V» I 10 kJ L%^ S »3 Learning to Consume: What is Heritage and When is it Traditional? Nelson H. H. Graburn The aim of this chapter is to take some fundamental concepts in the theme of this volume - heritage, tradition, and consumption - and to relate them to one another in a synthetic model. The concept of heritage requires a sense of ownership, and the consumption of heritage requires a sense of permission. The examination of heritage in relation to 'tradition' as both 'own' and 'owned' makes necessary the consideration of inter-generational cultural continuity, as well as the conception of 'others" and 'alterity'. This essay is therefore about what Foucault might have called the 'genealogy of heritage', but one which focuses on the more restricted but still important sense of the personal acquisition of this set of concepts - their ontogeny rather than their philogeny, which would be the political sense of the historical development and construction of the concept of heritage.1 It is my claim that one can better understand more accessible adult categories and feelings toward heritage and the built environment by examining their underpinnings and temporal predecessors in earlier life stages. Using this model, I examine these concepts from the specifically personal and developmental point of view.2 And I avoid the more commonly discussed matters of political and class interest in heritage, contested exploitation of the past, cultural and nostalgic social uses of the past, and the political geography of space and the past.3 These approaches to the macro-level relate to the above-mentioned philogeny of concepts of heritage and the past, the work of Bazin and Lanfant.4 Furthermore, much as today's anthropology goes beyond poststructural, postmodern and critical theory to focus on the more subjective, experiential, and personal narrative.5 So in this chapter I turn to the examination of the micro-level, the individual level of the personal story of 68 Learning to Consume heritage and tradition. Though political, economic and macro-structural forces shape the cultural categories and social institutions which envelop the developing person, and these are also responsible for the physical, built environment, one must also look at the 'prepoliticaľ world of the child in which these adult concepts are comprehended, internalized, and eventually 'consumed.'6 Kiribňip, räiniiy ôľm i i8níäy«= 1, therefore, use the metaphor of kinship as a model of the relationship between the past and present, alliance and descent, inheritance and appropriation. Most anthropologists and sociologists are familiar with the use of this model and with the intellectual debates which it has generated. Kinship, per se, is also deemed cross-culturally to lie at the core of the relationships between the past and present, identity and alterity. In fact, all human beings are raised initially within a kin framework.7 Although other social frames may be added later, there is some validity to the claim that all relationships are based on paradigms that are an expansion of the original social paradigm of identity, that of kinship." The metaphorical use of kinship as both folk and analytical model for other genres of cultural structure and wider sets of social relationships is of long standing in the empirical world, as well as within anthropological theory." All students of tradition and the built environment are concerned with models of cultural transmission over time, whether the time is measured in centuries, generations, or tourist seasons. What is transmitted over time can be variously called inheritance, heritage, patrimony (for male-centred societies), tradition, birthright, etc. (see below for concepts in languages other than English). The nature of what is transmitted and what lasts over time is too often narrowly construed as something physical -such as built environment, properties, goods, heirlooms, money, etc. Of course, what is really transmitted is knowledge of and/or rights over those material things and, equally importantly, rights over non-material things such as memories, names, associations, stories, privileges, family traditions, memberships, and so on. Indeed, the concept of the 'built environment' itself, whether structures or lands, can be examined and elaborated: from a cultural constructivist point of view all environments are 'built' in the sense that their perceived forms and, of course, their meanings are constructed entirely by the culturally productive activities of the local people.10 Thus, one might say there is no such thing as Fujisan (Mount Fuji) without Japanese people, nor the Cote d'Azure without the French. Later in this chapter I will show that by taking a developmental, child's-eye approach, one is directed to look at a multi-sensory apprehension of the environment, rather than a narrow cognitive, categorical and ocular gaze. 69 Consuming Tradition, Manufacturing Heritage Following the American sociologist Bernard Färber, I have previously used the concept of 'symbolic estate' in my analyses of cultural transmission both within and across cultural (and subcultural, such as ethnic) divisions." Of course, in considering inheritance or heritage, one takes the larger meaning of all that one acquires from one's family or identity-group, not only at death, but, especially, during one's whole lifetime. Thus, one must consider heritage to have a meaning and range rAinndriiKIp rn what Priwiirrl Tvlnr railed Vulture' in his classic anthropological definition.12 The relationship between personal kinship and community heritage has not been unexplored. Indeed, one might expect such an obvious link to be primary in the social sciences. For instance, in their four-volume work From Family Tree to Family History, Finnegan and Drake, rather than examining the problematics of this link, assumed its existence and used it as a discovery procedure in examining the ethnography of ethnicity by following personal family trees back until they coincided with the generalities of ethnic history." More to the point, Claude-Marie Bazin has explored how the French concept of patrimoine (usually translated as 'heritage' in English) has in the past several decades devolved from the personal legal realm of kinship inheritance to the national or even wider cultural realms of heritage.14 This chapter examines the fruitfulness of an analysis, following the metaphor of kinship, which has two key features. First, it concerns the cultural inheritance of a symbolic estate (a set of myths, rights, ownerships, stories and persona) that can be called patrimony (at least in a patrilineal society) - that is, the acquisition throughout one's life of an estate, material and non-material, believed to be one's own by right, by descent, by expectation (that is, by virtue of one's membership in a group with which one identifies and into which one usually enters by birth). Second, it explores how the very common (and perhaps touristic or imperialistic) acquisition and use of the symbolic estates from nearby sources other than birthright and descent (that is, from some nearby 'other') may be likened (in a kinship model) to matrimony - that is, the joining of one familiar or family group to another, whose otherness is defined by the incest taboo or rules of exogamy. More specifically, the parallel is with a man and his family acquiring a supplementary estate at marriage, usually called dowry (or for a woman's family, the bridewealth). Thus, one may create a the metaphorical model of the acquisition of rights, ownerships and permissions - either from outside the 'symbolic family' or from prior generations within the family (that is, by 'alliance or descent"5) if one equates the national or world system with familial terms. Class and ethnic identities, like kinship and family, are also forms of identity and 'belonging' with respect to their own and others' heritage, and they are amenable to similar analyses. 70 Learning to Consume Nostalgia is the ever-unsatisfied yearning to be able to return to a past time - to live and be engaged creatively in that past time, rather than just to inherit it as the 'received truth.' In the familial model, if 'the child is father of the man', nostalgia may be an 'Oedipaľ desire, a wish to return to a prior state of creative power, to assume the position of the parent or ancestor for whom one's heritage from the past was their own life. Just as a child has to be taught what families are and who his/her family ic and is not. manvauthors refer to the fact that all heritage is 'constructed', a cultural model constantly refined by someone (powers that be, educators, or 'cultural producers' in MacCannell's terms16) and transmitted to members or segments of a population. One set of questions is about what agency or agencies socialize people into unproblematically claiming, knowing and visiting their 'own heritage', and what agencies strive to modify or add to the heritage that one is brought up to believe in (and for what purposes); or, alternatively, what agencies chose what artefacts be used, refurbished or created as lieu de memoire of heritage,17 and how some peoples or agencies exercise resistance against their own group's heritage being appropriated by the larger hegemonic society. Heritage, in this sense of a material and symbolic estate, is a large part of identity. Thus defined, heritage may pertain to so-called primordial groups, such as the family, clan, ethnic group, race, and nation or - for some people - all humanity, or even all living creatures. Cross-cutting these primordial categories are others which appear equally primordial to some people, for example, gender, place, space, or even generation. Not only does heritage give a concrete sense of shared identity or belonging, but it also demands responsibility (for preservation, respect, and safety) in the use or enhancement of each of these heritage-identity forms. These feelings can take the form of strong attachments to both forms and spaces in the built environment. ASterities as Tabooed and Consumed Based on the above analysis, one might propose the categorical existence of levels of identification with the material and symbolic aspects of heritage: (1) that which is 'naturally' one's own, one's patrimony, one's own 'by birthright' - what one might call 'ascribed' heritage, borrowing a categorical metaphor from sociological role theory; (2) that which may be acquired, appropriated or 'achieved' by an expansion of ownership-identity; and (3) that which is alien or other, or true alterity. This tripartite mental model has a curious parallel with some fundamental categories of kinship and affinity (behaviour towards blood-related relatives and relatives in-law), and with the consumption or avoidance of animal-derived foods. It would not be amiss here to point out that Urry has called the culturally constructed recognition of heritage and the consequent tourist gaze 'the consumption of places', also the title of his recent book.18 71 Consuming Tradition, Manufacturing Heritage The late English anthropologist Edmund Leach, in his stimulating paper 'Anthropological Aspects of Language: Animal Categories and Verbal Abuse', pointed out parallels between the ways in which he thought that people (or at least middle-class British people) think about and relate to people at certain culturally defined distances, and to animals at an isomorphically defined set of social 'distances.'19 One might briefly sum up Leach's contention that people structure their social universe in the same way as their view of nature - and. I am assertine here, as rheir view of heritage. Briefly, they categorize people into close family (usually living in their house or nearby); distant family and close non-family, who are neighbours and friends who are known and recognized; and strangers, or distant people, who are unknown or not acknowledged. From a young man's point of view with respect to women (and one could make this vice versa just as easily), women who are close - sisters and mothers - are incestuously tabooed and not marriageable; those who are known but more distant, such as distant cousins and friends, and culturally close non-relatives, are the ones among whom sexual partners and potential spouses are selected; and (for the historical classes specified here) complete strangers and the culturally different are not marriageable. Paralleling these distinctions with relation to animals, those which are very close, those 'of the house and garden', are pets and are not edible at all. Those of the farm (domesticated) and those of the field (wild animals, and birds, which come into the fields) are killed and eaten - although there are usually fairly explicit rules as to the seasons when animals of the field (deer, pheasants, duck) can be eaten and the life stages (or sexual maturity) when domestically reared animals (lamb, ewe, veal, beef, capon, rooster, and so on) are said to be edible. Then there are the animals which are 'strangers' and are not found in people's usual environment, which are truly wild or come from other environments. These animals are known by name but are wild or of the zoo, and are not supposed to be eaten.20 Leach pointed out that certain animals are anomalous to these categories, such as foxes or pussies; and not only are they not considered to be food, but they are available as 'terms of abuse' when applied to humans.21 This tripartite structure - too close, within reach, and too far - is a useful paradigm to look at heritage. One can examine this model not only as a static structured set (the received truth, known to all adults), but ontogenetically, as the model is acquired during the lifecycle. For instance, a baby or toddler does not distinguish between 'own' (too close) and marriageable (indeed, Freudian views insist that the polymorphous feelings of children make close family into sexual objects). It is only when a series of people outside the household becomes well known, and when the 'truth' about the relationship between sexual activity and babies comes along, that such 'adult' distinctions are made. Similarly, children learn about pets very early but may not know that they are eating farm animals until they are 72 Learning to Consume older. Wild and zoo animals are also introduced early into the cognitive ken of young children (through picture books, the media, and stuffed animals) but with little or no reference to edibility (figure 3.1). Self/Close Familiar but More Distant Strange or Very Distant Social Close family Neighbours and fr iends Strangers, others Sex Tabooed Permitted No regular relations Animals Pets Farm and field Wild or zoo Edibility Tabooed Eaten, with rules Not usually eaten Heritage Family Cultural or ethnic Foreign or world Feelings Primary Adult Optional Figure 3.1. Proximity and familiarity relationships. It becomes immediately apparent that the subject matter of this chapter, heritage, the third category above, needs further elaboration and examination. One must also consider the historically specific claim of the particular structural scheme that Leach laid out: that it was limited to English people of a certain place and time. For the past 50 years or so many of the middle classes of the Western world, including the English, have come to claim large parts of the whole world's natural and built environment to be 'world heritage' to be not only visited as tourists but to be protected by international organizations such as UNESCO, or by national membership organizations such as Greenpeace or the Sierra Club.22 One might also note that, because of increased opportunities for travel and migration, intermarriage with peoples formerly thought strange and distant is becoming much more common. Even more obvious is the recent availability for consumption of all sorts of exotic cuisines and ingredients from all over the world. Nevertheless, the suggestion is made here that with respect to the feelings or recognition of heritage, perhaps 'ontogeny recapitulates phylogeny'.2' Family and Nation Let me next examine briefly some applications or extensions of the kinship metaphor to ethnicity and nationalism. The extension of kinship-like relationships to other peoples and nations does not always carry positive values (nor should one expect it, considering sibling rivalries and the Oedipus complex). I shall begin with some uses of the metaphor of siblinghood, that is, same-generation relationships. For instance, the 73 Consuming Tradition, Manufacturing Heritage European Portuguese speak of two kinds of 'brothers'. One kind are the Spaniards, who are similar and yet who have historically often been aligned on the other side of geopolitical conflicts and military battles. Portuguese may also refer to Brazilians as irmaos brasileiros. Brazil is said to be a brother nation because the eighteenth-century Prince Dom Pedro segundo was sent out to serve as regent of Brazil, and while he was there, he elevated himself to 'King' of Brazil, resulting in an untrusted fraternity with Portugal, and eventually in Brazilian national independence. For the nations of Eastern Europe the concept of 'brother nations', fellow Slavs, was an easy and common call to solidarity during the Communist era, and has been a more sporadic basis for alliance since then. For Egyptians, since World War II and independence under the ascendancy of Gamel Abdul Nasser, calls to solidarity and identity with 'brother nations' usually always referred to Arabs - in Iraq, Palestine, Libya, and so on. But after Anwar Sadat signed a peace treaty with Israel, this alliance was downplayed, and brotherly relations were encouraged with other Muslim nations, including non-Arabs in Pakistan and Indonesia. This particular kind of alliance has also been emphasized more recently with the Muslims of Bosnia and the Albanians of Kosovo - peoples who never before had been seen as sharing heritage. Yet during this same period, familial relationships were spoken of with regard to the 'Israelis, our cousins', supposedly emphasizing the symbolic consanguineal links. Yet this is the same area of the world that is reputed to have originated the saying, 'I and my brother against our cousins . . .' Thus, metaphorical nationalistic and ethnic relationships of kinship and consanguinity express intrinsic linkages but not necessarily alliances. According to Shakespeare, Henry V of England spoke of 'our sweet sister France' during a period when there were more international wars than centuries. More recently, the English have been forced to admit their cousin-like relationship to the Germans (through historical and linguistic connections as well as the genealogies of royalty) in an era during which there have been two 'world wars' between the nations. Similarly, the Japanese have long acknowledged their sibling-like relationships to the other East Asian Countries, such that they are all kyodai together. Yet within that neutral term for siblings they imagine themselves to be ani, older brother, to those peoples. Looking now at the kinship metaphor of the vertical relations of descent rather than horizontal, intra-generational relationships, one may find similar anomalies. For instance, the Egyptians who usually identify themselves as Arabs (invaders of Egypt with the initial expansion of Islam from what is now Saudi Arabia) in fact claim the 'ancient Egyptians' as some kind of ancestors, and they do not call them jahili, meaning 'pagans', even though they do call the pre-Muslim ancestors of all other Arab nations jahili. But not far back in their history the Egyptians also ignored these 74 Learning to Consume pagan ancestors whose built environment so dominated their living space. Perhaps the recent independence of Egypt and its heavy dependence on overseas tourism have forced consideration of the importance and closeness of the pharaohs and other ancients, and at the same time given Egyptians pride as a people previously neglected or ignored. As another example, the Japanese have looked to their emperor as a father figure, and have even considered the nation as a body, koka or h^kiitnL with .the. emneror as the head - though such a view may have been promulgated by modernizing political forces after the 1868 Meiji Restoration.24 However, in spite of their enormous debt to Chinese civilization for such things as half their language, literacy, Buddhism, city planning, and the Confucian ethic, Japanese do not normally name China as their mother or father nation. Among the European nations, another set of patterns may be found. For instance, the British and the Germans, who speak languages not derived from Latin, and who were at the margins of the Roman Empire, have been taught that they have every right to consider the Romans and their empire as their forebears. Both nations have splendid material remains of Roman occupation (all over England and in the southwestern part of Germany, particularly along the Mosel at Trier). Yet other European nations seemingly just as connected to Rome do not include her remains or her occupation as parts of their histories. For instance, neither Bulgaria, which was part of Thrace and has splendid Roman amphitheatres at Plovdiv, nor Portugal, whose Alentejo region (encompassing the town of Evora with its magnificent temple of Diana) was called the 'breadbasket of the Roman Empire', looks back to ancient Rome as an ancestor. The Portuguese see their history starting with Prince Alphonse, who in the thirteenth century started the expulsion of the Moors. Perhaps it was this long intervention of Moorish occupation that cut off the Portuguese (a country with a very close derivative of Latin as its language) from Rome. Likewise, the people of Bulgaria claim that their mythical Finno-Ugric (non-Slavic and non-Roman) Bulgarian ancestors came from the East, and look upon this fifth-century invasion as the beginning of their history - even though the Bulgarian state (like the Portuguese) is quite willing to celebrate its Roman ruins for the sake of attracting and entertaining tourists. Thus, one must conclude that the mere presence of a visible, historical built environment is not enough to determine that it must be considered the heritage of the local inhabitants. On the contrary, it is the specific cultural and historical scope and meanings of the terms heritage and tradition that are most important. On this note it is telling that under the dictator Salazar the people of Portugal were encouraged to think of themselves, as opposed to the rest of the world, in terms of the trinity: God - Nation - Family. And in this exhortation the word chosen for nation was not the politically accurate but emotionally neutral word nacion, but the powerful and kin-based 75 Consuming Tradition, Manufacturing Heritage appellation patria, 'the fatherland'. Unlike Western Europeans, the Russians and other Slavs are more likely to speak of the motherland, perhaps emphasizing the same non-material, emotional bond that is reflected in the use of nastledstvo below. The Japanese too speak of bokokugo, the 'mother tongue'. But this is an exception to their generally patriarchal national feelings, and is probably a direct Meiji-era translation of the German term Mutterzunge. In most of the nations exemplified here there is a close linguistic, and hence semantic, relationship between family heritage and cultural or national heritage (figure 3.2). Family Cultural National Bulgaria Portugal nastledstvo nastledstvo or traditia nastledstvo or traditia herenca herenca cultural or herenca herenca nacionále patrimonio dos antepassados German Erbe(-fall) kultur Erbe Familien Brauch die Brauche tradition Turkey miras miras kulturel miras milli Egypt m i rath tu rath tu rath Japan iss a n issan (material) (material) kokuhosai issan dentoo (traditions: kokuminteki dentoo practice/spiritual) Figure 3.2. Relationships between family, cultural and national heritages. Childhood, Heritage and Otherness Let me next examine some hypotheses about the potentially important relationship between the imagined worlds of family, nature and cultural or built heritage and about the way in which these relationships are acquired and grow, not in historical time but in a person's young life. One possible source of stimulation for this project, as is so often true in the social sciences, is a re-examination of one's own childhood experiences. As Okely has eloquently outlined such a research tactic: 'The ethnographic material for this preliminary enquiry is largely autobiographical, my main informant being myself ... I deliberately confront the notion of objectivity in research by starting with the subjective, and working from the self outwards.'25 A complex set of circumstances which I will not repeat here led me to think in my preschool life in England that I was something called 'Malay', 76 Learning to Consume and that I was also 'like a native'.2'' I was brought up by parents who, with their relatives and friends who often visited us, had spent many years or decades of their adult lives in Malaya and sometimes spoke Malay to each other. Their English retirement home was a farmhouse filled with material hems and photos of Malaya and copies of the monthly journal British Malaya. I thus distinguished myself from other people, children, servants and friends who didn't know anything about Malaya and seemed to be a rather uninteresting bunch of people. Later on I was given specific information about my family's long roots in England: special moral, symbolic and material characteristics (which I would now call family heritage). At school, of course, I also learned about the history and geography of Britain, including Roman Britain (the remains of a Romano-British temple lay in the woods within walking distance of our house). And on endless occasions my attention was directed toward the 'pink bits' (the empire, of which Malaya was one corner) on the world map, toward which my classmates and I were given a sense of ownership and responsibility. Upon reflection, I discovered that my young worldview was only atypical of English people of my class because of the additional distinctiveness of the Malay connection. But there were plenty of others, including my boarding-schoolmates, who had special connections to other 'pink bits', such as India, South Africa, Kenya, and so on. They too had relatives, family stories, pictures, material objects, and even residences (which I did not have) in these far-off places. They also had stories of other 'natives' who, for the most part, had admired qualities and exotic skills. In my professional career I have run across parallel cases where the children of colonizers have similar complex personal and family heritages. For example, many Portuguese children raised in Angola and Mozambique have identified themselves as Africans, with social lives, built and natural environments different from and, they thought, far superior to the far-off little country of Portugal. Many such colonial offspring ('colonial brats') have identified in an 'Oedipaľ fashion with the native people they knew against the old generation of their own family and those people such as schoolmasters in their home country who stood as authorities in loco parentis. My attention to these phenomena was stimulated by Haya Bar-Itzchak, who reported that some young Israeli sabra defended and tried to save aspects of Palestinian culture, particularly agricultural landscapes and certain native trees and plants, against Jewish 'modernization', which their parents were trying to carry out.27 This 'guilt-like' attitude toward, or emotional identity with, a cultural and material heritage which they or their parents have helped change or destroy is what Renato Rosaldo has defined as 'imperial nostalgia', a common attitude among those responsible for the changes brought about by colonial regimes.2" Yet for the children brought up in such colonial situations, personal guilt cannot be direct, for, as children, 77 Consuming Tradition, Manufacturing Heritage they have destroyed and changed nothing.29 Thus, the pro-local identifications of the children are probably strongly 'Oedipaľ antagonisms, but with a dose of 'inherited' and probably unconscious guilt. There are very few good studies that link the worldview and experiences of childhood to the consumption of place by adults. Such studies require either an inordinately long period of field research or a theoretical orientation suggesting specific inter-generational lines of enquiry. One brief but exemplary study by an Ethiopian undergraduate student at Berkeley examined the city of Oakland's Black (African-American) peoples' feelings about city areas where they felt most comfortable for their recreation as teenagers and adults.30 He found that they preferred city parks and street corners, where they could play music, meet their friends, and engage in friendly sports and pick-up games, because those were places where they had been taken by their parents when children, and where a constant cross-generational mix of people was always to be found. This contrasted with their discomfort in visiting the public and much 'wilder' parklands at the top of the Oakland-Berkeley hills where white, middle-class people preferred to go for walks and picnics, and which are valued for the quiet, the sense of nature, and the relatively low density of people. Some Blacks even pointed out the homology between social class and the topography and elevation of residence. Growing up in Germany after World War II did not provide such inter-generational securities, nor comfort and pride in the built environment, especially for those in Soviet-threatened Berlin and other largely destroyed cities. For those children and young people, identity was precarious. There were the obvious splits between the blameless self and not-so-blameless parents; between those who revolted against their society and had a degree of self-hatred, and those who tried to preserve continuity and pride in the past; between those who admired the all-too-close conquering forces of the United States, as well as France and England, and those who looked forward to their departure. For Berliners, the Americans were particularly seen as saviours (with the Russian presence nearby), and many consciously emulated what they saw as American social, artistic and material values. There were those who upheld the scattered remaining traditionally German houses, rathausen, and churches as emblematic of Germany proper. However, a majority felt them to be tainted with Nazism, and they therefore emphasized other family, class or local traditions, whether they were styles of visiting and hospitality, or explorations of foreign food and music such as Jazz and Latin dancing. There were few automatic places of nostalgia or social relaxation. And though monuments such as the Reichstag or the Brandenburg Gate constituted shared heritage, their meanings were neither clear nor sources of pride. The political orientations of different groups -particularly openness to foreign things and ideas as oposed to fear of the non-German - mapped rifts even within the middle classes. 78 Learning to Consume Unlike the neatly structured and isolated English countryside used in Leach's model, Germany had visible fault lines of foreignness all around; the neat tripartite categories of the model, close - near - far, no longer existed. But the Germany of the time did share something with the English countryside - that is, the presence of the 'other inside'. For majority populations the 'other-nearby', be they Jews, Turks (in Germany), Gypsies in many countries, or even those from different regions who may work close by, offer a prime opportunity to define self and own by contrast. The particular aspects of the nature of self and own are enhanced by contrast with this nearby other. For instance, in my own experience Gypsies emphasized my stability vs. their travel, and my house in a garden vs. their caravan in a borrowed field. Okely has shown from the Gypsy point of view that the behaviour and built environment of the Georgios, that is, the mainstream majority population who are the Gypsies' 'other-nearby', provide key identity-markers and negative role models for them too.31 For those brought up in Slavic Eastern Europe, parts of which were, like Germany, destroyed in the war, history, continuity and solidarity were important. The recent past was emphasized and its physical remains and locations (the 'destroyed environment') were very meaningful. Things Slavic, particularly Russian, were admired, and for many growing up after the World War II there was an identification between Slavic and Communist. But the outwardly accepted model of the Communist state could only be upheld by the suppression of certain facts from the past, bad class origins, foreign connections, suspicious deeds, even attractions to foreign (that is, Western) styles of art, clothing, buildings, etc. Thus, children were often not told some intimate and important parts of their parents' pasts. For these Eastern Europeans the 'internal' and the 'external others' were the Tigany (Gypsies) and Westerners, respectively. The latter were objects of suspicion and fear as anti-Communists, whereas the Gypsies were stylistically and materially different, threatening to adults but attractive to curious children. The other major division, however, was between the people of a national capital and the rest of a county's population, such as between Sofia and Plovdiv and the rural areas, between Moscow and Leningrad and outlying areas. The ethnic/racial identity was very strong, particularly against the Germans as recent foes, and Turks as old enemies. In the face of the past and recent conquests, pride in the national and local built environment was high, and rebuilding in 'traditional' styles was a primary aim. Continuity was emphasized in the buildings, but within a socialist framework. On the surface socialism was also quick to emphasize such icons of tradition and continuity as architecture, annual celebrations, dances, and peasant costumes. Yet these promoted and visible aspects of the constructed environment, these traditia, are reminders of Stalin's ethnic and minority policies when he 79 Consuming Tradition, Manufacturing Heritage was Commissioner of Nationalities in the early USSR: 'Nationalist in Form and Socialist in Content'. And these physical symbols were never as valued as the inner, spiritual (ethnic and national) heritage, nastledstvo, which was inside the person, could not be taken away, and was worth fighting for. In Eastern Europe one characteristically finds that those separable and tangible traditia were first preserved and promoted in the service of 'nationalism' as allowed by Communism; and more recently it is exactly the same visible and manmade phenomena which are being promoted for tourism and commercialization - these are not the things one would die for. But What is Traditional? This discussion should emphasize that the application of the concept 'traditional' is not only very variable, but it is of lesser concern to young people first experiencing their extra-familial identities. Not only do they not know anything about actual historical time-depth, but they are creatures of the 'here and now' and measure such things on a very personal scale. 'Tradition' like the associated concepts 'heritage' and 'nostalgia' are the products of modernity, which was itself born of a sense of change and history.'2 Children are, if anything, 'premodern', and these modern concepts do not have much salience until the children go through the various life stages and rites of passage implicit in the earlier tripartite formulation discussed above. For children, tradition has few of its multiple meanings - premodern, unscientific, preindustrial, authentic, non-commercial. But it can express another set of connotations, especially when holidays are spent with grandparents or the parents' older friends and relatives in the countryside. These connotations have to do with being old and surviving, and being different from the ordinary. They consist of connotations such as survival from an earlier age, a reservoir of history and knowledge, being old fashioned - and, especially if the relatives are old, sick, or visibly weakening, connotations such as getting scarcer, and, hence, special or 'sacred', or plainly 'about to disappear'.33 The actual word 'tradition' (or its equivalents in other languages) may not be used by children, but a set of attitudes, perhaps ambivalent, can easily stem quite unconsciously from such intimate situations where the children are made aware of their youth, inter-generational change, and the impermanence of things and people whom they might have taken for granted. Most of my European informants have also told me that their families have seemed to make conscious efforts to teach them about heritage and traditions, both at the family and cultural/national levels. At an early age many of them were thus taken to visit the places of their parents' upbringing or old and preserved places described in terms of awe and reverence. These might be the remaining old house, monumental building, 80 Learning to Consume or church mentioned above. Or the children may be exposed to more intangible experiences and distinctive physical environments which might seem to counteract the everyday life of modernity. For instance, I have described how in today's Japan, where most children are brought up in big cities in small modern apartments, anxious grandparents and other relatives often take their grandchildren, and quite often their own children too, to onsen ryokan, country inns with hot springs.34 Here the younger orneration can learn about 'authentic, traditional' Japanese life, far from the Western-influenced high-rises and emporia of the cities, in romantic buildings which carefully preserve aspects of traditional architecture.35 They cast off their modern (that is, Western-derived) clothes for a yukata and pairs of geta, eat high-class kaiseki (traditional foods), soak in the 'natural' odiferous waters of the volcanic hot springs, and sleep on straw tatami floors. Such activities are dentooteki, 'traditional', and help keep up the Japanese belief that they can identify themselves with their heritage as an 'onsen civilization'.36 Discussion and Conclusions The purpose of this chapter has been to expose the sources and variety of attitudes towards those things called heritage in the modern world, and to examine through people's personal lives how such attitudes develop. This examination has been carried out by inquiring into the topics of family and kinship not only as sources of identity and paradigms of belonging and ownership, but also as the generators of feelings and attitudes toward components of identity as they are modified through life stages. These concepts brought together here do not usually nestle in the same work, yet they stem from a theoretical model which purports to be able to relate the personal, the temporal, and the contextual to the perceived environment. One can make a few remarks about the consequences of such an approach. First of all, one cannot assume that informants have, or had in their crucial earlier life stages, the same concepts and categories they do as adults. For instance, as Bloch has recently pointed out, it is very difficult to tell if the information in an adult's memory of their childhood experiences is from first-hand experiences or from another adult's telling of those experiences.37 One does not yet know if there are one, or two, or more kinds of memory. Second, such research, especially cross-cultural applications, further destabilizes such value-laden concepts as authority, tradition and identity. Though undoubtedly these concepts are widespread, if not universal, they may have recently spread from their original historical sources to the leaders of more recently modern societies.38 Can one now consider further relations between this model and vernacular architecture and traditional environments? First, I think it is of interest to understand from where adults get their subconscious feelings, 81 Consuming Tradition, Manufacturing Heritage their hunches about familiarity, comfort and excitement - their 'habitus" in Bourdieu's terms.'9 It is a topic that has been all but ignored by adult-centred investigators of this field. To get at such issues, one must extend investigations beyond the Western world's characteristically adult-dominant ocular and logo-centric frames. Kenneth Frampton made such a plea to those who study architecture in his essay 'Place, Form and Identity': Visual/Tactile: These two alternative modes of experiencing the environment address the way in which the architectural object is open to levels of perception other than the visual stimulus afforded by the object. Architecture possesses the unique capacity for being experienced by the entire sensorium ... Air movement, acoustics, ambient temperature and smell, all these factors affect our experiences of space.™ A similar plea has recently been aimed at anthropologists. 'Recent years have witnessed an increasing number of calls for anthropology to devote more attention to non-visual modes of perception . . . [to] help us escape the supposed malaise of modern "ocular-centrism".'41 Those who study tourism have perhaps met this criticisms earlier, particularly those who study the relationship between adult vacation needs for the physical rather than cultural (historical and ethnic) sightseeing, or in addition to it.42 The Finns are elaborately aware of the many aspects of their beloved rural habitus, the great woods, metsaa, where they can hunt mushrooms and smell the piny forests; explorations of such areas is a primary experience even for many urban Finns today. The Japanese are perhaps more aware than most of the human's multi-sensory needs (in spite of their alleged camera-centrism). As I have pointed out in my analysis of the intensely popular Japanese hot spring resort industry, all the senses are catered to, and even the advertisements make their appeals to the senses of touch, smell and sound, indicating that the Japanese may be well aware of the multiple sensory facets of their internal habitus and heritage.43 To summarize, I have suggested that the adult world be examined in the light of each adult's earlier life experiences. As the saying goes, 'The child is father of the man.' And if one wishes to understand the man, with all his prejudices, needs and tastes, one must consult the father who gave him the cultural categories, ambivalences and directions for his life's trajectory. Notes 1. M.-F. Lanfant, 'The Genealogy of Patrimony,' in N. Graburn and Lanfant (eds.), Tourism, Heritage and Patrimony, in preparation. 2. This approach was originally presented in my paper 'Tourism, Leisure and Museums,' plenary address to the Canadian Museums Association, Halifax, Nova Scotia, in 1982, and in modified form in my paper 'The Construction of Heritage 82 Learning to Consume ■met Nostalgia: the Comparative Evidence,' delivered in the session 'Patrimony, Tourism and Nostalgia' at the XHIth World Congress of Sociology, Bielefeld, Germany in 1994. For this chapter I have interviewed a number of informants on matters of upbringing and identity; most are young middle-class adults. I specifically chose to talk with these unmarried people or young couples without children because I thought they would have a clearer recall of the development of their identities and environmental awarenesses, and particularly because I think that parents reformulate their stories in order to pass them on to their offspring. In nddition, I am grateful to Professor Shinji Yamashita of the University of Tokyo and Professor Jerry Fades of Shiga University for their discussion of Japanese materials. 3. In terms of political and class interest in heritage, see G.J. Ashworth and P.J. Larkham, Building a New Heritage: Tourism, Culture and Identity in the New Europe, London, Routledge, 1994.; and J.E. Tunbridge and G.J. Ashworth, Dissonant Heritage: The Management of the Past as a Resource in Conflict, Chichester and New York, J. Wiley & Sons, 1996. In terms of cultural and nostalgic social uses of the past, see G.J. Ashworth, On Tragedy and Renaissance: The Role of the Loyalist and Acadian Heritage Interpretations in Canadian Place Identities, Groningen, Geo Pers, 1993; D. Lowenthal, The Past is a foreign Country, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1982; and D. Lowenthal and M. Binney (cds.), Our Past Before Us: Why do we Save it? London, Temple Smith, 1981. On the political geography of space and the past, see D. Crowe (ed.), Geography and Identity: Living and Exploring Geopolitics of Identity, Washington, D.C., Maisonneuve Press, 1996; R.D. Sack, Place, Modernity and the Consumers World, Baltimore, Johns Hopkins University Press, 1992; and E.W. Soja, Postmodern Geographies: The Reassertion of Space in Critical Social Theory, London and New York, Verso, 1989. 4. C.-M. Bazin, 'Industrial Heritage in the Tourism Process in France,' in M.-F. Lanfant, E. Bruner and J. Allcock (eds.), International Tourism: Change and Identity, London, Sage Publicaations, 1995; and Lanfant, 'The Genealogy of Patrimony.' 5. On the more subjective, see N.H.H. Graburn, 'Prologue: Southeast Asia in my Mind,' in J. Forshee and S. Cate (eds.), Convergent Interests: Traders, Travelers and Tourists in Southeast Asia, Berkeley, Center for Southeast Asian Studies, 1999; and J. Okely, Own or Other Culture, London, Routledge, 1996. On the experiential, see 5. Lavie, K. Narayan, and R. Rosaldo (eds.), Creativity/Anthropology, Ithaca, NY, Cornell University Press, 1993; L. Abu-Lughod, Veiled Sentiments: Honor and Poetry in Bedouin Society, Berkeley, University of California Press, 1986; and Writing Women's Worlds: Bedouin Stories, Berkeley, University of California Press, 1993. On personal narrative, see J.B. Boddy and V. Lee, Aman: The Story of a Somali Girl, New York, Pantheon Books, 1994; and K. Narayan, Storytellers, Saints, and Scoundrels: Folk Narrative in Hindu Religious Teaching, Philadelphia, University of Pennsylvania Press, 1989. 6. The child is prepolitical and premodern. These phrases are intended to indicate that the young child, with little or no schooling, does not make distinctions about the world as 'traditional' or 'modern.' The child has little sense of history and rarely thinks about times long 'before I was born,' and hence, like the premoderns, does not see systemic change, directional progress (except for her or his growth), or the possibilities of creating other worlds. Thus, the child is not engaged in efforts to 83 Consuming Tradition, Manufacturing Heritage change 'the system,' and does not (with the possible exception of Oedipal fantasies, which in fact reproduce the system) side with one set of ideological beliefs against another possible narrative of power. In this sense, the child is also prepolitical, which is close to but not necessarily something characteristic of premoderns. 7. J. Goody (ed.), The Character of Kinship, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1971; M. Strathern, Kinship at the Core: An Anthropology of Elmdon, a Village in North-West Essex, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1981; and M. Strathern, After Nature: English Kinship in the Late Twentieth Century, CitmhriHiTp ( 'nmKrirlcrp í Inivprcifv Prpcc 199? 8. D. Freeman, 'Kinship, Attachment and the Primary Bond,' in Goody (ed.), The Character of Kinship, pp. 109-120. 9. D.M. Schneider, 'What is Kinship All About?' in P. Reining (ed.), Kinship Studies in the Morgan Centennial Year, Washington, D.C., Anthropological Society of Washington, 1971, pp. 320-363. 10. D. MacCannell, The Tourist: A New Theory of the Leisure Class, New York, Schocken, 1976/1989. 11. B. Farber, Kinship and Class: A Midwestern Study, New York, Basic Books, 1971. N.H.H. Graburn, 'Tourism, Leisure and Museums,' Plenary address at the Annual Meetings of the Canadian Museums Association, Halifax, NS, 1982; 'A Quest for Identity,' Museum International (UNESCO), vol. 50, no. 3, 1998, pp. 13-18; and B. Assefa, 'Symbolic P2states as Determining Factors in the Leisure Preferences of Minorities in the P^ast Bay (Or Why Blacks Do Not Use Regional Parks),' Kroeber Anthropological Society Papers, 67-68, 1988, pp. 7-11. 12. E.B. Tylor, Primitive Culture, London, J. Murray, 1871. 13. R. Finnegan and M. Drake (eds.), Trom Pamily Tree to Tamily History, 4 vols., Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1994. 14. Bazin, 'Industrial Heritage.' 15. Cf. C. Levi-Strauss, Les structures elemenlaires de la parenie, Paris, Press Universitaires de France, 1949; G. Homans and D.M. Schneider, Marriage, Authority and Final Causes, New York, Free Press, 1995; R. Needham, Structure and Sentiment, Chicago, University of Chicago Press, 1962; and L. Dumont, introduction ä deux theories d'anthropologie sociale; groupes de filiation et alliance de manage, Paris, Mouton, 1971. 16. MacCannell, The Tourist. 17. P. Nora, Les Lieux de Memoire, Paris, Gallimard, 1983; 'Between Memory and History: Les lieux de memoires,' Representations, vol. 26, 1989, pp. 7-25; and Realms of Memory: Rethinking the French Past, New York, Columbia University Press, 1994. 18. J. Urry, The Tourist Gaze: Leisure and Travel in Contemporary Societies, London, Sage, 1990; and Consuming Places, London, Routledge, 1995. 19. E. Leach, 'Anthropological Aspects of Language: Animal Categories and Verbal Abuse,' in E.H. Lenneberg (ed.), New Directions in the Study of Language, Cambridge, MA, MIT Press, 1964. One valid criticism of Leach's model is that it is most characteristic of a particular historical context and population, i.e., middle-class, property-owning British people in the countryside and small towns, prior to 84 Learning to Consume World War II. Nevertheless, the ideas are so powerful that they suggest some underlying truths that should be tested or adapted for other populations. Leach, himself, one of Britain's most brilliant anthropologists of this century, came from an upper-middle-class wealthy family, but lived a mostly cosmopolitan life in China, Burma, Argentina and Cambridge. I, myself, am British, was brought up in the countryside, and studied under Leach at Cambridge. 20. Readers will realize the culturally and historically limited range of this model. Since the time when it applied, even the English, as well as most Europeans and .-,,,.^,- M/ii-í-Ít A.mPncaos......havt* íľnmp Ťr\ inrlnrlp t-tsŕ* ťhirri morŕ» nictant ratpanrv aQ 'consumable', both in the sense that men are more frequently marrying women outside of their race and nationality (and vice versa), and that the middle classes are becoming culinary explorers. Thus, many foods, including animal foods, which were once distant and tabooed, may be sampled and eaten as parts of home and homeland cuisine (e.g., sashimi, alligator, snake, shark, emu, and so on). And, paralleling these expansions, many middle-class people of the West and East Asia have come to recognize and visit so-called 'world heritage' - buildings and landscapes that are surely parts of other people's heritages. Not only are these admired and celebrated, but the exploratory 'internationalist' class has also tried to take control of them in the name of responsibility for their preservation. 2 I. Leach, 'Anthropological Aspects of Language'; cf. the work of Mary Douglas on taboos and anomalies, Purity and Danger, London, Routledge and Kegan Hall, 1966. 22. A.S. Bartu, 'Reading the Past: The Politics of Cultural Heritage in Contemporary Istanbul,' Ph.D. diss, in Anthropology, University of California, Berkeley, 1997. 23. Although the original meaning of this phrase (Johann Herder) was applied to general evolution, including the biological stages of embryology, its application in socio-cultural anthropology has been to suggest the equation of modern humans' childhood, the adult life of primitive and exotic peoples, and the nature of societies in the early stages of human social evolution (see S. Freud, Totem and Taboo, A.A. Brill (trans.), New York, Moffat, Yard & Co., 1918). 24. C. Cluck, japan's Modern Myths: ideology in the Meiji Period, Princeton, Princeton University Press, 1985; and T. Fujitani, Splendid Monarchy: Power and Pageantry in Modern Japan, Berkeley, University of California Press, 1996. 25. As Okely has eloquently outlined such a research tactic in Own or Other Culture, p.148. 26. See Graburn, 'Prologue: Southeast Asia in my Mind.' 27. Haya Bar-Itzchak, personal communication, 1996. 28. R. Rosaldo, 'Imperialist Nostalgia,' Representations, vol. 26, 1989, pp. 197- 222. 29. See, for instance, Elspeth Huxley's reminiscences of her youth in East Africa in her The Flame Trees of Thika, London, Chatto and Windus, 1959. 30. Assefa, 'Symbolic Estates as Determining Factors.' 3 I. Okely, Own or Other Culture. 32. N.H.H. Graburn, 'Tourism, Modernity and Nostalgia,' in A. Akbar and Cris Shore (eds.), The Future of Anthropology: Its Relevance to the Contemporary 85 Consuming Tradition, Manufacturing Heritage World, London, Athlone Press, University of London, 1995; N.H.H. Graburn, 'Conference Report: Retrospect and Prospect,' Traditional Dwellings and Settlements Review, vol. 9, no. 1, 1997, pp. 60-64; and A.E. Horner, 'The Assumption of Tradition: Creating, Collecting and Conserving Cultural Artifacts in the Cameroon Grassfields,' Ph.D. diss., University of California, Berkeley, 1990. 33. M.-E Lanfant, and N. Graburn, 'International Tourism Reconsidered: The Principle of the Alternative,' in V.L. Smith and W.R. Eadington (eds.), Tourism Alternatives: Potentials and Problems in the Development of Tourism, Philadelphia, Universit" "f P«""»!»™« Pi-pcc 1997- anH Nľ H H Oahnrn. 'What is Tradition?' in R. Dobkins (ed.), The Art of Frank Day: A Symposium, Visual Anthropology Review, forthcoming. 34. N.H.H. Graburn, 'The Past in the Present in Japan: Nostalgia and Neo-Traditionalism in Contemporary Japanese Domestic Tourism,' in R.W. Butler and D.G. Pearce (eds.), Changes in Tourism: People, Places, Processes, London, Routledge, 1995. 35. N.H.H. Graburn, 'Neo-Traditionalism in Japanese Rural Tourist Architecture,' paper presented at the conference 'Value in Tradition: The Utility of Research on Identity and Sustainability in Dwellings and Settlements,' IASTE, Tunis, 1994. 36. Shuzo Ishimori, personal communication, 1989. 37. M. Bloch, How We Think They Think, Westwood Press, 1998. 38. Horner, 'The Assumption of Tradition.' 39. C.C. Marcus, Home-as-haven, Home-as-trap: Explorations in the Experience of Dwelling, Berkeley, Center for Environmental Design Research, 1986. P. Bourdieu, Outline of a Theory of Practice, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1977. 40. K. Frampton, 'Place, Form, and Identity,' in D. Crowe (ed.), Geography and Identity: Living and Exploring Geopolitics of Identity, Washington, DC, Maisonneuve Press, 1994, pp. 168-169. 4L N. Bubant, 'The Odour of Things: Smell and Cultural Elaboration of Disgust in Eastern Indonesia,' Ethnos, vol. 63, no. 1, 1998, p. 48. 42. S. Veijola and E. Jokinen, 'the Body in Tourism,' Theory, Culture and Society, vol. 11, 1994, pp. 125-151; T. Selanniemi, Matka ikuiseen kesaan: Kulttuuriantropologinen nakokulma suomalaisten etelanmatkailuun [A journey to Eternal Summer: An Anthropological Perspective on Finnish Sunlust Tourism], Helsinki, Suomalaisen Kirjallisuuden Seura, 1994; and N.L. Frey, Pilgrim Stories: On and Off the Road to Santiago, Berkeley, University of California Press, 1998. 43. Graburn, 'The Past in the Present in Japan.' Bibliography Abu-Lughod, Lila, Veiled Sentiments: Honor and Poetry in Bedouin Society, Berkeley, University of California Press, 1986. Abu-Lughod, Lila, Writing Women's Worlds: Bedouin Stories, Berkeley, University of California Press, 1993. Ashworth, Gregory J. and P.J. Larkham, Building a New Heritage: Tourism, Culture and Identity in the New Europe, London, Routledge, 1994. 86 Learning to Consume Ashworth, Gregory J., On Tragedy and Renaissance: The Role of the Loyalist and Acadian Heritage Interpretathms in Canadian Place Identities, Groningen, Geo Pers, 1993. Assefa, Brooke, 'Symbolic Estates as Determining Factors in the Leisure Preferences of Minorities in the East Bay (Or Why Blacks Do Not Use Regional Parks),' Kroeber Anthropological Society Papers 67-68, 1988, pp. 7-11. Bartu, Ay f er S., 'Reading the Past: The Politics of Cultural Heritage in Contemporary Istanbul,' Ph.D. diss, in Anthropology, University of California, Berkeley, 1997. Bazin, Claude-Mane, 'Industrial Heritage in the iounsm Process in France,' in M- F. Lanfant, E. Brunei" and J. Allcock (eds.), International Tourism: Change and Identity, London, Sage, 1995. Bloch, Maurice, How We Think They Think, Westwood Press, 1998. Boddy, Janice B. and Virginia Lee, Aman: The Story of a Somali Girl, New York, Pantheon Books, 1994. Bourdieu, Pierre, Outline of a Theory of Practice, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1977. Bubant, Nils, 'The Odour of Things: Smell and Cultural Elaboration of Disgust in Eastern Indonesia,' Ethnos, vol. 63, no. 1, 1998, pp. 48-80. Crowe, Dennis (ed.), Geography and Identity: Living and Exploring Geopolitics of Identity, Washington, D.C., Maisonneuve Press, 1996. Douglas, Mary, Purity and Danger, London, Routledge and Kegan Hall, 1966. Dumont, Louis, Introduction a deux theories ď anthropologic sociale; groupes de filiation et alliance de manage, Paris, Mouton, 1971. Färber, Bernard, Kinship and Class: A Midwestern Study, New York, Basic Books, 1971. Finnegan, Ruth and Michael Drake (eds.), From Family Tree to Family History, 4 vols., Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1994. Frampton, Kenneth, 'Place, Form, and Identity,' in Dennis Crowe (ed.), Geography and Identity: Living and Exploring Geopolitics of Identity, Washington, D.C., Maisonneuve Press, 1994. Freeman, Derek, 'Kinship, Attachment and the Primary Bond,' in J. Goody (ed.), The Character of Kinship, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1973. Freud, Sigmund, Totem and Taboo, A.A. Brill (trans.), New York, Moffat, Yard & Co., 1918. Frey, Nancy L., Pilgrim Stories: On and Off the Road to Santiago, Berkeley, University of California Press, 1998. Fujitani, Takashi, Splendid Monarchy: Power and Pageantry in Modern Japan, Berkeley, University of California Press, 1996. Gluck, Carol, Japan's Modern Myths: Ideology in the Meiji Period, Princeton, Princeton University Press, 1985. Goody, Jack (ed.), The Character of Kinship, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press!, 1971. Graburn, Nelson H. H. 'What is Tradition?' in Rebecca Dobkins (ed.), The Art of Frank Day: A Symposium, Visual Anthropology Review, forthcoming. Graburn, Nelson H.H., 'A Quest for Identity,' Museum International (UNESCO) vol. 50, no. 3, 1998, pp. 13-18. Graburn, Nelson H.H., 'Conference Report: Retrospect and Prospect,' Traditional Dwellings and Settlements Review, vol. 9, no. 1, 1997, pp. 60-64. Graburn, Nelson H.H., 'Neo-Traditionalism in Japanese Rural Tourist 87 Consuming Tradition, Manufacturing Heritage Learning to Consume Architecture,' paper presented at the conference 'Value in Tradition: The Utility of Research on Identity and Sustainability in Dwellings and Settlements,' International Association for the Study of Traditional Environments, Tunis, 1994. Graburn, Nelson H.H., 'Prologue: Southeast Asia in my Mind,' in Jill Forshee and Sandra Cate (eds.), Convergent Interests: Traders, Travelers and Tourists in Southeast Asia, Berkeley, Center for Southeast Asian Studies, 1999. Graburn, Nelson H.H., 'The Past in the Present in Japan: Nostalgia and Neo- Traditionalism in Contemporary Japanese Domestic Tourism,' in Richard W. butler and Douglas G. Fearce (eds.), changes in Tourism: People, Places, Processes, London, Routledge, 1995. Graburn, Nelson H.H., 'Tourism, Leisure and Museums,' plenary address at the Annual Meetings of the Canadian Museums Association, Halifax, NS, 1982. Graburn, Nelson H.H., 'Tourism, Modernity and Nostalgia,' in Ahmed Akbar and Cris Shore (eds.), The Future of Anthropology: Its Relevance to the Contemporary World, London, Athlone Press, University of London, 1995. ITomans, George and David M. Schneider, Marriage, Authority and Final Causes, New York, Free Press, 1995. Horner, Alice E., 'The Assumption of Tradition: Creating, Collecting and Conserving Cultural Artifacts in the Cameroon Grassfields,' Ph.D. diss., University of California, Berkeley, 1990. Huxley, Elspeth, The Flame Trees of Thika, London, Chatto and Windus, 1959. Lanfant, Marie-Francoise and Nelson Graburn, 'International Tourism Reconsidered: The Principle of the Alternative,' in Valené L. Smith and William R. Eadington (eds.), Tourism Alternatives: Potentials and Problems in the Development of Tourism, Philadelphia, University of Pennsylvania Press, 1992. Lanfant, Marie-Francoise, 'The Genealogy of Patrimony,' in Nelson Graburn and Lanfant (eds.), Tourism, Heritage and Patrimony, in preparation. Lavie, Smadar, Kirin Narayan, and Renato Rosaldo (eds.), Creativity/ Anthropology, Ithaca, NY, Cornell University Press, 1993. Leach, Edmund, 'Anthropological Aspects of Language: Animal Categories and Verbal Abuse,' in Eric H. Lenneberg (ed.), New Directions in the Study of Tanguage, Cambridge, MA, MIT Press, 1964. Levi-Strauss, Claude, Les structures elementaires de la parente, Paris, Press Universitäres de France, 1949. Lowenthal, David and M. Binney (eds.), Our Past Before Us: Why do we Save it? London, Temple Smith, 1981. Lowenthal, David, The Past is a Foreign Country, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1982. MacCannell, Dean, The Tourist: A New Theory of the Leisure Class, New York, Schocken, 1976/1989. Marcus, Clare Cooper, Home-as-haven, home-as-trap: Explorations in the Experience of Dwelling, Berkeley, Center for Environmental Design Research, 1986. Narayan, Kirin, Storytellers, Saints, and Scoundrels: Folk Narrative in Hindu Religious Teaching, Philadelphia, University of Pennsylvania Press, 1989. Ncedham, Rodney, Structure and Sentiment, Chicago, University of Chicago Press, 1962. Nora, Pierre, Les Lieux de Memoire, Paris, Gallimard, 1983. Nora, Pierre, 'Between Memory and History: Les lieux de memoires,' Representations, vol. 26, 1989, pp. 7-25. Nora, Pierre, Realms of Memory: Rethinking the French Past, New York, Columbia University Press, 1994. Okely, Judith, Own or Other Culture, London, Routledge, 1996. Rosaldo, Renato, 'Imperialist Nostalgia,' Representations, vol. 26, 1989, pp. 197- 222. Sack, Robert D., Place, Modernity and the Consumers World, Baltimore, Johns Hopkins University Press, 1992. Schneider, David M., 'What is Kinship All About?' in Priscilla Reining (ed.), Kinship Studies in the Morgan Centennial Year, Washington, D.C., Anthropological Society of Washington, 1971, pp. 320-363. Sclanniemi, Tom, Matka ikuiseen kesaan: Kulttuuriantropologinen nakokulma suomalaisten etelanmatkailuun [A Journey to Eternal Summer: An Anthropological Perspective on Finnish Sunlust Tourism], Helsinki, Suomalaisen Kirjallisuuden Seura, 1994. Soja, Edward W., Postmodern Geographies: The Reassertion of Space in Critical Social Theory, London and New York, Verso, 1989. Strathern, Marilyn, After Nature: English Kinship in the Late Twentieth Century, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1992. Strathern, Marilyn, Kinship at the Core: An Anthropology of Elmdon, a Village in North-West Essex, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1981. Tunbridge, J.E. and G.J. Ashworth, Dissonant Heritage: The Management of the Fast as a Resource in Conflict, Chichester and New York, J. Wiley, 1996. Tylor, Edward B., Primitive Culture, London, J. Murray, 1871. Urry, John, Consuming Places, London, Routledge, 1995. Urry, John, The Tourist Gaze: Leisure and Travel in Contemporary Societies, London, Sage, 1990. Veijola, Soile and rieva Jokinen, 'the Body in Tourism,' Theory, Culture and Society, vol. 11, 1994, pp. 125-151. 88 89