Bogang's Adat Crisis

Bogang's adat crisis comprises a series of events that occurred in the mid 1960s. Both the incidents and their present-day repercussions merit careful

consideration for a number of reasons, particularly for what they reveal about personal and kin-based loyalties as well as about the scope and force of adat idioms in the rapidly modernizing Negeri Sembilan of today. It should be noted, however, that certain details of the events in question are hazy, even contradictory, reflecting discrepant contemporary accounts as well as after-the-fact embellishments and divergent reconstructions.

In major outline, the sequence of events occurred as follows. A young boy named Isa stole some sugarcane from a garden belonging to Hamzah, a fellow clansman (Lelahmaharaja) affiliated with Bogang's wealthiest and most prestigious lineage (Hill). Incensed by the theft, Hamzah struck Isa, thereby seriously alienating the boy's kin and violating a fundamental adat injunction against assaulting persons of the same clan. Isa's close relatives considered taking the case to court but later decided on an adat resolution to the problem. Shortly thereafter local clan leaders met to weigh the evidence and to determine the most appropriate course of action. After pronouncing Hamzah guilty, they ordered him to host Isa's kin at a ritual feast. Since Hamzah's older brother, Ibrahim, happened to be the local clan's highest-ranking official (that is, the clan subchief), it was his responsibility to see that Hamzah paid his retribution to young Isa's kin. But for various reasons—some quite obvious, others less so—Hamzah's brother did not pursue the matter with vigor. Almost everyone in the community saw his failure to enforce justice as a dereliction of duty, the principal exception being persons associated through descent or marriage with his lineage, who had little choice but to support him. Other villagers brought the matter to the attention of the clan chief and finally to the Undang himself. These officials concurred with earlier decisions regarding Hamzah's culpability and ordered Hamzah's brother to oversee the sponsoring of the feast and other retribution. Owing to a multitude of contemporary political considerations, however, they did not exercise their authority to remove Ibrahim from office, even though it was soon clear that the feast would never take place.

To this day the matter has not been resolved, and Hamzah's brother still enjoys the title of clan subchief, the most prestigious adat title in Bogang. This situation lies at the heart of what community residents refer to as the adat crisis, which is manifested both in the general boycotting of the clan subchief and in the sharp antagonisms between his wealthy and politically well-connected lineage and the other two lineages of the clan. As one ex-

ample, the clan subchief is not called on to preside over the engagement or marital exchanges involving persons from other lineages of his clan. Consequently, all such exchanges are in certain critical respects out of keeping with "the way things should be," as ordained by the traditions of ancestors. Individuals associated with his lineage, moreover, are commonly excluded from feasts sponsored by the other lineages, and vice versa. Further reifying this cleavage is the villagewide schism defined in terms of support for one or the other of the two national political parties. The clan subchief and his backers are allied with the ruling party, UMNO, whereas their principal adversaries in the adat crisis stand firmly behind the opposition group, PAS. Marriage rituals and the entire institution of feasting have thus become highly politicized. So, too, has prayer itself, for feasting centers around collective prayer and the sharing of food, and many members of the opposed political parties prefer not to pray—or eat—together. I will return to these issues in a more detailed analysis of the events leading up to and perpetuating the crisis.

I have already noted that the crisis dates from about 1965, which is when the eight- or nine-year-old Isa stole one or more stalks of sugar cane from another villager's garden. Although such petty thefts by youngsters were by no means unheard of, they typically reflected badly both on the children's upbringing and on their parents and immediate collaterals. These actions might, however, be written off simply as childhood or teenage shenanigans, especially if the offender's prior behavior had never drawn criticism from fellow villagers or if his kin enjoyed relatively high status in the community. Regardless of anyone's verdict concerning such a young thief's character, it would be extremely inappropriate to strike a child or young teenager caught stealing garden produce. Here, though, the owner of the garden, a married man named Hamzah, did strike the young Isa, who by almost every account was plainly guilty of the theft.

Unfortunately, it was never clear to me if Hamzah caught Isa red-handed and hit him then or caught up with him later. What's more, there was little consensus as to the severity of the retaliation, or even as to whether Hamzah struck Isa with an open hand or a clenched fist. The more reliable accounts indicate that Hamzah did not witness the actual theft but that he definitely overreacted when he later encountered Isa walking along the railroad tracks, for he grabbed the boy by his shirt and struck him about the head with enough force to bloody his lip. The inci-

dent generated considerable commotion—especially since any form of physical assault is extremely rare—and a sizable crowd of onlookers soon gathered. Some of those present decided Isa's condition required medical attention and so he was taken to the local hospital for treatment. The doctor in charge apparently felt that his injuries were not all that serious and did not merit Isa's remaining in the hospital.

When Isa's kin heard of the altercation they considered taking Hamzah to court on charges of assault. They reportedly went through the preliminary stages necessary for the initiation of judiciary action, although this may well have been a bluff and nothing more. At any rate, this approach was probably all the more appealing because one of the boy's close relatives worked at either the local or state-level court. As such, he may have been able to expedite the proceedings or, better yet, to contribute toward a court settlement in Isa's favor. As it turned out, however, a short-lived reconciliation was effected, and Isa's kin decided not to pursue the matter in court but to resolve the conflict within the village, in accordance with the appropriate adat traditions. It was (and still is) generally preferred to find a village-level solution to disputes of this sort rather than call on outside authorities, and this case was no exception. Indeed, it is safe to assume that virtually everyone involved experienced great relief—and a renewed sense of faith in the workings and relevance of adat—when the boy's side signaled their willingness to drop the idea of court litigation in favor of an adat resolution.

To appreciate the workings of adat justice we need to recall that the kinship relationship of the principal parties in a dispute is very important, both with respect to the person responsible for investigating the background and details of the conflict and in terms of the restitution or punishment and its enforcement. In the altercation at hand, the most salient feature of Hamzah's errant behavior was that the boy he struck belonged to one of his own clan's lineages. (Had Isa been affiliated with Hamzah's lineage, or with another clan, the incident and its ramifications would have assumed altogether different dimensions.) In theory, then, whoever was head of Hamzah's lineage bore full responsibility for convening local lineage elders to obtain accurate information concerning exactly what happened. In this case the de facto head of the lineage, holding the superior title of clan subchief, was also Hamzah's brother, Ibrahim (see figure 7).^[1] By virtue of office, Ibrahim had the constitutional duty not only to see that

Figure 7.
Principal Actors in Bogang's Adat Crisis

lineage elders agreed on the compensation owed the boy's kin, but also to ensure its prompt payment. The head of the boy's lineage had a comparable jural mandate, which included investigating the incident in the first place; calling a meeting of his constituents; helping them to reach a consensus on the restitution due them; and finally, seeing that the agreed-upon payment was in fact forthcoming. The two leaders were also expected to negotiate a settlement with each other if necessary and to cooperate with other lineage heads of the local clan as well as any higher ranking adat figures (such as the clan chief) brought in on the matter.

It was apparently in this latter connection that major problems first arose, for when villagers trace the roots of the feuding and factionalism that still dominate political dynamics and loyalties, they frequently cite conflicting loyalties and obligations, highly partisan behavior, and dereliction of duty, all on the part of Hamzah's brother Ibrahim. The basic issue was that although Ibrahim met with the three lineage heads of the clan and

seemed to concur with their decision on patching up relations between the two lineages, he did not proceed to enforce the payment of retribution—this despite the fact that as clan subchief he should have played the dominant role in settling the affair to the satisfaction of all concerned. His jural and moral responsibilities were not only to the members of his lineage but also, and more importantly, to the entire local clan; thus, loyalties to his lineage and close kin should have yielded to the broader issue of clan solidarity and the upholding of adat.

The verdict was that Hamzah should slaughter a goat and sponsor a ritual feast (kenduri ) at one of the village shrines (keramat ) to which Isa's kin, and presumably Isa himself, would be invited. Additionally, the lineage heads and clan subchief reportedly all agreed on the fine for which Hamzah stood liable—to wit, one bahara (M$7.20), this being a standard unit for the calculation of adat fines. This money, if paid, would have been claimed by the clan chief (Dato Perba ) and then partially redistributed among the four clan officers in the village. Hamzah, however, never paid the fine, nor—and far more serious—did he ever sponsor the ritual feast that would have symbolized both an acknowledgment of his wrongdoing and his remorse and goodwill toward the boy's lineage. Of perhaps greater historical relevance, these acts of contrition would have contributed both to the viability of concepts and processes of adat justice and to a general sense that the dominant values grounded in adat still held meaning for the conduct of daily affairs. Since nothing of this sort occurred, and in fact the subsequent stalemate worked in the opposite direction, the question emerges as to what forces led to the nonpayment of retribution.

The most general answer to this question lies in the nature of historical change over the past century and, more specifically, in the imposition and consolidation of modern governmental bureaucracies that deprived adat leaders of their control over effective sanctions. These trends fostered conditions conducive to the nonpayment of retribution and the ensuing crisis, all of which would have been inconceivable before the twentieth century or at least would have been of temporary duration and relatively minor significance in village history. This is not to suggest that traditional sanctions were always effective or that intraclan or other political feuding rarely occurred before the events leading to Bogang's adat crisis. It is to point out instead that in earlier times, if retribution were not paid, the affair

would have been settled by force of arms resulting in the impeachment or murder of the clan subchief, resettlement by the boy's lineage, or some combination thereof. In the contemporary era, however, such alternative solutions do not exist owing to the state's consolidation of power and its monopoly on the exercise of legitimate force, in conjunction with the current realities of demography and land acquisition, which render any sort of resettlement virtually impossible.

Yet history is certainly not the sole explanation here, since the loyalties and actions of particular individuals—however much a product and barometer of historical change—both precipitated and drew out the crisis. Here the plot thickens and we must focus on relations of kinship and social control within Hamzah's lineage, which seem to have precluded the payment of retribution. I refer to an essential fact not yet mentioned, namely, that when the incident occurred Hamzah and Ibrahim's mother not only was alive and residing in the village but also was the eldest, thus the most esteemed and influential, woman in the entire lineage. The mother, Wan (see chapter 6), apparently felt Hamzah's reaction to the theft of his sugarcane justified and not deserving of any censure. She refused to abide the supposedly unanimous verdict of the adat leaders and ordered both of her sons to ignore it.

Her position of loyalty to Hamzah created serious problems for Ibrahim in his capacity as subchief. Were he to insist that Hamzah pay the fine and sponsor the feast at the village shrine, he would so anger and alienate his mother that she might well disown him. (Indeed, she reportedly told him as much.) Nor could Ibrahim sidestep the issue by paying the fine and sponsoring the feast himself, for this would have amounted to an acknowledgment of Hamzah's guilt and a breach of fraternal and filial loyalty in his mother's eyes. And yet if Ibrahim adhered to his mother's wishes he clearly ran the risk of being discredited by Isa's lineage and possibly by other segments of the clan as well. In any case, Ibrahim chose to defer to his mother, ostensibly so as to remain on good terms with her and avoid being cast in the role of disobedient and ungrateful son, even though such deference meant dereliction of official duty and abrogation of moral responsibility. His overriding filial allegiance was not immediately apparent to members of the other lineages, however, for, as already noted, he had seemingly agreed to the particulars of the retribution during a meeting with the three

lineage heads. On that occasion, and for a short while thereafter, it was assumed that he would effect the payment of the fine and ensure Hamzah's holding the feast.

As the weeks passed it became increasingly obvious that Ibrahim was not seriously committed to compelling his brother to make the prescribed amends. The three lineage heads soon recognized that their only recourse lay in soliciting the intervention of the Dato Perba, Ibrahim's political superior and chief of the entire clan. This man lived in a village a few miles from Bogang and, like all his predecessors, was the second-highest-ranked adat figure in Rembau, being junior only to the Undang. By dint of office and regalia alone, his wisdom and authority in clan matters were above question, at least in theory. The three lineage heads were therefore confident that the Dato Perba would acknowledge the validity of their claims against the clan subchief, and would also insist on the latter's compliance with their decision concerning Hamzah's restitution. Indeed, the Dato Perba reportedly sided with them to the extent of concurring on Hamzah's guilt, and he ordered Ibrahim to insist that Hamzah honor his debt to the boy's lineage. Unfortunately for almost everyone involved, however, the Dato Perba's intervention proved ineffective. Consequently, and as a final resort, the matter was taken to the Undang. Here again the boy's kin looked forward to a binding decision involving some censure of Ibrahim's comportment as clan subchief, and an eventual end to the stalemate.

It may have been at this stage that a precise timetable for the payment of retribution was established (although some such details were probably considered at an earlier phase in the mounting crisis). The decisive—and ultimately divisive—issue is that the deadline passed, as did the subsequent one-hundred-day grace period. In fact, by mid 1980 the situation remained essentially unchanged, the critical differences being the progressive buildup of antagonisms and resentment between Ibrahim as clan subchief on the one hand and the three lineage heads on the other, and the attendant solidification of alliances and oppositions centering on the principal actors and their most loyal supporters.

Before turning to the various ramifications of the crisis, we might consider why neither the clan chief nor the Undang demanded Ibrahim's resignation once it became clear he had no intention of executing his responsibilities in the matter. They could have done so, of course, and in the view of many Bogang residents they should have, given their mandate to up-

hold justice and maintain the integrity of traditional offices. That they adopted instead a position of benign neglect as regards Ibrahim's dereliction of duty is one of the more distressing aspects of the entire crisis, for villagers tend to interpret this action (or nonaction) as colored, if not determined, by considerations of power, status, money, and politics—all of which should have been irrelevant in the case at hand.

To elaborate, both at the time of his assault on young Isa and throughout the ensuing crisis, Hamzah held a federal government appointment of considerable importance. Owing to his prominent position—not to mention a salary of astronomical dimensions, by local standards—Hamzah enjoyed almost unparalleled prestige in Rembau and the rest of Negeri Sembilan. In addition, because of his presumed close connections with state and other federal government officials, villagers regarded Hamzah as capable of exercising inordinate influence over the clan chief and the Undang. Villagers therefore assumed that these latter figures responded accordingly, especially to Hamzah's strategic placement within the corridors of power. In brief, the stock explanation as to why neither of these leaders called for Ibrahim's resignation is that they either bowed to deftly applied pressures or anticipated heavy political fallout if they pursued the issue to its logical conclusion. Expressed in one of the many village euphemisms, "they were playing politics" (dia main politik ). Worse yet—although villagers define this as an integral dimension of virtually all political behavior—their actions constituted a complete disregard of sanctified concepts of local justice and retribution, as well as the moral order in its entirety. In an era of all-consuming secularization, rapid erosion of long sacrosanct rural institutions, and pervasive uncertainty as to the viability of established local custom, these events assumed a profound and disconcerting symbolic significance. For, to paraphrase a comment I heard on numerous occasions, "if those at the top don't adhere to adat, why should anyone else?"

Let us now look at the subsequent ramifications and manifestations of this collective dilemma in greater detail. I should underscore that Ibrahim and Hamzah's entire lineage appears to have endorsed Ibrahim's general position throughout the whole affair. So too, it seems, did all of the men married to Ibrahim's lineage sisters, for in general the males who marry into a particular lineage do band together in political and most other broadly social affairs (and hence tend to be classified in terms of their

affinal connections rather than their own descent affiliations). Whether Ibrahim's affinal supporters were spurred by loyalty to Ibrahim, his brother Hamzah, or the two men's mother, they did stand basically united behind Ibrahim's decision not to force Hamzah to pay the adat fine or host the prescribed feast. Such at any rate was the public stance these men adopted, and I suspect that they also advised Ibrahim not to go ahead and sponsor the feast himself. Here again some motivational elements elude us, and a critical factor may well have been the long history of strained relations between Ibrahim's lineage and that of Isa. In any case, the prior existence of bad blood between the two groups definitely figured into the perpetuation of the crisis and its subsequent transformation into a villagewide affair with polarizing implications for group prayer, public animal slaughter, and officiation at adat rituals, as well as village leadership and affiliation with national political parties.^[2]

The circumstances responsible for the preexisting antagonisms between the two groups are probably far more complex than most contemporary villagers (or I) realize, and could easily date to early in the century, if not before. Nevertheless, dynamic factors of more recent origin occasionally assume dominance in villagers' accounts of these strained relations, which would seem significant in the generation and sustenance of the tensions in question. I refer to the existence within each camp of a few men regarded as both well versed in the art of public, persuasive speech and resourceful in mobilizing sentiment and resources for "getting things done"—in brief, men with charisma and leadership qualities. Spoken of at times as "big men" (orang besar ), these individuals bear certain similarities to Melanesian "men of renown," whether or not they hold clan office, a seat on a village council, or any other formal status. That is, in exchange for pledges of loyalty and support, they act to further the needs and interests of persons who either are less politically adept or simply prefer not to get involved in the strife-torn arenas of public life. Competition between big men is occasionally quite fierce, although it rarely erupts in physical violence or direct confrontations, verbal or otherwise. This rivalry may revolve around contests for the loyalty of lineage mates or affines, but it need not be constrained by distinctions based on descent or affinal ties. Thus, big men associated with a single lineage through descent or marriage may compete for the support of the same individuals. Such rivalry among full brothers is in fact a common theme in myth, history, and contemporary village politics. Con-

versely, big men with different descent and marriage affiliations frequently find themselves similarly pitted, but here the loyalties sought are those of men associated with various lineages.

In the Bogang case, Ibrahim, the clan subchief, is one such big man by virtue of education, literacy, verbal skills, and prior government employment. Also relevant is his brother Hamzah's access to state and federal officials and resources, and his own orientation toward "getting things done" for close kin, other allies, and the village community as a whole. Ibrahim's successes in this latter capacity and his stature as a big man are further enhanced by the titled positions he holds on the village councils (the UMNO Committee, the Village Development Committee, and the Mosque Committee), which nowadays constitute the principal organs of local government in Bogang and throughout the Peninsula. Finally, there is Ibrahim's close relationship with the village headman, who is married to Ibrahim's lineage sister (his MMZDD) and lives with affines who are Ibrahim's most immediate enates. This in-law bond makes the two leaders natural allies and mutes any potential antagonisms and rivalries between them—for the village headman is also a "big man," and he derives much of his support from individuals who, in the event of an intraclan dispute, would usually back Ibrahim. The larger issue, though, is not the muted competition between the two leaders but rather their reputation for furthering the material and other interests of the same relatively small group of people, most notably the members of Ibrahim's lineage (Hill) and the men who, like the village headman, have married women of that lineage. As mentioned before, this group is far and away the wealthiest in the entire community.

As for the broader matter of local coalition, Ibrahim and the village headman are allied with the half-dozen or so other prominent figures in Bogang, most of whom sit on one or another village council and support the ruling political party, UMNO. The principal exception lies with the big men who were—and still are—the most incensed by Ibrahim's betrayal of office. Interestingly, these two individuals are not associated through descent or marriage with either young Isa's lineage (River) or that of Ibrahim (Hill); rather, they represent the third lineage, Valley. They are, moreover, full brothers, and more important, they stand as half-brothers to Isa by virtue of a common father. For the past few years and perhaps longer, neither of these men has served on the more powerful of the village councils; and by numerous accounts they have steadfastly endeavored to

situate themselves and their followers in an adversarial position to the clan subchief, the village headman, and the power bloc those men represent. Facilitating this objective is their affiliation, and that of a disproportionate number of their lineage members, with the opposition political party, PAS.

Additionally, the junior and less influential of young Isa's half-brothers has been the head of the Valley lineage for the past two decades or so. Questions of patrilateral half-siblingship, big-man rivalry, and politicking aside, this man was fully required by the mandate of adat office and the duties of clan brotherhood to make sure that Hamzah paid the compensation to Isa's lineage or, failing that, to effect a mutually satisfactory compromise between the two lineages. More to the point, as we will see, his loyalties and responsibilities cast him as the principal adversary in relation to the clan subchief, especially once it became evident that Ibrahim had no intention of transgressing his mother's wishes by forcing Hamzah to effect retribution.

Further bolstering the younger man's position in the affair is the support he has received from his brother, Zakariah, who was—and still is—the only other big man of the lineage. Owing to Zakariah's standing as one of the community's most successful entrepreneurs, and perhaps the most charismatic of all Bogang residents, he has long constituted an appreciable threat to the established powers in the village. Aside from his expertise in syncretic ritual knowledge (ilmu ) and the formal teachings of Islam, Zakariah possesses widely admired verbal and social skills, an awe-inspiring bravery (berani ), and great determination in the face of potential obstacles to the realization of his objectives. He therefore enjoys an impressive following composed largely of lineage mates, male affines married to his lineage sisters, and others who are dissatisfied with Bogang's political elite, are allied with the opposition party, or, since the two tend to go hand in hand, both.

In sum, were it not for the prior existence of strained relations between Hamzah's lineage and the allies of Isa's half-brothers, both the incident and the ensuing antagonisms caused by nonpayment of the retribution might have faded into insignificance some years ago. For that matter, were it not for the bad blood between the two groups, Ibrahim's mother might have allowed, or even forced, one of her sons to go ahead with the restitution.

A related, but far more significant, theme is that the lines of cleavage and alliance engendered—or at least reified—by this feud are defined by variants of siblingship; hence, they cannot be interpreted in terms of idioms of descent, or with respect to hostilities between the two lineages of Isa and Hamzah. If the entailments of descent were the primary idioms informing the behavior of the principal social actors in the Valley lineage, for example, we would expect that these individuals would eventually have assumed a mediating role vis-à-vis the other two lineages of the clan, to which they stand equally related by descent. Instead, these men, like most other people associated with their lineage, have not only continued to boycott Ibrahim as clan subchief, but have also been far more actively involved than members of young Isa's lineage both in criticizing Ibrahim and in perpetuating the crisis—even though their lineage's honor was less seriously besmirched by the events following Hamzah's overreaction to the theft of his sugarcane. The dominant idiom underlying the alignment of these two lineages and their affines, and unifying them against the clan subchief's lineage and its affines, is siblingship; specifically, the tie of brotherhood that crosscuts lines of descent and links young Isa's lineage with that of his patrilateral half-brothers. More generally, just as the whole affair has revolved around various issues and categories of male siblingship from the beginning, its most disturbing implications concern the bonds of brotherhood that are supposed to obtain among all Bogang men by virtue of common village citizenship and equality in the eyes of Allah.

Isa's theft, to reiterate, was especially reprehensible insofar as Hamzah stood as a clan brother. Owing to this same tie of clan brotherhood, Hamzah should not have struck Isa—all the more so since he was endowed with the rationality (akal ) of an adult, whereas Isa was still a child. The clan subchief, in turn, failed to discharge his jurally mandated duties, which would have involved a breach of fraternal loyalty as well as seriously alienated his mother. Thus he, too, compromised the broad spirit of siblingship underlying clanship while honoring a narrowly conceived variant of sibling relatedness. The same could be said of young Isa's half-brothers, whose indignant response to the assault on the boy, and to the events that followed, was equally compromising to the same spirit of siblingship. Noteworthy as well, but of much wider concern, is that all of the men who have married into the clan are required not merely to take sides in the dis-

pute but to adopt the position of their wives' enates, as defined by the most influential males in the lineage. Those who are biras on account of their unions with women of a single lineage are therefore allied with one another and defined in opposition to the men married to women of different lineages within the clan, despite the fact that they themselves may be actual brothers or classificatory siblings owing to common enatic origin.

The question of taking sides in the dispute (since a middle ground seems never to have existed) emerges as a factor of critical importance both socially and politically in Bogang. This situation is quite explicit in the domain of ritual, where issues of sides and loyalties—not only to individuals, affines, and lineally related kin, but also to notions of propriety, due process, and justice—receive their most succinct expression. The orchestration of certain rituals necessarily involves making unambiguous ("either/or") public statements of allegiance with respect to the clan subchief's comportment and the entire crisis. I refer most directly to the ritual performances marking the engagements and weddings of villagers belonging to the Lelahmaharaja clan. On these occasions especially, adat conventions call for the beleaguered clan subchief to be present and to participate actively, both on grounds of protocol and so as to render the ritual efficacious. Further underscoring the clan subchief's pivotal role in these contexts is the fact that his immediate superior, the head of the entire clan, need not attend such rites of passage unless ceremonial displays of the Undang's sacred regalia (flags, swords, kris, and so forth) are incorporated into the ritual sequence. (Such embellishments are encountered nowadays only on the extremely rare occasions of three-day weddings.) For that matter, lineage head participation in engagements and weddings is customarily secondary, almost peripheral in relation to that of the clan subchief. In short, the rituals in question both revolve around and fully require the officiation and validation of the clan subchief.

Herein lies what is perhaps the most visible and disturbing element of the adat crisis: two of the three lineages of the Lelahmaharaja clan refuse to allow the clan subchief to discharge his ritual duties during their engagements and weddings. Viewed from the other side, the only members of the clan who request and sanction his participation in the betel, bridewealth, and other exchanges that are indispensable to both of the aforementioned sets of rituals are persons of his own lineage. Their actions in this area stand as clear testimony to their backing of his position in the

crisis. Conversely, the stance of the other two lineages is both intended and interpreted as a direct and searing indictment of the subchief's partisan behavior toward his brother Hamzah and in the management of clan affairs more generally. It amounts, in sum, to a denial of his supremacy within the local clan; in fact, as far as these two lineages are concerned, the Lelahmaharaja clan of Bogang has no legitimate head.

This boycotting of Ibrahim as clan subchief would not necessarily entail profound dilemmas for the clan and much of the rest of the village were it not for the simple fact, noted above, that proper performance of the rituals in question hinges on his direct involvement in them. As we have seen, rituals of engagement and marriage are not limited to effecting or publicizing a particular stage in the formation of conjugal bonds; rather, they are keyed to the attainment of far more encompassing objectives, such as the creation or perpetuation of symbolic ties between entire clans and lineage branches thereof. Related to these eminently valued goals is the lofty and increasingly elusive ideal of unity and solidarity among all kin and village residents. The attainment of all such culturally desired states is especially problematic at present owing to the adat crisis and the historical erosion of all social and cultural mechanisms capable of resolving it. For aside from the boycott of Ibrahim as clan subchief, most individuals tied by descent or marriage to his lineage are not only tainted by the affair but also excluded from many of the marriage feasts sponsored by the lineage of young Isa's half-brothers. Similarly, Ibrahim's lineage does not usually extend feasting invitations to persons of the Valley lineage, and even when it does, few Valley members actually attend. To do so is to incur the wrath and lasting vengeance of Isa's half-brothers, influential men in the lineage and in Bogang as a whole.

A good deal more might be said of Bogang's adat crisis and the schisms it has generated, but I shall confine my remarks to a few of its implications for ritual and politics. Especially noteworthy are the ramifications of the crisis in the domain of public animal sacrifice. A major rift occurred when young Isa's half-brother, Zakariah, was informed that allies of the clan subchief had decided the water buffaloes Zakariah procured for communitywide Islamic calendrical celebrations were not halal , or ritually acceptable to Muslims. This statement embodied a searing indictment of the dealings leading up to Zakariah's obtaining the oxen, which if unscrupulous, as alleged, would indeed render the animals unfit for Muslim consumption.

Gravely incensed by this attack on his religious credentials and personal integrity, Zakariah vowed to forego the future slaughter of oxen at the village mosque and to look elsewhere for a suitable sacrifice site. He settled on a pleasantly shaded spot near his wife's home, proceeding in addition to construct a small prayer house (surau ) in the same vicinity that allowed him and his supporters to minimize the time spent praying among and otherwise mixing with their rivals and enemies. Because the clan subchief and his principal backers still slaughter oxen near the mosque, every Islamic holiday marked by public animal slaughter sees the two factions separating into their mutually antagonistic camps. Furthermore, since these camps are simultaneously defined in terms of two opposed political coalitions, both the sacrifice of oxen and the entire adat crisis have come to be infused with the symbols and idioms of national politics. So too, of course, have the institutions of marriage, feasting, and prayer, as well as those of secular village administration and the adat polity, up to and including Rembau's Undang.

The politicization of public animal slaughter, as well as the adat crisis as a whole, is profitably viewed in relation to a controversy that emerged in Rembau in the early 1900s, when four disaffected clan chiefs refused to attend the installation ceremony of the newly elected Undang (NSSSF [1905] 2960/05). In consequence of so publicizing their disapproval of the candidate, they lost their titles. Nonetheless, and in a clear contravention of adat, they proceeded to sanction a feast at which a water buffalo was slaughtered. This comportment provoked the ire of British officials, who promptly informed them that all such behavior constituted "a great lack of respect [toward] His Excellency the Governor in whose hands the selection of the Penghulu [Undang] had by all Chiefs in Rembau been placed." Particularly interesting here are the parallels between these turn-of-the-century expressions of political opposition and those manifest at collective animal sacrifices in present-day Bogang.

Far more encompassing patterns of historical continuity emerge from the fact that the two lineages most directly involved in Bogang's adat crisis include among their respective members and spouses many of the principal luminaries and supporters of the two opposed political parties. This situation indicates that lineage-defined factions still predominate in local political arenas, and that association, whether by descent or marriage, with one or another lineage tends to dictate modern-day party affiliation. In

other words, traditional structures continue to define and empower social cleavages, even while they help to legitimize new divisions capable of transcending them.

The involvement of in-marrying males in this long-stalemated affair is especially relevant to these themes of structural continuity, and provides further support for my earlier point that the lines of cleavage and alliance expressed in Bogang's adat crisis ramify throughout the institution of marriage, being by no means confined to matters of ritual exchange. To appreciate this, as well as the quintessential politics of contemporary affinal alliance, we need only consider that the men who have married into the Lelahmaharaja clan are embroiled in the schism far more passionately and inextricably than their wives or, for that matter, than most male clan members—if only because so many of the latter do not reside in Bogang. Far from being a function of personalities or other adventitious circumstances, this situation indicates considerable continuity in the social identities of married men, especially those born outside the village. Even at present, such identities derive largely from a man's close affines, that is, from individuals affiliated with his wife's lineage. Thus, no mater how unencumbered these identities may be by jural and economic sanctions from affinal quarters, they are still informed by the moral and broadly social bonds obtaining between married men and their wives' closest enates. Bogang's adat crisis certainly stands as testimony to this theme.