Most adults generally have from twelve to twenty-four !hxaro partners from both sexes and all ages, including relatives and friends from other groups up to several hundred kilometers away. In one study among the Ju/twasi San in the 1980s, more than two-thirds of all the possessions in various bands were obtained in this fashion, while the remaining third were either bought or made by the owner and destined to be given away. The gift is not necessarily sex or status related, nor always valued for its usefulness. Women can give and receive hunting arrows, as men can give and receive a woman’s apron. As gifts circulate, they are often repaired, remade, embellished, or marked in some way to personalize the next giving. Store-bought woolen caps might be unraveled and reknitted in different patterns many times as they circulate. Considerable time and effort can be spent on making some of the gifts; elaborate beadwork may take several days of systematic labor. There seems to be little concern over intrinsic value. The nature of the gift is more a function of the resources and ability of the giver and the consideration, time, and effort put into the making.
The making of gifts itself is intensely social. This is not wage labor, nor does it require time away from family and friends. Rather, it is conducted at a leisurely pace in company, with all the usual talking, joking, and storytelling that mark the sociability of Bushman life. Gifts belong to the receiver, but they are generally held by one person for a few months, but no more than two years, before being passed on to some other partner. It is important that the return gift be delayed. If it was reciprocated immediately, this might imply unwillingness to sustain the !hxaro bond.
In a competitive market economy like our own, relationships can often become a means to enhance one’s own material wealth. !Hxaro inverts this by understanding wealth as a resource to develop the symmetrical bonds of friendship. It is for this reason that Marshall Sahlins argues (in the spirit of E.F. Schumacher’s “Buddhist economics”) that we could regard hunter-gatherers like the San, under reasonable conditions, as “the original affluent society.” But theirs is a “Zen affluence” that minimizes material demands and creates a wealth of time and energy to serve a life rich in relationships and mutual care.
The contrast with our own economy of competitive avarice is stark, as is the contrast with our society’s pathological material excess. There are tantalizing signs, however, that a primal ethic resembling !hxaro is reemerging in the West. There is a rise in grassroots networks based on caring and sharing. These range from more formal co-ops to informal bartering networks, where
relationships are given weight as “social capital” and “time dollars,” allowing socially useful labor to be exchanged. There are also early signs of a fundamental shift in food production, away from distant oil-intensive factory farms to local small-scale organic gardens. Collectively, such strategies and institutions can help buffer individuals from global market forces, while personalizing economies and helping rebuild face-to-face communities based on trust and reciprocity.
Direct Democracy — “Everyone a Chief”
From the point of view of market-based economies, we tend to assume that a culture of caring and sharing would crush individuality. The opposite seems to be true among the San. The individual stands out sharply in band life — each is a “big frog in a very small pond,” as anthropologist Guenther puts it. Lorna Marshall described how people sit closely together, often touching, ankles interlocked, chatting endlessly, but this doesn’t stop the same individuals from being assertive, argumentative, and fiercely self-interested. Sharing and reciprocity seem to be the first law of Bushman existence, but Marshall also noticed the paradox of an atmosphere of “jealous watchfulness,” especially when a kill is being shared. Accusations of unfairness can lead to arguments suddenly flaring up. She went so far as to note that altruism, kindness, sympathy, and generosity are not conspicuously displayed. It’s considered bad manners for someone to say, “Look at how generous I am!”
Perhaps this is because the values of reciprocity, caring, and sharing are so fundamental and so taken for granted that distribution is fine-tuned by the individual expressing need loudly without embarrassment. Guenther notes, as with so many other aspects of Bushman life, we find ourselves affirming one value only to qualify it by affirming the opposite. How does this work?
Part of the answer lies in different notions of individualism. In the West we have an individualism of competition leading to division of labor, specialization, and hierarchies of wealth and power. Bushmen have an individualism of voluntary cooperation leading to an egalitarian democracy that promotes universal access to the full range of humanizing experience — cultivation of the whole person. The Bushman formula is rooted in the economy of hunting and foraging, which provides the most unshakable economic foundation of any society for individual self-sufficiency. Since the division of labor is minimal, virtually all individuals have the basic knowledge, ability, and resources to live directly off the land, gather food, make clothing, and build shelter. Children grow up with a deeply rooted sense of security, surrounded by a caring community and in direct contact with a wilderness environment that supplies everything needed. Because of this independence and security, friendships and marriage, while taken seriously, are free from dire economic sanctions and don’t require absolutely binding long-term commitments and dependencies. People feel free and secure enough to speak their minds, often with a directness that is disconcerting to outsiders. Very little energy is spent constructing and maintaining a persona, the carefully cultivated self-image that seems so essential to success in competitive economies.
Childhood is a time of exceptional freedom, spontaneity, and self-indulgence. During the day, groups of children play freely around the huts and roam the surrounding veldt enjoying whatever adventures they please. Since all ages tend to play together, competitiveness is tempered with cooperation. Performance is less a matter of comparison with others than a kind of internal self-evaluation, a process that strengthens self-direction and autonomy. Modern Western parents are reluctant to let young children play alone in public. How would they feel at the thought of their children wandering around a wilderness populated by poisonous snakes, lions, leopards, and other large animals? But if we reflect we should realize it is rather our crowded cities and towns — with their traffic, pollution, toxic waste, and human predators — that pose the greater threat to the health of children. For example the traditional Lakota author Standing Bear write of his childhood spent following the bison herds of the Great Plains: “There were not the dangers that seem to surround childhood of today. I can recall days — entire days — when we roamed over the plains, hills, and up and down streams without fear of anything. I do not remember ever hearing of an Indian child being hurt or eaten by a wild animal.”
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