a
fale
) had no walls. Except in bad weather, when they lowered blinds, the occupants were completely exposed to publicview. This, according to anthropologist Bradd Shore, helped keep everyone in line. One woman told Shore, “People want to know what happens inside a house. Many Samoans feel that if your house is all closed up, then you’ll do secret things inside that others cannot see.” 17 Another said that in a walled house (called a
pãlagi
), a structure that aroused suspicion, “you cannot see the kind of behaviors that go on inside. If people do bad things you cannot see them.” 18
Here one begins to see tensions between two quests, one for the nutritional and other resources that are needed to sustain individuals, the other for interpersonal feelings that are necessary for group solidarity. Aroused by these tensions, eavesdropping flourishes at the boundary between individuals and their societies.
The Mehinacu
The Mehinacu Indians of central Brazil, who were mentioned in the first chapter, are the most interesting for our purposes, for they offer insights into a tribal group’s extraordinary need for transparency and a rare glimpse of its equally unusual need for periods of relief.
In 1967 Thomas Gregor studied a small Mehinacu tribe living along the headwaters of the Xingú River. It is clear from his report that Mehinacu life was built to accommodate the senses. Each of the five huts in the village housed a family of about ten or twelve. The dwellings were oval in shape, with hammocks in the ends and an open area in the center. There were no internal walls. These thatched domiciles were situated around an open circular plaza. Anyone crossing the plaza was seen by one or more villagers. Some of the watchers merely sat in the doorway of a hut; others peered out of openings in order to keep an eye on local activities.
When the Mehinacu were not immediately visible, which was rare, their activities could be inferred from various clues, which were eagerly sought by their curious fellow villagers. We sawearlier that they were quick to notice the telltale prints of butts and heels on the sandy paths around the village, but the Mehinacu also recognized each other from their footprints. When asked by Gregor, several tribesmen drew each other’s footprints from memory, doing so with sufficient accuracy that other villagers could use them to make a positive identification. 19 Such clues enabled the Mehinacu to reconstruct not only the activities of others, but also their intentions—what they were “up to.”
Many of the Mehinacu activities that could not be seen were audible. The thatch walls of the huts did little to keep conversations inside. When a person speaks, wrote Gregor, “there is a chance that a third person is listening, and that in a short time everyone else will know what he said. Even the most intimate details of his sex life often become a matter of public knowledge.” Incidentally, this feature of Mehinacu dwellings—the ability to overhear sensitive conversations—is the single most important complaint about open-plan offices, 20 but the Mehinacu considered it a benefit.
Exhibit 11 The chief’s foot, as drawn by one of the villagers
Benefits of open-plan living
A naive visitor might think that the collage of personal sights and sounds in these tiny villages was the result of shoddy construction materials or primitive building techniques—the best that wild humans could come up with, having little or nothing to rely on but bamboo and grass. But it was not what these tribes
didn’t know
that accounted for their transparency. It is what they
did know
. The under-building of huts and the openness of encampments were
intended
, and the benefits they offered were of critical significance.
What does it mean to be fully exposed? What does the choice to live a transparent life give those who choose it? From a psychological standpoint, we may suppose that complete access to the lives of others
fale
) had no walls. Except in bad weather, when they lowered blinds, the occupants were completely exposed to publicview. This, according to anthropologist Bradd Shore, helped keep everyone in line. One woman told Shore, “People want to know what happens inside a house. Many Samoans feel that if your house is all closed up, then you’ll do secret things inside that others cannot see.” 17 Another said that in a walled house (called a
pãlagi
), a structure that aroused suspicion, “you cannot see the kind of behaviors that go on inside. If people do bad things you cannot see them.” 18
Here one begins to see tensions between two quests, one for the nutritional and other resources that are needed to sustain individuals, the other for interpersonal feelings that are necessary for group solidarity. Aroused by these tensions, eavesdropping flourishes at the boundary between individuals and their societies.
The Mehinacu
The Mehinacu Indians of central Brazil, who were mentioned in the first chapter, are the most interesting for our purposes, for they offer insights into a tribal group’s extraordinary need for transparency and a rare glimpse of its equally unusual need for periods of relief.
In 1967 Thomas Gregor studied a small Mehinacu tribe living along the headwaters of the Xingú River. It is clear from his report that Mehinacu life was built to accommodate the senses. Each of the five huts in the village housed a family of about ten or twelve. The dwellings were oval in shape, with hammocks in the ends and an open area in the center. There were no internal walls. These thatched domiciles were situated around an open circular plaza. Anyone crossing the plaza was seen by one or more villagers. Some of the watchers merely sat in the doorway of a hut; others peered out of openings in order to keep an eye on local activities.
When the Mehinacu were not immediately visible, which was rare, their activities could be inferred from various clues, which were eagerly sought by their curious fellow villagers. We sawearlier that they were quick to notice the telltale prints of butts and heels on the sandy paths around the village, but the Mehinacu also recognized each other from their footprints. When asked by Gregor, several tribesmen drew each other’s footprints from memory, doing so with sufficient accuracy that other villagers could use them to make a positive identification. 19 Such clues enabled the Mehinacu to reconstruct not only the activities of others, but also their intentions—what they were “up to.”
Many of the Mehinacu activities that could not be seen were audible. The thatch walls of the huts did little to keep conversations inside. When a person speaks, wrote Gregor, “there is a chance that a third person is listening, and that in a short time everyone else will know what he said. Even the most intimate details of his sex life often become a matter of public knowledge.” Incidentally, this feature of Mehinacu dwellings—the ability to overhear sensitive conversations—is the single most important complaint about open-plan offices, 20 but the Mehinacu considered it a benefit.
Exhibit 11 The chief’s foot, as drawn by one of the villagers
Benefits of open-plan living
A naive visitor might think that the collage of personal sights and sounds in these tiny villages was the result of shoddy construction materials or primitive building techniques—the best that wild humans could come up with, having little or nothing to rely on but bamboo and grass. But it was not what these tribes
didn’t know
that accounted for their transparency. It is what they
did know
. The under-building of huts and the openness of encampments were
intended
, and the benefits they offered were of critical significance.
What does it mean to be fully exposed? What does the choice to live a transparent life give those who choose it? From a psychological standpoint, we may suppose that complete access to the lives of others
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