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1997
Dancing through Interfaces and ParadoxesGroup alchemy in the Empty Red Centre- / -
A. IntroductionHow to resist a personal invitation to journey with a group of westerners into the Dreamtime (or Tjukurpa) of the Australian Aborigines – who call themselves the Anangu? The invitation arose from a request by Anangu elders and ngankaris (notably Ilyatjari and Nganyinytja) of the Pitjantjatjara tribe in Central Australia wishing to meet with a group of 12 people exploring the future of western organizations. The tribe lives in a remote arid area forbidden to outsiders without special permission. The group was brought together by Colleen Burke, strategic consultant to the CEO’s office of the world’s largest consulting firm on the topics of values, organizational knowledge and virtual learning communities. The initiative was consistent with her ongoing research into the effect of our ancestor’s dreams, our contemporary metaphors, and the singing of our creation myths in realizing and creating our organizational landscapes. The nature of the event was conceived in partnership with Robert Bosnak, a Jungian analyst. Colleen articulated the theme of the encounter in the invitation as follows: "In the Anangu environment, the ancestors continually dream the landscape into being, and the landscape shapes the moment and the people. Might it be that organizations dream their landscape, creating the rites, the songs, the dances, the beliefs of the inhabitants? Is knowing one dream the door to knowing another?" So ran the invitation, which continued: "What is there in the Dreamtime which can help our organizations find the way across the landscape of virtuality to a new economy? How do we organize our collective knowledge so it is as accessible as the Songlines that access Anangu truth?" (Colleen Burke, 1997) Having, coincidentally just completed a study entitled "From the Information Highway to Songlines of the Noosphere" (Judge, 1996) that dealt specifically with the relevance of Anangu (and analogous) insights into the organization of knowledge on the Web, the temptation to participate was irresistible. However this only proved possible through a strange exchange of roles between the original invitee and myself relating to our attendance at the World Futures Studies Federation conference (Brisbane, 1997) which overlapped the event and justified travel from Europe -- I enabled his attendance in Brisbane whilst he enabled my inclusion in the group (in which he was unable to participate). The broader significance of an encounter with the Anangu is argued by David Tacey (On the Edge of the Sacred, 1995). He sees Australia, through its history, geography and cultural challenges as being uniquely placed to explore the frontiers of spiritual awakening and paradigm articulation relevant to the coming century. The psycho-social implications of encountering the emptiness of the land at the centre, and the peoples who have long survived there, involves the kinds of alchemical processes of individuation articulated by psychoanalysts of Jungian inspiration. "In Australia, landscape carries our experience of the sacred other…The landscape in Australia is a mysteriously charged and magnificently alive archetypal presence." (Tacey, p. 6). He points out that Australia is the only continent with two-thirds of its landmass effectively reserved for mystical experience. It should be emphasized that the following account is as much a subjective interpretation as an objective case study. It is a personal exercise in imaginative learning from a particular cultural perspective. The experience continues to be a valuable source of extensive reflection in a mytho-poetic mode consistent with the intent of the undertaking and indicative citations in the text. In a search for other levels of meaning, it has been interpreted and moulded into a story whose perspectives some participants (although not named) may not share and may well even consider deeply offensive -- for which apologies may be appropriate. B. DepartureThe group, mainly from a single country in the northern hemisphere, assembled at Yulara in 1997. This is a highly modern tourist complex, housing 5,000 tourists per day in peak season. It is located some 400 kilometers from Alice Springs, the nearest town in the Northern Territory of Australia. A curiosity in its own right, Yulara is the place from which tourists visit nearby Uluru (otherwise known as Ayer's Rock). This is a 3 km size rock isolated on the desert plain and a traditional focus for Anangu ceremonies. Its main attraction for tourists is the manner in which it changes colour at sunrise and sunset -- and the challenge of climbing it (despite disapproval by the Anangu). As such it is perhaps the strangest of tourist destinations -- especially in a country that is not renowned for investment in the celebration of experiences requiring an almost Zen-like appreciation. Following the inspiration of Colleen, the group was guided by three people who had received extensive Jungian training. Robert Bosnak had written of his own journey into the Pitjantjatjara Dreamtime (1996). David Tacey had articulated in his writings (1995) the challenge for westerners, especially Australians, to understand how the experience of the landscape impacts the unconscious life of society. Craig San Roque, a Jungian analyst who had considerable working experience with Anangu, was in the process of developing a new theatre piece (The Sugarman Cycle) to reconcile white and black cultures challenged by alcoholism in neighbouring Alice Springs. David and Craig were Australians. These three were present to assist the group in reaching an understanding of their experience. The base camp at Angatja was reached after a drive (in two 4-WD personnel carriers) of some 6 hours, mostly on unsealed roads within the Pitjantjatjara lands south of Uluru in South Australia. The group was joined by the Anangu elders, men and women (together with their grandchildren), who set up their own camp nearby. The interface with the Anangu hosts was provided by Diana James, an Australian anthropologist long integrated into the family structure of the Pitjantjatjara (whose elders speak relatively little English). As manager of the Anangu-owned company Desert Tracks, which provided the vehicles and infrastructure, she was also the principal outback guide, interpreting and negotiating across linguistic and cultural barriers (James, 1994). At the base camp, the group was to encounter 7 ngankari with shamanic knowledge. For a group of 12 white people, in a red and a white vehicle at the invitation of their dark-skinned owners, being led into the wilderness -- from an isolated red rock via hills covered in green-bronze grass -- by a red-haired women of Celtic origin, is a symbolic trigger in its own right! Especially when accompanied by three wise men and its female instigator! C. InterfacesIn order to communicate the challenges of understanding the experience, it seems most useful to explore the different interfaces to which the visitors were exposed. For it was these interfaces, and how each person responded to them, which determined the nature of their experience. In some cases they might constitute impermeable barriers, in others they could be a continuing challenge to conceptual habits -- whether delightful or not. As barriers they could take the form of mirrors revealing unwelcome insights. As portals they could offer alternative perspectives to those who passed through. Land interfaceFor some people the experience of the landscape in the "empty" centre of Australia is quite awesome. There is a strange sense of vastness often reinforced by unusual cloud effects in the sky -- or the unveiled stars during the desert night. But this same landscape of the "never-never land" can also be experienced as monotonous, dead and alienating in its emptiness. The uniform redness of the soil and rocks can also be disconcerting. Where there are rock formations, hills or eroded mountain ranges, these can be of strange and beautiful forms that excite the imagination. But these too can be experienced as lifeless -- especially since wildlife of any sort is rarely seen. There are no mega-fauna as in Africa. This feeling can be enhanced by the absence of any habitation, fencing or other signs of western civilization. Under certain conditions, the landscape may be experienced as terrifying -- especially as darkness falls and unknown dangers are suspected. The group travelled through the little-visited Musgrave Ranges to reach its camp. Since it had rained the previous week -- something that may not occur for months or years in that region -- the desert grasses and wildflowers, however fragile, were "at their best". As in some Chinese and Japanese drawings, even long-undisturbed dessicated branches or dead trees contributed to the experience. The landscape was remarkable in its beauty -- even to the eyes of experienced travellers. From any rise, there were magnificent uninterrupted vistas to distant horizons. How a visitor responds to the land can strongly determine the ability to relate to the sense of place and the spirit of the land that are so vital to Anangu experience. According to the Anangu: "Landscape is a mytho-spiritual field which acts upon human beings from without, causing them to conform to ancient patterns and to re-enact the lives and movements of ancestral animals and other beings." (Tacey, p. 148) For James Cowan: "Kurunba or ‘life-essence’ is a meta-physical expression denoting the presence of a cultural layer within the landform itself that has been inspired by mythological contact with the Dreaming. In other words the landform has become iconic in essence, fulfilling a role of containment, not only of physical attributes (shape, texture, mineral content, etc), but of meta-physical significations" (p. 26) Cowan argues that "What transpired from this unique relationship was that the land needed the active cooperation of man in order to fulfil itself as a cosmic principle, in the same way that man needed the land to realize his own cosmogenic self" (p. 27). For Tacey, European alchemists made gold in dark vaporous laboratories, whereas "we in Australia make gold, or discover symbolical gold, by direct encounter with the landscape." (p. 23) He argues that, aside from Anangu Dreamings, there is place for each individual’s own "psychic participation in the land" (p. 25). What can a visitor see and with what eyes? How is the land to be sensed? How is greater sensitivity acquired? Are there similarities to the gourmet's palette or to the connoisseur of music -- both of which may require long learning, perhaps from an early age? Or is the encounter direct and intuitive? For Tacey: "…these great stone monuments could act as mythic openings, if we would but allow ourselves to be opened by them. Whether this ancient land is sacred presence, or simply great scenery, depends almost entirely on the condition of the ego-personality that meets it. The sacredness of the centre becomes evident only when we achieve the courage to leave the psychological edge." (p. 32). But again for some these matters are all too easily romanticised and subject to hype. Arguably, if there is nothing to see the mind has a tendency to invent things to see and appreciate. Even so, the question is whether in the absence of the trappings of a built-up landscape the mind can associate with its surroundings in a more integrative manner. The surprising response from Diana, to appreciation of the Musgrave Ranges and the formations near the camp, was simply that the special beauty experienced was due to the fact that "the land was sung" and "cared for" through Anangu ceremonies. It is one thing to remember that Anangu attach special importance to the land. It is quite another to be confronted so early in the visit with the sense that there might be some detectable response from the land itself. Can rocks feel "alive" and "happy"? Certainly the contrast to the earlier part of the journey through lands which were "not sung" and "cared for" was quite striking. But again this could merely be subjective illusion -- although much of what the group came to learn (as discussed below) revolved around the erosion and reframing of the subjective/objective interface so important to westerners. Why is it that some westerners sing to their plants and claim to sense a response? Cowan argues: "To recognize in a landscape through ritual enactment and imaginal perception the presence of numen is the means by which the Dreaming can be made manifest illud tempus – that is, outside time. Such a mode of intellection is uniquely Aboriginal; and it is this people’s greatest contribution to their own survival throughout the passage of untold millennia." (p. 31) Dreamtime interface: StoriesEven on the way to the base camp, the group was told its first story by an Anangu guide -- and how it related to features of the passing landscape. As with many such stories, it was relatively simple and not especially memorable at first hearing. The relationship indicated to the landscape seemed incidental and easily failed to capture the imagination. Diana pointed out that, as communicated to her, what she interpreted were merely the "children's versions" of such stories -- each of which had deeper meanings unknown to her which were only communicated through initiation ceremonies. Craig later stressed that other versions of the stories were often held to be dangerous to the unwary. Both were reluctant to discuss in what ways they suspected that they might be dangerous. The media in the West pump out vast quantities of stories. Huge investments are made in film versions of those that appear in books. Many grab the imagination and inspire. Some are made for that purpose. There is concern about copycat crimes inspired by some stories. Many stories are subject to extensive analysis; they may have multiple levels of meaning to which only the few may be sensitive. There have been scares concerning subliminal messages and other propaganda tricks. Westerners can be considered sophisticated consumers of stories -- so what can they learn from Anangu stories? For the Anangu, the stories emerge from an eternal Dreamtime through which the world is sustained. This is more than simply a belief. It is a lived reality. As James Cowan expresses it: "I gained the impression that the Aborigines are a unique race because they are utterly possessed by the Dreaming." (p. 4) Telling the story appropriately is necessary to sustain the land. "Once we being to realize that a topographic story illicited from a given landscape by a tribal member is not a ‘just-so’ tale but a demonstration of mythic data, then we will begin to understand what is required of us if we are to attain to a symbolic mode of thought ourselves" (Cowan, p.32) Members of the group were impressed by the concentration and enthusiasm with which some of the stories were told -- including vigorous correction by one or other Anangu if details were left out. On the other hand, some of the story tellers could in no way be said to be skilled in conventional forms of expression and seemed to do little honour to the story. Over the period of the week-long visit, some of the stories were repeated three or four times under different circumstances. Initially this was tiresome, once one "knew" the story. Later other factors seemed to come into play for some, independently of the skills of the story-teller. What exactly was one hearing? What part of oneself was registering what kind of communication? Were aspects of the story being heard sub-consciously and with what effect and at what level? To what extent did the telling have a hypnotic effect? The stories did not have any obvious moral, although on reflection they could be used to make moral points like many folk tales. Superficially they were merely descriptive. Repetition however entrained the awareness in subtle ways -- as a form of propaganda that lacked any apparent point. Perhaps this is one value of rote learning as in the case of koranic teaching and certain forms of chant. Perhaps such stories are best considered like a koan. Dreamtime interface: Patterns of storiesOne of the extremely sensitive issues is the revelation of secrets associated with Anangu ceremonies, including those relating to stories and songs. Those who do so (or who can be misrepresented as doing so) are effectively shunned thereafter, which can cripple the career of anyone befriending Anangu as part of their profession. The stories are now recognized as the intellectual property of the Anangu and may only be retold with their permission. However, especially for psychoanalysts and the intuitive, interpretations of stories are always possible and natural to any learning process -- whether they are meaningful to others or correct in any larger sense. These may touch on understandings considered secret by the Anangu, although not revealed by them. The dangers may thus depend both on how one hears and is affected as well as on how such understandings are reported. Four stories were told in all. Some were danced, sung or portrayed in paintings. The telling, singing and dancing were however done on separate occasions and only in some instances in relation to specific sites on songlines (see below). The stories were also treated as quite distinct although the features of the landscape to which they related were in the same area. For seemingly unrelated stories, they nevertheless together appeared to form a subtle pattern or a challenging koan:
In each case who is the pursuer and who is the pursued and what is sought by such pursuit? Given the initiatory meaning of death in Anangu culture, what is the transformation of perspective associated with the deaths in each story? Were listeners effectively "entrapped" and "entranced" by this cycle of stories? To what end? Dreamtime interface: TotemsWhat can be understood about the Anangu relation to totemic figures characteristic of stories? Totems have acquired increasing meaning in the western world as a result of developing interest in shamanism. It has become fashionable to discover one’s totemic figure -- and several members of the group had followed this route in their home country. James Cowan (1989) explains the Anangu perspective in the following terms. Where there is an understanding that a person is made up of manifold identities, such a person is free to explore totemic identities. Achieving this requires that the person explore the depths of his imaginative life. He may then recognize experientially how he is a certain object, whether the object lives in some way or whether it possesses an inanimate existence (such as a stone undulating on a river bed, rain falling, or fire flaming from a tree). He is then able to partake of that existence in addition to his own, embarking on a manifold existence in keeping with a certain alter-ego as rich and mysterious as the identity that he conventionally allows to nest in himself. The person is then free to be both himself as conventionally recognized by others as well as an inhabitant of the imaginary world of any particular totem with which he identifies. People identify with chosen totems because of the sense of enlarged life which they then enjoy and because of the imaginative vitality which this identification excites. The totemic condition allows the individual to partake of innumerable languages, free from the confinement of the logic inherent in word patterns. The individual finds for himself a new form of interior expression. This also implies a new kind of dialogue with nature, not one of classification and exploitation, but one that prefigures an inchoate courtesy more in keeping with the language of heraldry. The person becomes other than he normally understands himself. The totemic experience gives the individual access to other lives, fulfilling his own by inhabiting the realm conventionally known as that of the imagination. For the peoples, such as the Anangu, who practice the totemic experience, a person can only be considered as such if he has become a "lord of two worlds". They must be able to bestow their puissance over wider realms, to include the territory that lies beyond all frontiers, thus transcending the ordinary by way of what is most distinctive in themselves. For them the totemic experience is partly characterized by the the possibility that the individual may not set out to acquire a totem. Exposure to nature leads to a situation in which the totem may be better understood as acquiring the person. Within that totem the person never dies, living on through re-integration into something larger. Clearly for visitors, such significance of totemic figures could only be rejected or taken on faith. Dreamtime interface: SonglinesAs implied earlier, there are many intriguing indications that the "land is sung" by the Anangu as a means of caring for it. At appropriate times people engage in the dreaming through story, song, dance and ceremony. The acts of totemic ancestors across the landscape are rehearsed and recreated to ensure continued fertility of the country and respect for it. Through these processes the land is enlivened. The dreaming is thus not some quaint or archaic mythology but is actually a living energy brought alive by the continuing communal consciousness of the people. The stages or incidents in stories are thus represented on the landscape and associated with traditional sung poems that are intoned according to rhythmic measures. The land may therefore be read like music. Each song-poem is associated with a definite ceremonial centre and with a mythical being or group of totemic ancestors. A "song" is therefore the complete set of verses associated with the story at a succession of sites. T G H Strehlow (Songs of Central Australia) indicates that a valid English alternative would be the term "lay", defined as "a short lyric or narrative poem intended to be sung". As an old English word it bears an interesting relationship to "ley", as in "leyline", especially since the popularization of "songline" by Bruce Chatwin. The storyline maps the landscape and the landscape is the story. An individual is an active partner in both map and landscape beyond western understandings of subject/object distinctions. The continent of Australia is covered with a network of such songlines -- some short and some covering great distances across the territories of many tribes. Individuals may be custodians of particular parts of a songline -- sacred sites along the songline may be the "place" and responsibility of a named individual. The concept of a storyline is of course essential in the West to dramatized productions and their analysis. It is the integrating feature that holds the diverse elements of the story together. Arguably it could be understood as mapping out features in our collective psychic landscape. However the special contribution of the Anangu is to anchor psychic insights to the land and to embody the land in psychic insights. The group travelled significant distances along two songlines corresponding to two of the above stories. However the special contribution It was however easy to see these excursions as fragmented and lacking any deeper or more coherent meaning -- just as experiencing sections of the storyboard of any production would lack the meaning and effect they would have when integrated into the full production. "Multi-media effects" were thus minimized -- perhaps in contrast to full-blown ceremonies. Indeed it was easy to disassociate from the songline because of the manner in which the parts were unfolded. Some members of the group clustered to discuss concerns from afar. Minimizing integration may have been deliberate on the part of the Anangu. Indeed one person nevertheless suffered physical effects at several sites consistent with the story. It is fruitful to explore the songlines as active psychic environments rather than simply as neutral and "tolerating" detached observation. For the Anangu at least, as an active psychic field they are not "innocent", rather they entrain and enmesh -- forcing people into roles they may not expect. This would ideally be true of any media storyline, but in relation to the landscape the effects are liable to be more fundamental. Although these matters may be disparaged as cultural baggage by westerners, they actually play a major role in relation to efforts to implement development projects for the Anangu. Basically, for any project to be meaningful to Anangu, and to "take", it has to be integrated or expressed in terms of the stories through which their lives are ordered. Thus, for example, the Desert Tracks buses carried images of the Perentie Lizard since their activities needed to be explained in terms of that story to gain acceptance. Indeed the areas open to movement of the buses were defined by what could be seen by one manifestation of the lizard (namely the highest mountain in the area). Dreamtime interface: DancesDancing is essential to celebrating a songline and telling a story. Key totemic figures have characteristic dance movements. Part of the process of an individual's participation in the story is carried by the ability to dance and to identify with the totemic figure. In the case of the "wise men" in the group, it was clear that the three guides were men "who knew how to dance" -- meaning that they had an ability to identify more fully with a totemic figure. Men and women dance different figures. The men were instructed in the dances of the Emu, Eagle, and Wichitty Grub. The women were instructed in the dance of the Honey Ant. Both were exposed to dances by men of the Perentie Lizard and the Rainbow Serpent. It is easy to see how execution of such dances could be used to filter people into types for various purposes. However it is also easy to disassociate from the experience and see it is a matter for hilarity and an opportunity for questionable offerings of more sophisticated western dance variations and party pieces. The audience for any dance, who provide the beat and possibly the song, raises the larger question of who are the watchers and what is being watched in a situation in which the subject-object relation is called into question (as discussed below). Does this hold the encounter between the conscious observer or dreamer and what emerges within that dream? The interface is therefore a very special one -- watching one's unconscious dancing? What is the painted dark figure that dances in this way in response to a beat from me? Dreamtime interface: PaintingsIt is through Anangu art that their culture is perhaps most widely known. Paintings sell for high prices in western galleries, however minimal the sums received by the artists -- themselves naturally tempted by the opportunities of this process. The art has had a significant influence on Euro-Australian culture. The paintings often depict totemic ancestors and their movements across the landscape. As such the best are secret and not to be traded to outsiders. They may even be for purely temporary ceremonial purposes, not to be conserved. Like the stories, dance and music, the paintings are presumably designed to entrain the imagination into the processes of the Dreamtime. Some are considered dangerous. The group visited a site where certain paintings had had to be modified before visitors could go there. But for the ignorant, how might it be possible to distinguish between "psychically active" paintings and those done for the tourist industry? Indeed why should those active for the Anangu have any effect on people of other cultures? Economic and business interfaceAn immediate first impression of the Anangu and their settlements activates many stereotypes relating to Third World poverty and economic and social underdevelopment -- especially in contrast to other parts of Australia. The Anangu lands permit little agriculture or grazing, even if these were desirable options for them. Jobs of any kind are almost totally lacking and many leave for distant cities where they are exposed to the temptations of alcohol and prostitution -- as with indigenous peoples in many parts of the world. This is not the place to explore these tragic issues (see Galarrwuy Yunupingu, 1997). But there are strange ironies worth recording. Efforts to get any form of conventional business operational and sustainable are fraught with difficulties. Many kinds of business simply do not "take". They seem to become victims of apathy or short-termism of the most counter-productive sort. In fact the word "business" has a quite different primary significance in Anangu lands. A fundamental distinction is made in Anangu culture between "men's business" and "women's business". Each gives rise to ceremonies in which members of the community invest heavily of their time. The roads through the area may well be closed to travel for several months during these ceremonies. Key people may be unavailable for this period. In comparison to the external world it might be said that whereas there the investment in ceremonial and matters of the spirit is minimal and token in comparison to economic investment, on the Anangu lands the reverse is true. For Cowan: "The Dreaming means more to them than political or social issues because it is the only unsullied possession left to them" (p. 4) It may even be fruitful to see the socio-economic deprivation of the Anangu, in contrast to the richness of their symbolic life, as mirroring in reverse the psycho-spiritual deprivation of westerners, in contrast to the richness of their socio-economic life. For Anangu, socio-economic systems seldom "take"; for westerners, psycho-spiritual systems seldom "take". Tacey presents the split between the spiritual and the secular in Australian experience in the following terms: "By virtue of this split, white Australians are denied access to sacredness (especially the sacredness of the land) and black Australians, often imprisoned in the ‘religious’ category, are denied access to materiality, wealth and economic security." (p. 8) For him, the loss of spiritual ecstasy in both white and black cultures has been replaced by its spurious forms through alcohol and drugs – with people in both cultures becoming the victims of "unconscious ecstasy" (p. 9). Anangu interfaceThe encounter with Anangu on their own land, or in their own settlements, can be quite unsettling for westerners. How to respond to socio-economic poverty anywhere? That aside, how to respond to other attitudes towards hygiene, material goods and trash disposal? How to respond to unexpected attitudes towards the environment that do not mesh with new-found codes of western environmental correctness? White Australians responsible for "Aboriginal Affairs" have endless disparaging tales about the uses made of western technology, goods and housing facilities by the Anangu. The nomadic tendency is still an influence -- houses may be completely abandoned for a while following a death. But dependency on waterholes has been replaced by dependency on boreholes -- and the red soil is kind to clean clothes -- it easily brushes off! A useful insight is that, even for elders today, the challenges and strategems of living in a pre-contact hunter-gatherer mode still influence attitudes towards material goods. Objects are freely discarded since the environment was always able to recycle them. Westerners and their institutions are a resource to which gathering strategems naturally apply. Equipped with 4-WD vehicles and rifles, Anangu hunting capacity is augmented -- even if several kangaroo are shot to ensure selection of only the best for food. And strange to some, on a road in the middle of nowhere, the occasional stripped vehicle can be seen off the road. Given the vast distances, a "Toyota dependency" has developed. For the elders most closely associated with the songlines, their physical stamina may make it impossible for them to walk the songlines -- they may even be driven by teenage grandchildren. Aside from issues of poverty, the Anangu face major difficulties in their interaction with western society -- as with indigenous cultures everywhere. "White Australia has a Black History" as one Australian bumper sticker goes to challenge easy repression and denial in white suburbs where there is typically much greater shock at lesser ills perpetrated in other countries. The past century has seen an extensive pattern of massacres in Australia. Isolated shootings of Anangu still occurred in the 1960s, notably as a means of proving machismo -- as is currently the case with gangs in the USA. Rape and prostitution of Anangu women continue. For those living on Anangu land, this may mean that a generation may be "missing" -- either employed elsewhere, seeking employment, on welfare, or in prison (usually on alcohol-related charges). But despite such challenges, it is the visiting westerners who may well be perceived as impoverished. What is their sense of place and their relation to their own place? Why do they travel (and sleep) alone and not with their family? Why do they spend so much time talking to each other when they came to visit Anangu? Why do they believe that knowledge can be acquired by asking questions? Why do they believe their actions are unobserved by Anangu? Certain gifts made to them were tactfully "disappeared" -- notably a whole set of baseball caps for the children (donated on the condition that the corporate logo be photographed) and a frisbee. Have such gifts become yet another means of undermining non-western cultures -- or is it too late for such sensibilities? What gifts to indigenous peoples do not involve such dilemmas? The Pitjantjatjara people operate within a different reality framework from westerners, notably with respect to time and space. They do not necessarily hold the same views concerning psycho-social boundaries -- whatever the influence of mission education systems. A group of people may therefore be less bounded by a western understanding of a "container" -- such as a settlement or organization. Rather relationships may be more ad hoc, as with a flock of birds. This is reflected in Anangu art. The group was most challenged by an assumption that information and insights could be obtained from the ngankaris by a western mode of "question and answer" session. Obtaining "access" and "getting" answers became a major source of stress. The notion that there were other means of learning, many common to interactions in western society, was not appreciated. Professors do not necessarily respond usefully to question and answer where the subject matter is subtle. This is certainly the case with people in a leadership role, whether politicians or gurus. Significant new learning, involving a shift of paradigm, may not lend itself to responses in the language in which questions can be asked and in which the answers are expected. Tourism interfaceIt is not easy to encounter Anangu on their own terms, free of the tourist industry and its more pernicious influences. So much of the infrastructure necessary to such an encounter by a foreign group depends on that industry. Yulara, as a major tourist destination, was a necessary point of departure. The economics of arranging such an encounter are intertwined with those of tourist marketing. The group was fortunate to travel with an Aborigine-owned company, Desert Tracks, and to be guided by a person integrated into the Pitjantjatjara family structure in an area inaccessible to regular tourists. Craig pointed out that few in Alice Springs had the experience of such access to Anangu. Much investment was made to ensure a mutually acceptable interface with the Anangu as hosts. However it was not possible to eliminate certain economic transactions -- and it is difficult to see how it could have been appropriate to do so. Expeditions of any kind cost money. Amongst the westerners people were naturally paid in order to facilitate the encounter. On the Anangu side, people involved in the interaction, notably as guides, were also remunerated -- at a rate identical to the westerners. Carvings were offered and sold to the group -- as well as a CD of a principal story. To what degree was the encounter an exercise in "spiritual tourism" -- for which there is an increasing market round the world? To a large extent this depended on the beholder and the way in which the encounter was experienced. For the person there as a detached observer-cum-sightseer, much might be willingly experienced as spiritual tourism. Many took numerous photographs, notably during moments of interaction with a ngankari -- "spiritual paparazzi" pushing cameras into the faces of those from whom they came to learn! Members of the group were introduced to "men's business" and "women's business" -- appropriately painted and taught to dance. Most appreciated an experience that could be taken seriously and not as a feature of a tour -- but it could also be seen with other eyes. As to the dances performed by Anangu for the benefit of the group, would it be useful to dismiss them as "staged" -- when is a performance not staged to some degree? Again this would depend on what a person chose to learn from them. Slicker performances of certain dances are often available at Yulara and elsewhere, but they may only offer experience of the vigour of exotic "primitive" dancing. More intriguing, in the light of involvement in the dreamtime reality discussed here, is the question of who are the tourists? What does being a tourist / voyeur / detached observer / spiritual consumer mean in that reality? Who is the observer endeavouring to capture a reality in terms of the western logic that is questioned by that reality? How is the attempt to photograph that experience to be understood -- in contrast with being in, dancing with and learning from that experience? Whether these roles are necessarily incompatible may again be a matter for those who endeavour to engage in both. Is photography a way of deactivating the challenge of encountering the spirit of the land? Infrastructure interfaceMuch preparation is required to ensure the survival of a guided group in the middle of nowhere for a week. Stores and material were carried in trailers to the 4-WD vehicles. Water was available from a borehole that also serviced washing facilities at the base camp. People slept in supplied sleeping bags (swags), whether in shelters, tents or in the open, clustered together or separately. It was the first experience of camping for some of the group. For some it was rough, even too rough. For others the expectation was that it would be rougher -- especially when faced (exceptionally) with asparagus and oysters for hors d'oeuvres! Meals were magnificently prepared -- by people who were artists in the off-season! Alcohol is however strictly forbidden on Anangu lands. After the rain, it was not the heat that proved to be the major challenge, rather it was the flies -- somewhat curtailed by the lower temperatures. Other potential challenges were snakes, spiders, scorpions and dingoes -- none of which proved serious. The practical arrangements ran very smoothly and without the kinds of disaster that are always a possibility in the outback. Given the preoccupation of the group, the interaction with the Anangu in relation to food and supplies was intriguing. As noted, the Anangu were paid for their participation. But on occasion they were also treated as guests -- and in many cases as honoured guests, friends and, in the case of Diana, relatives. This requires a range of human relations skills to navigate successfully between patronage, condescension and curtailment of unjustified requests without causing offence. When do you tell a renowned ngankari that enough is enough -- and how? Such skills are much to be admired in working across the interface between Anangu and western cultures. Group dynamics interfaceAccording to Diana, the group was the largest and most challenging that she had led into an encounter with the Anangu. Although nearly all the participants were from the same country, factions and tensions built up early. A continuing cause of tension focused strangely on issues around recognition of the role of individual group members in gathering together the group or, more generally, in terms of acknowledgement of their role in wider society. As professionals, personal credibility and its increase were of central importance to some. Curiously the group was cursory in the process of mutual introduction, which was kept minimal. Biographical information on participants was not available. Pressure to engage in more intensive introductions was resisted, partly because a number of participants knew (of) each other in their home country. Given the professional human relations skills of most of the participants, it was readily assumed that the group could be essentially self-organizing within the general framework provided by Diana and Colleen in relation to opportunities with the Anangu and the constraints of the scheduled programme. In discussion with Colleen, the three cultural guides, Robbie, David and Craig, provided an informal level of process support, primarily centered on morning and evening debriefings. As is usual in a self-organizing group, whether more leadership was required remained a matter of discussion. Significantly Diana was challenged for failing to use her relationship to the Anangu to ensure greater access to their shamanic knowledge. Curiously a basic split in the group was reflected in preferences relating to the two 4-WD vehicles, used daily for shorter or longer periods. The red, air-conditioned vehicle, was favoured by one faction. The white, un-air-conditioned vehicle was favoured by Colleen and Diana as well as those more accustomed to Australian outback travel, namely the cultural guides and a few others. Anangu guides (with children) also travelled in that larger vehicle. A few people occasionally moved between vehicles -- and communicated successfully with both factions under other circumstances. It was mainly members of the white faction that chose to rise before dawn to experience the splendour of the sunrise from the top of Cave Hill at the final camp. The Anangu distinction between "men's business" and "women's business" was a major source of stress for many female members of the group. When the time came for the male ngankaris to interact with the men in the group, the female ngankaris went elsewhere with the women in the group -- accompanied by the grandchildren. The men were then perceived as having received preferential treatment and access that the presence of the children had inhibited. Furthermore the leading male ngankari, Ilyatjari, was necessarily with the men. Subsequent efforts to process this included what was perceived by some as an effort to project the gender debates of the external world onto the traditions of the local Anangu situation Members of the "red" faction, although notably easy-going in their interaction with the Anangu, tended to be more people-oriented. They therefore interacted to a greater degree with each other referring often to shared contexts back in their home country -- even clustering together for that purpose during transitional periods on visits to songline sites. Members of the "white" faction tended to be more context- or land-oriented, less inclined to group conversation, and more likely to |