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Guns and Sorcery: Raiding, Trading, and Kanaima
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James Andrew Whitaker
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ARTICLE
Guns and Sorcery: Raiding, Trading, and Kanaima among the
Makushi
James Andrew Whitaker
Tulane University
USA
Introduction
The history of the Makushi Amerindians in Guyana contains recurring themes of slave raid-
ing, trading, and kanaima sorcery. Neil Whitehead (2002:206, 222–23, 250) has hypothesized
— based on colonial documents and fieldwork with the Patamona—that the rise of kanaima
sorcery among the Makushi is related to the history of slaving, the introduction of guns, and
other colonial pressures from the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. He suggests
that kanaima practitioners gained new socially recognized roles as assassins when the use of
guns altered patterns of raiding and warfare with clubs, which were the traditional weapons
of warfare among the Caribs, Makushi, and other Amerindians of Guyana. As such, kanaima
emerged as a stealth force that could be used to counter the predations suffered by the Ma-
kushi and other Amerindians. This essay will provide new evidence—based on colonial doc-
uments and fieldwork with the Makushi—in support of this hypothesis and will further
elucidate the connection between raiding, trading, and sorcery among the Makushi.
The goal of this paper is not to provide an explanation of the origins of kanaima. Rather,
it is to further a hypothesis as to how colonial pressures (slave raiding, trading, guns, etc.)
opened up new spaces for the application of this form of violent sorcery. Kanaima sorcerers
engage in acts of ritual homicide—frequently disguised or shape-shifting as jaguars, giant ot-
ters, or other animals—that prepare victims' bodies for postmortem extraction and selective
consumption in order to transfer human essences to a mythic being named Makunaima (as-
sociated with creation) in exchange for continued patronage and provision (Vidal and
Whitehead 2004:61; Whitehead 2002:131, 146, 221–22; Whitehead and Wright 2004:6).
Whitehead identifies this exchange as the ritual goal of kanaima; however, the exact benefits
of this exchange for individual kanaima sorcerers remain somewhat unclear both in White-
head's account and in the accounts of my Makushi interlocutors. Although Makushi ac-
counts of kanaima vary as to its goals—some suggest it is related to Negi/Makunaima, while
others do not state a specific overarching goal—it is important to note that the identity of
the victims as enemies, affines, or even consanguines appears largely irrelevant to kanaima.
Whitehead (2001:240; 2002:58, 61, 76, 90, 93, 129, 243) notes that arbitrary persons (includ-
ing local women and children), as well as relatives of the killer, may be victims of kanaima
among the contemporary Patamona, and that the selection of victims may be based upon re-
venge, envy, payment, bullying, random encounters, personal offenses, or other variables.
This and other aspects of Whitehead's descriptions of kanaima among the Patamona are
generally consistent with Makushi accounts.
The Makushi describe kanaima killings in fairly consistent detail, but there are several
variations in stories of kanaima attacks. It should be noted that these narratives constitute a
de facto storytelling genre for the Makushi. However, although the Makushi tell stories
about kanaima attacks, suspected attacks, and close encounters relatively freely, there is no-
table concern among some that talking too openly about this topic might attract kanaima vi-
olence, arouse suspicions about whether one is secretly a kanaima, or otherwise result in
undesirable consequences. There is no general effort to suppress knowledge of kanaima, but
individual Makushi persons usually do not want to be seen as sources of such knowledge.
In almost all kanaima stories, the victim is alone at the time of attack. Kanaima do not
usually attack pairs or groups of people. The most common version states that a person is
walking alone and perceives rustling or movement ahead of them. They stare at the odd
movement, which is a diversion, and a hidden person comes behind them and strikes them
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on the head. This causes them to lose consciousness. In many accounts, the victim is said to
perceive a person-like being that looks like a jaguar, a giant otter, or another animal before
being struck and losing consciousness. This is variously said to be a kanaima disguised in the
skins of an animal or a kanaima that has actually transformed into an animal through the use
of magical plants colloquially called bina. While unconscious, the kanaima pricks the victim's
tongue with snake's teeth to cause it to swell and prevent subsequent speech. The kanaima
puts pressure on the abdomen to cause intestinal protrusion and then cuts or “ties” the in-
testines. Some describe the kanaima as inserting a packet of herbs into the intestines and
breaking bones. The victim eventually wakes up, returns home, and subsequently becomes
sick. The individual runs a high fever, cannot speak, and sometimes experiences uncontrol-
lable diarrhea until death, which is typically within three days or less. After the victim is bur-
ied, the kanaima returns to the grave and through one of several methods obtains necrotic
substances, usually described as blood, from the victim. They are led to the grave by a sweet
smell—it is sometimes described as similar to pineapple—that is caused by the actions per-
formed on the victim's body during the attack. If the kanaima is unable to get to the body,
they “get fits” and involuntarily transform into various small animals, such as the armadillo.
Kanaima sorcery consists of regional and cross-cultural phenomena—there are similari-
ties between Patamona, Akawaio, and Makushi accounts of it—and a set of beliefs and prac-
tices that cannot be reduced to colonial pressures. The extremely violent manner in which
kanaima kill their victims and their need to return to the body after burial are driven by con-
cerns beyond the more basic goals of assassination (Whitehead 2002:231). At their roots,
kanaima practices do seem to be based in broader frameworks of belief and are probably
much older than the nineteenth century. The association between kanaima and Makunaima
goes back at least to the early nineteenth century (Hancock 1835:44). Among the Makushi,
Makunaima is frequently known as Negi and is considered the malevolent brother of the be-
nevolent Inshkirung—both mythic beings associated with creation. Although these broader
beliefs underpin regional kanaima practices, colonial pressures emerging in the late eight-
eenth and early nineteenth centuries led to new adaptations and socially recognized applica-
tions of kanaima.
The Makushi and Slaving Raids1
The first known appearance of the Makushi in recorded history occurs in the context of
slaving raids conducted against them in 1740 by Luso-Brazilian slavers led by an Irishman
named Lourenço Belforte (Hemming 1987:30; QFGBB VI 1903:99–100; Williams 1932:13–
14). During the eighteenth century, the Makushi were caught between Luso-Brazilian slaving
raids and those carried out by Amerindian proxies (mostly Caribs and Akawaio) of the
Dutch (Whitaker 2016a; Whitehead 1988). Such raids against the Makushi were frequent
during the eighteenth century and continued into the nineteenth century (CBGHBM
1898:9–10; Hilhouse 1825:37; Whitaker 2016a:40). For example, John Hancock (QFGBB
VII 1903:2), Robert Schomburgk (Hemming 1987:262), Charles Barrington Brown
(1875:146), and other nineteenth century visitors to the Makushi were told of impending
slaving raids.
Memories of these historical experiences of slaving raids have been passed down among
the Makushi. During annual fieldwork visits (2012–15) to the Makushi in Guyana, I encoun-
tered oral histories pertaining to these raids. For example, I was told on one occasion that:
The Portuguese used to catch the Makushi for enslaving them for coffee
plantations, tobacco plantations. So many of them came running north.
And when they did, the Caribs came hunting us. They called us the lesser
people. And the Dutch gave the Caribs guns and powder to bring us to the
coast and enslave us. So, they [the Makushi] were being caught in both di-
rections.
This interlocutor's mother-in-law's mother had been enslaved in Brazil and thus had person-
al ties to this history of enslavement. It is notable that guns (provided to the Caribs by the
Dutch) are mentioned in this account. As discussed below, possession of this weaponry by
the Caribs and other Amerindian slaving groups, as well as by Luso-Brazilian slavers, appears
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to have complicated Makushi efforts to counter such hostilities. Another interlocutor ex-
plained how the Makushi survived this period of slaving:
They [the Portuguese] would take the men as slave[s] or kill them out. They
would leave the old women. My mother used to say that they would usually
kill out the men. Some friends of mine, their parents used to tell them that
there would be signs from the animals. The fox would say: “Fly away, hu-
mong.”2 Because this is how foxes sound at night. But when they are sending
you a message, they would be more aggressive sounding. When they were
sending you a message. And she asked the elderly person: “How comes you
know?” And she would say: “When a fox would send you a message they
would interpret it and say ‘The fox is saying our enemies is coming back to
kill again and take away our little girls’.” And then they would see the Bra-
zilians coming with their lassos, and the Caribs would bring their clubs to
hit them. So they would bury the girls and some of the men too. And an old
lady would sit out by the fire and yell out: “Why you coming again? Don't
you know you already killed out our men and took our women? Why don't
you go away?” And that is why we believe we still have Makushi peoples.
Consistent with recorded history, this story reveals the adoption of a strategy of hiding, as
well as strategies involving animals, to circumvent slaving raids. The notion that elderly
women would be left to meet the raiders is consistent with accounts of nineteenth-century
explorers who describe encountering Makushi villages with only elderly men or women pre-
sent. For example, the Schomburgk brothers write of finding Makushi villages with only
women in them (Hemming 1987:263; Schomburgk 1876:46). Richard Schomburgk mentions
Amerindians hiding, fleeing, or having anxieties about attacks and slaving raids (Schomburgk
1922 [1847]:325–26; 1923 [1848]:50, 64, 145). Patamona oral history also suggests that villag-
es were sometimes left with only elderly women and children (Whitehead 2002:225). Alt-
hough it is not possible to give a precise terminal date, slave raiding against the Makushi
seems to have mostly ended around the mid-to-late nineteenth century. However, the theme
of elderly women as saviors of their villages is reflected in contemporary Makushi stories
that depict these women saving their villages from otherly beings, such as giant bats and
large birds. Similar stories were told to Schomburgk (1876:30–31).
Several sources between the 1810s and 1840s claim that Makushi persons were some-
times involved in the “sale” of their relatives as slaves. John Hancock (1835:45–46) recounts
being offered a Makushi male youth in exchange for minor trade goods and mentions Maku-
shi men “selling” their sisters-in-law (affines), as well as their brothers' children (consan-
guines), upon the death of a younger brother (QFGBB VII 1903:2). Richard Schomburgk
(1923 [1848]:250) likewise mentions the “selling” of relatives by the Makushi. John Henry
Bernau (1847:35–36) writes that the Makushi “have the cruel custom of selling each other as
slaves. If the husband dies, his wife and children are at the disposal of the eldest surviving
brother, who may sell or kill them as he pleases.” Robert Schomburgk (1848a:87–88) also
mentions claims, which he admits that he cannot verify, that the Makushi sometimes sold
their kin. Elsewhere, as provided in Peter Rivière's (2006b:161) compilation of Schomburgk's
writings, he suggests that a gun was the price of a “marriageable girl” among Amerindians (in
general) in the interior of British Guiana.
Robert Schomburgk encountered groups of Caribs who were traveling to the Makushi
territory with guns and other goods to trade for—or to otherwise capture—Makushi slaves
(Rivière 2006a:127, 133, 168). Due to a death, which Schomburgk suggests caused fear and
uncertainty among the raiders, one Carib slaving raid against the Makushi transformed into a
nonslaving trade expedition (Rivière 2006a:207). This group of Caribs claimed to have “giv-
en up all idea of enslaving, and [stated] that they were merely going to barter for hammocks,
cotton, dogs, &c &c” (Rivière 2006a:207–8). Since death among Amerindians in Guyana is
traditionally associated with sorcery, it is quite likely that the Caribs on this occasion were
dissuaded from the planned raid by their belief that the Makushi (through kanaima or other
practices of sorcery) had caused the death. This reveals the potential efficacy of sorcery as a
curb against such predations.
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It could be that the guns mentioned by Schomburgk were actually for raiding and not
for purposes of trade. The claim that they were intended for trade may have been a ruse.
However, slave raiding and trading appear to have existed at this time as an unsteady and
fuzzy continuum on which guns lay at both ends.3 Whitehead (2002:54) notes the “fine line”
that divides raiding from trading and discusses Hilhouse's (1825:22–23) descriptions of how
the Akawaio opted for raiding (rather than trading) when villages were poorly defended, how
possession of guns could tip the balance towards raiding for the Akawaio, and how kanaima
(itoto) attacks were used as adjuncts to Akawaio warfare. Raiding and trading were alternate
yet interrelated means of exchange in the region during the early-to-mid nineteenth century.
Slave trading (particularly that involving kin) appears to have occurred against the back-
ground threat of reprised raiding. Hancock claims that the Makushi “selling” of relatives was
“continually encouraged by the trading Caribs,” and that the Makushi complained of this to
his expedition (QFGBB VII 1903:2). The “sale” of relatives thus occurred under duress and
instances of Makushi persons transferring their relatives to the Caribs should be understood
within the context of similar raids made at the time by Luso-Brazilians, Caribs, and others.
Matrimonial exchanges may have sometimes been a means of establishing village links, trade
relations, or other “alliances” for the Makushi, but the overarching context of raiding and
threats of raiding (implicit or explicit) in these cases makes “alliance” motivations less prima-
ry.
Another issue that arises with the Makushi “sale of relatives” is that the nature of such
exchange is not entirely clear in the available sources. Makushi trade at the time was mostly
(if not entirely) based in bartering—both Hancock and Schomburgk allude to a bartering of
trade goods, such as guns, for people. Barter is a form of exchange that frequently differs in
both form and content from market exchange (Humphrey and Hugh-Jones 1992). Barter
frequently involves cultural meanings, expectations, and even social obligations that go be-
yond the economic transaction itself and that are frequently absent or obscured in money-
based market transactions.
Unfortunately, it is not possible to ascertain fully the broader meanings of the Makushi
“sale of relatives” from the available sources, but it appears likely that such exchanges (oc-
curring within a context of raiding and duress) involved transformations or perhaps manipu-
lations of existing customs, such as bride service and men's roles in relation to a deceased
brother's wife and children. Trade goods may have been used as a substitute for bride service
obligations and customs involving widowed sisters-in-law may have facilitated the acquisi-
tion of persons by slavers.
Slave raiding and trading led to a number of transformations for Amerindian societies in
the region. During the eighteenth century, the Jesuit missionary Joseph Gumilla noted the
effects of a colonial market for slaves on Carib patterns of raiding (Edmundson 1904:14–
15). Whitehead (1988:2, 57) explains how the status of war captives in the Guianas trans-
formed over time as Europeans created a market for such slaves. He writes:
The European presence itself changed the nature of inter-tribal relations by
intensifying, for example, Amerindian raiding for economic and political
gain. Moreover, Carib groups were themselves destabilized by this process
since there were critical differences between indigenous and Europeans no-
tions of slavery. Thus the Amerindians ultimately integrated their captives,
as wives or poitos (son-in-law), into the kinship network, while the Europe-
ans treated their slaves as commodities, exploiting and discarding them as
their economic usefulness dictated (Whitehead 1988:2).
However, the raiders were not the only ones who experienced transformation due to the co-
lonial development of a slave market and raiding for Amerindian captives. References to
Makushi persons “selling” their relatives suggest that the victims of such raids also some-
times underwent sociological transformations as a result of slaving. In most cases, as men-
tioned, these latter transformations were likely attempts at adapting existing societal patterns
—such as the obligations of elder brothers towards the spouse(s) and children of younger
brothers—to minimize or mitigate against additional hostilities from slave raiding groups. By
selectively “selling” relatives, Makushi villages or kin groups may have avoided wholesale
capture and slaughter by the Caribs and other groups armed with guns obtained from Euro-
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pean colonists. However, the occasional normalization of slave raiding into slave trading
(whether of kin or non-kin) does not imply the erasure of violence–whether as duress or re-
taliation. Even today, one of the major motivations mentioned for a kanaima attack is the
abrogation of affinal obligations, such as when a man marries or impregnates a woman and
then abandons her. In such cases, the man is said to have “fooled up” her family, and retalia-
tion through kanaima violence is thought likely. The residuum of warfare within the regional
trade network, in which violence and other forms of exchange continued to coexist, further
illustrates this application of kanaima within contexts of exchange.
Delayed Reciprocity and the Regional Trade Network
In the nineteenth century, the Makushi were involved in a trade network with other regional
Amerindian groups.4 A limited picture of this network emerges from colonial texts. Blow-
pipes, cassava graters, and curare poison were key items in this trade. The Makushi special-
ized in producing hammocks, various crafts, and a potent form of curare (Flint 1880:49;
Rivière 2006a:186; Schomburgk 1841a:558). The Taruma, Guinau, and Makiritare (called Ma-
iongkongs by Schomburgk) specialized in producing cassava graters (Rivière 2006a:358; Ri-
vière 2006b:147; Schomburgk 1848b:231–32). The Guinau and Makiritare also specialized in
providing the materials used to make blowpipes (Rivière 2006a:347; Schomburgk 1841a:561;
Schomburgk 1922 [1847]:352). The Arekuna were said to obtain these materials, manufac-
ture the blowpipes, and distribute them to the Makushi in exchange for curare (Flint
1880:49; Schomburgk 1873:32; Schomburgk 1841a:558; Schomburgk 1922 [1847]:333).
There is insufficient space here to fully delineate this trade network, which spread over a
wide geographical area and involved many Amerindian societies, but a key point of interest
here is Robert Schomburgk's mention of delayed reciprocity between the Makushi and a
group of Guinau and Makiritare. During his travels, Schomburgk witnessed these groups en-
gaging in trade and writes that:
though the Guinaus saw the Macusis for the first time, they nevertheless
trusted to their word that they would send the payment by one of the men
who were to accompany us to Pirara (Rivière [ed] 2006a:358).
Elsewhere, he suggests that these groups may have had sustained contact (Schomburgk
1841b:420–21). However, although it is quite faint in Schomburgk's account, this observa-
tion seems to point to a system of delayed reciprocity in operation at the time in the interior
of British Guiana. By reciprocity, I do not mean to imply that there was an explicit system or
conception of private property ownership; however, there does appear to have been a mech-
anism for enforcing the more general economic circulations surrounding regional barter and
trade. This point becomes much clearer in light of ethnographic data from my fieldwork
with the Makushi in Guyana.
Delayed Reciprocity and Kanaima Sorcery
Makushi oral history reveals that the threat of kanaima sorcery ensured the system of delayed
reciprocity in the regional trade network. Trade partners who failed to meet their obligations
in trade might become targets of kanaima violence. When I asked about historical patterns of
trade in 2013, I was told:
Last trading I know of [occurred] when I was a little boy. We used to go
and trade hardware; we used to buy it from the city—gun, cutlass, hard-
ware, file. They used to carry it [to the] Arekunas to trade it for cassava
grater. They buy those. That was like in 1950s, 40s, and 30s. That was the
trading route from here right through heading to the Orinoco. It took them
one month to go and come. But they knew the route to reach there and
they would take the time and go. I don't think there's anybody who knows
it now. The last guy was toshao [village leader] for a few times, but he passed
away this same year. His father was an Arekuna. He used to tell us about
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the trading and about how they made enemies because they did not keep
their obligations.
This reference to obligations refers to agreements that a trade partner would return within a
specified time, bring the trade item previously promised, and complete the exchange. The
Makushi commonly mentioned the Arekuna when talking about such trade and obligations
with delayed reciprocity.
Several Makushi interlocutors mentioned past trade with the Arekuna in Brazil or near
Mount Roraima for cassava graters and blowpipes. Mount Roraima has long-standing signif-
icance for many Amerindian societies in the region and is located on the border of Brazil,
Guyana, and Venezuela. Other interlocutors claimed that graters were also obtained from
the Akawaio and/or the Patamona. I was told in 2014:
They [the Makushi] used to go across there [to Roraima near the Arekuna]
and barter for graters. I think it was the Arekuna who made the stone grat-
ers. And they go all the way over the Roraima to get the grater. And they
would carry hand axe and other things. And they would say that they would
come at a certain time to return the trade. And if they didn't come by then,
then they would get mad and go and get the one who didn't come back on
time.
The general pattern that emerges is that a Makushi person or group of persons would travel
a long distance to trade for graters and other items. Consistent with nineteenth-century writ-
ers' accounts, the Makushi claim today that they specialized in producing curare, hammocks,
and various crafts in the past. If they failed to return and complete the exchange within the
agreed-upon time frame5—three months was sometimes given as an example—then a
kanaima would be dispatched to kill them. For example, I was told that:
The Arekuna were the producers of the cassava grater and they would bar-
ter with whatever you brought from here. I think that it is still—you have to
go with a guide and a person to interpret your language—the way it works.
Maybe I go and they trust me with an extra grater and maybe I promise
them a gun. And if you don't show up, they coming for you.
That is part of the warfare. They hide for you and catch you.
In this account, a direct relation is made concerning trading, kanaima, and warfare. Failure to
meet trade obligations by not completing the exchange resulted in kanaima violence. As
such, an element of warfare coexisted and continued alongside trade within the regional
trade network.
In addition to these references from oral history, there is also some evidence from colo-
nial texts that kanaima were involved in the regional trade network during the nineteenth
century. Robert Schomburgk (1841b:414–17) describes convincing a Makushi man from the
Kanuku mountains to demonstrate the preparation of the Makushi curare poison. He writes:
The manufacturing of the poison was however delayed for some days, for
the object, as I was told by the chemist, of observing previously a rigid fast,
in order to prepare himself for the important business. Meanwhile Kanai-
ma, an influential Macusi chief from the Rupununi, arrived on a visit to Pi-
rara, and for what purpose I know not: it is enough to state, that he knew
how to prevail so far upon the manufacturer of the poison that he retracted
his promise, and refused to prepare it in my presence. (Schomburgk
1841b:414–15)
Although the use of the name Kanaima (which is sometimes used as a nickname) does not
necessarily mean that this man was a kanaima sorcerer, his ability to prevent the poison
maker from demonstrating the preparation to Schomburgk, after he had agreed to do so,
suggests that he had some means of strong persuasion. Since revealing knowledge of the
poison's preparation would endanger the Makushi position in their regional trade network—
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the Makushi depended on a relative monopoly on curare poison in their trade with other
Amerindian groups—we can infer that Schomburgk's account likely reveals a kanaima inter-
vention. Although separate from the enforcement of delayed reciprocity, this incident sug-
gests that kanaima may have played a more general role in guarding Makushi interests at this
time.
Warfare, Exchange, and Kanaima
Makushi oral history recounts stories of Carib hostilities against Makushi villages and re-
sistances to these incursions. However, the relative lack of guns by the Makushi helps to ex-
plain why many of these stories—e.g., the story of the Carib raid on the Makushi village of
Surama—highlight the Makushi fleeing and later using surprise attacks. Clubs could not
readily counter guns, but stealthy reprisals could strike fear and serve as a countervailing
force in the face of gun warfare. Kanaima sorcery came to be applied as a means of retalia-
tion against external predation and perceived threats from others. Although sorcery and the
fear of sorcery had the potential to destabilize society, as discussed below, it came to be in-
strumentalized and sublimated with a protective function in the face of transformed patterns
of violence and warfare. Over time, this function expanded into an array of roles involving
outsiders, which explains the application of kanaima violence during the twentieth century to
cases where trade obligations related to delayed reciprocity might fail to be met. However, in
cases of slaving, trading, and matrimonial alliances, which each have the potential for both
violent and nonviolent forms of exchange, kanaima sorcery emerged as a continuing element
of warfare coexisting with other forms of exchange.
Lévi-Strauss (1976 [1942]) has argued that warfare and exchange (commerce) are interre-
lated phenomena for many indigenous societies in Amazonia.6 For the Makushi, this interre-
latedness is associated with the historical emergence of socially recognized roles for kanaima
sorcery. Emphasizing historical slaving against the Makushi, Whitehead (2002:206) writes
that:
Given the historical links between kanaimà, the advent of gun warfare in
the highlands, and the fact that the Makushi were incessantly preyed upon
by others, especially the Karinya [Caribs], kanaimà may have first emerged
strongly at the beginning of the nineteenth century, as a defensive technique
in the face of new and overwhelming military force.
He suggests that the Makushi used kanaima violence as “a defensive technique against the
slaving predation” of Akawaio, Carib, and Patamona raids (Whitehead 2002:136). Unable or
unwilling to militarily block these predations, the Makushi resorted to stealthy reprisals by
means of sorcery.
Whitehead (2002:137–38, 209, 222–23) further suggests that kanaima took on expanded
roles of a guerrilla and otherwise surreptitious nature with the introduction of guns into war-
fare, since the use of guns by enemy groups would have dramatically increased the casualty
rates for club-wielding warriors. Whether due to inadequate access to guns, insufficient pop-
ulation density to mount effective defenses, or unwillingness to incur the heavy losses result-
ing from direct warfare, this hypothesis suggests that the historical rise of kanaima was
associated with a need for the Makushi to fight their adversaries through nontraditional and
surreptitious means. Kanaima attacks sometimes served as “adjuncts” in the history of Ma-
kushi warfare (Whitehead 2001:240; Whitehead 2002:54–55, 129–30, 222–23; Whitehead and
Wright 2004:5). Unlike warriors, “who offered open combat with clubs and arrows, the
kanaimà made secret war, especially when the enemy had guns” (Whitehead 2002:139). Alt-
hough the kanaima phenomenon likely predates the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, the
colonial market-driven and gun-facilitated increase in slave raiding at this time gave impetus
for new applications of kanaima violence. The gun-based military superiority of the Caribs
and other slaving groups likely led to a normalization of slaving through trade (with resulting
transformations in Makushi kinship practices) and a subsequent injection or expansion of
kanaima violence into exchange relations. The continuing coexistence of warfare in Makushi
trade reflects the latent threats of violence that would have spurred such exchanges.
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I found further support for the association between the introduction of guns into war-
fare and the socially recognized application of kanaima violence during fieldwork with the
Makushi. In 2015, a Makushi man was discussing kanaima with me one morning. I asked
how villages in the past dealt with killings performed by kanaima. The following conversa-
tion occurred:
Interlocutor: They used to have the wars with clubs, but when they start
gettin' the shotguns, ramrods, they turn to the assassin
[kanaima]. With guns they just shoot them with clubs
down.
Me: Kanaima attacks began when shotguns came in?
Interlocutor: Yeah, when they get guns they put down the clubs and
start secret attacks at night, like assassin.
I was similarly told in 2013 that “wooden club and gun couldn't mesh” in combat. The in-
troduction of guns in warfare and raiding put the Makushi in a vulnerable position. The
availability of guns varied among Amerindian groups—e.g., the Akawaio had greater access
to guns than the Patamona and kanaima provided a means for equalizing these disparities
(Whitehead 2002:135, 139). The Makushi had less access to guns than the Caribs and Aka-
waio, both of whom had closer economic and military ties with Europeans than did the Ma-
kushi. In most cases, the Makushi had somewhat limited relations with Europeans during the
eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries (Hilhouse 1825:36–37). Therefore, the Makushi
had to rely to a greater extent on clubs and were placed at a distinct military disadvantage.
Sorcery versus Clubs
The diminution of the club-wielding warrior, due to the introduction of guns and the coloni-
al suppression of warfare, and the suppression of the piazong (shaman), due to missionary in-
fluence, led to newly adapted and expanded roles for kanaima without traditional checks on
their violence (Whitehead 2002:53, 104, 206, 222–23). Among the Patamona, warriors and
piazong traditionally provided checks on excessive kanaima violence, while kanaima may
have sometimes provided similar checks on warriors (Whitehead 2002:53, 104, 138, 230).
Although the relationship between warriors and kanaima is historically complex, an implicit
structural opposition (alongside a tense and occasional military alliance) emerges between the
club and sorcery (Whitehead 2002:104, 137–39, 228–31). In at least one case from the nine-
teenth century, it appears that a kanaima was able to instrumentalize the power of the war
club and to bring its wielders under his control (albeit temporarily) for the interests of sor-
cery.
Around 1845–46, an Arekuna man named Awacaipu, who was said to be a piazong,
gathered almost one thousand Amerindians together in the Kukenam Valley near Mount Ro-
raima with promises of equality with the European colonists and led many Amerindians to
their death in mass homicide (Appun 1893 [1864]; 341–42; see also Posern-Zieliński 1978;
Roth 1921). After having them dance and drink cassava beer nightly for some time, Awacai-
pu told the gathered Amerindians that Makunaima had communicated to him that he would
make them equal to the European colonists and give them “white skins” if they would club
each other to death over a three- night period (Appun 1893 [1864]:343–44). He said that the
slain would subsequently be resurrected with “colour and manners equal to the whites” at
the next full moon, that they would descend from Mount Roraima, and that they would have
dominance over the other Amerindians (Appun 1893 [1864]:344). Awacaipu started the kill-
ing by clubbing several people around him, which set off three nights of homicidal clubbing
that are said to have resulted in up to four hundred deaths (Appun 1893 [1864]:345–46).
Eventually, the time came for the prophesied resurrection. When it did not occur, the people
became enraged and Weh-Toreh's father clubbed Awacaipu to death (Appun 1893
[1864]:346–48).7 Clubbing is the traditional method used to kill a kanaima (Whitehead
2002:52, 111, 228).
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This story is significant for the present discussion of kanaima sorcery for two reasons.
First, it appears from the reference to Makunaima that Awacaipu was likely a kanaima practi-
tioner in addition to (or perhaps instead of) being a piazong shaman. Vidal and Whitehead
(2004:61; see also Whitehead 2002:146; Whitehead and Wright 2004:6) write that:
Awacaipu claimed that his vision of how the Amerindians could gain equali-
ty was received from the creator-being Makunaima, who is also central to
the practice of kanaima assault sorcery.
This is more than a mere association. Although Appun (1893 [1864]:343) claims that
Awacaipu's goal was to achieve regional dominance over all of the Amerindians, the story
can also be read as a case in which a kanaima managed to extract human essence for Makun-
aima on a mass scale. As already noted, the goal of kanaima sorcery is the transfer of human
essence to Makunaima. Second, it appears in the story that the kanaima was able to realize
this massive transfer by manipulating the warriors present into using their clubs against each
other.
According to Appun (1893 [1864]:343), the mass killing was initiated by Awacaipu in or-
der to eliminate “all those present who were capable of bearing arms.” I am doubtful of Ap-
pun's interpretation that Awacaipu's primary motivation was to achieve paramount
dominance over all of the regional Amerindian groups. However, it is notable that he sug-
gests that the warriors (those who might bear arms) were Awacaipu's primary targets. If we
are to understand the relationship between kanaima and club-wielding warriors as basically
one of structural opposition, the story of Awacaipu appears to represent an instance where a
kanaima was able to obtain control over warriors and turn their club-wielding violence to his
own ends while plausibly operating within the outer limits of his instrumentalized role.
Posern-Zieliński (1978:108–9) suggests that the events in the Awacaipu story are related
to the ingressions of the colonial front against regional Amerindians. This is undoubtedly the
historical background of the episode, which is reflected in the theme of inequality within the
colonial context, but the broader themes of the story also evince ongoing internal struggles
for power and the limits of kanaima. Awacaipu's stated goal was to bring about Amerindian
equality with European colonists. Although this narrative may have served to obscure his
deeper motivations, Awacaipu was tacitly fulfilling the new role of kanaima as a check on ex-
ternal threats and predation. However, he went further than this and promised an ontologi-
cal transformation to end colonial inequality altogether. Awacaipu went beyond the norms of
kanaima sorcery and sought to invert both the colonial hierarchy and the hierarchy existing
between warriors and kanaima. In doing so, he exceeded even the expanded socially recog-
nized role of kanaima. This extreme example occurs around the end of the slave-raiding pe-
riod in the region and reveals the limits, the inversionary potential, and perhaps also the
culmination of the socially recognized role of kanaima as an instrumentalized and defensive
force against external predation.
This situational (and temporary) triumph of a kanaima over warriors ends with the resto-
ration of societal norms of dominance and violence. A surviving warrior clubs the sorcerer-
prophet to death—thus ending the excessive antisocial8 violence resulting from Awacaipu's
abuse of his newfound role—and symbolically reasserts the dominance of the war club over
sorcery. However, with the correlated rise of gun warfare, this club-wielding power had al-
ready diminished and its counterpart (kanaima) was still gaining strength. The social recogni-
tion of kanaima as a curb against external predation ultimately enhanced its capacity for
expanding the potential scope of internal predation. The story of Awacaipu indicates that the
instrumentalization of kanaima violence as a check on colonial encroachment, as well as oth-
er forms of concurrent predation, was not always effective and had the potential to pose an
existential threat. Although the Makushi are not mentioned by name in the story of Awacai-
pu, the account centers around one of their primary trade partners—the Arekuna. Further-
more, the story of Awacaipu reflects the broader regional aspects of the transformations that
were occurring at the time among the Makushi and other Amerindian societies in British
Guiana.
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Ethnological Considerations
Kanaima sorcery is a difficult topic of study and presents many challenges for ethnographic
fieldwork and description. It is complicated by the variations found across Amerindian so-
cieties, between accounts of members from the same society, and among anthropologists'
ethnographic descriptions. For example, Audrey Butt Colson's (2001) descriptions of Aka-
waio kanaima (itoto) do not emphasize the cosmological themes highlighted in Whitehead's
(2001; 2002) writings on Patamona kanaima. In the Makushi accounts that I encountered,
there is little mention of shamanic journeying by kanaima, which Whitehead places as central
to Patamona accounts. The descriptive variance on this topic sometimes reveals cultural dif-
ferences, while at other times it reflects different ethnographic approaches and priorities.
However, the similarities in Akawaio, Makushi, and Patamona accounts of kanaima are suffi-
ciently developed to warrant consideration of kanaima as regional phenomena.
One of the major differences between Patamona and Makushi accounts pertains to the
Hallelujah religion. Whitehead (2002) generally describes piazong, kanaima, and Hallelujah as
three separate, competing, and sometimes overlapping forms of shamanism in Patamona
history.9 Akawaio and Patamona accounts of the origins of Hallelujah attribute it to a Maku-
shi shaman- prophet named Bichiwung, who was eventually killed by a kanaima (itoto) sor-
cerer (Butt 1960; Butt Colson 1971; Butt Colson 2001; Staats 1996; Whitehead 2001;
Whitehead 2002). However, neither Hallelujah nor Bichiwung are practically ever mentioned
in Makushi accounts in my experience. Many of my interlocutors were not even sure what I
meant by Hallelujah and none of them had heard of Bichiwung, although there is a slightly
similar story about an incestuous false prophet named Joang. This relative lack of cultural
memory pertaining to Hallelujah is in keeping with the notion that the Makushi discontinued
Hallelujah practice in the distant past. Although I did hear a few elderly Makushi interlocu-
tors mention that they had participated in Hallelujah religious practices in surrounding villag-
es long ago, which indicates that there is still some historical memory of Hallelujah among
the oldest generation of Makushi alive today, younger Makushi generally claimed to have lit-
tle or no knowledge of Hallelujah.
There has also been disagreement over whether kanaima is considered legitimate by the
communities where it is practiced. Whitehead (2002:221) suggests that the Patamona reluc-
tantly accept kanaima. However, Butt Colson (2001:225–26; see also Butt 1956) claims that it
is never legitimate for the Akawaio. Although the Akawaio view kanaima (itoto) as illegiti-
mate, they do consider some other forms of sorcery-related revenge, such as “blowing” or
taling, as sometimes legitimate (Butt 1956:53). In my experience, the Makushi are positioned
in the middle on this debate. The Makushi do seem to view kanaima, as Whitehead (2003:77)
suggests for the Patamona, as an existing tradition in continuity with a distant past. The
statement that “kanaima do what they have to do with you” (frequently heard among the
Makushi) could be interpreted as indicating a measure of legitimacy. I sometimes witnessed a
seemingly paradoxical combination of fear and excitement in some villagers—as well as dis-
belief in others—when there was news that a kanaima might be in the village. However, I
never heard the Makushi say that contemporary kanaima violence is legitimate, although
some did suggest that it played a legitimate historical role in warfare. In the present, as Butt
Colson (2001) describes for the Akawaio, kanaima sorcery is viewed by the Makushi as a dis-
tinctly antisocial and predatory practice that is motivated primarily by envy, jealousy, and
evil-mindedness.
Lastly, the Makushi frequently told me that kanaima sorcery has waned in recent dec-
ades. Although they do not deny that there are or were Makushi kanaima, they generally as-
sociate kanaima with the Patamona. The Makushi and the Patamona each tend to view the
other as the source of kanaima. This association of kanaima with other Amerindian groups,
which I observed to sometimes include in-marrying affines among the Makushi, is common
in the region (Butt Colson 2001; Whitehead 2001) and is consistent with Rivière's (1970) dis-
cussion of the sociological functions of sorcery. However, as Whitehead (2001; 2002) sug-
gests, contemporary discourses of kanaima also implicate Europeans and Westerners as
potential victims and may be associated with new vectors of development. When I asked
about the plants used by kanaima, I was told:
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It is a bad plant. It is not here or we would be kanaima too. It is good to get
rid of your enemy, but bad at the same time because you become the per-
son that kills your whole family using that. It's dying now. They are trying
to keep it hiding, but it is dying. I have not seen a kanaima attack [here] in
nearly thirty years. It still happens in the Patamona territory.
My interlocutor went on to say that “the Patamona are the real kanaima. They killed my
friend a few months ago. This is serious business. Two white men have gone down. Around
2007 and 2008.” These statements reflect Makushi views of kanaima as potentially useful but
dangerous, as associated with others (particularly the Patamona), as a receding element of
traditional culture, and as a threat to both Amerindians and outsiders, particularly those with
predatory proclivities.10
Conclusion
Building on Whitehead's earlier work on kanaima sorcery, which he called dark shamanism,
this essay has further developed the hypothesis that kanaima took on defensive functions
among the Makushi in response to predation (primarily slaving) and gun warfare. From a
historical point of view, kanaima became a useful adjunct to warfare at a time when the Ma-
kushi were subjected to frequent slaving, raiding, predatory trading, and other abuses. This
set of colonial pressures created the context in which kanaima emerged within recorded his-
tory in the early nineteenth century. At that time, the enemies of the Makushi were increas-
ingly armed with guns, while the Makushi had limited access to European weaponry. In
attempts to forestall, resist, and mitigate external attacks, they alternately fled from their at-
tackers, implemented defensive strategies, and sometimes sought to transform predation into
quasi-peaceful trading relations. In the process, they harnessed the ritual practices of sorcery
called kanaima as a means of surreptitious resistance against their enemies.
Within these contexts, kanaima emerged as a socially recognized means of assassination
and reprisal against gun-wielding enemies that could not easily be countered by traditional
club warfare. As such, ritual sorcery temporarily played a prosocial role under a pressurized
set of colonial circumstances. However, these were situational applications, rather than the
origin of kanaima, and such defensive uses only provided for a temporary sublimation of its
practices. As the external threats fuelled by colonialism (particularly slaving raids) waned,
kanaima ritual sorcery continued as before as an antisocial predatory practice against both
kin and nonkin and against both allies and enemies. As the story of Awacaipu reveals, the
curbs against external predation were capable of manipulating traditional defenses and pro-
ducing internal predation on a massive scale. In this rapidly changing political environment,
warriors, shamans, and sorcerers vied for power against one another as guns, missions, mar-
kets, and other tentacles of colonialism's reach and spread waxed and waned in the region.11
Acknowledgements
I would like to thank the American Philosophical Society (Lewis and Clark Fund), the Cen-
tral States Anthropological Society (Leslie A. White Award), the School of Liberal Arts at
Tulane University, and the Department of Anthropology at Tulane University for helping to
fund my fieldwork among the Makushi in Guyana. I would like to particularly thank William
Balée, Laura Rival, Judith Maxwell, and Jason Nesbitt for their support with this research.
Thanks are also due to Bill Fisher (editor of Tipití) and to the anonymous reviewers, whose
comments and suggestions were very helpful. I would like to especially thank the Surama
Village Council, the Ministry of Indigenous Peoples' Affairs, and the Environmental Protec-
tion Agency in Guyana for granting fieldwork permissions. This essay is dedicated to the
memory of Neil L. Whitehead. A legend has developed among the Makushi and Patamona
in Guyana concerning Whitehead and the pots that he “troubled” near Paramakatoi.
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Notes
1 See Whitaker (2016a; 2016b) for more on the history of slaving raids against the Makushi,
regional trade, and kanaima. Some sections of this article overlap with the fifth chapter of
my Ph.D. dissertation on the Makushi in Guyana.
2 The exact Makushi word being used here is unclear. It resembles the word pemong that
means “people” in Makushi. It also resembles the word manung that means “little sister” in
Makushi. Younger females are frequently referred to as manung by older people irregardless
of their actual relation to them.
3 Ferguson (1995) also points to the narrow line that divides raiding and trading.
4 Butt Colson (1973; see also Coppens 1971) describes a similar trade network in the region
during the 1950s. The Arekuna and Akawaio emerge as primary trading societies in this net-
work. Minimal references to the Makushi may reflect that their position in the network was
undermined over time – possibly due to declines in curare trading.
5 A quipu-like device was sometimes used for this purpose. A Makushi interlocutor explained
to me in 2013 that: “They would have a string and they would make a knot here, and a knot
here, and knot here. And they count, one moon, two moon, three moon. And when they see
a new moon they would loose one. And they know that you would be back before whatever
moon, when you told them, and if you are not back by that moon, then the promise is bro-
ken.” These knotted strings were previously observed by Ribeiro de Sampaio (Edmundson
1906:241) and Im Thurn (1880:482; cf. Im Thurn 1901:142). The Makushi similarly used a
notched stick to count days (Schomburgk 1922 [1847]:157).
6 See Ewart (2013) and Whitehead (2002:235) for more on the interrelationship between war-
fare and exchange.
7 This story was told to Carl Appun (1871:257–65; 1893 [1864]:318, 341–48) by Weh-Toreh
(also Arekuna).
8 Kanaima violence is antisocial and inimical to peaceful village life (Butt Colson 2001:231–
32; Whitehead 2001:235, 237, 240, 242–43; Whitehead 2002:103–4, 111, 132, 209, 237).
9 Further research is needed on the relationships among these shamanic forms. When read in
relation to the above interpretation of the story of Awacaipu, the early involvement of
kanaima in the Hallelujah religion may suggest more of a manipulative exploitation of (rather
than merely a competitive resistance to) emerging regional forms of religiosity than has pre-
viously been suggested.
10 Whitehead (2002:46, 104, 130, 182; 2003:77; see also Vidal and Whitehead 2004:72) sug-
gests that kanaima are hyper- traditionalists who resist outside influences and currently resist
various forms of predatory development.
11 See High (2015) for more on the relationship between warriors, violence, and victimization
in Amazonia. See Carneiro de Carvalho (2015) for more on how the Makushi today relate to
the nation-states (particularly Guyana, Brazil, and Venezuela) that succeeded colonial re-
gimes in the region.
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