikov ___.. _————-“_———._———-p» .. “num— "Wk-.. ..-_——.—~._-. A W~I_~%muwgnmnmmcnm—I- .. “fl... fictitious”: kniaz’ (prince), is “the governor of a clan,” and he “is accepted [W the clan] as an elder, as if this clan were a single family; whereas . . . gmlte officials transferred indigenous families from one clan to another by issuing certificates of resignation and reinstatement . . . ”23 Yet for Lappo and other Siberianists, this “administrative clan” also worked as a “trading P05] in miniature,”24 in which local kinship identities and loyalties masked Social inequalities that were the products of the colonial fur trade. Due to the distance between hunting grounds and trading posts, hunt- ers without reindeer acquired hunting equipment and supplies not from Russian traders but from a “clansman who is wealthier in reindeer, to whorn the hunter has to trade his furs, often for a symbolic price, and [0 whom, because of this, he becomes increasingly indebted.”25 Further— Wye, “for the purposes of avoiding competition with the Russian traders, the fungus hunters who are quite influential among their clansmen, take measures to prevent an ordinary hunter from coming out to the trading post.”26 These authors observe a social encapsulation of the fur—hunting periphery Within this fur—trade economy. Thus, the social structure within local groups replicated patterns of class relations between the forest and the trading post: the indigenous population “gravitated” economically to trading bases just as, within the local communities, hunters and small— scale herders formed a social periphery of rich reindeer holdings. These relationships appear as “a single web of these [kinship and marriage] con— nections.” But reindeer and products are “leased” to poorer herders and hunters in exchange for labor and fur. It appears that “the large—scale rein— deer holding is . . . supported by rodm'ki, ‘relatives.’ ”27 Social relationships within clan-based communities appeared as a non—monetary political economy that existed within larger market relations, which ethnographers and reformers describe in terms of “credit” and “debt,” despite the non— monetary meanings of these transactions.28 Yet in these analyses, the logic and vocabulary of monetary transactions were present not as such, but as in analogy between structures Within local communities and the relation- ships between these communities and Russian traders and tax officers. l‘hese relationships “resemble” serfdom where “the serf doesn’t receive Payment [wages] from the landowner, but, on the contrary, the landowner receives tribute from the serf.” In reindeer—herding communities, this trib- ute is paid in labor “to maintain and expand the [rich herd’s] livestock.”29 From this point of view, the round dance of the Evenki, recorded by Suslov, and the argument of the elder Girmancha about “joint herding” manifest not the cleansing from the commune “of the pernicious influ— Represerzting “Primitive Communists” 277 ences” of capitalism, as Marx put it in his letter to Zasulich, but also a recovery, in the spirit of Capital, of the implicit “social relations betwecn people,” which underscore the overt, “fetishized” forms of clan organim tion as administrative units and “trading posts in miniature.” The categ0_ ries of the Polar Census of 1926 followed the Marxist language of 30ml differentiation in the village: it classified northern hunters and herders into “poor,” “middle” and “rich” groups (bedninki, seredniaki, and kulaki). The “Resolution on Class Stratification in the Yenisei North,” adopted by the Krasnoiarsk branch of the Committee for the North in 1927,30 singled out reindeer herding as the material base for social inequality in indng~ nous communities. In this context, the narratives of Suslov and Others represent the ethnographic equivalent of socialist realism, as they follow the idiom of socialist construction that made visible and real the implicit forms of socialized labor, which existed hitherto as underlying structth principles rather than overt social forms. Yet, as I will demonstrate, it is this point of explication that introduced a rupture in this ethnographic socialist realism, and a displacement of these underlying structural prin_ ciples into “nature.” The “Real” of Underlying Structure What I call rupture in this ethnographic socialist realism relates to a contradiction in these constructivist approaches. Dobrova—Iadrintseva and Lappo posited economic cooperation in indigenous communities as following a different logic than the one fetishized in administrative form and trade exchange. In contrast to her constructivist vision of “adminis- trative clans,” Dobrova—Iadrintseva argued, for example, that the clan had “features of a mere overt . . . legislated . . . unit only at the beginning.” But “over a long period of time and due to the bond that naturally developed [estestvenno slozhivsheisin spaiki], based on tradition, on the foundation: of economic character, and on the practices of everyday life,” this unit be- came “a newly established form of clan community” (znnovo slozhivshcisia formoi rodovoi npmvy)?‘ In turn, Lappo distinguished the administrative clan as a “legislated norm,” sanctioned by the tsarist regime to forge and, at the same time, to mask social inequalities, as well as “a form of autono- mous foraging [promyslovyi] communism of tribes associated on a pal" ticular territory.” The overt “legislated” norm is opposed in Lappo’s text to “the unwritten rules” that underscore a “practical,” “social—juridical 278 NikolniSsorin-Chnikov i i l .-.-— a—__m——..__.M.._._. .. .. .. . ,,...,.....-.m-...-w., form” of indigenous communities, and it is the latter that was to be un— mvcred by “the solid revolutionary legality.”32 I argue that this rupture constitutes a site of displacement of the con— s“.ucrivist approach onto an evolutionary one that undoes the construc- {ivist vision as it is elaborated using this rupture as a starting point. Let us (um now to the 1925 conference of the Committee for the North, which discussed Working drafts of the Provisional Statute of Administration over Native Peoples and Tribes of the Northern Borderlands. Drawing on the expenance of Sovietization in the lower parts of the Yenisei River basin {the Turukhansk District), Lappo proposed to create local soviets among me indigenous population, precisely where this “practical” foraging com— munism could be found—in tnndms, the territorially bound groups. Tun— timS were to form soviets “according to the locality of their migration routes, mutual economic relations and uniformity of language.”33 The .hief criterion in identifyng such a local group was the fact of “economic gravitation” 0f the indigenous population to the trading posts where they used to come for trade and tribute payment. Such posts were to become offices of these soviets and, later, centers of settlement and “cultural devel- opment” of nomadic groups. We can see these points of economic gravi- tation and the related tnndms on the map that he enclosed with his pro— posal. Lappo saw the tundras as spatial units of his “autonomous foraging communism of tribes associated on a particular territory.” Although this draft was submitted by the Krasnoiarsk branch of the Committee, it was the chair of this branch, Suslov, who found fault with this territorial cri— terion. From his point of view, the main fault of this proposal was that it drew on the “old divisions of [administrative] ‘Clans’ and ‘headquarters,’ ” which were tied to the centers of political and economic gravitation and the south-bound trade routes. To accept this plan would legitimize in the new political conditions the power of the “old clan organization,” that is, the old administrative forms in which personality was subordinated to the authority of “elders as well as local bosses, such as the former princes” and Where “clans’ headmen 0r princes assumed the authority of the father, with the right to call one to court in the light of the tribe’s customs.” To create local soviets on the basis of economic gravitation was to take “a princely [kninz’] measure, because it is the same as the old prince.n34 in order to isolate “purely ethnographic” borders, Suslov distinguished the “genealogical clan,” that is, “an overgrown extended family,” from the Representing “Primitive Communists” 279 “artificial” clan, that is, “a conglomerate of cults and pieces of differen clans, brought together by some overt circumstance,” such as tsarigt ti“ it tion. Armed with his ethnographic facts, Suslov commented on the Dam; of the Tungus clans that are mentioned by Lappo: “Such names as «ML roshko’ or ‘Liutok’ are arbitrary nicknames, like ‘Chingo’ (this Was a nick~ name of an old man from the Chapagir clan)” These arbitrary nicknames should be omitted from the list of genealogical clans which are to serve as a basis for local Soviets.35 Lappo and Tugarinov responded that “ethnic principles cannot be ap_ plied” to the local administrative organization, “because clans of different peoples wander and hunt in the same areas.”36 Dobrova—Iadrintseva made a similar point. The indigenous peoples of the Turukhansk district, she wrote, never “divided their lands between clans.” In the course of annual migrations, “indigenous tribes do not take borders into consideration.“ their migration routes “come together, run parallel, diverge, cross" 'dllt' , on.37 She contended that to draw lines between clans and tribes was “in some cases absolutely impossible, in others—quite difficult but, most im. portantly, this does not serve any practical purpose.”38 Despite this criticism, the Committee considered “the tundra organiza. tion of the clan soviets impossible in the conditions of existing social ditl ferentiation of various natives of the Province” and supported “further organization of the clan soviets on tribal principles.”39 In the end, the Committee backed another proposal, submitted by the Tomsk branch and authored by D. T. Ianovich.40 In both Suslov’s critique and this proposal, the political isolation of indigenous social organization meant recovering “genealogical clans” from deconstructed “administrative” ones. For these scholars, ideology apparently ended where genealogy started, with the latter built around the social and territorial “atom” of clan organization— the extended family. According to the organizational scheme advanced for the local Soviets, organic social units of the northern areas of the Ob River—genealogical clans of Nentsy and local bands (vatagi) of Khanty— are clearly viewed as “the prime order” of the Soviet grid of administration. Both of these drafts of the Provisional Statute followed the guidelines of the Soviet government in leaving the “ground level” of indigenous social organization “the way it is.”41 But the two have very different understand- ings of the meaning of “reality” In the first plan, the “real” group is a com- munity which, for Lappo, is literally on the ground: it is an area on the map. In the second plan it is a structure—a scheme of relations that i50- lates clans analytically and subordinates them politically to federal admin- 280 Nikolai Ssorin-Chaikov WWW—m- - isrrarive networks. The author of this plan, Ianovich, along with Bogoraz, was one of the chief advocates of isolated reserves for protecting Sibe— "hill aborigines from mainland influences and contacts.42 Genealogical and Qmer ethnographic methods here are a means to achieve this isolation and .10 create the second level of government above the clan, drawing not merely on the ethnographic notion of tribe, but also on the notion of the migration area, . . . if they [i.e., individual households] were detached from the clan.”43 Here, the same move that analytically isolates indigenous social organi— zation displaces indigenous societies to “nature” and Soviet reforms onto Ihe imaginary landscape of management of natural history. The clan so- viets should, according to Ianovich’s plan for the statute, “establish and Change the regulations of land tenure . . . , accept new members to society and resolve issues of resigning from it . . . . organize social mutual help iinong its members." They should do so, however, because “existing clan— based societies . . . compose natural [estestvennye] divisions of the native tribes” (emphasis added) and because in their practices of decision-making they already do so “at their meetings and gatherings.”44 This displacement into nature is particularly Visible in discussions of the indigenous land tenure at the 1928 Moscow Plenum of the Committee tor the North. The head of the Committee, Petr Smidovich, gave a paper that provided an ethnographic vision for incorporating indigenous eco- logical experience into the Soviet system. “Natives,” he argued, are so well adapted to a given territory with “their nerves, eyesight, visual memory, and sense of space,” because they have put a “tremendous effort in sub— sisting on a given territory, and in doing so they have undergone natu- ml selection [emphasis added] to a much greater extent than the rest of humanity.”45 This experience translates directly into various forms of knowledge: “the native knows each path [in the forest] and, moreover . . . cacti family in a clan knows its own path, . . . they [all] know well who belongs to what clan, who does what [in the clan], for the clan does not wander together . . . {’46 and they know the relationships between clans and communities. If there is a lack of squirrel 0r sable “on a given clan territory,” the whole clan turns to relatives, joins them, and starts wander- ing together. “All this is done on the basis of common law,” which is based lboth on sharing and on the “great respect for the actual use of the land.” With examples from various parts of Siberia, he concludes: “This is the basis of primitive communism.”47 At this point, the constructivist narrative of colonial social organization Representing “Primitive Communists” 281 is disrupted completely: “The rights and duties of the natives in regard I“ land use are contingent upon their legal consciousness [provosoznaniemi which Smidovich understands here as formed not by colonial policies an‘d mercantile inequalities but by “natural environment and primitive hum. ing techniques.” The development of a “new organization and rationa]i_ zation of labor in the conditions of the Soviet power’““5 on the basis of these techniques “would create the ground for awakening the practice of self—building [samodeiatel’nost’] and agency [nktivnost’] of the native population, for involving the native in the work of local Soviets and ex, ecutive committees, for using his primitive—communist habits in collec. tive, planned work. . . creating the soil for the rationalization and multi. faceted development of the native economy.”49 The Return of Political Economy as a Specter of the “Real” The drafting of the Provisional Statute in 1925—1926 and discus. sions of indigenous land—tenure in 1927 should be seen in the broader con- text of the uses of the so-called “ethnographic principle” in early Soviet reforms, particularly in creating ethnicity as an identity—marker among Soviet subjects and as a basis of the administrative parceling of the former Russian empire into Soviet socialist federal republics and autonomous dis- tricts.50 (See also the article by Francine Hirsch in this volume.) In Suslov’s opinion, for example, Lappo’s plan was riddled with “ethnic mistakes,” which “soon will surface because the organization of clan soviets on the basis of historical and ethnographic materials will significantly change the borders of the districts.”51 In the context of Siberian aboriginal policies. however, the ethnographic map that the Soviet reforms were to match was much more detailed. In this context, the “ethnographic principle” also con- cerned the level of local soviets and collective farms, and it revealed a vision that, by the mid—19205, was strikingly systematic. “Organic” clan soviets were to exist within “organic” ethnic autonomies; “genealogical kinship” as a foundation for the former correlated to the sense of common ethnic origin as a basis for the latter. “Organic” local soviets were not merely the smallest instances of “national self— determination,” but also the “elementary units” of a new socialist social structure. The “organic” era in indigenous politics was very short, however. in 1929, references to indigenous “common law” in the Provisional Staff“. were among the first to fall prey to “the Stalinist counter—revolution 0’ 282 Nikolai Ssorin—Chaikov ....~.—— ———.__—.....——_~. .. ..___._-....-.—. 9—”. 44.. m. “w... m. —< w»..wvmuuma—-w . (he [are 19208 that institutionalized an orthodox Marxist Vision of collec- givization across the Soviet Union, Nevertheless, by examining the micro— politics of the implementation of this “organic” vision, I will argue now that this Change should also be understood in the context of difficulties that its implementation encountered. I argue that these difficulties falsi— fied “Organic” policies (in the eyes of the reformers) in favor of orthodox Marxist policies without changing—but, rather, reinforcing—the struc— res of ethnographic and political authority that enabled both. If the structure of this ethnographic and political authority was contin— cent on erasing the traces of the “initiating agent” (like Suslov) from the Ethnographic and political close-up, materials on the 1926 clan soviet meetings Convey a fierce competition to occupy this very center within the {Itnnework of the highly decentered politics of that time. In Resolution 10 01‘ the Bailtit Clan meeting (1926), for example, Suslov finds it important to state the following “on behalf of the Tungus”: in Because many [Soviet] organizers were recently noticed in the area call~ ing the Tungus to come out to the meetings at the same time but to dif- ferent places, because of which the Tungus, fearing to be accused of “disobeying the master” [nepodchinenii nacnal’nikn], exhaust their last remaining reindeer, leave hunting and other activities, but nevertheless try to make it to all meetings that cannot be legitimate without a quo— rum, [the meetings resolves] to petition the Committee for the North to influence through related institutions those enthusiasts [linbitelei] that call meetings and to allow only the authorized persons to call meetings, and only at important junctures, and during the time free from hunt— ing and other activities, in accordance with the everyday economic [khaznistvenno—bytovym] conditions of the Tungus.52 in that same year, ethnographer Glafira Vasil’evich also reported that the Evenki were very confused about the rush with which they were reg— istered and re—registered in different local soviets. “There was some kind of suglrm,” the Evenki in the upper part of the Podkamennaia Tunguska basin complained to her, but for what purpose it was called, the Tungus [from Taimba and Bachin tributaries] themselves could not say. Even the head of the Clan Soviet, Semen Kureiski, said about his new post: “I shall be a master too, but the devil knows [Cheri ego znnetl to what purpose.” Some [of the Tungus] recalled that they were supposed to have another snglan in Representing “Primitive Communists” 283 winter, on Epiphany, and asked me what would be the aim of this other meeting. . . . 53 One of Vasil’evich’s informants wondered, “why do various masters drop in only for one hour?”54 Various masters were in a rush to call as many meetings as possible dur_ ing the summer—the most comfortable time to travel—in Order to pm mote competing interests. Vasil’evich went to the Podkamennaia Tun- guska from the Chadobets village on the Angara River, and she reported to the Committee for the North about the boss of a local cooperative, a certain Comrade Skotnikov who, “with a revolver” and an enthusiasm comprised of both “revolutionary and alcoholic agitation,” wanted to pre- vent her field trip from proceeding unless the expedition was registered in the Chadobets Soviet. “This fellow,” commented Vasil’evich about Skot nikov, “cannot live without moonshine; and he clearly would not hesi. tate to make money out of it” among the Evenki of the Podkamennaia Tunguska.55 Writing the minutes of the first Soviet suglan in Baikit, Sus~ lov made sure to record the Tungus request “to miss the suglan called by the Angara River District Executive Committee on St. Peter’s Day on the Mutorai River, a tributary of the Chunia.” This call for a suglan that the Evenki were to ignore was issued on Yenisei Union of Cooperatives sta- tionery. The union, based in the villages of the Angara River, was compet- ing with the Krasnoiarsk Committee for the North for the allegiances of the Podkamennaia Tunguska Evenki.56 For all interested parties, however, the trouble was that the newly estab- lished clan soviets virtually disappeared once the reformers/ observers were gone. The teacher and ethnographer Tatiana Petrova, for example, came to the watershed of the Podkamennaia Tunguska and the Angara rivers in 1927 expecting to start a school at the Komo Clan Soviet. But she was not able to do so because there was no soviet to work with: “It fell apart. .. after the instructor, Comrade Volkov, left.” She wrote that the previous year the Tungus of that area were “organized” in a Komo Clan Soviet with its center at the trading post at Komo. The instructor moved to the post, and “offered to teach literacy to whoever would be willing to learn, but warned that they should bring their own food.” She quoted the Evenki as having replied, “If the state wants to teach them, it should feed them tOO. because to come with their own bread in their pocket is not convenient.” For the same reason, Petrova was unable to reestablish the clan soviet. The person calling the meeting was supposed “to treat the Tungus, in accor— 284 Nikolai Ssorin-Chaikov dance with the custom” with food and drink, and for this she “did not possess any resources.”57 This does not imply, however, that the Evenki generally proved hos- tile t0 the reformers. For example, Petrova reported that the Evenki of the Komo and Kamenka rivers have heard that “the kind master Suslov” was supposed to help them against the encroachments of the Russian fur hunters upon their territories. When she was leaving the area, Petrova was approached by the Evenki of the Tokhomo tributary, who asked her “to elect a master [ nachal’nik] among them, in order to settle arguments, because Otherwise they had too much trouble among themselves.”58 For other EVenki, however, the rare visits by the “masters” from the Committee for the North were obstacles. Materials of the Committee cite, for example, one clan soviet secretary from the Khatanga River basin as saying: “in my horde I am the master, and you [the Committee for the North representa— [lvej are iust an instructor.”‘” Regardless of whether these instructors were favorably received, the Soviet substitution of local political forms with “scientific” (and there- fore, supposedly, politically neutral) ones generated even more conten— tious politics. A clan soviet secretary from Baikit, for example, dictated a report in which he accused Suslov of endorsing traditional patriarchy by depriving Evenki women of the right to vote in the Clan soviet meetings.60 The secretary of the Katonga Soviet, on the contrary, took a more tradi— tionalist position by using the power of the soviet to condemn a low— income Evenki who did not have enough income to pay kalym, the bride ransom.61 At any event, the heads of new soviets faced difficulties similar to those of the ethnographers and reformers: in a letter that one of the new heads of soviets addressed to the Turukhansk Executive Committee, he asked for help in calling the next suglan, “in such a way that all the rich people would attend it.” He finished the letter with a note of despair: “Would you explain to everyone, both rich and poor, that the suglan deci— sions are obligatory for all.”62 The “initiating agents” next returned in the summer of 1928, when an instructor from the Committee for the North came to draw boundaries between different “family and clan territories.” To the request “to draw a map on which all hunting lands and borders of family territories would be marked,” the Evenki replied that before, there were no borders between different households, or between different hunting and fishing territories and reindeer—herding pastures; Representing “Primitive Communists” 285 one would go wherever one wanted to wander, if the lichen was ex- hausted in one place, then he would go to another place with his tent and his reindeer, if there was poor fishing in a given lake, he would go to another—even if there were other tents on that lake it is not forbids den to come over and catch fish . . . “3 The archives of the Committee for the North are full of similar re. sponses from various meetings across Siberia.64 Participants at one meet. ing acknowledged that richer reindeer herders “have more certain mums of wandering, which are divided on winter and summer pastures . . . In general, [however], the native does not live at the same place, he is wan. dering all the time, and does not return to the same place the next year." The Clan Soviet resolved “not to define the borders of the family terms. ries, because the population does not pursue nomadic lifestyle in any regu. lar manner along any routes . . . [naselenie me vedet reguliarno korhcw- )1 ()5 obmz zhizni p0 kakomu-libo marshrutu]. The campaign to parcel land in accordance with the “organic” vision of indigenous “clan—based communities” also revealed “land quarrels” of sorts. As Suslov, who visited the basin of Nizhniaia Tunguska River in 1928, reports, [in the spring of that year] . . . two Tungus from the Mukta clan went chasing moose to the lringa River, where the Tungus Oikodon hunted, and started a row with him. In the end Oikodon declared that he was a member of the Strelka—Chunia Clan Soviet (which is true [Suslov per- sonally founded that soviet]), and demanded that they leave the Iringa at once and leave him the bodies of two killed moose. So they gave him the game, and left the lringa. Now these two complain to a certain “Skipidonych” [the head of the Yerbogachen Soviet] in the hope that Oikodon will be punished. Suslov pointed out that neither side of this conflict hunted on “their” proper clan territories: “The clan lands of Oikodon are the upper part of the Taimura River area, and not by the lringa. And the clan lands of thesr two Mukta are the lower Taimura basin and the [Nizhniaia] Tunguska River down to the mouth of the Uchami tributary. Evidently, all three started a scandal by being outside their own hunting territories.” Suslov obtained this information from a member of the Yerbogachen Clan Soviet whom he interviewed at the mouth of the Limpe River. T1181 member was also keen to point out that “the Chapagir clan has no plflce 286 Nikolai Ssorin—Chaikov u_—. -——-..._ .—.—-—__.__._._.._.-_._--—_.__ here, so let it go away back to its [native] Tura.” Yakuts, who periodically CRme over from the Vilui River basin, should also have been driven away, According to this activist, “because one of them stole the moose carcass r, from a cache and ran away to Vilui.“6 “We can see here,“ wrote Suslov, nthe doubtless tendency to settle personal scores and show off one’s au- thority,” This made him feel manipulated: “A small group of Tungus, assisted by semi-literate L., . . . writes various minutes and memos, and sends them to ‘Skipidonych’ . . . with a firm belief that the ‘government’ will do anything for them>>67 >(> >t >6 As the reformers and ethnographers struggled with the predicaments of their own approach, the overall political climate in the Soviet Union began to change. The February 1928 Plenum of the Committee for the North, which set the course for the rationalization of indigenous experience as r00t€d “in centuries of natural selection,” took place just before the ortho— dox political—economic Vision of social differentiation in the countryside made a dramatic comeback as the “line on collectivization.” However, as my materials suggest, this political-economy approach re— appears before and quite independently of this change—in the predicaments of the attempts to implement the “organic” approach, “really grounded in life experience,” as Smidovich put it. The Visibility of genealogical clans was hard to maintain, and attempts to introduce the structural principles of indigenous land tenure into indigenous communities failed. These fail— ures, however, had important socially productive effects. Failures of “or— ganic” clan—based communities affirmed the correctness of the orthodox Marxist vision. In 1929, the Baikit Executive Committee reported: “The poor do not have their own consciousness at all; they dwell under the influence of the rich [kulaki] and the strong middle—wealth [seredniaki]. This year we had to carry out work on the differentiation of the native population through the organization of the poor and women. . . . ”68 On the Podkamennaia Tunguska River (as elsewhere in rural parts of the So- viet Union) the local elections of 1929 were based on class quotas. “Clan” Soviets were renamed “Native” (tuzemnye) and “Nomadic” (kochevye), and references to “customary law” were dropped from the articles of the Pro— i‘isional Statute. In 1931, local cooperatives of this area were transformed lrito “Elementary Production Units” (PPO) and, in 1938, into standard So— vret collective farms. These failures also legitimized the Soviet narrative of social reforms. As Representing “Primitive Communists” 287 historian and Party apparatchik V. N. Uvachan put it, the “clan ' - of Soviet construction “did not achieve the separation of ‘the Sign? ‘the best’ members of clans. Although the old clan division was £11,613? uni: in the eyes of the population the former leaders preserved their a: fighid' and power even if they lost their administrative pOSts.”69 This viewt' or“). oed by reformer and ethnographer M. A. Sergeev, the author of ti: ed] Soviet indigenous policy statement, “The Non-Capitalist DeVelo e key the Peoples of the North.” Among many examples, he cites the Slim or report from the Nizhnaia Tunguska area: “The rich herder Cha ao'wmg claimed: ‘ . . . all Tungus are equal; [the Russians] want to cause uspt g” i i . rel, to divide us into rich and poor . . . ’ Adjusting to the new :5 quar- stances, the rich were representing their group interests as the e mum. terests of their clan or tribe.”7° g new] Finally, the predicaments revealed in the micro-~historv of the “01- I ‘ wave of Soviet reforms in the North indicate the limits [of the usefi‘lmh of the “invention of tradition” approach that gained theoretical cur ms in the understanding of imperial social and administratiVe Visions in?“ em Europe and Russia.71 Failures in the “invention of tradition” indicait. as Mark Bassin points out, limits to an approach that grants the “‘ ale:3 ei the observer a sort of hegemonic license in regard to the object reg ionO license that suggests a kind of absolute power and control.”72 I hats/e a)? proached this “invention” not as a process of “formalization and ritualiin- tion, characterized by reference to the past” and “by imposing repetition" on new social forms,73 but rather as a process of signification which ac- cording to Slavoj Zizek, “ultimately always fails,” making “the real” reiurn “in the guise of spectral apparitions.”74 The “real” of the constructivist ap- proach of Dobrova~1adrinsteva and Lappo, the “real” of the “natural his- tory” of Suslov and Smidovich, and the “real” of the Marxist orthodox political economy are affirmed, rather than challenged, by the failures of state reforms. In this particular context, the failures of signification of the clan—based communities in the mid—19205 made the “real” return as a specter of orthodox political economy and conditioned identity politics in northern Siberian collective farms. Pit in- Notes 1. Kraievedcheskii muzei Evenkiiskogo avtonomnogo okruga, f. I. M. Suslova, fo- tografiia 54. 288 Nikolai Ssorin—Chaikov was“. . 2' Michael M. Ames, Cannibal Tours and Glass Boxes: The Anthropology of Muse— (\i’ancouver: University of British Columbia Press, 1992), 42. 3_ For example, A. l. Pika and B. B. Prokhorov, Neotraditsionalizm no Rossiiskom N we; gmicheskoc vozrozhdenie rnalochislennykh narodov severa i gosualarstvennaia re— :Vl-lwl’naia politika (Moscow: Institut narodnokhoziaistvennogo planirovaniia, 1994), .1115 ‘I0 4953; E. G. Fedorova, “Natsional’naia kul’tura segodnia: problemy i perspektivy," Ch. M. Taskami et al., eds, Kal’tura narodov Sihiri (St. Petersburg: Muzei antropolo— \ii i emogiafii RAN, 1997); V. V. Karlov, “Malye narody severa: sovremennoe sostoianie ,1‘ternativnost’ putei razvitiia,” in A. 1. Martynov et. al., eds., Etnicheskie i etnokul’tur~ protsessy u narodov Sibiri: istoriia i sovremennost‘ (Kemerovo: KemGU, 1992). 4. Nikolai Ssorin—Chaikov, A Social Life of the State in Sub—Arctic Siberia (Stanford, L‘Alif; Stanford University Press, 2003). 5, Gosudarstvennyi arkhiv Rossiiskoi federatsii (hereafter GARF), f. 3977, op. 1., J.179, l. 141. The context for this quote is the discussion of clan—based land—tenure in 1938. I examine this discussion below. a. S. V. Bakhrushin, “Iasak v Sibiri,” in Nauchnye trady, vol. 3, part 2 (Moscow: .x‘ sssa. 19551 7. Yuri Slezkine, Arctic Mirrors: Russia and the Small Peoples ()ffl’lt’.\l01‘[i1 (Ithaca. _\'.Y.: Cornell University Press, 1994), 80. 8. To use the terms of Michel—Rolf Trouillot, “Anthropology and the Savage Slot: The Poetics and Politics of Otherness,” in Richard G. Fox, ed., Recapturing Anthro— pology.- Working in the Present (Santa Fe, N.M.: School of American Research Press, l99l). 9. M. A. Sergeev, Nekapitalisticheskii pat’ razvitiia malykh narodov severa (Moscow and Leningrad: AN SSSR, 1955); V. N. Uvachan, Gody ravnye vekam: stroitel’stvo sot— n'izlizma na Sovetskom severe (Moscow: Mysl’, 1984). 10. “Rhizome” is the concept of Deleu Gilles Deleuze and Felix Guattari which “connects any point to any other point . . . and [which] brings into play very differ— ent regimes of signs, and even nonsign states” (A Thousand Plateaus: Capitalism and Srlrizophrenia [Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 1987], 21). 11. N. 1. Leonov, “Tuzemnye sovety v taige i tundrakh,” in P. G. Smidovich, Sovetskii sever 1 (Moscow: Kom. Sod. narodnostiam severnykh okrain, 1929), 219. This publi~ cation quotes from Suslov’s report on his trip to the Podkamennaia Tunguska. 12. Ibid., 224. 13. Gosudarstvennyi arkhiv Krasnoiarskogo kraia (hereafter GAKK), f. 1845, op. l.,d. 23, ll. 3—10, 36. 14. I. M. Suslov, “Suglan na Strelke,” in I. M. Bublishenko and O. A. Khonina, eds., Evmkiia v serdtse moem (Krasnoiarsk: Krasnoiarskoe knizhnoe izdatel’stvo, 1980), 60. 15. Krasnoiarskii Kraievedcheskii muzei (hereafter KKM), o/f 8119—1/PI 286, mpisnaia knizhka 9; GAKK, f. 1845, op. 1., d. 23,11. 36. 16. Zhores Troshev, Bol’shoi Oshar (Krasnoiarsk: Krasnoiarskoe knizhnoe izdat— el'stvo, 1981), 67. 17. Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels, Sochineniia (Moscow: Gosudarstvennoe iz— dalel’stvo politicheskoi literatury, 1955), 19: 251. This is a gloss of the concluding pages of Morgan’s Ancient Society: “]t]ime will come . . . when human intelligence will rise (I W Representing “Primitive Communists” 289 to the mastery over [private] property . . . ” and this historical point “will be a r - in a higher form, of the liberty, equality and fraternity of the ancient gentes [devwil‘ Lewis Henry Morgan, Ancient Society (Cleveland: World Publishing Compa ansl I (1877)), 561 -562. W 196‘ 18. Marx and Engels. 19. For example, A. F. Anisimov, Rodovoe obshchestvo evenkov (tungusov) (Lenin lzdatel’stvo Instituta narodov severa, 1936), 156—157; S. A. Tokarev, Dakapitalisticfrad.Z prezhitki v oirotii (Leningrad: Sotsial’no—ekonomicheskoe izdatel’stvo, 1936), 140 mm 20. L. I. Dobrova-Iadrintseva, Tuzemtsy Turukhanskogo kraiia (Novonik01 I lzdanie Sibrevkoma, 1925), 5. aerSki 21. D. E. Lappo, “Obychnoe pravo Sibirskikh tuzemnykh narodnostei” script, Krasnoiarskii Kraievedcheskii Muzei (n.d.), 79. ) 22. 1bid., 81. 23. Ibid., 80. 24. KKM 7886/195, l. 11. 25. Dobrova—Iadrintseva, 26. 16. A. Ya. Tugarinov. Tut'uklimiskie inorodtsy i koopemtsiia 1 Krasnoiarsk: Tipogm‘, Eniseiskogo Gub. soiuza kooperativov, 1918), 7. ( l 27. N. N. Bilibin, “Batratskii trud V khoziaistve koriakov,” Sovetskii sever 1 (1933144 1 28. The language of “debt” and “credit” was used by the Polar Census of 19.26; 927. 29. Bilibin, 45—46; P. Maslov, “Opyt perepisi trekh raionov krainego severa (leio 1933 goda),” Sovetskii sever 3 (1934): 53. This inequality emerged in the context of the fur trade, but it was sanctioned by common law—that is, according to Lappo, by [he Steppe Code of 1640 recorded in 1822 as indigenous common law. The administra- tive construction of clan-based communities from the outside legally encapsulated these hierarchies in the following formula of 1822 Statute: “Impoverished debtors shall be given to their creditors and remain in their hands until by their labors they shall have paid the debt; or money shall be taken from them over a set period, depending on their conditions”: see R., “O zakonakh Sibirskikh inorodtsev,” quoted in Valentin A. Riasanovsky, Customary Law of the Nomadic Tribes of Siberia (Tientsin: 1938), 73. 30. KKM Pl (r) 8471/415, 1. 80—81. 31. GARF, f. 3977, (1. 81,1. 143—144. 32. Lappo, “Obychnoe pravo,” 88, 93. 33. GARF, f. 3977, 0p. 1, d. 28, l. 65. 34. 1bid.,l. 1922. 35. 1bid., l. 20. 36. GAKK, f. 1845, 0p. 1, d. 9, l. 61. 37. GARF, f. 3977, op. 1, d. 65, p. 11. 38. Ibid., d. 81, p. 143. 39. 1bid., d. 65,1. 2. 40. See The Project of the Statute on the Administration over the RSFSR Territories Occupied by Northern Peoples by D. E. Lappo and The Project of the Northern Code by I. S. Ianovich; these two drafts were published in the journal Severnaia Aziia, 1-2 (1925):123—130, and 3 (1926): 94~101. mam. 290 Nikolai Ssorin—Chaikov ._......._—_‘..... .. , math/kn 41. GARF, f. 3,977, Op. l, Cl. 45,1. 36. 43' D_ T. Ianovich, “Zapovedniki dlia gibnushchikh tuzemnykh plemen,” Zhizn’ ‘llllSlU‘flfll’l/lOSlel 4 (1922); V. G. Bogoraz (vTan), “Podgotovitel’nye inery k organizatsii narodnostei," Severnnio A ziia 3 (1925). 43. GARF, f. 3977, op. 1, d. 45, 1. 36. 14. 1bid.,d.63,11.11—15. 45. Ibid., d. 279,11. 88—89. .16, GAKK, f. 1845, Up. 1, Cl. 183, l. 44; GARE, f. 3977, 0p. 1. d. 279, l. 90. 47. Ibid., 11. 90—93; GAKK, f. 1845, op. 1, d. 183, 11. 44—46. 48. 1bid., 1. 48. 49. Ibid., 1.42. 50. Yuri Slezkine, “The USSR as a Communal Apartment, or How a Socialist State promotedEthniC Particularism,” Slavic Review 2 (1994): 414; Francine Hirsch, “The ~soviet Union as a Work—in—PrOgress: Ethnographers and the Category Nationality in 1926, 1937, and 1939 Censusesj’ Slavic Review 2 (1997); on the role of ethnography in \‘iberian ethnic construction, see David G. Anderson, Identity and Ecology in Arctic Si— \1 111: [he,\'11mber0ne ReindeerBrigade 1(ikford: Oxford L'niversitv Press. 30001.74? 97,; and Debra L. Schindler, “Theory, Policy and the Narody sex/era," Anthropological Quarterly 2 (1991). 51. GAKK, f. 1845, op. 1, d. 183, 1. 19. 52. 1bid., (1. 23,1. 39. 53. 1bid., (1. 156,11. 29, 30. 54. 1bid.,l. 30. 55. GAKK, f. 1845, Op. 1, d. 156, ll. 22—23. 56. 1bid., (1. 23,1. 39. 57. GARF, f. 3977, 0p. 1, (1. 138,11. 1—4. 58. [bid 59. GAKK, f. 769, op. 1, d. 306,1. 3. 60. 1bid., f. 1845, op. 1, d. 199, l. 38 (see the resolution of the Katonga Soviet, in which, “according to the customary law, those women who attended the meeting do not take part in the vote”: GAKK, f. 1845, Op. 1, d. 23,1. 36). 61. Ibid, f. 1845, op. 1, d. 199, 1. 81. 62. GAKK, f. 1845, 0}). 1, (1. 23,1. 45. 63. GAKK, f. 1845, Op. 1, (1. 62,11. 224—227. 64. The area of the Podkamennaia Tunguska and Nizhniaia Tunguska rivers is dis— cussed in GAKK, f. 1845, op. 1, d. 62,11. 223—227, 176, 14415. 65. GAKK, f. 1845, Op. 1, d. 62, ll. 224—227. 66. KKM o/f 8119~l/Pl 301,11. 185—186. 67. Ibid. 68. GAKK, f. 1845, 0p. 1, d. 199,1. 82. 69. Uvachan, Gody ravnye vekam, 89; Sergeev, 294. 70. Sergeev, 299. 71. Larry Wolff, Inventing Eastern Europe: The Map of Civilization on the Mind of the Enl 'ghtenment (Stanford, Calif: Stanford University Press, 1994); Mark Bassin, “1n— venting Siberia: Visions of the Russian East in the Early Nineteenth Century,” American Representing “Primitive Communists” 291 Historical Review June (1991); see also Daniel R. Brower and Edward I. Lazzerini) R“ sia’s Orient: Imperial Borderlands and Peoples, 1700—1917 (Bloomington: Indiana Uni versity Press, 1997). 7N. Mark Bassin, Imperial Visions: National Imagination and Geographim/ EXP!” sion in the Russian Far East, 1840—1865 (Cambridge: Cambridge University 1999), 277. 73. Eric Hobsbawm, “Introduction: Inventing Traditions,” in Eric Hobsbawm and Terence Ranger, eds., The Invention of Tradition (Cambridge: Cambridge Universi Press, 1983), 4. 74. Slavoj Zizek, “The Spectre of Ideology,” in Slavoj Zizek, ed., Mapping [deal (London: Verso, 1994), 21. 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