Ritsuko Kurita, Displacing Indigeneity and Whiteness in:

Anthropos, page 115 - 126

Anthropos, Volume 115 (2020), Issue 1, ISSN: 0257-9774, ISSN online: 0257-9774,

Browse Volumes and Issues: Anthropos

Bibliographic information
PDF download Citation download Share
ANTHROPOS 113.2018: 395 – 422 Abstract. – The once more-or-less exclusively pastoral Todas of the Nilgiri Mountains in South India still retain vibrant beliefs in gods and goddesses they say once lived among them but thereafter became mountains; they tell also of ancestors who were once living Todas but subsequently became divinities. Beyond such indigenous convictions, Todas have absorbed a plethora of Hindu beliefs and ritual practices. Christian ideology has been propagated among Todas, with foreign-led Christian missionaries succeeded in establishing a breakaway Toda Christian community. But notwithstanding the many divergent sources of Toda religious ideology, the predominant and most public display of Toda ritual activity (apart from among Christian Todas) still centres on their unique sacred dairying cult, despite the rapid decline in the importance of buffaloes in the community’s modern-day economic life. This, together with their exclusively Toda deities and culture heroes seems to suggest a unique ethnic religion, frequently categorized as “non-Hindu.” But demonstrably Indic (therefore, if only loosely, “Hindu”) principles permeate Toda ritual activity. Most notable are the concepts of hierarchy and purity and those of prescribed ritual avoidance coupled with required ritual cooperation. In sum, Toda religion – like the Toda community itself – is at once unique and, at the same time, thoroughly Indic. [South India, Nilgiri Mountains, Toda] Anthony Walker, an Oxford-trained social anthropologist, retired as Professor of Anthropology at the University of Brunei Darussalam in 2011 and now lives in Kandy, Sri Lanka. His peripatetic career has included teaching positions at the Science University of Malaysia in Penang, the National University of Singapore, The Ohio State University, and the University of the South Pacific in Suva, Fiji. – He began his, still-ongoing, field studies with the Todas in 1962 and has also conducted long-term field research (since 1966) on the Tibeto-Burman speaking Lahu peoples of the Yunnan-Indochina borderlands. – For his major publications on the Todas see References Cited. The Todas believe in their Goddess Thekershi (Tö·kisy1). They worship Goddess Thekershi for protection during their eternal (perhaps “mortal” was intended) existence and they also worship God Ayan (Ö·n) to protect them after death. The Todas do not observe idol worship. Todas worship light, fire, mountains, trees, rivers, sky, sun, and moon, which are believed to be the major creations of their Goddess Thekershi.2 1 Introduction In his recent book “Religion. An Anthropological Perspective” (2015: 9), Professor Homayun Sidky, my much esteemed former PhD student at The Ohio State University, claims: “no single definition has been able to capture the entire picture” of the religious phenomenon. “For this reason”, Sidky writes, “some argue that religion is best thought of as a multifaceted phenomenon with many interpenetrating dimensions as opposed to being viewed as a unitary occurrence.” This indeed is my interpretation of religion as understood and practised by the once more-or-less exclusively pastoral Toda community 1 The orthography of Toda in this essay follows that of Murray Emeneau (1957: 19; 1984: 5–49), except that I have added hyphenation where I feel this might assist non-specialists with pronunciation, hence my To·r-θas and Töw-fił̣y, where Emeneau has To·rθas and Töwfił̣y. (Note, however, that I do not add hyphenation to Toda words when quoting directly – as I do frequently – from Emeneau’s various works. Further assistance with the pronunciation of Toda words rendered in Emeneau’s transcription can be had from Tarun Chhabra’s “A Guide for the Transliteration of Toda” in his 2015 book “The Toda Landscape,” pp. xxxvii–xliii. 2 From the pen of Pöḷ-xe·n, son of Mut-iŝky – his name anglicized as Pellican (n. d.) – a member of Ka·s patriclan, first president of the Nilgiri Toda Uplift Society, high school graduate and literate both in Tamil and English. The Diverse Faces of Toda Religion Anthony R. Walker ANTHROPOS 115.2020: 115–126 Displacing Indig neity and White ess A Case Study of Northwestern Adelaide Ritsuko Kurita Abstract: This article re-examines complexities of Indigeneity in relation to whiteness, focusing on how residents of north‐ western Adelaide manipulated the Indigenous-white boundary. Existing racial categories were displaced on both sides, while retaining the boundary. The concept “Indigeneity” was expand‐ ed or narrowed in accordance with the context while the range of whiteness fluctuated, thereby becoming entangled with the fluidity of Indigeneity. Displacement or reorganisation of the boundary was enabled by intergenerational face-to-face rela‐ tionships among residents who experienced social exclusion. Thus, Indigeneity could be derived from a cohesion not premised on an essentialised identity and could overcome the conventional dualism: “Indigeneity” – “whiteness.” [Australia, indigeneity, whiteness, ethnic boundary, everyday practice, dis‐ placement] Ritsuko Kurita, Assistant Professor, Faculty of Foreign Lan‐ guages, Department of English, Kanagawa University (Japan). – Research concentrates on racial relations in Oceania – Her most relevant publication is: “‘Blackfell Way’ and Aboriginal Identity. A Case Study of Adelaide Aborigines” (Japanese Re‐ view of Cultural Anthropology 13.2012: 41–60). Email: Introduction With the emergence of pe ple in many countries who claim the status of “Indigenous,” and in re‐ sponse to the increasing attention paid to Indige‐ nous rights by international institutions, the disci‐ pline of anthropology has been re-examining the concept of Indigenous people and Indigeneity in the global and local contexts (Merlan 2009: 304 f.; Kuper 2003). However, exactly what constitutes Indigeneity has been a constant theme of discus‐ sion because of the lack of a consistent definition of Indigenous people. Traditionally, in anthropolo‐ gy, the definitions of Indigeneity could be charac‐ terised as either “criterial” or “relational.” The for‐ mer type of definition proposes a set of criteria, such as being a descendant of Indigenous people, or conditions corresponding to those used by offi‐ cial organisations like the United Nations and In‐ ternational Labour Organisation (ILO) (Merlan 2009: 304 f.). In the latter definition, emphasis is placed on how the Indigenous people relate to those around them. Drawing on this categorisa‐ tion, studies of how Indigeneity is perceived in lo‐ cal contexts have argued although relational defi‐ nitions come closer to grasping how Indigenous people understand the world and themselves, as the discourse on indigeneity spreads worldwide across international institutions and nations, peo‐ ple are required to explain their experiences and worldviews based on these definitions (Kuper 2003; Yamanouchi 2014). For exam le, Kuper indicated the discrepancies between the reality of Indigenous eople nd Indi‐ geneity as constructed in initiatives spearheaded by the UN and the World Bank and by internation‐ al develo ment agencies and NGOs. He argued the understa ding f Indigeneity used to claim In‐ digenous rights, such as land rights, relies on an essentialist image of Indigenous people as primi‐ tive nd backward, and that it was created by an‐ thropologists despite the fact that Indigenous lifestyles actually have much in common with those of non-Indigenous people (Kuper 2003). In a comment on Kuper’s article, Omura (2003: 395) Anthropos 115.2020 argued that an alternative to the theoretical foun‐ dation of essentialist ideology is needed. Omura stressed further the importance of focusing on the daily practice of Indigenous peoples to erode the foundation of essentialist ideology. Although these earlier studies have provided significant insights on how Indigeneity is mo‐ bilised and utilised in political contexts, to over‐ come this problem of essentialism we must exam‐ ine Indigeneity not only within Indigenous soci‐ eties but also in relation to non-Indigenous people in the daily life of mainstream society. The pres‐ ence of Indigenous people in urban settings in set‐ tler societies such as Australia – where many In‐ digenous people belong to multiple social and po‐ litical communities, including non-Indigenous communities – offers the opportunity to examine indigeneity in relation to whiteness within the wider society. In these complex contexts, Indige‐ nous people selectively interact with urban soci‐ eties to create new forms of Indigenous identity (Peters and Andersen 2013: 8 f.). The present article highlights the manipulation of ethnic boundaries by both Indigenous and non- Indigenous residents in everyday life, based on my fieldwork conducted primarily in Adelaide, Aus‐ tralia, from 2008 to 2014.1 After gaining permis‐ sion for the research from the Adelaide Aboriginal Community, I interviewed approximately 50 In‐ digenous people who agreed to participate in the research and lived with an Indigenous family in that time. During my fieldwork, I mainly complied with the “Guidelines for Ethical Research in Aus‐ tralian Indigenous Studies” created by the Aus‐ tralian Institute of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Is‐ lander Studies (AIATSIS). For privacy protection, the individuals in the article are anonymous. This article draws on Matsuda’s study on an art based on everyday knowledge that creates individ‐ ual discourse and practice based on the “conve‐ nience” of life in everyday practice. According to Matsuda (2009), who referred to theories of the art of practice by Michel de Certeau (1984), in a con‐ venient art based on everyday knowledge, subjects employ formulaic categories to simplify their un‐ derstanding of society, such as classifying people into “those who promote development” and “those who support nature preservation” in discussions of environmental issues. People also distinguish sub‐ jects using a consistent ideological system, ar‐ range those subjects into multiple categories, and 1 The data obtained through this fieldwork in northwestern Adelaide for 18 months in 2008 and 2009 along with annual follow-up research are the basis of this article. use those categories depending on convenience. Since the “convenience” of life requires relating with incommensurable others who cannot be re‐ duced to a static category or identity, but whose identity is continuously built through sharing the same living space, individuals can use the cat‐ egories that they have devised in dynamic ways without perpetuating such categories. Matsuda (2009) argues, that this perspective allows us to view complex life practice and the way people build solidarity with others more meaningfully. Based on this concept of a convenient art, as proposed by Matsuda, I examine the manipulation of the boundary between “Indigenous” and “white” by residents on both sides of this division, focusing on race relations in a northwestern sub‐ urb of Adelaide, where physical and social bound‐ aries between Indigenous and non-Indigenous res‐ idents are ambiguous because of their shared ex‐ perience of poverty and accompanying shame. By highlighting the way in which racial categories are reviewed and modified in a convenient art, based on everyday knowledge, I show that the ambiguity of Indigeneity can become entangled with the fluctuation of whiteness, through the mediation of the common experience of being socioeconomi‐ cally disadvantaged. Eventually, in this way, the concept of Indigeneity may assume a different na‐ ture, which may not be equivalent to conventional Indigeneity. The term “Indigenous people” in Australia refers to Torres Strait Islanders and Aboriginal de‐ scendants of those who lived on the Australian continent and the surrounding islands prior to colonisation. This term has political connotations that distinguish these “natives” from “others,” and it has been used to claim privileged or exclusive rights to resources at national and international levels. In the present article, I primarily use the term “Aboriginal people” because most Indige‐ nous people in Adelaide are descendants of the Aboriginal people. Aboriginal residents of Ade‐ laide use the word “Nunga”2 as a collective term of self-ascription that encompasses several region‐ al groups. It is influenced by notions of pan-Abo‐ riginality and is regarded as an identity of resis‐ tance to the hegemony of white mainstream soci‐ ety (Amery 2000: 224). The term “non-Aboriginal people,” when used in this article, refers to Anglo- Australians rather than to other ethnic groups. 2 “Nunga” refers to indigenous people in Adelaide. Collective identity as “Nunga” was constructed in Aboriginal cultural revival by Aboriginal leaders and elders in the 1970 s and 1980 s. 116 Ritsuko Kurita Anthropos 115.2020 Earlier Studies on Aboriginality and Whiteness The classic studies on Indigeneity in Australia fo‐ cused mainly on homogenous, pan-Aboriginal eth‐ nicity, or Aboriginality, a concept constructed in the 1970 s and 1980 s, when Australian policy on Indigenous peoples promoted self-determination. These studies examined the process by which ur‐ ban Aboriginal leaders constructed identities and utilised them strategically in political contexts and in everyday practice3. According to these studies, along with advocating for the persistence of “au‐ thentic” Aboriginal culture, Aboriginality assumed a posture of resistance to white hegemony. This sociopolitical movement incorporated a more dy‐ namic understanding of culture and identity, en‐ abling the unity of Aboriginal people regardless of differences in their cultural and social background. However, as postcolonial studies began to criti‐ cise the essential nature of a collective identity and argued for recognising the diversity of Indi‐ geneity at an individual level (Paradies 2006: 355– 367), the focus of research shifted to more fluid and dynamic aspects of Aboriginal identity. This newer group of studies contended that Indigeneity not necessarily is established either on kinship re‐ lations or as a political tool. For example, a study of an Aboriginal community in southwestern Syd‐ ney indicated the possibility that people of the “Stolen Generations” (i.e., people removed from their Indigenous families due to prior government policies), who did not have a kinship relationship with the local Indigenous community, neverthe‐ less, could be accepted as a member of the com‐ munity through participation in the activities of Aboriginal organisations (Yamanouchi 2010: 216– 228). Furthermore, recent studies have suggested, that Indigeneity can also become entangled with the experience of multiracial interaction in a particular geographic area and social space where Indige‐ nous communities are embedded. For example, Greenop and Memmott (2013: 274 f.) indicated that young Aboriginal people in an outer suburb of Brisbane developed a type of oppositional identity that embraced non-Aboriginal residents based on their shared experiences of poverty and shame. This case, they argued, shows that contemporary Aboriginal identities do not rely exclusively on kinship or the shared experience of Indigenous people but can be more intercultural in nature. Their study reinforces the claim, that Indigeneity 3 Jones and Hill-Burnett (1982); Keeffe (1988); Schwab (1988). is not necessarily based on a binary dualism of In‐ digenous versus non-Indigenous people. Such diversity in the interpretations of Indi‐ geneity also can become entangled with the ambi‐ guity of whiteness. Conventional studies on white‐ ness, mainly in the United States and emerging in response to critiques of racism, have drawn aca‐ demic attention as offering an analytical perspec‐ tive on how social systems create racial inequality. These studies, in revealing the privileges associat‐ ed with whiteness, regarded whiteness as an un‐ marked and unnamed category, serving as a norm against which differences of other cultures were measured (Frankenberg 1993: 1). In addition, whiteness is viewed as a criterion by which to in‐ clude or exclude others and, thereby, to protect the privileges of a certain group (Frankenberg 1997: 13). Meanwhile, other studies revealed the unstable status of whiteness, indicating that it is not self-ev‐ ident but always in the process of being made and unmade, interwoven with the constructions of oth‐ er lines of division between human beings such as class, nationhood, femininity, and masculinity (Frankenberg 1997: 11–16). Therefore, whiteness can become masked in particular times and spaces. Hartigan (1997: 185) illustrated such a slipperiness of whiteness, focusing on “poor whites” in the inner city of Detroit where the ma‐ jority of residents are black. There, unlike the norm in most of the United States, whiteness is a marker of being out of place. According to Hartigan, racial meanings are het‐ erogeneous and are always contested and negotiat‐ ed depending on the particular site and context. For example, although some white residents in Detroit seemed to develop a sense of racial ani‐ mosity toward black residents, they rarely reduced their black neighbours to a racial category; they resisted the urge to attribute the conflicts that oc‐ curred between neighbours as being of racial ori‐ gin and instead specified the precise context in which hatred occurred. Hartigan (1997: 187–193) argued that this attitude developed because lowerincome whites were degraded by their own white families due to their class status, which encour‐ aged closer relationships with black families. Whiteness in Australia has been discussed in terms of its power relations with Indigenous peo‐ ple. For example, Moreton-Robinson (2003: 30 f.), an Indigenous scholar, views whiteness as a pos‐ session, arguing that in “postcolonizing” Aus‐ tralian society, where power relations are based on an ongoing denial of original possession, the question of who belongs and the extent of that be‐ Displacing Indigeneity and Whiteness 117 Anthropos 115.2020 longing are inextricably tied to the possession of whiteness. She emphasises the incommensurable difference between Indigenous and non-Indige‐ nous people because of Indigenous people’s onto‐ logical relationship to land derived from the dreaming and the lived experiences based on that worldview. This dualism of Indigenous and non-Indigenous people was supported partly by an anthropological study on race relations between the two groups. Cowlishaw (2004: 113–120), who studied a rural town in New South Wales where racial division is prominent, found that Aboriginal people displayed their opposition to white hegemony through what white residents perceived as unconstrained, physi‐ cal, and boisterous behaviour, such as fighting, drunkenness, and breaking bottles in public spaces. White residents responded to such acts by asserting the value of order and normalcy, pos‐ itioning themselves as detached from and not re‐ sponsible for the prior destructive relationships between Aboriginal and white people that have provoked frustration and fury among Aboriginal people. Although some white residents who have Aboriginal partners or friends joined the Aborigi‐ nal community, crossing the racial boundary, they were also pressured to show their racial loyalty to the white community by hiding their relationships with or making insulting jokes about Aboriginal people. In these studies in Australia, the dichotomised structure of whites as oppressors and non-whites as the oppressed was taken for granted. Thus, little attention has been given to diversity within either the “white” or the “Indigenous” category, and the status of members of the white working class who do not enjoy the privileges of middle-class whites has been largely ignored. Nevertheless, while ar‐ guing the racial boundary was constantly main‐ tained in this rural town, Cowlishaw (2004: 101– 106) described also cases in which the experience of poverty, which constitutes an aspect of Aborigi‐ nality, was shared with lower-class white resi‐ dents. This fact can be seen as offering potential solidarity between the two groups, which could transcend the essentialised categories of “white” and “Indigenous” in certain aspects of everyday practice. Port Adelaide and Its Indigenous Community The migration of Aboriginal people from nearby reserves to Adelaide, South Australia, began in the mid-1940 s, and since that time, the Aboriginal population in Adelaide has increased significantly. The 2011 census reported an Aboriginal popula‐ tion in Adelaide of approximately 15,000 people, or 1.3 percent of the total population (Australian Bureau of Statistics 2011). Although the Aborigi‐ nal population is dispersed across the city, it is concentrated mainly in the northwestern and northern suburbs where public housing is avail‐ able. About 17 percent of this population lives in Port Adelaide, a long time an industrial area locat‐ ed approximately 15 kilometres northwest of Ade‐ laide’s central business district. After South Australia was colonised, the Port Adelaide area became a major base for trading with other Australian colonies and with the world. Known historically for its maritime industry, Port Adelaide was the second largest city in South Aus‐ tralia in the early 20th century, with more than half of the total Adelaide population. However, with the decline of industry after World War II, its pop‐ ulation dropped. Today, Port Adelaide has about 112,000 residents, or 10 percent of Adelaide’s population (Australian Bureau of Statistics 2011). It has a significantly lower average household in‐ come, a higher proportion of persons working in manufacturing, and a higher unemployment rate than other suburbs in metropolitan Adelaide. However, in recent years, as part of an area rede‐ velopment plan, new apartments and a marina have been constructed. Consequently, Port Ade‐ laide’s established image as an old industrial area is changing gradually. The Aboriginal people in Adelaide come main‐ ly from two former southern reserves: the Narung‐ ga of Point Pearce Reserve and the Ngarrindjeri people from Raukkan (Point McLeay)4 Reserve. In addition, there are some Kaurna people from the Adelaide plains. After colonisation, the Kaur‐ na people intermarried with the Narungga and Ngarrindjeri groups. Although there is no large Aboriginal family group in Adelaide, there are small families from each regional group, such as the Wilson, Spender, Adams, and Goldsmith fami‐ lies among the Kaurna and the Rankine, Rigney and Sumner families from the Ngarrindjeri. When urbanisation began in the 1940 s, most Aboriginal people in Port Adelaide had come from the Point Pearce and Raukkan reserves and had strong kinship ties. In the late 1960 s and early 1970 s, the social networks expanded beyond the kin level to an organisational level, with the for‐ 4 When Ngarrindjeri people regained control of the area in 1972, the name was changed from Point McLeay to Raukkan, which can be translated as “ancient way.” 118 Ritsuko Kurita Anthropos 115.2020 mation of all-Aboriginal voluntary associations to address the common problems associated with life in the wider Australian society such as unemploy‐ ment and discrimination. These social relation‐ ships and kinship ties provided the primary basis for their identity (Pierson 1977: 320 f.). Today, these voluntary associations or self-help organisations have been replaced by governmental or non-governmental Aboriginal organisations, some of which preferentially employ Aboriginal people from particular families – a practice that has prevented Aboriginal people of other families from obtaining employment. In other words, Abo‐ riginal families compete with each other over re‐ sources, including government employment. Gen‐ erally, at ceremonial occasions, social relation‐ ships between Aboriginal people are at the family level. With the arrival of many people from outside Adelaide, including some who have newly identi‐ fied as Aboriginal, an increasing ambiguity re‐ garding Aboriginal identity in Adelaide has emerged. For example, identifying Aboriginal identity has become problematic in determinations of eligibility for government services such as pub‐ lic housing or education scholarships. The federal government requires that people claiming Aborigi‐ nal status when applying for these benefits must meet three Aboriginality criteria: descent, selfidentification as Aboriginal, and community recognition. However, meeting these criteria does not guarantee the acceptance as a member by the local Aboriginal community.5 For example, an Aboriginal community college admissions officer in Port Adelaide said that she judged applicants’ Aboriginality by their family name, as she knew all the Aboriginal family names in South Aus‐ tralia. In the Adelaide Aboriginal community, the most typical way to confirm a person’s Aborigi‐ nality was to find a common relative and to ask which reserve their family came from, or to ask questions about kinship networks such as “Do you know Auntie Mary who is married to Uncle Bill?” Even when a kinship network is established, some members of the community insist on confirming that the person claiming Aboriginality has main‐ tained social relationships within the Adelaide 5 The term “community” refers here to a social network of Aboriginal people who are connected to one another through kinship and participation in the activities of Aboriginal orga‐ nisations. However, in the Adelaide Aboriginal community, some community organisations assess one’s Aboriginality and provide confirmation of Aboriginality. Aboriginal community. If kinship relationships cannot be identified, the claimant may be accused of pretending to be Aboriginal. In these cases, at‐ tributes such as skin colour6 or the distinct cultural values shared by the Adelaide Aboriginal commu‐ nity, i.e., caring and sharing, can be used to con‐ firm or deny Aboriginality. In one illustrative case, a fair-skinned Aborigi‐ nal man from Victoria entered an Aboriginal com‐ munity college in South Australia with proof of Aboriginality; however, he was not fully accepted by the local students because of his skin colour and lack of social relationships with the Adelaide Aboriginal community. On the other hand, as In‐ glis (1961) and Schwab (1988) indicated, there have also been many cases where Aboriginal peo‐ ple from outside Adelaide were accepted after es‐ tablishing relationships with local Adelaide people and acquiring the local cultural styles. Because the Aboriginal people in Port Adelaide associate regularly with non-Aboriginal residents from similar socioeconomic backgrounds, they also have a Port Adelaide resident identity sepa‐ rate from their Aboriginal identity. As these non- Aboriginal neighbours, because of their low so‐ cioeconomic status, suffer from social exclusion experiences similar to those of the local Aborigi‐ nal community, some residents in Port Adelaide feel that they share a local identity characterised by poverty and shame, across racial lines. A non- Aboriginal resident in his thirties who has lived in Adelaide for 27 years and has worked as a chef explained his feelings about being a resident of Port Adelaide: In Port Adelaide everyone is a bloke no matter what kind your skin is. We all do pretty tough, so no one be‐ comes richer than anyone else, so we usually all get along better. Living in Port Adelaide and working in eastern or northern suburbs, people always look down on me a little bit because I live in Port Adelaide. “Are you living in Port Adelaide? It is full of Aborigines. Why would you live there?” There is a perception that Port Adelaide is full of Aborigines, so it’s dangerous. But I have more bad experiences with Anglos than I have with Aborigines (Interview, March 16, 2014). Friendships develop between Aboriginal and non- Aboriginal residents who share neighbourhoods and schools. For example, an Aboriginal woman in her forties continues to maintain contact with her non-Aboriginal school friends. These friend‐ 6 Among urban Aboriginal people, there are cases in which people with darker skin are viewed as “real” Aboriginal as opposed to those with lighter skin. Displacing Indigeneity and Whiteness 119 Anthropos 115.2020 ships often spawn intergenerational relationships as most residents remain in the same geographic area throughout their lives due to their low socioe‐ conomic conditions, and as intermarriage is rela‐ tively common. However, such friendly relation‐ ships with non-Aboriginal residents are not always observed among Aboriginal elders and activists, as some of them tend to emphasise their experiences of deprivation and place great importance on their Aboriginality. Furthermore, some prejudice against the Abo‐ riginal people persists, although at a group level there have been no conflicts between Aboriginal and non-Aboriginal residents. For example, an Aboriginal woman in her fifties who grew up in Port Adelaide said when she was at school, she was called derogatory names by non-Aboriginal girls at school, and she recalled that the “Blackfel‐ las stuck together” to fight the non-Aboriginal children. These long-standing and often decadesold negative experiences of the behaviour of non- Aboriginal residents continue to affect the atti‐ tudes of some in the Aboriginal community, who claim their distinct culture separates them from the non-Aboriginal residents. Case Studies of Interracial Relations The following case studies illustrate the life expe‐ riences of Aboriginal families that include non- Aboriginal members, focusing on the fluctuation of Indigeneity and whiteness. As Hartigan (1997: 184) indicated, the family located between indi‐ viduals and the society is the most significant set‐ ting where racial identity is formed and repro‐ duced. Whether a particular family incorporates an individual from another racial category plays a major role in determining how racial categories gain or lose significance in that family. Boundary Displacement from the Indigenous Side Colleen, born at Point McLeay Reserve in 1941, was a woman of Kaurna and Ngarrindjeri descent and part of the first generation who migrated from this Aboriginal reserve to Adelaide after World War II. She moved to Adelaide at age fourteen to receive secondary education. After graduating from secondary school, she remained in Adelaide, marrying an Aboriginal man from the West Coast7 7 This term refers to Eyre Peninsula, which is located approxi‐ mately 280 kilometres west of Adelaide. Colleen’s husband was classified as white by the authorities under the Aborigi‐ and having four children. Colleen became in‐ volved in various activities within the local Abo‐ riginal community. For example, around 1970, she became an Aboriginal Education Worker8 at a lo‐ cal primary school and initiated Aboriginal cultur‐ al classes, where she taught Aboriginal art and crafts to both non-Aboriginal and Aboriginal stu‐ dents. Despite this community engagement, Colleen’s everyday life was mired in poverty, especially af‐ ter she has separated from her husband, who had supported the family financially by working as a truck driver. She raised her children with the help of her relatives. Colleen’s oldest daughter ex‐ plained the “Aboriginal way” that she learned while growing up: It’s about lifestyle – the way of life in the home. You could see it in our cooking, in a sense. When we had nothing, you’ve got nothing. Mum would get a soup dish, and all of a sudden, in a minute we would have something cooking on a stove like a soup, you know. It was like a poor man’s meal at the time. But it was an Aboriginal way in a sense, because we weren’t any dif‐ ferent growing up than the Aboriginal people down the street; you know, they had nothing. It was like if you were rich at that time, you didn’t fit in. You had to be like a lower-class citizen of the whole society. That’s how I saw the Aboriginal people (Interview, September 5, 2008). However, this daughter recalled that some white residents in her neighbourhood were as poor as her family or even poorer. Colleen shared food not only with Aboriginal residents but also with those white children, many of whose parents had prob‐ lems with alcoholism. Although Colleen mostly identified herself as Nunga until the 1980 s, she later began to empha‐ sise her affiliation with regional groups, first as Kaurna and Ngarrindjeri and later as Indigenous in the mid-1990 s when she initiated the land rights movement in Port Adelaide. Colleen attempted to register 4.4 hectares of land, where her ancestors on her matrilineal side had once lived, as a Kaurna heritage site under the State Aboriginal Heritage nal Act because of his light skin. Nevertheless, he began to identify as Aboriginal after Indigenous people were granted the right to determine their own identity in the 1970 s. 8 An Aboriginal Education Worker assumes a role as a liaison between the school and Aboriginal families. For example, when an Aboriginal student is absent for a long period of time without any notice or when he or she causes troubles with other students, an Aboriginal Education Worker con‐ tacts or visits the student’s family to discuss the problems and mediates the interaction between teachers and parents. 120 Ritsuko Kurita Anthropos 115.2020 Act of 1988 (South Australia).9 She had also a vi‐ sion of establishing an Aboriginal elders’ village and an interpretive centre on the site so that local residents could learn about Kaurna culture. How‐ ever, Colleen’s request was rejected by the state government, both because of the uncertainty of the exact location where her ancestors had actually resided, and because a redevelopment plan was al‐ ready in progress in the area. Dissatisfied with this response by the govern‐ ment, Colleen and some of her relatives formed an association in the mid-1990 s, seeking to prove their ancestors’ connection to the land. Since she gained little support, apart from her close relatives and some Ngarrindjeri elders, because of divisions within the Indigenous community in Adelaide and suspicion of her claim to Kaurna descent among some Indigenous members,10 she turned to local non-Indigenous residents for assistance. Later, Colleen formed an action group composed of her family members, her non-Aboriginal friends, and local working-class citizens. The non-Aboriginal participants included people who knew her from her work at the local school and some whom she had helped while they were children. Colleen, as part of her effort to promote support for Indige‐ nous rights among local white residents, attempted to link the significance of the land rights move‐ ment to universal Western values such as peace, equity, and democracy. In a leaflet that she dis‐ tributed to local residents, for example, she de‐ scribed the movement as follows: This is a journey for peace where we as the Indigenous nation and as family strengthen our bonds of love and trust. This is also a journey of creation, of spirituality, culture, and languages; we pledge to protect our heri‐ tage, and this is the legacy that we leave for our children and the children of generations to come (“Mardawi Ki‐ awi Thangwilin yunti” – Sisters and Brothers Standing Together). 9 This legislation was passed by South Australia’s Parlia‐ ment in 1988 to protect Aboriginal heritage. Under the leg‐ islation, all Aboriginal sites, objects, and remains in South Australia that are of significance to Aboriginal tradition, archaeology, anthropology, and/or history are protected by making it a criminal offence for any person to damage Aboriginal sites or objects without authority. 10 Although her descent as Kaurna was proved by anthropolo‐ gists she was more likely to be seen as Ngarrindjerri rather than Kaurna in the local indigenous community, because she was also involved in the indigenous movement in Low‐ er Marry River as an Ngarrindjerri elder around the same time as when she initiated the land rights movement in Port Adelaide. Thus, some members were not comfortable with her claiming the right to the Kaurna heritage on behalf of the whole Kaurna people. Colleen believed white citizens would accept and endorse these values. By emphasising the move‐ ment was not only for Indigenous people but also for all Australian citizens fighting for justice, she used Western cultural values to assert her Indi‐ geneity and defend her claim to special rights as Indigenous. Colleen articulated concerns relevant to both In‐ digenous and white residents also. As indicated by the slogans that the action group produced in its protest against the redevelopment plan – including “No ghettos for the rich” and “Tokenism will not strengthen our community” –, she emphasised the shared experiences of poverty, social exclusion, and consequent suffering caused by a social situa‐ tion unique to Port Adelaide. Therefore, when her group members opposed redevelopment, they fought as residents of Port Adelaide, setting aside the racial boundaries between non-Aboriginal and Aboriginal status. Notably, some non-Aboriginal participants in the movement initially had negative views of Ab‐ original people. For example, a man in his thirties who became involved at a relative’s invitation pre‐ viously held unfavourable opinions regarding the sociality of local Indigenous residents. He de‐ scribed a nightclub where local residents usually gathered, saying the “Aboriginal people stuck to‐ gether by themselves and never interacted with other cultural groups.” This experience made it difficult for him to approach Aboriginal people in general. However, his attitude toward Aboriginal people changed after he met a woman who warm‐ ly welcomed him and made him feel that “she was like my grandmother.”11 Initially, Colleen presented her Aboriginality through active participation in the activities of Aboriginal organisations and by teaching Aborigi‐ nal culture in a school setting. Meanwhile, the ex‐ perience of poverty in her daily life overlapped with the experience of her white neighbours, giv‐ ing her the chance to establish relations with them by sharing food. Although the land rights move‐ ment that she initiated in the 1990 s had the origi‐ nal goal of asserting her indigeneity and claiming special rights as Indigenous, she expanded its pur‐ pose into an anti-redevelopment advocacy group and eventually a movement for justice by all local 11 The efforts by Colleen and the local residents did not lead to any revisions of the government’s plan and redevelop‐ ment was implemented. Two years after Colleen passed away, a small park commemorating the land’s Kaurna heri‐ tage was established in the middle of the apartments as re‐ sult of a government proposal. Displacing Indigeneity and Whiteness 121 Anthropos 115.2020 residents who shared the experience of poverty and exclusion. In this process, Colleen displaced the meaning of Indigeneity to incorporate local white individuals with whom she had built rela‐ tionships over many years, to strengthen her pos‐ ition in negotiations with the state government. Boundary Displacement from the White Side Although some members of Colleen’s family had non-Aboriginal partners, their social position within the extended family structure varied, as some were more fully accepted as family members than others. Andrew, the partner of Colleen’s granddaughter, was an example of acceptance. Born in 1982, Andrew came from a rural town in South Australia where racial division between Ab‐ original and non-Aboriginal people was promi‐ nent. His family ran a dairy farm and was one of the wealthiest families in the town. Andrew ex‐ plained that his parents worked most of the day and that he rarely spent time with them at home. Although he went to a public school where the majority of the students were white, he associated more with Aboriginal boys from another town than with white children. His somewhat rebellious behaviour caused him to associate with Aboriginal children who were also viewed as misbehaving in the town. Having spent most of his lifetime with Aboriginal people, he has experienced racism himself. For example, when he stayed in his par‐ ents’ caravan at a caravan park in the town and in‐ vited his Aboriginal friends to visit him, white people staying in the park complained about his actions and he was eventually kicked out of the park. Andrew was forced to leave school at year nine12 because of his behavioural problems and began working at a metal fabrication shop. When his parents purchased a restaurant in the Adelaide central business district, Andrew moved there too with his Aboriginal partner, Colleen’s grand‐ daughter, who had grown up in a rural town with her aunts and had met Andrew at the public school. After moving to Adelaide, Andrew rarely visited his parents, instead spending more time with his partner’s relatives in Port Adelaide. He participated actively not only in family events, such as birthday parties and funerals, but also in 12 In Australia, year 9 is usually the tenth year of compulsory education. Despite slight variations between the states, most children in year 9 are 14 or 15 years old. the mutual aid13 practised by family members on a daily basis, such as sharing daily goods or the bor‐ rowing and lending of small amounts of money. Andrew occasionally offered to lend or give mon‐ ey when someone in the family needed a large amount of money urgently or when money was short, although such offers were sometimes de‐ clined with the comment, “[W]e will look after ourselves.” When asked why he associated more with the Aboriginal family than with his own, Andrew ex‐ plained that he felt “excluded” from his own fami‐ ly because he had “chosen a different life,” which included his relationships with Aboriginal people. Comparing his family with his partner’s family, he said, “[a] Nunga family accepts anyone. My white family wouldn’t accept you if you are an Aborigi‐ nal.” His partner’s sister commented, “[T]here are some people who are Aboriginal but don’t want to acknowledge that they are Aboriginal. They want to be white. But Andrew is more black than such Aborigines” (Interview, November 23, 2009). Nevertheless, no matter how much time he spent with the Aboriginal family, Andrew never identified himself as Aboriginal and continued to view himself as white. He could not avoid realis‐ ing his whiteness when Aboriginal family mem‐ bers spoke of their people’s history, mentioning land deprivation by white settlers, which he com‐ mented, “I cannot do anything about that.” Fur‐ thermore, though he participated in the practice of mutual aid within the family, he occasionally faulted the practice stating, that “Aboriginal peo‐ ple will never be rich because all the relatives ask the richest member of the family for money.” Although Andrew has now separated from his partner, he still visits the family to see his chil‐ dren, his partner’s mother refers to him as “our son” and has maintained a relationship with him. However, the family did not adopt the same atti‐ tude toward other non-Andigenous members of the family. White partners who rarely visited and spent time with the family were not seen as a part of the family. Having grown up in a rural area where the boundary between white and Indigenous is promi‐ nent, Andrew associated with local Aboriginal res‐ idents as one of his compensatory strategies to make up for his lack of a sense of belonging to the 13 “Mutual aid” or “demand sharing,” practised among in‐ digenous people, was regarded as a significant element of the “Blackfella (Aboriginal) Way” by indigenous people in Adelaide, which differentiates them from non-indigenous people (Schwab 1991). 122 Ritsuko Kurita Anthropos 115.2020 white society, including his own family. He suc‐ ceeded in securing a temporal place in a Port Ade‐ laide community through his association with his partner’s family. Nevertheless, Andrew remained aware of the incommensurability between the cat‐ egories of “white” and “Indigenous,” which occa‐ sionally caused him to differentiate himself from Aboriginal residents. Even so, his partner’s family viewed his life experience as demonstrating his racial loyalty to the Indigenous side, which made it easier for him to be accepted in the family. This sense of community, characterised by racial loyal‐ ties and strong kin connections, differentiates poverty among Aboriginal people from severe ur‐ ban poverty (Cowlishaw 2004: 101–106). The family interpreted Andrew’s life in a way that suit‐ ed the ethic of their Aboriginality indicating that “although he is from a wealthy family, he grew up without knowing family affection.” Boundary Displacement from Both Sides As with Aboriginal people in rural New South Wales (Cowlishaw 2004: 101) poverty constituted Aboriginality in Colleen’s family. However, since Colleen’s generation, the experience of Aboriginal poverty has also been shared with white residents of the T district, the most impoverished area of Port Adelaide. Karen, another granddaughter of Colleen, was born to Aboriginal parents in this dis‐ trict in 1990. Since her father was in prison and her mother had an alcohol problem, she was raised by her aunts and grandparents, who lived in the same suburb. She caused problems at a local secondary school and was forced to leave at year ten.14 Karen then studied at an Aboriginal community college on a scholarship intended to help Indigenous students to acquire vocational skills. She reflected on her childhood in the T district as follows: “There is not much difference between Aboriginal and white families, because many people in this area have al‐ cohol and drug problems. Whether we are Aborigi‐ nal or white, our parents have the same problem” (Interview, November 23, 2009). Karen had several non-Aboriginal friends in ad‐ dition to her Aboriginal friends from the same dis‐ trict. Her closest white friend was Tina, who lives in the same neighbourhood. Tina was born to Irish and Spanish parents. Her father, who was a labourer at a railway station, passed away when 14 In Australia, year 10 is the eleventh year of compulsory education. Despite slight variations between the states, most children in year 10 range in age from 14 years to 16 years. she was a child. After that, Tina resided with her mother, who suffered from mental illness, and her two brothers. Comparing herself to other white Australians in the metropolitan area, she felt ashamed of her circumstances. For example, she explained, “I had to go shopping by myself far away from my house on hot summer days. Normal children wouldn’t do that.” After finishing sec‐ ondary school, Tina began working at a local hos‐ pital’s call centre while also caring for her mother. Karen and Tina’s relatives had known each oth‐ er before the two were born, and when Tina’s fa‐ ther passed away, Karen’s relatives attended his funeral. Tina had had some Aboriginal friends be‐ fore she met Karen, and one of her brothers had an Aboriginal girlfriend. Karen and Tina also had similar living situations, in that both resided in public rental housing (for Aboriginal and non- Aboriginal residents, respectively), and their mothers received a single parent pension. Despite Karen’s remark, that Aboriginal and white fami‐ lies in Port Adelaide had essentially the same lifestyles, there was one difference. Whereas Karen’s relatives resided in the same suburb, en‐ abling the family to turn to them for help if food or money was short, Tina’s family had to be selfreliant, because their relatives lived all over South Australia and rarely visited one another. Karen and Tina visited each other’s home on a daily basis and helped each other by sharing not only food and daily goods but also their experi‐ ences of growing up in a complex family environ‐ ment and in a lower-income area. For example, when Karen’s family became embroiled in intense internal conflicts, Tina and her family became her primary source of emotional support. Karen occa‐ sionally referred to Tina’s mother as “mom” when she was at Tina’s house. They were also acquaint‐ ed with each other’s family members. Karen’s rel‐ atives showed sympathy for Tina’s circumstances and offered help when she had difficulties. For ex‐ ample, when Tina could not afford to go to driving school, Karen’s sister offered to teach her how to drive. Karen called Tina’s family “my white fami‐ ly” and Tina reciprocated by referring to “my black family,” both thereby regarding each other’s families as an extension of their own. This emo‐ tional link was particularly apparent when Tina’s mother passed away in her fifties; Karen mourned her death as if her own mother had died. Growing up in an Aboriginal family and com‐ munity in Port Adelaide, Karen viewed her Abo‐ riginality as self-evident. However, in her every‐ day life she shared with non-Aboriginal residents a common experience of social exclusion through Displacing Indigeneity and Whiteness 123 Anthropos 115.2020 poverty and discrimination. There were many sim‐ ilarities between Karen and Tina’s life experi‐ ences: both grew up in fatherless households, the two families shared intergenerational associations, and the racial constitution of each family was het‐ erogeneous, making interaction between them more likely. Since Tina’s family could not obtain everyday support from relatives, Karen and her family expanded their mutual aid network to en‐ compass Tina. Meanwhile, Karen also fled to Tina’s family emotionally, seeking a place there as a friend and neighbour. In this way, both women displaced the traditional racial boundary to include each other, so as to enhance the convenience of their lives. When such displacement occurred, racial meanings became too heterogeneous to be reduced to one abstract racial order. Discussion In the absence of any clear consensus on the crite‐ ria for Indigeneity in the Adelaide Aboriginal community, the racial boundary between Abori‐ ginal and white has always fluctuated. Especially in Port Adelaide, where most whites are socioeco‐ nomically poor and gain no structural advantage from their whiteness, the boundary could easily become blurred. Therefore, Indigeneity was not regarded as a static category with a rigid range but as a fluid and flexible category in which people from the white category could be included for dai‐ ly convenience. For example, unlike some other Aboriginal leaders and activists, Colleen did not choose to claim her homogeneous, consistent Indigeneity when she became involved in the Aboriginal land rights movement, in which people’s distinct iden‐ tity as Indigenous is mobilised in negotiation with the state. Instead, she involved white residents and their acquaintances with whom she had already built relationships in everyday practice, incorpo‐ rating them into the “Indigenous” category to help her achieve her goal. Thanks to the activities of a resident who shared the same living space and ex‐ perience with whites and who had gained whites’ trust through face-to-face interaction over many years in everyday practice, a temporal displace‐ ment of the racial boundary between “white” and “Indigenous” took place. Here one can see her strategy, derived from the art with everyday knowledge, of selecting from a stock of plural cat‐ egories such as “Kaurna,” “Aboriginal,” or “resi‐ dents of Port Adelaide” depending on the situation or purpose. Meanwhile, although Andrew was originally from a white family who strongly affirmed their whiteness, his own whiteness was displaced even‐ tually because he chose “a different way” from that of his relatives. Alienation from his white family and ambiguity about his whiteness led him to find his place in the Aboriginal family with whom he became connected in Port Adelaide. Through this association, he participated actively in family events and in the daily practice of mutu‐ al aid. This attitude was perceived by an Aborigin‐ al family member as displaying racial loyalty to‐ ward Aboriginal people at the expense of his own, as reflected in the remark that “he is more black than other Aboriginal people.” However, for him the racial categories of white and Indigenous re‐ mained, even though he temporarily displaced the boundary between them and incorporated himself within the “Indigenous” category to avoid alien‐ ation from the local community. We can deduce that in Andrew’s case, an ongoing relationship with the Aboriginal family to whom he was con‐ nected enabled this reorganisation of the racial boundary. By sharing the experience of poverty and the various hardships that accompany it, and by en‐ gaging in everyday practices of mutual aid, Karen and Tina sought to overcome difficulties and sur‐ vive in their poor community, applying the sense of caring and sharing widely practised within Aboriginal families. Although Tina and her family did not enjoy the privileges of whiteness like most white residents in the metropolitan area, and al‐ though she shared a living space with Aboriginal residents, the boundary between white and black did not disappear completely, as seen in the des‐ cription of each other’s family as “my white fami‐ ly” and “my black family.” However, this bound‐ ary was occasionally displaced by the extension of the circle of mutual aid by Karen’s family toward Tina or vice versa. They modified the boundary by creating categories such as “friend” and “resident of the T district.” The common factors that led to ethnic boundary displacement in these cases are the experiences of deprivation and resulting suffering. Because of their underprivileged social status, the subjects were compelled to help one another to overcome the difficulties they faced in their daily lives. The practice of mutual aid emerged in various forms, ranging from “caring and sharing” to solidarity in resisting power and authority in a political con‐ text. Referring to mutual aid, both Indigenous and non-Indigenous subjects reorganised the formulaic racial categories by expanding their kin network to 124 Ritsuko Kurita Anthropos 115.2020 the other group, as can be seen in quasi-kinship terms such as “our son,” “my black family,” and “my white family,” or by creating new categories including “residents of Port Adelaide,” “friend,” and “neighbour,” because it was more convenient for them to rely on these categories than to adhere to the existing racial categories. Such reorganisa‐ tion of racial categories was enabled by the accu‐ mulation of relationships among residents of Port Adelaide over many years. Through frequent faceto-face interaction, new, complex relations can be formed that prevent subjects from simply cate‐ gorising others according to their racial group. Furthermore, the perspective of “convenience of life” and “everyday practice” allows us to recognise ethnic boundary displacement occurs not only on the Indigenous side but also on the white side. Although whiteness is viewed as hav‐ ing the power to exclude certain groups to protect the privilege of other groups, in this case study whiteness did not function in an exclusionary manner since the non-Indigenous people were al‐ ready deprived of the privileges usually associated with being white. Instead, whiteness was set aside as whites incorporated themselves into the “In‐ digenous” category as a life strategy to survive in a poor area. Although the distinction between In‐ digeneity and whiteness remained to some extent, both Indigenous and non-Indigenous members lived along a spectrum between Indigeneity and whiteness, which constantly can be displaced to either side depending on the situation and the ac‐ tors’ purposes. Conclusion We can conclude from this case study that the dis‐ placement of the boundary between Indigenous and white occurred among both groups in their ev‐ eryday practice. Intergenerational relationships built over many years caused members of both groups to make sense of others as residents of a particular area and as friends. Moreover, Colleen’s family has reproduced heterogeneous racial cat‐ egories over generations, in a setting where racial categories occasionally lost their significance. In‐ heriting Colleen’s art with everyday knowledge, Indigeneity as expressed in her family could flexi‐ bly expand or narrow its range in everyday inter‐ actions with other people and, thus, its meaning and range changed in accordance with the context. At the same time, the range of whiteness was not fixed but always fluctuated, becoming entangled with the ambiguity of Indigeneity. Therefore, whiteness does not always have the power to in‐ clude and exclude others; rather, both, Indigeneity and whiteness, can gain such power through the establishment of continual relationships in every‐ day practice. A convenient art based on everyday knowledge, as proposed by Matsuda (2009), can be considered a practice used to survive in a particular communi‐ ty based on social bonds and proximity. The stock of plural categories such as “Indigenous,” “my white family,” and “residents of Port Adelaide” mobilised by the family members was not based on an essentialist and homogeneous identity such as Indigeneity or whiteness. Instead, it is derived from what Oda (2008: 299 f.) called an “authentic society,” or a society based on the face-to-face re‐ lations between residents. According to Oda, a co‐ hesion formed in an authentic society is not fixed with an explicit boundary but has proximity on a case-by-case basis. Furthermore, the members are always considered as specific individuals who cannot be reduced to attributes such as class and gender. Reorganisation of the racial boundary and the creation of a new category can overcome the conventional dualism of Indigeneity and white‐ ness. This study shows the significance of paying attention to the subtle ways in which such a dis‐ placement occurs in everyday practice to grasp the diverse and dynamic aspects of Indigeneity and whiteness. I thank Prof. Sachiko Kubota (Kobe University) and Prof. Hiroshi Nunokawa (Hiroshima Universi‐ ty) who provided insight for the research, and I thank Enago ( for the English lan‐ guage review. I would also like to show my grati‐ tude to informants who cooperated with this re‐ search. – I have no conflicts of interest to declare. – This research was supported by the Japan Soci‐ ety for the Promotion of Science for Young Scien‐ tists (2008–2009) and the Australia-Japan Founda‐ tion (2009). All relevant data are within the arti‐ cle. References Cited Amery, Rob Warrabarna Kaurna! Reclaiming an Australian Lan‐ guage. Lisse: Swets & Zeitlinger. [20.09.2019] Australian Bureau of Statistics 2075.0 – Census of Population and Housing – Counts of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Australians. Canberra: Australian Bureau of Statistics. [24.02.2018] 2000 2011 Displacing Indigeneity and Whiteness 125 Anthropos 115.2020 Certeau, Michel de The Practice of Everyday Life. Berkeley: University of California Press. Cowlishaw, Gillian Blackfellas, Whitefellas and the Hidden Injuries of Race. Malden: Blackwell. Frankenberg, Ruth Introduction. Points of Origin, Points of Departure. In: R. Frankenberg (ed.), White Women, Race Matters. The Social Construction of Whiteness; pp. 1–22. Minneapo‐ lis: University of Minnesota Press. Introduction. Local Whitenesses, Localizing Whiteness. In: R. Frankenberg (ed.), Displacing Whiteness. Essays in Social and Cultural Criticism; pp. 1–34. Durham: Duke University Press. Greenop, Kelly, and Paul Memmott Aboriginal Identity and Place in the Intercultural Set‐ tings of Metropolitan Australia. In: E. Peters and C. Andersen (eds.), Indigenous in the City. Contemporary Identities and Cultural Innovation; pp. 256–281. Van‐ couver: UBC Press. Hartigan, John Jr. Locating White Detroit. In: R. Frankenberg (ed.), Dis‐ placing Whiteness. Essays in Social and Cultural Criti‐ cism; pp. 180–213. Durham: Duke University Press. Inglis, Judy Aborigines in Adelaide. The Journal of the Polynesian Society 70/2: 200–218. Jones, Delmos J., and Jacquetta Hill-Burnett The Political Context of Ethnogenesis. An Australian Example. In: M. C. Howard (ed.), Aboriginal Power in Australian Society; pp. 214–246. St. Lucia: University of Queensland Press. Keeffe, Kevin Aboriginality. Resistance and Persistence. Australian Aboriginal Studies 1: 67–81. Kuper, Adam The Return of the Native. Current Anthropology 44/3: 389–395, 400–402. Matsuda, Mmotoji Declaration of Everyday Anthropology. To/From Deep Layer of Everyday Life. Kyoto: Sekaishisosha. 1984 2004 1993 1997 2013 1997 1961 1982 1988 2003 2009 Merlan, Francesca Indigeneity. Global and Local. Current Anthropology 50/3: 303–320, 327–333. Moreton-Robinson, Aileen I Still Call Australia Home: Indigenous Belonging and Place in a White Postcolonizing Society. In: S. Ahmed, C. Castañeda, A.-M. Fortier, and M. Sheller (eds.), Up‐ rootings/Regroundings. Questions of Home and Migra‐ tion; pp. 23–40. Oxford: Berg. Oda, Makoto On “Criteria of Authenticity.” Shiso 1016: 297–316. Omura, Keiichi Comment (on Kuper 2003). Current Anthropology 44/3: 395–396. Paradies, Yin C. Beyond Black and White. Essentialism, Hybridity, and Indigeneity. Journal of Sociology 42/4: 355–367. [20.09.2019] Peters, Evelyn, and Chris Andersen Introduction. In: E. Peters and C. Andersen (eds.), In‐ digenous in the City. Contemporary Identities and Cul‐ tural Innovation; pp. 1–21. Vancouver: UBC Press. Pierson, James C. Aboriginality in Adelaide. Urban Context of Australian Aboriginal Ethnicity. Urban Anthropology 6/4: 307– 327. Schwab, Robert G. Ambiguity, Style, and Kinship in Adelaide Aboriginal Identity. In: I. D. Keen (ed.), Being Black. Aboriginal Cultures in “Settled” Australia; pp. 77–95. Canberra: Aboriginal Studies Press. The “BlackfellaWay.” Ideology and Practice in an Ur‐ ban Aboriginal Community. Canberra. [Ph.D. Thesis, Australian National University] Yamanouchi, Yuriko Kinship, Organisations, and “wannabes.” Aboriginal Identity Negotiation in South-Western Sydney. Oceania 80: 216–228. Introduction. Redefining “Indigeneity.” Japanese Journal of Cultural Anthropology 79/2: 95–103. [Spe‐ cial Theme: Indigeneity in Daily Life. Redefining “In‐ digeneity”] 2009 2003 2008 2003 2006 2013 1977 1988 1991 2010 2014 126 Ritsuko Kurita Anthropos 115.2020


This article re-examines complexities of Indigeneity in relation to whiteness, focusing on how residents of northwestern Adelaide manipulated the Indigenous-white boundary. Existing racial categories were displaced on both sides, while retaining the boundary. The concept “Indigeneity” was expanded or narrowed in accordance with the context while the range of whiteness fluctuated, thereby becoming entangled with the fluidity of Indigeneity. Displacement or reorganisation of the boundary was enabled by intergenerational face-to-face relationships among residents who experienced social exclusion. Thus, Indigeneity could be derived from a cohesion not premised on an essentialised identity and could overcome the conventional dualism: “Indigeneity” - “whiteness.”

Amery, Rob
2000 Warrabarna Kaurna! Reclaiming an Australian Language. Lisse: Swets & Zeitlinger. <> [20.09.2019]
Australian Bureau of Statistics
2011 2075.0 – Census of Population and Housing – Counts of Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander Australians. Canberra: Australian Bureau of Statistics. <> [24.02.2018]
Certeau, Michel de
1984 The Practice of Everyday Life. Berkeley: University of California Press.
Cowlishaw, Gillian
2004 Blackfellas, Whitefellas and the Hidden Injuries of Race. Malden: Blackwell.
Frankenberg, Ruth
1993 Introduction. Points of Origin, Points of Departure. In: R. Frankenberg (ed.), White Women, Race Matters. The Social Construction of Whiteness; pp. 1–22. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press.
1997 Introduction. Local Whitenesses, Localizing Whiteness. In: R. Franken-berg (ed.), Displacing Whiteness. Essays in Social and Cultural Criticism; pp. 1–34. Durham: Duke University Press.
Greenop, Kelly, and Paul Memmott
2013 Aboriginal Identity and Place in the Intercultural Settings of Metropoli-tan Australia. In: E. Peters and C. Andersen (eds.), Indigenous in the City. Con-temporary Identities and Cultural Innovation; pp. 256–281. Vancouver: UBC Press.
Hartigan, John Jr.
1997 Locating White Detroit. In: R. Frankenberg (ed.), Displacing Whiteness. Essays in Social and Cultural Criticism; pp. 180–213. Durham: Duke University Press.
Inglis, Judy
1961 Aborigines in Adelaide. The Journal of the Polynesian Society 70/2: 200–218.
Jones, Delmos J., and Jacquetta Hill-Burnett
1982 The Political Context of Ethnogenesis. An Australian Example. In: M. C. Howard (ed.), Aboriginal Power in Australian Society; pp. 214–246. St. Lucia: University of Queensland Press.
Keeffe, Kevin
1988 Aboriginality. Resistance and Persistence. Australian Aboriginal Studies 1: 67–81.
Kuper, Adam
2003 The Return of the Native. Current Anthropology 44/3: 389–395, 400–402.
Matsuda, Mmotoji
2009 Declaration of Everyday Anthropology. To/From Deep Layer of Everyday Life. Kyoto: Sekaishisosha.
Merlan, Francesca
2009 Indigeneity. Global and Local. Current Anthropology 50/3: 303–320, 327–333.
Moreton-Robinson, Aileen
2003 I Still Call Australia Home: Indigenous Belonging and Place in a White Postcolonizing Society. In: S. Ahmed, C. Castañeda, A.-M. Fortier, and M. Sheller (eds.), Uprootings/Regroundings. Questions of Home and Migration; pp. 23–40. Oxford: Berg.
Oda, Makoto
2008 On “Criteria of Authenticity.” Shiso 1016: 297–316.
Omura, Keiichi
2003 Comment (on Kuper 2003). Current Anthropology 44/3: 395–396.
Paradies, Yin C.
2006 Beyond Black and White. Essentialism, Hybridity, and Indigeneity. Journal of Sociology 42/4: 355–367. <> [20.09.2019]
Peters, Evelyn, and Chris Andersen
2013 Introduction. In: E. Peters and C. Andersen (eds.), Indigenous in the City. Contemporary Identities and Cultural Innovation; pp. 1–21. Vancouver: UBC Press.
Pierson, James C.
1977 Aboriginality in Adelaide. Urban Context of Australian Aboriginal Eth-nicity. Urban Anthropology 6/4: 307–327.
Schwab, Robert G.
1988 Ambiguity, Style, and Kinship in Adelaide Aboriginal Identity. In: I. D. Keen (ed.), Being Black. Aboriginal Cultures in “Settled” Australia; pp. 77–95. Canberra: Aboriginal Studies Press.
1991 The “BlackfellaWay.” Ideology and Practice in an Urban Aboriginal Community. Canberra. [Ph.D. Thesis, Australian National University]
Yamanouchi, Yuriko
2010 Kinship, Organisations, and “wannabes.” Aboriginal Identity Negotiation in South-Western Sydney. Oceania 80: 216–228.
2014 Introduction. Redefining “Indigeneity.” Japanese Journal of Cultural An-thropology 79/2: 95–103. [Special Theme: Indigeneity in Daily Life. Redefining “Indigeneity”]


Anthropos is the international journal of anthropology and linguistics, founded in 1906 by Wilhelm Schmidt, missonary and member of the Society of the Divine Word (SVD). Its main purpose is the study of human societies in their cultural dimension. In honor of Wilhelm Schmidt‘s legacy, the cultivation of anthropology, ethnology, linguistics, and religious studies remain an essential component oft he Anthropos Institute – the organizational carrier of the journal.


Anthropos - internationale Zeitschrift für Völkerkunde wird vom Anthropos Institut St. Augustin seit 1906 zweimal jährlich herausgegeben. Ursprünglich als Sprachrohr für katholische Missionarsarbeit geplant, gilt sie heute als wichtige Fachzeitschrift der allgemeinen Ethnologie. Sie behandelt sowohl kulturelle als auch sprachliche Themen in mehreren Sprachen, mit Schwerpunkt auf den Völkern des gesamtamerikanischen und afrikanischen Kontinents.