Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam > Blaise Pascal Instituut > Girard Studiekring > COV&R 2007 > Abstracts Papers 

Ineke van Wetering 

Bonno Thoden van Velzen

The persecution of alleged witches as a romantic fallacy: violence in the name of cultural tradition 

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Introduction  

In October 2006, a witch hunt erupted in Suriname ’s interior. Although the fear of bewitchment never had been far from the minds of Ndyuka Maroons in the eastern part of the country’s hinterland, this was new. Fully aware of a violent history and the risks of aggression, the Ndyuka had devised cultural notions and practices to prevent outbreaks. Witch cleansing has been the major aim of Ndyuka religion for a long time. Native theology and ritual had evolved that tended to prohibit retaliatory action motivated by suspicions. In fact, a society had developed that abhorred bloodshed and managed conflicts in an often predictable way.

            A breakdown of a relatively effective control system can be attributed to a social crisis. Its imminence was manifest at an earlier date ( Vernon 1980), but so far, no violent social dramas had surfaced that would shake social order at its roots. Today, this happens; suspects are attacked, accused of having killed numerous victims by magical means. Having truck with demonic forces, the notorious bakuu, to amass riches and enhance personal success, is taken as the source of these heinous powers. Looking at concrete cases, the inference is warranted that the witchfinders look for scapegoats. They see their actions as purificatory, freeing the community of the prime source of evil.  

            Speaking of  this conjoint of  phenomena - violence, crisis, scapegoats, allegations of evildoing that assume ‘mythical’ proportions, and a community united in the attack - Girard’s hypothesis comes to mind. In Girard’s view (1977,ch.1, pp.55,92; 1978:148), all religious ritual, and sacrifice in the first place, is an instrument of prevention in the struggle against violence. Girard accords a generative, beneficial potential to violence; its function of ritual is to ’purify’ violence. At the same time, the author (1977:258) stresses the dual nature of the concepts. Violence and the sacred can be redeeming as well as destructive. The opening sentence in “Violence and the sacred” makes this clear from the start: “In many rituals the sacrificial act assumes two opposing aspects; appearing at times as a sacred obligation to be neglected at grave peril, at other times as a sort of criminal activity.”  Next to ‘sacred violence’, there is ‘impure violence’ (ibid.39-40). The boundaries between the two are often arbitrary. Also, Girard (1978:31) stresses that ritual’s functionality is not guaranteed.

            The author (1977:99) assumes that the propensity towards violence is a built-in quality of society itself, is rooted in the very real, though often hidden, hostilities that all the members of a community feel for one another. A basic tenet in the theory is an assumption of a mimetic desire (1978:312 ff.). Human beings want what, they believe, others see as desirable, and this causes rivalry. Others are both model and rival, and imitation, basic in human society, makes for antagonism, which is at the root of violence. A loss of distinctions, as regulated in a cultural order of values and institutions, gives birth to fierce rivalries. Order and peace depend on such distinctions (1977:49).A social crisis, as an effect of a crisis of cultural distinctions that define relationships among individuals, triggers an outburst of violence. Religion, particularly in its sacrificial aspect, can offer shelter from such violence. Exorcism also ranks among the defensive mechanisms.  

Witchcraft, exorcism and persecutions

In “Violence and the sacred” (1977:123-4), Girard explicitly takes exorcism as an act of sacrificial violence: “In principle, the act of exorcism is an act of violence perpetrated against the devil or his associates.” By definition, exorcism is seen as an act that involves physical violence against those suspected of having truck with evil forces. This step seems rather rash; the devil and his associates are, firstly, symbols or abstractions of evil, to be repudiated, and not sacrificeable human beings. Which examples Girard has in mind is not elucidated in this first publication, but apparently these are taken from European history, indeed rich in instances of witch hunts that ended in killings or executions. This is, however, no hard and fast rule. Exorcism need not lead to the killing of the accused; exorcists may also try to free the afflicted of evil. This was a ritual practice in Europe , as well as in other parts of the world (Kapferer 1983). In many anti- witchcraft movements, in Africa for instance, purification by confession is sought after (Field 1960). Cleansing by ritual was common among the Ndyuka.   Such movements are changeable; what in one period is downright persecution, may, in the same society, be therapeutic in the next generation. This has happened, for instance, in a witch hunt of the western world. Boyer and Nissenbaum (1974:215) regard the Great Revival of the mid-eighteenth century in the United States as a reversal of the Salem witch crisis. In the witch hunt to be discussed below, the opposite is happening; a society dominated by cults that proclaimed a divine privilege of protection as well as punishment, witnesses persecutions at present.   

The topic of persecutions is broached by Girard (1977:121-3) in a discussion of festivals and anti-festivals. In his view, these are to be regarded as a link between the sacrificial crisis and its resolution, as certain festivals entail human sacrifice. In this context witch hunts are again taken as examples, as rites of sacrificial expulsion, ridding a person or place of devils and evil spirits. In “Des choses..” (1978: 127,139 ff.) the scope is widened; a more general theme, the persecution of racial or ethnic minorities, ranging from medieval collective actions to lynchings in the southern United States , is explored to see whether these  can be  ranged among the phenomena to be elucidated by the hypothesis.

Girard (1978:32) has opened the discussions by repeating the thesis that exorcism is an equivalent of a sacrifice. Hoping to reinforce the argument, the author (1978:ch.V) turns to historical material on persecutions. Purification of the community is the aim, as in ritual sacrifice, and the victims or scapegoats are humans, not evil spirits or devils. Referring to medieval texts that report collective violent actions against ‘surrogate victims’, Girard points to the mythical character of the allegations brought against them. The implausibility of the accusations reinforces the identification with the myths that are at the base of sacrificial rites. All myths are sacralizing transfigurations of violence (1978:149). Only one objection is taken into account. In lynchings and persecutions, the scapegoat is not sanctified or looked upon as a redeemer.

            What weight will this objection carry? For some, this would seem to be a basic flaw; the hypothesis will apparently not hold for these phenomena. But this question is not raised, and a conclusion is not drawn.

Girard (1978:151) heads in another direction. Today’s persecutions are defined as a modern, western phenomenon, justified by texts but not by myths that harbour the sacred. A society that produces such texts is on its way to secularization. Girard notes the difference between contemporary totalitarian movements that liquidate victims – the medieval or pre-modern counterparts are no longer considered -and the ritual dealings with scapegoats in the past. This is due to the onslaught of rationalism and modernity, and a concomitant decadence of mythical thought and practice. In his view, spontaneous collective actions cannot fulfil the redemptive function. In the expulsion of evil no real solution is found for the problem of violence. The assumption follows – a rather enigmatic move that receives no further comment - such actions only survive as a marginal phenomenon in backwards regions. This assumption would apparently apply to the case to be explored below. The Ndyuka clearly belong to a periphery.

The discussion veers toward the role of the scapegoat, the link between ritual and spontaneous actions, usually regarded as opposites. One of the discussants reminds of its double meaning: that of a ritual institution and an unconscious spontaneous psychosocial mechanism. Girard confirms this, and infers that humans universally tend to transfer their fears and conflicts unto victims.

So ritual is distinguished from spontaneous aggressive actions, in which no ‘real’ myth is involved. To what extent persecutions and lynchings can be regarded as ‘spontaneous’ is another matter, but this is not raised as an issue here. The question remains whether rites will inevitably end in the postulated redeeming sacrifice. A discussion on this aspect, however, halts. Girard has noted that not all ritual forms end in the assumed beneficial sacrifice, but thinks it best to let the matter rest and postpones the debate. One of Girard’s interlocutors (1978:215-6) doggedly returns to this problematic issue. The question, rather basic, again receives no answer; the subject is changed. The same happens in the discussions as published in 2004; the argument is taken up again, only to be dismissed. After a statement (2004:215) that witchcraft and sorcery are illusionary, belong to the realm of archaic myth, the proposition follows that not all rites end in a sacrifice that unites the community and restores order: “Il y a des rites ratés”, rites that fail. These end in the demonization of the scapegoat, but not in deification or sacralization. So we are back at the point where we started, and the issue remains muddled. The conversation abruptly turns to kings, pharaos and mummies.           

            An off-hand dealing with an apparently vital issue does much to discredit Girard’s argument. A strategy of evasion is hardly persuasive. The conclusion seems warranted that religious rites may indeed be expected to perform the functions postulated in the hypothesis and forestall a proliferation of aggression, but can also fail dramatically, all of this under conditions to be specified further. The rites that curb and channel violence may lose their hold, but nevertheless violence – by agreement at the heart of the fascinating sacred – persists. So, if the main part of Girard’s theory is accepted, one may infer that persecutions, ritually legitimated or not, will just go on. The question remains whether the victims are to be classified as scapegoats, whether persecutions or related actions can be classified as ‘ritual’ at all, or rather, to what extent they display traits that remind of ritual action.  

Coupled with the problem of verification, addressed in general terms in 2004 (ch.6), this suggests that some modesty is called for. Girard sticks to his claim that ‘proof’ is possible, but expresses the opinion that the case has been badly argued (2004: 217ff.). This statement does not satisfy possible methodological concerns that seem called-for. A hypothesis so fundamental, and to be verified from sources so variegated, lends itself to be made plausible, not to be ‘proven’. Earlier (1977:200) Girard had compared the investigation into the nature of ritual with detective work. Support has to be found indirectly, in circumstantial evidence- as is the inference reached- to be gathered like the loose pieces of a puzzle. This approach, advocated again in 1978 (p.127), is the exploration of a conjunction of several, apparently ‘loose’ elements in one complex. The scapegoat is a focus, a figure that, like a lightning rod, attracts many apparently disparate cultural phenomena.  

The latter suggestion is fruitful. The tale of the Ndyuka witch hunt shows a number of traits that suggest that Girard’s intuition, like Frazer’s before him, has put him on an important track. The treatment victims receive at the hands of their persecutors is permeated with elements derived from ritual, as will be discussed. Yet, the scapegoats are not venerated or regarded as redeemers. They are looked upon as victims that deserve to be executed, as downright evil. In the eyes of the assailants, the role of the scapegoat may be that of a sponge to sop up impurities (Girard 1977:94-5), the victim is nevertheless only ‘poison’, not ‘medicine’, and is treated as such.

The issue of the scapegoat is crucial, as has been stated at every point in the discussions (1978:58), and we can proceed from this vantage point. The case is contemporary - ethnographic, not mythical or literary - which offers the advantage that we can look more closely into the conditions that lead to the violent actions, and to the effects it has on the community. Essential notions, like ‘sacrifice’, ’unanimity’ and ‘social crisis’, that are part and parcel of the hypothesis, can be contextualized and their role in the events ascertained. A contribution, based on this case, will not offer either proof or rebuttal, but hopes to promote discussion on a fascinating issue.   

A report from the ‘field’, Drietabbetje or Ndiitabiki on the Tapanahoni River , February 2007.  

Village elders are gathered in the public space set for mortuary rites that have just been concluded. All proprieties have been performed. Lamentations, libations to the ancestors, music and dance as well as comic interludes, the community has participated with vigour.

The days of the inquest are over. Until the 1970s, corpse divination to ascertain the cause of a death was a regular practice. This used to be the moment of reckoning: a verdict was given whether the deceased had been a witch or not. Up till that moment no one could be sure. Open accusations of the living were prohibited. Thanks to a prophetic movement that put an end to the institution, all deaths nowadays are an occasion for memorial rites that occupy the community for days at a stretch. All deceased, whether under suspicion or not, are treated as respectable persons and receive a proper burial. Suspicions, often rife, are not brought into the open.

The deceased, a woman who had been sick for a long time, is to be interred. The coffin has been closed today and is carried out of the mortuary. As a last rite, a sacrifice is due. A burial priest kills a cock. The animal had been waiting next to the coffin for some days, so that it would be closely identified with the dead one. The officiant takes care to make it drink and eat a few kernels of corn before he grabs it. Its blood is daubed over the head and tail end, to mark and dye the coffin, and some is sprinkled over it. The priest addresses the shade and requests her not to return and kill others: “We offer you blood to pacify you, so that you will not care to take other lives.” A large crowd is watching.

We had received permission from the burial priests to take pictures of all proceedings, a privilege to be paid for with some bottles of beer. The only exception, expressly stated, was the sacrifice. This part of the rites is considered too sacred. Feeling on this issue is high, and shared. Those standing nearby repeat the prohibition, afraid that we would trespass and commit the outrage, obviously tantamount to an infraction of a taboo. Of course we comply. No pictures taken of the sacrifice.

As is explained later, picture-taking would disturb or block the free passage of the self or soul to the beyond, in the right and proper way. The aim of the rite is to prevent further mishaps, violence on the part of the ghosts, always looked upon ambivalently, potential dispensers of retribution as well as blessing. Trespasses and failure are inevitable, as is taken for granted in the Ndyuka worldview. Significantly, it is stressed that it would be wrong to mix western ideas and practices with Ndyuka culture.

The term ‘buulu’, blood, is used for the body liquid and also for ‘living being’ and human being. It represents life, in this case, that of the deceased and of the bird. Are they regarded as identical here?  Who or what is exactly offered?  The blood sticks to the coffin, and the ancestors partake of it. The meat is also prepared as an offering to the ancestors, consumed by the shades and the grave priests the next day, at the entrance of the cemetery. It is important that all burial priests have a share. If one member of the sodality happens to be absent, a piece of the sacrificial food should be sent to him later.       

Girard’s relevance  

It is obvious that we have entered the sphere of the taboo and “Ndyuka culture” as different from modernity. The contours of archaic ritual sacrifice are manifest. In conventional anthropological parlance about mortuary practice, the killing of the bird marks the irrevocable separation of the dead and the living. True enough, but we may also infer, in Girard’s style, that the violence of the rite forces the dead one out. The burial priests, representing the community, send the deceased off with a killing. We may infer that the deceased is excommunicated. The priests - again, in the name of all - partake of the sacrificial food, the fowl killed by their leader’s hand. They are made into accomplices, as are the ancestors who also consume the offering. The burial priests or oloman are often referred to as ogiiman, dangerous, bad people. At the conclusion of the burial rites, fierce mock attempts are made to prevent them from re-entering the village. This is understood, first of all, as an acknowledgment of the fact that they perform a task as useful as oppressive, and even dangerous, but more may be involved. They are also killers. A stigma rests on the returning gravediggers who have accomplished their task. After the burial proper, there is no formal reception by the community, as on the days before when they were preparing, digging the grave. Then, there is appropriate music, circumstantial, grandiloquent speeches are made and ceremonial mock quarrels played out. The men – only men are oloman - return in silence, not a word is spoken, no music is played. Each man unobtrusively repairs to his own house.

The Ndyuka, not pastoralists or cattle-breeders, have few rituals that remind of the sacrifices as known in other culture areas. The rites analysed by Girard, those of mythical antiquity and the societies that knew sacred kingship, are absent here. No reports of sacrifices as occasioned by royal deaths, disasters, epidemics or wars can be cited. No fellow citizens are ritually prepared for immolation. Libations are the usual offerings of the Ndyuka, and festive dinners, nicely prepared food offerings, mark memorial rites, the bookodey. Animal sacrifice, in public, even of a fowl, is restricted to special occasions.    

Death is one of the occasions. The cock is a scapegoat that both represents and takes the place of the deceased. The cock is a ‘double’, in Girard’s (1977:79) terms, a substitute for the dead one. As each person will die one day and undergo the burial rites, everyone is at that time to serve as a substitute victim. The fowl is prepared for its role as a ‘double’. The sacrificial preparation described by Girard (1977:98-9), borrowed from Lienhardt’s description of Dinka rituals, is, though different in details, also marked here.  The bird shows its willingness to accept its fate by eating and drinking before decapitation.  

   Can the scapegoat be regarded as a redeemer that re-unites the community? This would clinch the argument that the cock sacrifice ranks among the instances that support Girard’s hypothesis. At first sight, this does not count as the desired ‘proof’ of the thesis; the cock, the prime scapegoat, is not sacralized or revered. But what does the cock represent? As a ‘double’ of the deceased, it represents ‘everyman’. The priests and the ancestors who ‘consume’ the sacrifice, in the name of the community, are thereby infused with its substance. The priests are certainly not seen as holy men, but the ancestors do belong to this realm of the sacred, dangerous and beneficial. Do ancestors, then, having taken part of the sacrificed scapegoat, turn into scapegoats imbued with redeeming qualities? This would seem a weird inference; ancestors are not killed, they are just dead. Decoding of symbolic and mythical thought can lead to unseemly conclusions.

Ndyuka burial rites, jealously kept separate from western views, indeed seem to belong to the realm of an archaic culture, as delineated by Frazer and Girard. Mortuary rites have been transmitted as part of the African heritage that contains a share of ‘magic’ echoing the preoccupations of a society beset by the threat of violence. A striking fact is that these ‘customs’, familiar to the forbears who were transported to the Caribbean , have been preserved over time, apparently considered relevant.   

This is not the place to go deeper into the matter. In a discussion about the relevance of Girard’s ideas, however, some other data should be put into relief. The mortuary rite is not the only cultural institution that betrays an awareness of the issue, aggression caused by mimetic rivalry. Other beliefs brought forward as examples by Girard (1977:83), the dangers symbolized by twins, for instance, are part of the African heritage and are well-represented among Maroons. Fraternal rivalry is played out in spirit cults. Like the Kalahari mentioned by Girard (2004:181-2), Maroons are highly conscious of the risks incurred by success and affluence. Nevertheless, this will not keep them from striving after these goals.

Like other Maroon groups, Ndyuka espouse/ share the worldview that takes rivalry and aggression as a basic danger in society. As Price (1975:32ff.) has it: “Man is the ultimate source of Evil in the world”.  The problem- rivalry and lurking aggression – nicely summarized by Girard (2004:10), is vividly felt. We might say that the concept of mimesis – the rival as model and obstacle - is ingrained. Jealousy, envy and distrust are thought of as the root of evil, and the source of witch fears.   

Maroon societies were born of and replete with violence. Historic accounts testify to this[1]. Burning of suspected witches occurred until the nineteenth century[2]. The fear of violent eruptions is expressed by the shocked reactions to any form of bloodshed: “Buulu kai a doti” (blood has fallen on the earth). This ranks as an abomination that evokes retribution. Cults and collective representations have evolved that, in tandem with civic institutions, attempted to channel and curb aggression[3]. A theology, current until the 1970s, discredited all human inclinations to take the law into their own hands; a native deity would pursue and punish evildoers as well as protect the righteous. Rituals have been devised to underpin the beliefs. Believers were advised to look into their own hearts to discover and uproot all traces of envy. Nightmares of pursuit by evil forces were not to be taken literally. Dreams can deceive: behind the mask of a suspect someone else might hide. Briefly, beliefs justified doubts and discouraged rash action.  Movements of a later date also provided protection and ritual measures against evil magic, without endorsing recourse to violence.     

Back to the field  

All this is background information, to assess properly the significance of what follows next. We return to the ‘field’ situation. The burial rites and the sacrifice described above have been completed. Before they will disperse, the assembled village elders and headmen are notified that they expected to convene again soon, for a string of memorial rites. A bookodey, in honour of a number of persons that died in the past year, is due. Among the names of the deceased mentioned is that of a late village headman and shopkeeper of this village. All present acknowledge the announcement and confirm their willingness to shoulder the responsibilities this entails.

  All of a sudden, on leaving the community building, we overhear wild screams. Two women run around, yelling and hurling frightful accusations. The village headman just singled out as one worthy of a proper memorial rite, is denounced as a witch. One of the aggressors, a relative of his, discloses that the man had infected her with his evil. He is denounced as a bakuu basi, a master of demons that has contaminated her and other relatives.  The open accusation, so strongly forbidden and indeed rare until recently, is flaunted without any inhibition. And, even more amazing, no reaction follows. A community that used to take pride in its readiness to forestall any fisticuff or fight and restrain combatants, remains passive. The norm and practice used to be that every citizen, man and woman, would rush forward and stop the contenders. They would do so fu lanti, as members of the community. And now, nothing happens. The women run off, screaming. No one attempts to stop or silence them. If taken seriously, the allegations would undermine the project of the memorial service, prevent its realization. No person suspected of entertaining demons could be honoured with a memorial. Things have changed indeed. In its negativity, this is a social drama.    

The prelude

The outcome does not come completely as a surprise. Recent events had prepared the ground. In October last year, 2006, a witch eradication movement had erupted. A young man, arousing enthusiasm in countless followers, has embarked upon a career to stamp out an evil that is felt as a threat by all. Under his directions, young people, mainly women, act as victims ridden with evil powers. Allegedly in trance, the mob attacks those who are accused of harassing them. Those suspected are physically beaten, their houses burnt, their property confiscated. One victim has died as a result, another narrowly escaped. The citizenry is divided, partly in league with the assailants, partly dumb-struck and fearful.

Diitabiki’s inhabitants, the elderly and the respectable, may feel some reserve as to the means employed, but most think that some action is called-for. Such considerations keep them from stopping the alleged mediums. Many confirm that the dangers of witchcraft are more imminent than ever. Insecurity prevails, institutions providing clarity about suspicions, condemnation or acquittal, and offering protection have dissolved. Who and what should one believe or trust? Also, turning against the new witch-finders brings the risk of being singled out as culpable and a next probable victim. The reluctance to act is, to some extent, understandable.

Baschwitz’s (1973:104) analysis applies here. Speaking about Europe’s witch hunts of the 16th century he notes: “Le sourd sentiment de crainte qui accablait les populations à cette époque de transformation s’en trouva encore augmenté. Sous la pression des circonstances, un nombre sans cesse croissant de gens devinrent la proie d’une paralyse de l’esprit qui les empecha  de s’opposer aux meneés des persécuters de sorcières. » He adds : « En effet, ceux-ci promettaient de soulager misères et angoisses à condition qu’on les laisse agir à leur guise. »

            To discuss the events of October proved very difficult. Silence reigned, the topic could only be broached in very private sessions, with people well-known. Even then, evasion was the rule. Some villagers protested that they do not know what exactly happened, that they had been elsewhere when the attacks took place. Or it was stressed that they, as decent and elderly persons, had kept their distance and had not gone into the fray. This implied that no efforts were made to stop the actions. Detailed reports only were given us by the victims.

            The community’s passivity in that situation is in striking contrast with the fervour displayed at the funeral. Attendance was larger than ever. All age groups took part in their own way. Neighbouring villages sent delegates, large groups of women prepared the required foods.  The number and enthusiasm of the dancers was striking, and the amount of alcohol offered in libations impressive. This did much to provide a sort of relief, a reassurance that, despite the effects of migration and the past turmoil, a vibrant community was able and willing to present itself.   

The boisterous activity suggested a unanimity that was equally manifest in the almost complicit muteness with regard to the mob actions of the months past. Notions about rampant witchcraft had prepared the ground for such unanimity. All seemed ready to willingly unite behind those planning to tackle the problem. This unanimity plays an important part in Girard’s (1977:99; 1978:35) thinking: “The community stands united before the onslaught of ‘evil spirits’…”  Against such a front, victims are defenceless, Girard (1978:33) has argued.  

Does this imply that another element, presented as essential in Girard’s (loc.cit.) reasoning, also holds true, that victims are singled out arbitrarily? To ascertain the matter, we will turn to the social context. Some information is required about the movement’s leader, his supporters, the victims, and the treatment the latter receive.  

The scope of the movement   

The man who started the campaign, called Gaángá, is young, in his twenties, and so are most of his active followers. The cult receives support from tribesmen and – women living in the city, Paramaribo . Armed with video cameras, a few hundred townspeople arrived with chartered planes in the Tapanahoni area to record and participate in the witch-cleansing operations. Three separate films have been offered for sale on DVD format in the city, showing the images of burning houses, aggressive interrogations and other exploits of the self-styled “Black Jesus”. The ambitions of the leadership include the rallying of support through the Internet. At the central market in town, Gaángá tried his abilities to perform some miraculous feats, which only partly impressed the public. Some stories circulated that extolled Gaángá’s thaumaturgical capacities, but these evaporated when he proved unable to free himself from goal.

As one victim denounced the leader, he was jailed. Legal proceedings have yet to begin. The films are taken out of circulation, as the supporters are probably afraid of the influence such films may have on the trial. Court sessions have been postponed several times, as a mob of followers loudly demanding his immediate release exerted strong pressure. With Ndyuka politicians now part of the governing coalition in Suriname ’s Nationale Assemblee it is perhaps not surprising that they have come out strongly in defence of the witchfinding operations. They insist that, what this religious leader is doing, is an integral part of their culture.

            The victims are older men, who have made a career of gainful employment in the coastal area, and have returned to their home villages to take up positions of traditional leadership. We have obtained the testimonies of six abused persons[4]. As an example, we will give one of their reports below. The victims are regarded as well-to do, some receive pensions, and all dispose of savings, which they often reinvest in new enterprises. The money and the prestige accorded these men arouse envy. A younger generation, of whom many are jobless, is not sure of opportunities to achieve a similar success. Others earn money through gold-winning or drug traffic, but do not enjoy the prestige hoped for. They most certainly want what ‘the Other’ has. The bakuu mediums’ fascination, if not obsession, with money has been vividly rendered by Vernon (1985). As Girard (1977:145) stresses, violence is always mingled with desire.   

            Girard’s (1977:48) statement applies here: “Legitimate authority trembles on its pedestal…”.   The victims are both model and obstacle. A mimetic crisis is manifest. Girard’s concept of social crisis seems to apply here. This is, however, not without pitfalls. Girard’s conception of a social crisis is, inevitably, attuned to the highly different situations encountered in mythical, literary and historical sources. Inevitably vague and inaccurate, this occasionally leads to wrong inferences. Displeasure of the ancestors visited upon descendants in the form of misfortune and other ills, presented as a sign of crisis (1977:254) is also marked in buoyant social systems where infractions meet with sanctions, and does not necessarily correspond with crises. The other characteristics of a crisis - a breakdown of a hierarchy, in social position and values, a loss of differentiation and the ensuing rivalry – all of this is to be found in the contemporary Ndyuka situation. 

            The accused are summoned to a hearing, exposed to beatings and abusive language. An immediate confession is demanded. Declarations of innocence were usually followed by more accusations and by increasingly violent beatings. Full confessions were bound to follow. Punishment always consisted of a heavy fine (3.000 Surinamese dollars or $ 1000).  Confession and cleansing ritual would not exonerate a butt of hatred, extra sums of money were claimed that amounted to blatant extortion. Occasionally an accused was exposed to the drinking of an allegedly purifying liquid, a calabash full of 60 % alcohol, mixed with raw chilli peppers. One man has not survived this treatment.  The burning of houses or shops, and a confiscation or destruction of property, boats, outboard motors, also were part of the dealings with victims.       

Ethnographic particulars about demons  

The conception of the evil committed has Girardian connotations.   The accused are suspected of having truck with a ‘monstrous double’. The hallucinatory image of the assailants is that of being invaded by a bakuu, dwarf-like creature, a witch familiar that is well-known as one of the dangerous ‘little men’ in West African folklore. The suspect is pictured as controlling these demons and inflicting them at will upon their innocent fellow beings. The emotions evoked in the latter have been vividly described by Girard (1977:165): “The subject feels that the most intimate regions of his being have been invaded by a supernatural creature who also besieges him without. Horrified, he finds himself the victim of a double assault to which he cannot respond. Indeed, how can one defend oneself against an enemy who blithely ignores all barriers between inside and outside? This extraordinary freedom of movement permits the god- or spirit or demon – to seize souls at will. The condition called “possession” is in fact but one particular interpretation of the monstrous double.”

This analysis would indeed perfectly fit the Ndyuka mediums – Girard’s representation of the belief is strikingly apposite – if only all mediums truly were mediums. But the mob of assailants too often is not really entranced. And also, the leader’s status as a spirit medium, one who might embark on the venture of exorcism, is contested. The women recruited for the service of denouncing the suspect are paid out of the confiscated funds: 75 Surinamese dollars for a performance. We may safely conclude that not all so-called mediums are moved by the emotions described by Girard, the motivation that prompts those really possessed by demons. This would disqualify the attacking crowd as a collective performing a sacrifice that fulfils the role ascribed to them in the scheme of redemption. We cannot assume that these are cases of authentic possession or of “mimétisme hystérique” (1978:31,342). Pecuniary motivation is dominant, and the aggression, finding an outlet, runs out of hand.          

            Demons belong to the realm of the sacred, are divinities and as such are ‘doubles’ in the sense that they have a double face, bene- and maleficent. Definitely gods of a lower order, like all gods representing aggressive forces, but nevertheless deities. Human violence is envisioned as issuing from a force exterior to man, Girard (1977:82 ff.) states, and adds that ‘this baleful knowledge’ about the force of the violence impulse, transferred unto the demon, is veiled in religion. In mythical formulation, the issue is ‘misplaced’, in Girard’s  (1977:77)  terms. This reminds of Freud’s notion of Verschiebung, displacement. It makes sense to bring Freud’s view in here, as the mechanism of displacement suits the purpose of disguising a discreditable motive, which aggression too often is. Girard (1977:83) speaks of collective self-mystification. 

A significant observation in this context is the following statement by Girard (1977:258): “The language of pure sacredness retains whatever is most fundamental to myth and religion; it detaches violence from man to make it a separate, impersonal entity, a sort of fluid substance that flows everywhere and impregnates on contact. The concept of contagion is obviously a by-product of this way of envisaging the sacred.” This is a fascinating reinterpretation of Frazer’s notion of ‘magic’ – imitation and contact or contagion being its basis. 

Both elements are clearly manifest in bakuu possession, which definitely is a mass phenomenon. Observers ( Vernon 1981) have been struck by the rapidity with which the demonic affliction spreads; possession by the aggressive bakuu is truly infectious and contagious. This is also quite marked in the mob actions raging at present and can hardly be attributed to the prompting of the monetary incentive alone.

  In Girard’s (1977:250ff.) analysis of possessing spirits, the ‘double’ aspect leaves the interpretation open that bakuu mediums can figure as executioners as well as surrogate victims. The demon-afflicted as killers in a literal sense – other than made responsible for sickness and death – is, however, new. Up till now, no one could legitimately claim that a guardian spirit had inspired physical assault. For long periods in Ndyuka history, the demons have been looked upon are undiluted evil, only fit for expulsion. Nowadays, some respected spirit mediums claim a bakuu as a guardian spirit. An accomplished medium is, however, able to control the evil side. Of Gaángá it is said that his ritual preparation has been deficient in this regard. At any rate, frenzied mob action as depicted in Greek tragedies has been unthinkable as a ritual act in the Ndyuka world. Whether this is changing now, is an open question.

            Although the relevance of Girard’s ideas cannot be doubted, the persecutions cannot be regarded as ‘proof’ of his main thesis. The action may be unanimous, the outcome is not a re-establishment of a postulated previous harmony.  

The Ordeal of Captain Da Yobósien  

A Threatening Environment

While in Paramaribo on business, village headman Yobósien received a letter that a young woman, a matrilineal relative, had drowned near the notorious Gaan Olo falls. Such accidents are rare. A friend warned him that village rumour accused him of being the culprit: it was alleged that he had sent a spirit (keesiti) to kill her. Da Yobósien took these warnings seriously. When a few weeks later his wife suggested they return to the Tapanahoni to attend the burial rites for her classificatory brother, he counselled against it, but in the end his wife persuaded him. In September 2006 the couple journeyed to his native village of Kisai on the Tapanahoni River .

Upon arrival village headman Yobósien noticed that people had broken into his house. Amidst the jeers and taunts of some villagers, Yobósien began to move valuable objects from his house to that of his wife. The atmosphere grew more threatening as people returned from their gardens, many now openly accusing him of witchcraft. He took to his boat, trying to find safety in Diitabiki, the Gaanman’s (Paramount Chief) residence. Followers of Gaángá in Diitabiki and neighbouring villages had already been alerted, chasing him through the village, finally forcing him to take refuge in the former residence of deceased Chiefs: a place of asylum. A hastily convened group of Lanti -captains, basiya, their assistants and older men – people who would normally convene a palaver (kuutu) - argued with Gaángá’s young followers, most of them under thirty years of age, to respect the sacred law of asylum. But the crowd saw no reason to bow to these old-fashioned notions. Instead they insisted they had come to root out witchcraft once and for all under Gaángá’s leadership. When some of them began pulling planks out of the asylum house, Lanti begged Yobósien to surrender to his pursuers. They had received every assurance, they told him, that if he appeared before Gaángá’s court, he would have a fair chance of defending himself; no one was to hurt him, they argued.  

No Asylum for Witches

Da Yobósien, sensing the crowd’s mood, was less convinced. He fled from the place of asylum and ran to the house of a Diitabiki captain whom he knew well. His friend pleaded with him not to seek refuge with him, arguing that the crowd would simply destroy his house, which had great sentimental value for him as his mother had once lived there. A few older people echoed this captain’s feelings, pleading with Yobósien to let Gaángá’s followers escort him to the latter’s village. The crowd hurled abuse at him, and Yobósien, seeing that he had no one to turn to, rendered himself to Gaángá’s followers. Escorted by a jubilant crowd in accompanying boats, he was taken to the village of Pikin Pizíí .  

Da Yobósien’s Trial

Da Yobósien was placed on a low stool in the middle of a corral encircled by ropes. Young women started to walk to and fro, in the abrupt manner of bakuu mediums, shouting their accusations, and occasionally hitting him. At the moment of his arrival only Gaángá’s councillers confronted Yobósien. ‘Our first task is to purify you of all evil. Drink this potion.’ It was a calabash full of rum of fifty per cent alcohol, and larded with fresh chili peppers. In vain did Yobósien protest, insisting he never drank any rum. But he was ordered to drink it without further ado. He later told us that his insides seemed to split under the combined force of pepper and alcohol. ‘For days my faeces would be black,’ he remembered. 

Somewhat later Gaángá emerged from his house. His message was simple and ominous: ‘why is such an evil person brought to my village? I don’t even want to look at him. Bring him to his family.’ Under great public attention Yobósien, hands and feet tied, was thrown into a boat, ‘like an animal,’ he later said. In his own village of Kisai his relatives were waiting for him. Almost always the relatives, whether related in a matrilineal or bilateral way, are the ones whose accusation matters most (van Wetering 1996 [1973]: 372). In the nineteenth century the execution of a witch, then a rare occurrence, would be left to them.  

Da Yobósien is Stripped of His Identity

Yobósien was brought to a house cleared for his imprisonment. His hands and feet remained tied. Twice a day his relatives would come to beat him with sticks. Later he would tell us: ‘what saved me was the low ceiling of the house. They couldn’t get their full force behind the blows.’ After his fifth beating, M. his (classificatory) sister, told him that next time they would finish their business (meaning they would execute him). She also announced she had come to prepare him for his coming status as an executed witch. She ripped the clothes of his body and dragged him to a spot near the river where corpses are prepared for burial. After washing him, she rolled him in sheets, like Ndyuka do with a corpse, and forced him into a hammock, hung in the mortuary in a special way, as if he were already dead. Then she sprinkled him with the blood of a slaughtered cock, declaring he no longer existed for any of them. ‘You are now just another corpse, nothing more, tomorrow we will bury you’ she told him. Condemning a person to the status of non-person, by stripping him of personal accoutrements and dressing him in funeral clothes, is a practice that reminds one of the identity-stripping measures of some African poison ordeals (Vansina 1969:250).  

Yobósien’s Escape

Under cover of darkness two villagers took Yobósien out his hammock and carried him to a boat, crossing the river to a place where a group of people, most of them Jehovah’s Witnesses, had recently started building a village. At first they did not want to give him shelter: ‘Look, why us?’ they asked them, ‘none of the nearby villages is prepared to give him asylum; the Chief is powerless, why have you selected us? You are confronting us with a great risk!’ One man finally agreed that the captain could stay with him until shortly before daybreak. During the last hour of darkness Yobósien was brought to Godoolo village, some twenty miles upriver from Kisai. They carried Yobósien, who couldn’t walk anymore, via a bush path to the airstrip, so that Gaángá’s followers in Godoolo wouldn’t know he was trying to escape. A charter plane was ordered from Paramaribo . It arrived a couple of hours late. The men who accompanied Yobósien knew Gaángá had many followers in Godoolo. As this Jehovah’s Witness told us: ‘I will never forget those few hours. We expected them (Gaángá’s followers) to show up any moment. Yobósien would have been killed straight away, and we would have been beaten too. And for what? We, as Christians, know that black magic exists. Are we really so sure Yobósien is innocent?’

Three months later, at the end of January 2007, we visited Yobósien in his house in Paramaribo . With some difficulty he could walk a few metres. His chest and hips still caused him considerable pain.  

Epilogue

Quite a few of Girard’s (1977: 96ff.) observations apply to this case. The victim is a scapegoat, a butt for insults, killed by words. Scorn, hostility, cruelty, a stampede by a group of attackers, it is all there. Most striking is the way of sacrificial preparation; the victim is marked as a dead man before the attempts at actual killing are made. Significantly, kinsmen are involved and act as the executioners; the risk of reprisals, stressed by Girard (1977:13), is excluded. The relevance of Girard’s thoughts is beyond doubt. Yet, does this imply that Girard’s thesis is conformed? The dilemma presents itself again: the scapegoat is not looked upon as a redeemer who re-establishes social harmony. Some vague moves towards deification were made, but the witchfinder, not the scapegoat was the object. Seen from the theoretical point of view, the wrong man was chosen for glorification.

            What has been done to Yobósien is not part of Ndyuka ‘culture’. All of this is ‘new’.  No ‘real’ myth is involved that sanctifies what happens. Unlike the cock scapegoat in the burial rites, the victims are not ritually prepared for their fate. The agressors make strategic use of ancient notions, manipulate symbols by declaring the victim dead before truly finalizing the murder. The actions are modern and western, facilitated by new methods of mass communication.  Partly ‘spontaneous’, they are nevertheless informally organized. This is violence, not a culturally established mode of prevention.

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