knörr_2010_contemporary creoleness_ or, the world in pidginization
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Contemporary Creoleness; or, The World in Pidginization?
Author(s): Jacqueline KnörrReviewed work(s):Source: Current Anthropology, Vol. 51, No. 6 (December 2010), pp. 731-759Published by: The University of Chicago Press on behalf of Wenner-Gren Foundation for AnthropologicalResearchStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/10.1086/657257 .
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Current Anthropology Volume 51, Number 6, December 2010 731
2010 by The Wenner-Gren Foundation for Anthropological Research. All rights reserved. 0011-3204/2010/5106-0004$10.00. DOI: 10.1086/657257
Contemporary Creoleness; or, The Worldin Pidginization?
by Jacqueline Knörr
“Creolization” has often been terminologically equated with “hybridization,” “syncretization,” and
other terms referring to processes of mixture. Normative assumptions concerning categories of race,
origin, and culture as well as emic labeling have had a strong impact on who and what was labeled
as creole. I argue for a more concise and contextualized understanding of the term “creole” to warrant
its usefulness for comparative cultural analysis. Examining the social and historical context of cre-
olization and tracing the etymology of “creole” and its meanings over time show that creolization
has been distinct in involving indigenization and—to varying degrees—ethnicization of diverse and
in large part foreign populations. Taking into account creolization’s—and creole terminology’s—historical semantics helps unfold the latter’s heuristic potentials for a more systematic and comparative
analysis, conceptualization, and differentiation of contemporary processes of interaction and mixture.
By connecting the historical semantics of creolization and creoleness with specific sociolinguistic
approaches to distinguish between creole and pidgin variants of language, historical creolization’s
major contemporary “outcome”—pidginization of culture and identity—comes to light, a process
prevalent particularly in postcolonial societies. Theoretical assumptions will be substantiated by
empirical examples from Indonesia and Sierra Leone.
Contextualizing Etymology
Discourses on the etymology and meaning of the term “cre-
ole”1 and its correlates “creolization” and “creoleness” will
vary according to the social, historical, and cultural context
and according to which group is engaging with these terms
(cf. Stewart 2007).2 The criteria that are applied to denote a
phenomenon or a person as creole range from origin and
phenotype (“race”) to social and cultural features.3 They are
as dependent on worldviews as is the etymology of the eth-
nonyms of various creole groups and as are the criteria and
reasons brought forth to demonstrate creole identity. These
ambivalent and contradictory discourses on the relevant ter-
minology, ethnonyms, and etymologies are carried out in the
public sphere as well as in various academic disciplines. They
indicate the social relevance of creole identity particularly inpostcolonial societies where the ambivalence associated with
it is largely due to the attending colonial history as part of
which creolization took place.
Using recent examples of various etymologies for the term
“creole,” Chaudenson (2001) reveals the basic ideologies they
Jacqueline Knörr is Head of Research Group at the Max Planck
Institute for Social Anthropology (Advokatenweg 36, D-06114 Halle/
Saale, Germany [[email protected]]). This paper was submitted 20
VIII 07 and accepted 19 III 10.
are based on and explains that—in contrast to the “old” et-
ymology, which traces the term back to the Spanish crioulo —
they do not hold up to scientific scrutiny: “Recent lexico-
graphic attempts . . . illustrate perfectly how often extremeideological fantasies can divert serious thinking, even in de-
bates that are reputedly scientific. . . . In reality, the facts
about the word creole are now well known, even though
experts can still discuss some details on its etymology” (1, 3).
It seems that some of these alleged etymologies are trying to
accumulate evidence concerning the original usage of the
“creole” word in order to substantiate the origin of the first
“creole” person—the Ur-Creole, as it were. In order to sub-
stantiate the latter’s blackness or whiteness, some have come
up with a “black” and others with a “white” etymology. 4
In order to reveal and tap the full heuristic potential of the
creole terminology, it must be liberated from its normative
baggage—not least by historically contextualizing its emer-gence and development to the best of our knowledge. I will
1. These discourses also refer to local variants of this term, such as
Cre ´ole , Crioullo , Kreo , and so forth.
2. See also Knight (1997): “As such the term [Creole] has constantly
undergone changes in usage reflecting the changes in culture and society
through the ages” (273).
3. Capital C is used for the proper noun “Creole” that refers to an
individual or a group; lowercase c is used for the adjective “creole.”
4. Examples of this ideologically based etymology can be found in
Chaudenson (2001:2–4).
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732 Current Anthropology Volume 51, Number 6, December 2010
therefore begin my terminological endeavor in search of a
more concise conceptualization of the “C-word” (Palmié
2007b ) by “etymologizing” and contextualizing its semantics
in historical perspective. I will then make use of interdisci-
plinary approaches that combine anthropological and soci-
olinguistic insights, thereby trying to differentiate between
historical processes of creolization on the one hand and some
of their contemporary outcomes on the other.
The Portuguese word crioulo is considered the oldest term
for a “Creole.” However, the first documented use of the term
is the Spanish criollo , which refers to Spaniards who were
born in the New World in contradistinction to the European-
born peninsulares (Stephens 1983:28–39; cf. Hoffmann 2003:
3–4; Stephens 1999).5 Crioulo and criollo can be traced to the
verb criar (to raise, nourish, create) as well as the noun cria
(infant, baby, person without a family), both of which are
likely to have derived from the Latin creare (to create; Houaiss
2001; cf. Spitzer 2003:59). The endings -oulo or -olo mark the
word as a diminutive that was originally used to refer tochildren born in exile, and only later was use of the word
expanded to refer to adults, too (Arrom 1951:175).
Distinctions were subsequently made between slaves born
in Africa and those born in the respective colony. The latter
were called Creoles, Criollos, or Crioulos, while the former
were referred to as New Africans, Saltwater Negroes, or Wild
Negroes (Morgan 1991:199–200; Pierce 1998:222). Mixed de-
scendants of black and white parents were also considered
Creoles. The term was used to refer to blacks and whites,
while the given context or additional distinctions—such as
White Creole or Black Creole—clarified which “kind” of Cre-
ole was meant. Thus, the term originally distinguished be-
tween those born in their country of origin and those bornin exile; it classified people and groups with reference to their
indigeneity or exogeneity: “By claiming a ‘creole identity,’
people from colonized lands stress their difference from the
original colonists and their descendants in the Old Country”
(Hoffmann 2003:5). Conversely, “Creole” was also a desig-
nation foisted on colonial settlers by people in the respective
homelands who had ceased to consider the former as cona-
tionals while still ruling over them well into the nineteenth
century.
Creolization occurred among oppressed and dominant
groups, including the slaves in America, the European settlers
in Louisiana and South Africa, the freed slaves in West Africa,
and the slaves and servants in colonial Indonesia (Grijns andNas 2000; Knörr 2007). It took place in societies in which
social inequality and social class correlated with place of origin
and race, and as a result, it was a process characterized pri-
marily by the ethnicization of social classes. Slave exiles and
5. The first documented use of the term was in a letter by Garcı́a de
Castro from Peru on April 2, 1567: “Que esta tierra esté llena de criollos
que son estos que acá an nacido, y como nunca an conocido al rrey ni
esperan concello” (This land is full of Creoles, which are those who have
been born here and . . . do not know the king and have no hope of ever
knowing him); quoted in Stein (1982:162).
early colonial societies are classic examples of such processes
of historical creolization.
Some groups among the slaves and other settler populations
were able to preserve their heritage and identity of origin
because of their size or their relative proximity to theiroriginal
culture, and thus they created diaspora communities. Some
individuals were integrated into the ruling colonial society or
into local populations—mostly through marriage and reli-
gious conversion.6 However, because they were usually far
away from their homeland and their people, the large majority
of slaves were forced to reorient themselves in a foreign and
repressive environment. They were forced to develop new
alliances transcending specific ethnic and regional origins and
identities. Over time they created new social and cultural
forms that integrated characteristics of their various heritages
with the dominant colonial culture and the local culture. The
manner in which the various characteristics were integrated
depended on the size of the groups involved in the process
and their (relative) social and physical proximity to the co-lonial masters and, if applicable, the local groups (Herskovits
1990 [1941]; Mintz and Price 1992 [1976]; Patterson 1967,
1975, 1982).7
Because of the ongoing mixing of the various immigrant
groups, the distinction between indigenous and exogenous
became increasingly obsolete. Gradually, all people who de-
scended from relations between (former) slaves on the one
hand and between members of different heritages and skin
colors on the other were characterized as creole (cf. Stewart
2007). Also, the Creoles of European ancestry mixed both
among each other as well as with people of mixed and in-
digenous backgrounds. This led to a more pronounced social
hierarchy of creole individuals and groups based on the cri-terion of skin color (Garrigus 2006; Hall 1977; Khan 2004).
By contrast, criollo adapted an increasingly national con-
notation in Latin America from the early nineteenth century
onward by means of which a “mestizo nation” was propa-
gated. This strategy of “creolization from above” was opposed
to racial ideologies and policies gaining ground in Europe and
North America, but at the same time it excluded populations
from the national project that did not fit the mestizo—or
criollo —ideal, namely, indigenous populations of Indian de-
scent (cf. Palmié 2006; Stutzman 1981).
Creolization does not necessarily require a social environ-
ment in which large segments of the population are subju-
gated. However, historical processes of creolization were mostlikely to take place in societies in which extreme power asym-
metries and rigid social hierarchies were linked to color and
a person’s/group’s society of origin (cf. Bolland 1998, 2006;
6. For example, large parts of the Eurasian community in Batavia (now
Jakarta) came into being as a result of European men having children
with enslaved Indonesian women (see Knörr 2007; Taylor 1983).
7. Patterson (1975:318) differentiates between “synthetic” and “seg-
mentary” creolization, the former being a centripetal force that it is aimed
at the cultural unification of different groups, the latter being centrifugal,
aimed at the establishment of different group cultures and identities.
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734 Current Anthropology Volume 51, Number 6, December 2010
ing by means of specific criteria, (b ) creolization as a process
must be distinguished from creoleness as a quality (resulting
from creolization), and (c ) creolization as a process must be
distinguished from creolization as a concept, the latter serving
as a tool to conceptualize and analyze the former.
Given the rather undifferentiated use of the term “creoli-
zation” to describe contemporary social and cultural pro-
cesses, some resistance has developed to the use of the term
to refer to anything but the historical context of slave exile.
Sidney Mintz comments,
But the term “creolization” . . . had been historically and
geographically specific. It stood for centuries of culture-
building, rather than culture mixing or culture blending, by
those who became Caribbean people. They were not be-
coming transnational; they were creating forms by which to
live, even while they were being cruelly tested physically and
mentally. (Mintz 1998:119)15
Mimi Sheller (2003) as well is “concerned with the way inwhich contemporary claims to mobility, hybridity, and cre-
ative cultural adaptation draw on Caribbean antecendents of
‘creolization,’ borrowed via the work of Caribbean diaspora
theorists, but gutted of many of the original connotations of
the term” (188), and Stephan Palmié (2007b ) believes that
“we would do well to probe the historical contextual signif-
icance of terms such as ‘creole’ before we prematurely elevate
them to the status of comparative—or in more contemporary
language, transculturally salient—analytical devices” (67).
It is clearly a mistake to use “creolization” interchangeably
with “transnationalism” (or with “syncretization,” “hybridi-
zation,” etc., for that matter).16 Nonetheless, this very valid
critique of the arbitrary use of the term does not provide agood enough reason to do away with the heuristic potential
of creole terminology for describing and analyzing contem-
porary processes of social and cultural interaction. This po-
tential may unfold when we look more carefully and more
comparatively at the different histories of creolization in dif-
ferent parts of the world and at the different social contexts
within which creole identities and terminologies emerged.
Rather than restricting the usage of the term “creolization”
or “creole” to a specific historical situation and region, we
15. For a recent discussion concerning such demands to limit the
creole terminology to historically specific phenomena, see also Cohen
and Toninato (2009).16. “Syncretization” refers to the mixing of belief systems or religions
that are otherwise unrelated (e.g., Voodoo). “Hybridization” is originally
derived from botany and zoology and denotes a process whereby humans
implant certain characteristics of one plant into another with the goal
of creating a plant with mixed characteristics. The plant itself has no
active role in steering this process. I find the use of the term “hybridi-
zation” inappropriate for characterizing the active process of cultural
change. Furthermore, the model of hybridization also implies a “pre-
hybridization purity,” which is pure fiction as regards the social and
cultural world (see Friedman 1994). “Transnationalism” refers to the
dynamics of socially bound ties across national borders(e.g., transnational
networks).
must specify what structurally differentiates creolization and
creole identities from other forms of social and cultural in-
teraction and identity formation. On the one hand, this will
allow us to better distinguish between different historical pro-
cesses and social contextualizations of creolization, and on
the other hand, it may enhance our understanding of con-temporary processes of interaction and identity formation in
postcolonial societies and beyond. This seems all the more
important given that such processes not only are becoming
increasingly common in our ever more complexly globalized
world but they also are becoming more differentiated. We
need to make use of the creole terminology because of its
potential for a more systematic and comparative analysis, con-
ceptualization, and differentiation of both historical and con-
temporary varieties of social and cultural interaction and of
the processes of identity formation related to them.17
Toward an Analytic-ComparativeConceptualization of Creoleness
To this day, opinions diverge even in the classic regions of
historical creolization on who should be considered a real
Creole nd why. In Louisiana, for example, some would char-
acterize only white people of European descent as real Creoles,
while others consider being mixed and being of color as typ-
ical creole features. Statements proposing a connection be-
tween skin color and creole identity reflect social classifica-
tions and ideologies concerning categories of race, ethnicity,
and culture prevalent in a given society.
Taking the example of Louisiana, it is very obvious thatbeing white is—however mistakenly—not usually associated
with being mixed.18 The implicit model of “pureness versus
mixture” links white skin with “pureness” and dark skin with
“mixture” despite the fact that a person with white skin may
be just as “mixed” as a person with dark skin. Race is thus
brought into the equation as a criterion by means of which
the existence of different classes of Creoles is asserted or cre-
oleness is distinguished from other identities.19 The common
reference to the fact that the word “creole” originally meant
the opposite of mixture often serves to assert that the “orig-
inal” Creoles—allegedly white—did not mix with blacks. The
17. Compare Eriksen (2007): “It is not sufficient to point out that
mixing does take place; it is necessary to distinguish between different
forms of mixing” (167). See also Cohen and Toninato (2009).
18. Friederici (1947), e.g., declares that Creoles are “the children of
pure-blooded European parents born in America” (220); cf. Stephens
(1983, 1999).
19. On the relationship between race, heritage, birth place, and culture
as criteria for creoleness, see Henry and Bankston (1998). Compare Hoff-
mann (2003) on the race connotations associated with “creole” and on
the relationship between creolization and national identity in Haiti.
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Knörr Contemporary Creoleness 735
attempt here is to dissociate white creoleness from the con-
notations of racial mixture (cf. Domı́nguez 1986).20
However, there is no subsistent connection between skin
color and creoleness, and the “Belles Creoles”—no matter
how white and beautiful—are in fact the product of mixing
among different immigrant groups who increasingly indigen-ized themselves by engaging in social and cultural exchange
among themselves and with their new environment. They
ultimately developed a new common culture and identity that
increasingly diverged from their different cultures and iden-
tities of origin.21 In the processes of creolization among dif-
ferent groups of people, Africans and Europeans influenced
each other. A number of sources describe the influence of
African culture on colonial European culture, often decrying
the result as creole decadence (Brathwaite 1971; Mintz and
Price 1992 [1976]).
In determining whether a group of people is creole or not,
the crucial question is not who mixed with whom, nor is it
relevant whether the group in question classifies itself as creole
or has an ethnonym that makes phonetic reference to cre-
oleness or not (e.g., Creole and Krio vs. Betawi or Martini-
quais). In order to engage in comparative research on cre-
oleness, one has to keep in mind that what is recognized as
creole from an etic perspective does not need to be recognized
or labeled as such from an emic perspective:22 “In order to
pursue such research, one must be prepared to consider sit-
uations as involving creolization even when the people con-
cerned do not use the terms ‘creole’ or ‘creolization’” (Stewart
2007:13).23 Conversely, we must also be prepared to describe
groups as noncreole despite the fact that they may have an
ethnonym that suggests creoleness.The discussions in the public sphere as well as among schol-
ars about the names of creole groups are of interest, however,
insofar as they provide insight into the ambivalences asso-
ciated with creole identities, particularly in postcolonial so-
cieties. This is true, for example, of the long debate over the
labeling of the creole population in Freetown (Sierra Leone)
as either Creole or Krio (Knörr 1995, 2007; Skinner and Har-
20. See Tregle (1992) on the “Belles Creoles” who choose to distinguish
themselves as “pure” and “white.” Tregle speaks of a creole mythology
based on the glorification of cultural and political accomplishments in
the past. See also Brasseaux (1990) on the roots of creole culture andidentity in Louisiana.
21. See Berlin (1998:105), who speaks of the emergence of a new
“nationality.”
22. “An emic model is one which explains the ideology or behaviour
of members of a culture according to indigenous definitions. An etic
model is one which is based on criteria from outside a particular culture.
Etic models are held to be universal; emic models are culture-specific”
(Barnard and Spencer 1996:180; cf. Headland, Pike, and Harris 1990).
23. Compare Eriksen (2007): “I propose a definition of cultural cre-
olization, thus, which is faithful to its linguistic origins, but which does
not restrict itself to societies where ‘creole’ is an emic term or where
linguistic creolization has taken place” (173).
rel-Bond 1977; Wyse 1979).24 This debate could be put to rest
given that both terms are correct: “Creole” designates the
group (the Krio) as creole in reference to the social and his-
torical context of its ethnogenesis and the ensuing creoleness
of its culture and identity, while “Krio” is the group’s eth-
nonym, which emerged in the process of its ethnogenesis.
Regarding efforts to determine whether a group is creole or
not, its name is irrelevant. Just as (socio)linguistic criteria are
applied to classify a language as a creole, (socio)cultural cri-
teria must be applied to classify a culture and identity as
creole.
Creole Continuity versus PostcreoleContinuum
Creolization and creoleness are discussed in various academic
disciplines. Social anthropology has looked particularly to the
approaches and concepts developed in creole linguistics and
has attempted to apply them to cultural phenomena thatemerge in the context of cultural interaction. One of the major
protagonists in this regard is Ulf Hannerz. His approaches
have been taken up and further developed in the works of
Eriksen, Knörr, and Stewart, among others.
The concept of a cultural postcreole or simply creole con-
tinuum is of particular relevance in Hannerz’s analysis of
complex and transnationally connected societies. He derived
it from linguistic theory that was introduced as a conceptual
instrument to deal with language variation existing between
creole languages and their respective superstrate(s)—that is,
the language(s)—that served as the standard speech model(s)
in processes of creolization.25 As a result of different forms
of interaction—which depend on economic, social, and de-mographic factors—creole languages vary in their proximity
to their respective superstrates.
A creole language is considered as decreolizing when stan-
dardizing toward the languages from which it is descended
by aligning its morphology, phonology, and syntax to it; a
24. Put simply, the term “Creole” is preferred by those Krio who like
to emphasize the colonial context in which their identity emerged and
their perceived closeness to European culture, while those Krio who
understand the local context of their ethnogenesis and the resulting in-
digenization as crucial prefer the term “Krio.”
25. Some of the scholars who introduced and worked with the concept
of a (post)creole continuum were Bickerton (1975), DeCamp (1971),
Dillard (1972), Rickford (1977, 1987), and Stewart (1965). They tried toavoid the normative assumptions underlying earlier work on pidgin and
creole languages (and dialects in general) by which the language spoken
by the ruling classes was defined as the correct or pure language while
the language spoken by the lower classes was considered an incorrect,
impure, or debased dialect. By introducing the terms “acrolect,” “me-
solect,” and “basilect,” this value judgment was to be avoided. However,
the focus concerning the study of pidgin and creole languages continued
to be on the (relative) input and share of the European language in
processes of creolization and in creole languages. The new terminology
also bears strong resemblance to notions of upper, middle, and lower
classes of languages (and people) as well as with core, semiperiphery,
and periphery nations (and nationals; cf. Chirot 1986; Wallerstein 1974).
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736 Current Anthropology Volume 51, Number 6, December 2010
postcreole continuum refers to a decreolized creole still car-
rying some creole features. In combining the concept of a
creole continuum with approaches developed in world system
and dependency theory, Hannerz created a center-periphery
model that assumes a distribution continuum ranging from
cultural forms and features derived from the global metro-
poles—which he placed at the “center”—to purportedly local
and more traditional representations of culture—which he
placed at the “periphery” (Hannerz 1992, chaps. 7, 13; 1998
[1996], chap. 6; cf. Chirot 1986; Wallerstein 1974). The urban
culture of the periphery is conceptualized as the “semiperi-
phery” given that it is there that the culture of the center is
most widely disseminated.
Hannerz’s macroanthropological concept of a cultural con-
tinuum highlights local variation rather than global stan-
dardization of culture. It accounts for the changes and trans-
formations of cultural forms and features that occur in
processes of globalization. However, the concept does not
equally account for the meanings such cultural forms andfeatures acquire in the local society that incorporates and
transforms them. The latter can only be revealed by examining
how the characteristics in question are locally perceived, con-
ceptualized, and evaluated. I argue that Hannerz’s model and
conceptualization of center and (semi)periphery reflects the
perspective of the Western world (the North) more than it
questions and challenges it (cf. Knörr 2002b , 2007; Wallerstein
1974). To position cultural forms and features on a continuum
constructed from the perspective of the (self-proclaimed) cen-
ter is unlikely to obtain reliable insights concerning their local
meanings and social contextualizations.
In recent anthropological debates, a postcreole continuum
is understood as the cultural space in which creolization may continue to take place even after creole culture and identity
have been established and in which different variants of creole
culture and identity may exist: “The notion of postcreole
continuum . . . rejects absolute boundaries and instead high-
lights the existence of variations within a speech community.
However, this ‘postcreole continuum’ corresponds quite well
simply to the creolisation of culture, which does not lead to
stable uniformity, but is on the contrary an ongoing process”
(Eriksen 1999:16).
Correspondingly, a few years later, Eriksen (2007) inter-
preted the fact that in Mauritius, people with an indistinct
ethnic background are (also) considered members of the cre-
ole group to be proof of the existence of a postcreole con-tinuum in Mauritius. My view is that the phenomenon he
observed represents “postcreolization creoleness” or “creole
continuity” rather than a “postcreole continuum” situated
somewhere in between more clear-cut identities. It is not
creole that is over but creolization. Creoleness—creole culture
and identity—is a result of creolization. Because creole groups
emerged in the process of interaction and integration of dif-
ferent ethnic groups, they often—yet by no means always—
continue to have a high integrative potential as far as accepting
people of different ethnic backgrounds into their group is
concerned. Even after the actual process of creolization has
come to an end, this kind of integration is often facilitated
by the fact that members of indigenous groups had already
become part of the creole group in the course of historical
creolization—such as in the case of the Betawi in Jakarta,
which will be dealt with below. As a consequence, historical
ties were forged between creole and local groups, ties that
may have an integrative effect in the aftermath of the actual
process of creolization (Knörr 2007). However, this does not
imply that the intensity of ethnic identity is less pronounced
or less stable—or more “in-between”—than among noncreole
groups. Looking at Mauritius, Eriksen (2007) states that “Cre-
ole culture is perceived as stable and fixed. . . . At the same
time, the creole ethnic category is more open to new recruits
than other ethnic groups in the island” (174).
My own observations, particularly in Sierra Leone and In-
donesia, have shown that creole groups are often very open
to including people of different ethnic belongings. Yet at the
same time, they often expect the newcomers to give up theiroriginal identity entirely in return. While creole groups may
be open to new members, they may be considerably less open
to cultural variation. Such full incorporation and “conver-
sion” of outsiders served as a strategy of social reproduction
in the historical process of creole ethnogenesis. It enabled
creole groups to gain in group size and to develop and main-
tain a specific ethnic profile (cf. Schlee 2008).26 The latter was
also achieved by restricting membership in creole institutions
to Creoles and—to varying degrees—to people in the process
of being incorporated into the creole group. Thus, incorpo-
rating new members does not hint at a postcreole continuum
in the sense of producing in-between identities (like in-
between varieties of language situated between a creole and
a standard language). Rather, it hints at creole continuity as
a result of completed creolization by means of which both
the original ethnic identity as well as the “in-betweenness”
and “difference” of the newcomer is replaced by the ethnic
identity of the creole group in question.
However, when the social or political need arises, creole
groups and institutions are likely to open up and integrate
people across ethnic boundaries. Emphasizing the heteroge-
neous background of creole identity is part of this procedure.
The masonic lodges in Freetown are one such example of an
institution that used to have an exclusively Krio membership
but which has meanwhile opened up to “natives” irrespectiveof ethnic identities as a means and symbol of indigenization
and social reproduction. In Guinea-Bissau, Manjuandadi —
primarily female associations of mutual solidarity—and car-
nival used to be exclusively creole institutions.27 They, too,
became indigenized by means of transethnicization and are
26. Schlee (2008) deals with group size as a variable in processes of
inclusion and exclusion and shows how it may be instrumentalized and
modified in view of situational and contextual demands.
27. For an analysis of Manjuandadi ’s social functions and meanings,
see Trajano Filho (1998, 2001).
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symbols of national rather than exclusively creole identity
today.28 Such strategies of indigenizing and transethnicizing
creole institutions may allow creole identity to become a cat-
egory of social rather than ethnic ascription beyond the creole
group in question.
The ethnic quality of creole groups is often seen as am-biguous and somehow inferior because of their heterogeneous
origins. In societies, in which ethnic identity is an important
dimension of social identity of individuals and groups, creole
groups are therefore likely to emphasize the ethnic dimensions
of their identity and to force the full ethnic conversion and
incorporation of those who become part of their group. How-
ever, this does not preclude the existence of different sub-
categories within creole groups, which may be based on spec-
ificities of historical origin, class, skin color, and so forth.
Concerning creole group identity in ethnically heteroge-
neous societies today, the dynamics at play between open
boundaries and full incorporation demonstrate that historical
creolization tends to result in creole continuity—in creole-
ness—in that those who are integrated into a creole group
are provided with a new collective and, to different degrees,
ethnicized identity rather than in a postcreole continuum
perpetually generating in-betweenness.
Creoleness only persists as the result of creolization when
it makes sense socially. This often seems to be the case in
ethnically heterogeneous postcolonial societies in which eth-
nic identity is a relevant factor of social identity and where,
at the same time, there is a need for transethnic identifications.
In such contexts, creoleness may serve as a category of both
ethnic and transethnic identification and may thereby have
an integrative function, providing an ethnic home to peoplewho feel in need of one and a transethnic sense of mutual
belonging across ethnic boundaries because its heterogeneous
heritages linking it to different ethnic groups.
Creoleness may also become less important or even com-
pletely irrelevant if, for example, the construction of an ethnic
identity as well as the process of indigenization have been
completed to an extent where the original heterogeneity and
exogenesis of the creole group fall into oblivion. The once
“extraordinary” creole group may then mutate into just an-
other rather “ordinary” ethnic group. Creoleness may also
lose its social importance when heterogeneous origins are the
norm in a given society and Creoles are largely among them-selves. Creolization is one particular variant of “indigenization
plus ethnicization,” and creoleness often characterizes com-
paratively “young” ethnic groups, which neither precludes
that the latter may grow old with it nor that creoleness that
has fallen into oblivion may at some stage take on a new life
if the context and situation so necessitate.
28. Kohl (2009) deals with more recent developments of the Man-
juandadi ’s and of carnival’s roles in interethnic relations and for the
construction of transethnic identities.
Creolization and Creoleness beyond theCaribbean and the Indian Ocean
The fact that creolization and creole identities have mostly
been studied with regard to the Caribbean and to a lesser
extent the Indian Ocean has given rise to the impression that
these phenomena may foremost be Caribbean and Indian
Oceanic ones. For some time, the protagonists of Cre ́olite ´ —
a discourse originally developed among writers, artists, and
academics in the Francophone Caribbean and in the Carib-
bean diaspora in North America and Europe—marketed cre-
olization as a movement countering globalization.29 The latter
was associated with cultural homogenization and standardi-
zation from “above,” with exclusionary discourses of ancestry
and the suppression of cultural diversity (Glissant 2000). Cre-
olization, on the other hand, was considered a process by
means of which notions of purity, monolingualism, and uni-
versality were to be repudiated in favor of contact and di-
versity. The Cre ´olite ´ movement’s understanding of creoliza-
tion was developed in conjunction with postcolonial
discourses. It assumes that as a result of increased contact
and mixture, new cultural forms and contents emerge that
are mixed and local instead of ethnic and national. As well,
ethnic, racial, and national categories of identification are
expected to be replaced by identifications with specific lo-
calities and their respective cultural representations.
As Khan has pointed out, “creolization serves as both a
model that describes historical processes of cultural change
and contact and an analytical tool that interprets them” (2007:
653; cf. Khan 2001). The conceptualization of Cre ´olite ´ as a
postcolonial model of identity, however, seems to result not
so much from empirical analysis of social processes and dy-namics prevalent in the postcolonial Caribbean as from wish-
ful thinking—or, as Stewart has put it, “Their ‘model of’ is
thus already a ‘model for’ an idealized Créolité ready to be
recommended to the world” (2007:17)30—a model, I would
like to add, that also tends to neglect the difference between
cultural forms on the one hand and a given population’s
perception of and identification with them on the other.31
Anglophone scholars dealing with creolization tend to focus
more on the context-specific social meanings and functions
of the cultural forms and contents emerging from the process
29. Jean Barnabé, Edouard Glissant, and Derek Walcott are some of
the major representatives of this movement. See Enwezor et al. (2003).Compare Cohen and Toninato (2009), who analyze the notion of Cre ´olite ́ ,
creolization, and hybridization in literary criticism and cultural studies.
See also Pausch (1996).
30. See also Khan (2007), who claims that “a kind of optimism un-
dergirds most understandings of the concept” (653) and that “roman-
ticized representations of agency in creolization discoursebelie thevarious
ways in which agents of creolization can themselves be multidimensional
or ambivalent about processes that observers celebrate” (654).
31. Many studies have been carried out on culturally mixed forms,
e.g., food, music, architecture, kinship systems, agriculture, clothing, re-
ligion, literature, and so forth. But these focus less on aspects of identity
than on material representations of cultural mixing.
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738 Current Anthropology Volume 51, Number 6, December 2010
of creolization (cf. Miller 1994:154).32 Creolization in their
view creates an identitarian—but not heritage-based—refer-
ence system within a specific social context by linking cultural
forms from a variety of sources. The emphasis lies on cre-
olization’s function for social integration rather than on its
potential for overcoming exclusionary discourses resulting
from colonial suppression (Miller 1994). The normative bent
of the Cre ́olite ´ movement is averted, yet the historical context
of creolization is equally disregarded, and creolization is no
longer understood and analyzed as a process of social and
cultural interaction embedded in specific social and historical
contexts. Instead, the perspective is narrowed down to the
(micro)level of cultural forms and to how individuals and
groups relate to them. As has already been pointed out, cre-
olization is distinct from other forms and processes of cultural
interaction because it involves indigenization and ethniciza-
tion in specific contexts whereby old boundaries are dissolved
yet new ones are produced. Thus, not everything Creoles do
counts, once and for all, as creolization. Even when creolegroups mix, this is only creolization if they replace their re-
spective creole identities with a new and common creole iden-
tity. Therefore, the Caribbean is a good example of historical
but not of contemporary creolization. The pan-Caribbean
identity propagated by some of the followers of Cre ´olite ´ largely
obscures the social realities of the Caribbean. Neither an
awareness of common (African) roots nor of the particular
Caribbean mix have led Jamaicans, Trinidadians, or Haitians
to dispose of their ethnic and national identities and to iden-
tify themselves instead as Caribbean or Antillean. This fact is
ignored by many Cre ´olite ´ proponents—including some aca-
demics.33 Although parts of the Caribbean population have
developed a Caribbean identity that transcends their ethnic
and national identities, it by no means replaces the various
identifications associated with certain islands, nations, and
ethnic categories—at most it complements them.34 In such
cases, ethnic and national identities are at most relativized
and transformed by new transethnic identifications, but they
are not replaced. Even within specific Caribbean as well as
Indian Ocean societies, particular groups are excluded rather
32. The established differences between the Anglophone and Fran-
cophone creolization discourses do not imply that all Francophone and
all Anglophone representatives will argue as described here. On the one
hand, these differences are often subtle and graduated, and on the other
hand, there are also representatives on both sides whose position leanstoward the other side.
33. Resistance to their model can provoke conflict as experienced by
Frank Moya Pons, who enraged members of the Caribbean Studies As-
sociation when he dared to assert that the various creole regions in the
Antilles differ more from one another than from the various European
countries, whose languages they had inherited (Hoffmann 2003).
34. Jamaican, Haitian, and Trinidadian identities, e.g., thus relate to
one another in a paradigmatic way—they are normallymutually exclusive
in that one can only be one or the other—whereas they relate to Carib-
bean identity in a syntagmatic way in that the latter may be shared by
Jamaicans, Haitians, and Trinidadians alike while existing in different—
e.g., Jamaican, Haitian, and Trinidadian—variations; see Schlee (2008).
than embraced, and social hierarchies tend to correlate with
ethnic backgrounds and degrees of pigmentation.35
Inasmuch as Caribbeanists have contributed to the under-
standing of creolization, they have at the same time also
sought to assert control over the meaning of creolization,
which they tend to regard as a concept native to their region
of expertise. This has been a hindrance to developing the
term’s heuristic potentials for the comparative analysis of his-
torical processes of creolization across different societies
worldwide as well as of the contemporary processes related
to them. Mine is not a Caribbeanist perspective. I—like Han-
nerz (1987), among others—consider creolization a process
not exclusive to any particular region, and it is my aim to
explore the social and political meanings of creolization and
creoleness beyond the Caribbean. I focus on postcolonial so-
cieties that are ethnically heterogeneous and where ethnic
identities are important dimensions of social identities of in-
dividuals and groups. It is particularly in such settings that
creole identities and processes relating to them assume im-portant social and political meanings and functions concern-
ing the construction and conceptualization of ethnic as well
as transethnic and national identities. This is due to the fact
that in the given societies, it is a social and political necessity
to acknowledge ethnic identities and cultural specificities in-
asmuch as there is a demand for identifications across ethnic
boundaries and cultural as well as religious differences.
Creolization versus Pidginization of Culture and Identity
By connecting the analysis of the historical semantics of thecreole terminology with sociolinguistic approaches to distin-
guish between creole and pidgin variants of language, I have
developed a conceptual framework that differentiates between
creole and pidgin variants of culture- and identity-related
processes. The Creolization versus Pidginization model (CvP
model) is meant to serve as a device for comparative studies
aimed at a differentiated analysis of identity formation taking
place in ethnically heterogeneous colonial and postcolonial
societies in particular. The following section will elucidate the
differences as well as the interrelatedness between creolization
and pidginization.
Like Mufwene (2001a , 2001b ), I consider both creolization
and pidginization social rather than structural processes—which, however, are likely to have structural implications. My
starting point for the development of the CvP model was a
particular debate in creole linguistics concerning the differ-
entiation of creole and pidgin variants of language on the
35. There is an abundance of literature concerning exclusionary strat-
egies and the correlation between pigmentation and social classification
in Caribbean societies. Concerning some more recent publications, see
the contributions in Shepherd and Richards (2002) and in Collier and
Fleischmann (2003); see also Miles (1999) concerning the case of Mau-
ritius.
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Knörr Contemporary Creoleness 739
basis of sociofunctional rather than linguistic differences.36
The latter were not denied but were not taken as criteria for
distinguishing between creoles and pidgins. With regard to
the differentiation between creole and pidgin variants of lan-
guage, Gilman’s argument that “ethnic reference” should be
considered the most significant criterion of differentiationplays a major role:
What is clearly true in Cameroon is that Pidgin is the lan-
guage of reference for no ethnic group. . . . In view of the
confusion between the language of ethnic reference and the
first learned language, and of the fact that in multilingual
environments there is often no real first language, it would
be better to replace the traditional distinction between cre-
olized and pidginized languages as in one case . . . the “native
language” of a group of people and in the other case . . .
not. It would be better to recognize that Creoles, such as
that of Sierra Leone, are languages of ethnic reference, while
Pidgins, such as that of Cameroon, are not. (Gilman 1979:274)37
Let us think back to the explications on historical creoli-
zation above and link them with Gilman’s arguments. Lin-
guistic creolization is a process in the course of which the
characteristics of different languages develop into a new com-
mon language that adopts ethnic reference for its speakers
and replaces the original ethnic languages and/or their re-
spective ethnic references.38 Linguistic pidginization also leads
to a new common language, but in contrast, this process is
not linked to the replacement of ethnic languages (as lan-
36. Only such aspects of linguistic theory are discussed and applied
where they may help to elucidate the social and cultural processes and
phenomena under study here. It is beyond the scope of this article to
explore the relationship between differences in social functions and dif-
ferences in linguistic structures with regard to creole and pidgin lan-
guages. Neither is it the aim of this article to validate or dismiss linguistic
theory. See Palmié (2006, 2007a , 2007b ) for some recent examples of
critical disputes concerning interdisciplinary transferences and circular
reasoning in theories of creolization and creoleness (referring, in partic-
ular, to history, linguistics, and anthropology).
37. See also Mufwene (2001a , 2001b ), according to whom creoles and
pidgins developed in different social contexts; i.e., creoles developed in
settlement colonies and pidgins in trade colonies. Pidgins were used as
contact languages among users who preserved their native languages tocommunicate among themselves. Creoles gradually came to be used as
everyday vernaculars among slaves and servants and replaced their orig-
inal mother tongues. Compare Alleyne (1971, 1980). Also, see Gilman
(1979:274–276) for further explications. I would like to add that Krio,
the creole language spoken in Sierra Leone, has ethnic reference for the
Creoles (Krio) only, while for others it is a lingua franca and often also
a mother tongue yet without having ethnic reference. In this sense, Krio
has both a creole and a pidgin variant (see Knörr 1995).
38. The languages that serve as the basis for a new creole language
may continue to exist, but they are usually no longer spoken by the group
that is undergoing cultural and linguistic creolization and/or no longer
serve as languages of ethnic reference.
guages of ethnic reference).39 Accordingly, and in a reasonably
simplified manner, cultural creolization can be conceptualized
as a process creating a new common culture with ethnic ref-
erence in specific social and historic contexts of ethnic and
cultural diversity. On the one hand, new representations of a
new common culture are produced, and old, handed-downones are recontextualized and transformed. On the other
hand, the different identities of origin of those undergoing
creolization are increasingly replaced by a new common iden-
tity linked to (narratives of) a common territory and new
home, a particular history and heritage, specific origins, and
social and cultural particularities. Creolization implies not
only the amalgamation of diverse cultural forms and features
but also the latter’s ethnicization by a diverse group of people
undergoing ethnogenesis, the result being new cultural rep-
resentations plus a new ethnic identity associated with them.
Cultural pidginization, on the other hand, can be concep-
tualized as a process over the course of which a common
culture and identity are developed in specific contexts of eth-
nic and cultural diversity as well, yet in contrast to creoli-
zation, this process does not involve ethnicization. No new
ethnic group is formed, and original identities based on the
heritages of their protagonists remain in existence (Knörr
1995:10–24).
In response to some of my ideas on this subject, Stewart
(2006) holds that “we might recast Hannerz’ world in cre-
olization as a world in pidginization since Nigerians retain
their indigenous culture and do not forget or lose it as they
engage with global flows” (118). Hannerz’s Creoles increase
their identifications and language competencies without nec-
essarily leaving home, without abandoning much, withoutgiving up their ethnic identities—hence, they pidginize rather
than creolize.
Unlike in colonial settler and slave societies, it is cultural
pidginization rather than creolization that dominates in pro-
cesses of identity formation in contemporary postcolonial so-
cieties. This is largely due to today’s communication and
transportation technologies, which facilitate social contacts
and ties over long distances and periods of time (Knörr 1994a ,
1994b , 1995, 2000, 2007). However, we have to keep in mind
that what we observe as cultural pidginization in contem-
porary society today may (partially) result in processes of
creolization in the long run. Whether or not creolization hastaken place can only be determined when the process is largely
completed. Up to this point, creolization may look like pid-
ginization. It generally takes longer for a new ethnic identity
to take shape than it does to create new common cultural
representations and transethnic identifications.
39. Ethnic identity does not necessarily rely on ethnic language com-
petence. One can be a Temne, e.g., without speaking Temne. However,
the perceived authenticity of ethnic identity may suffer as a result (see
Knörr 1995). See Schlee (2001) concerning the variation in the relation-
ship between language and ethnicity.
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740 Current Anthropology Volume 51, Number 6, December 2010
Pidginization Beats Creolization: SomeEthnographic Flesh
Depending on the particularities of their social and political
contextualization in society at large, creole identities that
emerged in the colonial past may have a profound impact on
ethnic relations and on the conceptualization and construc-
tion of transethnic and national identifications in the post-
colonial present as both facilitating and obstructive forces.40
In the following I would like to give an insight into some of
the social and political dynamics concerning creole identities’
roles and functions in such processes.
I will deal with two ethnographic examples of creole iden-
tity, namely, with Betawi identity in Jakarta, Indonesia, and
with Krio identity in Freetown, Sierra Leone.41 I will focus on
the role of creole identity for the conceptualization and con-
struction of transethnic identity more generally and postco-
lonial nationhood more specifically, highlighting how differ-
ent social and political conditions and contextualizations of creole identity determine its social potentials and limitations.
Betawi Identity in Jakarta
Jakarta is one of the so-called megacities of the world, with
a socially and culturally highly diversified population of
around 9 million.42 Contrasts are marked, and they are very
visible. In the framework of my research in Jakarta, I have
been dealing with the integration and differentiation of ethnic,
local, and national identity and, more specifically, with iden-
tifications related to the categories Orang Betawi, Orang Ja-
karta, and Orang Indonesia.43
Orang Betawi—or just Be-tawi—and Orang Jakarta are the two identity-related
categories Jakartan culture and identity are ascribed to and
by means of which the latter are differentiated. Orang Betawi
is considered a primarily yet not exclusively ethnic category,
and Orang Jakarta a primarily yet not exclusively transethnic
category. Both Orang Betawi and Orang Jakarta are related,
although in different ways, to the concept of Orang Indonesia,
referring to the national context. All these categories are
closely interrelated and overlapping in ascriptions and bound-
aries. Their social, cultural, and political dynamics can only
be understood if studied in their interrelatedness. At the very
center of these processes is a specific group of people—the
40. See Anderson (1999 [1994]) on the role of Creole Pioneers in the
construction of nationhood.
41. I have been doing research in and on Jakartasince 1999. My longest
periods of field research there were between 2000 and 2003. I conducted
14 months of field research in Freetown between 1990 and 1992. I did
not go to Sierra Leone during the war, but I have continued my research
since it ended in 2002.
42. This figure is based on the publications distributed by the Badan
Pusat Statistik /Central Board of Statistics. Unofficially, there are a few
million more people living in Jakarta.
43. Orang is one of the Indonesian classifiers and denotes what follows
as human(like).
(Orang) Betawi—and the concepts of culture and identity
related but not restricted to them.
The Betawi came into being through processes of creoli-
zation during the time of Dutch colonialism, when Jakarta
was called Batavia. A considerable proportion of their ances-
tors had been exiled to Batavia from different south andsoutheast Asian regions from the seventeenth century onward,
areas that had been conquered by the Dutch from the Por-
tuguese (Abeyasekere 1983, 1989). Many were later brought
to Batavia from Bali and other islands of the Indonesian ar-
chipelago to serve as slaves and soldiers for the Dutch col-
onizers and as servants for other influential foreign popula-
tions such as the Chinese (Taylor 1983). Creolization set in
among them, which—with the growth of Batavia and its “sub-
urbia,” the so-called Ommelanden (environment)—included
more and more people belonging to different ethnic groups
of local decent, thereby enforcing the process of indigenization
among the group as a whole.
The Dutch tried to administer and settle the population of Batavia along ethnic categories but abandoned this strategy
in 1828 because of its inefficiency. During the same period
of time, the slave trade ceased. These changes generally in-
creased interethnic contact and mixture in Jakarta and beyond
but also enhanced the process of creolization that was already
taking place.44 In the course of time, people participating in
this process—people who used to identify as Sundanese, Am-
bonese, Balinese, Chinese, and so forth—came to identify as
Betawi. Because the Dutch had expelled the indigenous Ja-
vanese population from Batavia for fears of rebellions, it was
the Betawi who came to be considered the indigenous people
of Jakarta, the new “orang asli” of Jakarta. The people in-volved in this process were mostly slaves, servants, and work-
ers, many of them on rice fields. Thus, creolization, as in the
American slave societies, was a process resulting from the
interaction among people who for the most part belonged to
the same social class.
For the large majority of those becoming Betawi who did
not belong to the local population, creolization implied in-
digenization by means of Islamization.45 Islamization had
been a major strategy of indigenization of foreign populations
(such as the Chinese) long before colonialism started (Knörr
2009b ). During colonial times, being Muslim within Batavia
and its Ommelanden also set people apart from the colonizers
and from those who came as close as possible to them by means of Protestantism, formal education, European lifestyle,
and so forth, which was common among many Eurasians,
the offspring of largely European men and Indonesian
44. See Raben (2000) for an analysis of colonial structures and inter-
ethnic relations in Batavia.
45. There are small minorities of Christians and Buddhists who con-
sider themselves Betawi. They are perceived with skepticism by the large
majority of Muslim Betawi. On the one hand, the Betawi want to appear
inclusive; on the other, only Muslims are considered “real” Betawi (see
Knörr 2007, 2009b ; Shahab 1994).
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Knörr Contemporary Creoleness 741
women.46 Today, around 2.5 million people in Jakarta consider
themselves Betawi together with another 2.5 million in the
neighboring communities.47
The Betawi were long considered to be backward, unwilling
to modernize, and antiurban. As slaves and servants, they had
had little access to modern education and stuck to their
traditions and to their Muslim faith more than those in closer
contact with the colonial elite and their educational system.
Concerning education, the Betawi preferred to send their chil-
dren to so-called Pesantren , a sort of boarding school dedi-
cated to the teaching of Islam. Consequently, the Betawi, with
few exceptions, were not among the Indonesian elite after
independence had been achieved in 1949. The latter were
mostly of Javanese origin, while some came from other islands
of the Indonesian archipelago (Castles 1967; van Niel 1960).
In the following two decades, the desire to develop a unique
Indonesian national identity dampened reflections on the re-
cent colonial past and its unpleasant reminders, including the
Betawi and their slavery-related background. Instead, a pre-colonial golden age was constructed largely by means of em-
ploying concepts of common religious and spiritual origin
that were meant to serve as a source of national identity. Thus,
after almost 350 years of foreign domination, the early post-
colonial leaders of Indonesia defined Indonesia in largely pre-
colonial terms. Whether it is the postcolonial construction of
a precolonial Indonesian “spirit,” colonial boundaries, or
shared experiences of colonialism and independence that have
had a larger share in the construction of Indonesian national
identity, by the early 1960s, Benedict Anderson (1999 [1994]:
10) noted that all his Indonesian acquaintances perceived
themselves as Indonesians despite the fact that at the begin-
ning of the century, the term “Indonesia” had not even ex-isted.
During the early postcolonial years, especially the urban
Betawi, the so-called Betawi Kota, were likely to hide their
Betawi identity in public because of the negative stereotypes
attributed to them. Interethnic contact was common, and
given the diversity of the Betawi’s historical background, they
often ascribed themselves to one of the other ethnic groups
in order to decrease social discrimination and achieve upward
social mobility. However, since the late 1960s, the government
of the city of Jakarta has changed its attitude toward the
Betawi, who have since received special attention and pro-
motion. There are a lot of different means through which the
revival and (re)construction of Betawi culture and identity are enhanced. Research concerning their culture was initiated,
46. Many Eurasians left Indonesia for the Netherlands in the wake of
independence, when they experienced prosecution and discrimination
because of their proximity to the colonial masters. Today, they are called
Indische Nederlanders . Concerning their history, see Bosma, Raben, and
Willems (2006) and Coté and Westerbeek (2005); see also Poeze (1986).
47. The census for Jakarta conducted by the Badan Pusat Statistik /
Central Board of Statistics in 2000 used self-ascription as the only cri-
terion to define people’s ethnic identity. See Suryadinata, Nurvidya Arifin,
and Ananta (2003) for a critical assessment of the figures presented.
and steps were taken to promote their (folk) culture (Wijaya
1976). Special residential areas were reserved for them in order
to enable them to maintain their customs and to enhance the
practice of their traditions (Budiati 2000). During festivities
related to Jakarta—such as the Hari Ulang Tahun Jakarta ,
Jakarta’s birthday—Betawi dances, drama, and music are per-formed throughout the city, sponsored by the city govern-
ment. Every year a contest—None dan Abang Jakarta , Miss
and Mister Jakarta—is organized by the governor of Jakarta,
a competition all young Jakartans irrespective of their ethnic
identity can partake in but within which all candidates must
prove considerable knowledge of Betawi traditions as well as
of Jakartan history, society, and politics in general (Knörr
2002b ).
The Betawi as Symbols of Bhinneka Tunggal Ika (Unity in Diversity)
How did this change of heart concerning the Betawi come
about? Is it related to their creole background, and if so, how?
Some 20 years after independence had been achieved, it had
become all too obvious that ethnic and religious conflict had
not ceased in Indonesia and that postcolonial nationhood
needed more powerful and contemporary symbols than the
supposedly precolonial heritage of common mythology that
Sukarno, the first president of Indonesia, was conjuring. It
was then that a reevaluation of the colonial past commenced.
As a result of these reflections, state institutions discovered
the specific social and political potentials that lay in the creole
concept of Betawi group identity and culture with regard tothe promotion of transethnic, local, and national identity.
There are different reasons for this potential, particularly in
the multiethnic and postcolonial context of the national cap-
ital Jakarta.
One reason is that during the processes of creolization,
many features of the different local cultures—both foreign
and indigenous in origin—were incorporated into the emerg-
ing culture of the Betawi. This made it possible, and it still
does, even for those not belonging to the Betawi in terms of
ethnicity, to identify partly with Betawi culture because traces
of their own respective ethnic culture can easily be identified
as being part of it. Common history is also represented insofaras some of the forefathers of the Betawi were at some stage
in history also forefathers of those who did not become cre-
olized—who did not become Betawi—but maintained their
identity of origin instead.
Another reason, which is more important politically, is that
as a creole group the Betawi represent both a multitude of
ethnicities because of their historical background and, at the
same time, the capacity to create a single group and a common
identity on the basis of ethnic diversity. This twofold repre-
sentation fits the national motto of Bhinneka Tunggal Ika
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(Unity in Diversity) very well, which is a vital element of the
Pancasila , the five principles of the Indonesian state ideology.48
Thus, through the Betawi, it can be demonstrated that eth-
nic diversity does not need to prevent the development of
common identity. On the contrary, the Betawi can function
as a proof that Unity in Diversity can actually work. In the
same way they integrated the different ethnocultural features
of their diverse backgrounds and became the Betawi—so the
message goes—the different ethnic groups of Indonesia are
supposed to become one Orang Indonesia, a people united
by a national culture that integrates the elements of different
ethnic traditions in a peaceful and fruitful manner. In post-
colonial Indonesia, which is up to date torn by ethnic and
religious conflict and strife, the Betawi can therefore be put
into the context of transethnic national integration and func-
tion as a counterbalance to the fear of national disintegration.
There is another reason for the attractiveness of Betawiness,
particularly with regard to the promotion of national iden-
tity.49
The Betawi are not only mixed in origin, they are alsonot Javanese and therefore do not belong to the group that
has long been dominant in Indonesian society and politics.
This Javanese dominance has been diminishing lately because
of the democratization, liberalization, and decentralization of
the Indonesian political system, but the desire to counter-
balance the Javanization of Indonesia and its capital Jakarta
is still in existence among non-Javanese.
By promoting a creole group and culture, the state cannot
only disarm accusations that it is promoting the political Ja-
vanization of Indonesia, it can do so without fostering a feel-
ing of neglect among other ethnic groups. Because the Betawi
are mixed in origin, their culture can be perceived and en-
dorsed as encompassing the different ethnic traditions of In-donesia, making it possible for all ethnic groups to identify
at least with their ethnic share in it. Thus, Betawi culture and
identity can represent and communicate both ethnic and tran-
sethnic dimensions of identity at the same time. As such, it
is instrumentalized and manipulated by state institutions in
manifold ways as a means to enhance Jakartan and Indonesian
identity and to lessen interethnic conflict. An official brochure
published by the governor states that “In Jakarta, the Orang
Betawi—the natives of the city—are the hosts of the different
cultures living in Jakarta, having emerged from the melting
48. The Pancasila (five principles) serve as the foundation for the
Indonesian state doctrine. They were included in the preamble of theconstitution in 1945 and declared as the prime principles of all mass
organizations and parties in 1985. They comprise (1) belief in the al-
mighty God (monotheism), (2) a just and civilized mankind, (3) the
unity of Indonesia, (4) democracy based in Indonesian village democracy,
and (5) social justice for all Indonesians. Concerning Indonesian na-
tionalism and the relationship between ethnic diversityand national iden-
tity in Indonesia, see Bertrand (2004), Darmaputera (1988), Drake (1989),
Hubinger (1992), Knörr (2007, 2009a ), Moosmüller (1999), and Wandelt
(1988).
49. The term “Betawiness” is sometimes used particularly among the
urban youth and elite to refer to both ethnic and transethnic dimensions
and representations of Betawi culture, identity, and lifestyle.
pot of races, ethnic groups, and cultures of Indonesia in the
19th century.” A prominent promoter of Betawiness said to
me that “They are like gado-gado [Betawi dish, comprising
different vegetables and peanut sauce]—mixed in its ingre-
dients, and due to this mixture a very delicious and unique
meal. Like Indonesia, many different cultures that together
make a wonderful Indonesia. The Betawi are themselves what
Indonesia should also be: diverse in their origins, but united
as Indonesians.”
Betawi identity has thrived far beyond state ideology,
namely, as a local expression of Jakartan identity particularly
among people with little ethnic attachment beyond Jakarta—
an ever-increasing number of Jakartans, that is—and as a
specifically Jakartan expression of national identity. Having
the status as Jakarta’s original inhabitants, the Betawi also
supply the nation’s capital and megacity, Jakarta, with indig-
enous and ethnic tradition without which a territory is not
conceived of as a real social place in Indonesia. Through the
Betawi, transethnic Jakartan identity can be ethnically sub-stantiated. Conversely, ethnic (Betawi) identity can be tran-
sethnicized: as the ethnic dimension of Betawiness is con-
structed within the context of a creole concept of culture and
identity, everyone in Jakarta can—at least to some degree—
identify with it irrespective of different ethnic backgrounds.
The fact that the Betawi territory is at the same time the
national center of Indonesia helps to attach national meanings
and functions to Betawi culture and identity. The more that
Betawi goes along with territorial and local awareness, the
more pronounced the Betawi’s identification as both Jakartans
and Indonesians, and the stronger they are identified as Ja-
karta’s locals—the nation’s capital’s locals, that is—by others.
One example illustrates this observation.When in 2001 thousands of Indonesians from East Java
threatened to overrun Jakarta in an attempt to prevent the
overthrow of President Wahid, the urban Betawi organized
gangs of traditional Betawi militia to defend their city against
the intruders. The Betawi presented themselves both as de-
fenders of their town and territory and as defenders of the
national interest. While heavy tanks and thousands of soldiers
and policemen filled the streets and guarded the parliamentary
buildings, Betawi “warriors,” wearing traditional uniforms
and weaponry, presented themselves as their indigenous coun-
terparts. One of those “warriors” said to me: “We as Betawi
have to defend our town. We own this town and because of
that we have to make sure that everybody can feel safe here.We don’t want outsiders to damage Jakarta’s reputation. This
is important for the whole of Indonesia because Jakarta is the
Indonesian capital.”
In the context of Betawi-ing Jakarta and nationalizing the
Betawi, there has also been a shift in attitude concerning the
role the Betawi played during the time of Dutch colonization
and in the struggle for independence. The Betawi and their
role in the anticolonial movement were largely ignored by the
early postcolonial elite, who celebrated themselves as the
emancipators of the Indonesian nation and mind. However,
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Knörr Contemporary Creoleness 743
since the late 1960s, when it had become clear that postco-
lonial nation building could not be built on merely precolonial
mysticism, the Betawi were discovered and revalued as a group
that maintained Indonesian tradition and self-respect even in
the heyday of colonization and thereby set the path for
(re)gaining pride in being Indonesian. In that context, tales
of Betawi anticolonial heroism were invented or rather rein-
vented and brought into the public sphere. For example, the
legend of Si Pitung —a famous Betawi hero who is claimed
to have fought and discomfited the Dutch by using his spir-
itual powers and ingenious cleverness and wit—served as the
basis for films, television spots, comics, and theater produc-
tions (Ali 1993; Koesasi 1992; van Till 1995). In 2002, a com-
petition among teachers in Jakarta was carried out that called
for essays dealing explicitly with Betawi contributions in the
fight against colonialism and the endeavor of nation building.
The Betawi have increasingly recognized the social and po-
litical potentials of Betawi identity and culture and make use
of their new (privileged) status by eagerly reinterpreting whoand what is Betawi.50 On the one hand, intraethnic differences
are emphasized to show the multitude and wealth of Betawi
culture. On the other hand, the Betawi have become more
integrative insofar as Betawi subgroups who have been de-
nying each other the status as “real” Betawi have become more
inclined to be mutually inclusive. Many among the urban and
well-to-do Betawi, the so-called Betawi Kota, used to reject
the Betawi Pinggir, who live a more traditional life on the
outskirts of Jakarta. However, in recent years they have often
emphasized the latter’s authenticity (rather than their pro-
claimed backwardness, as before). The Betawi Pinggir have,
after all, the expertise concerning Betawi traditions that need
to be known and practiced in public to enforce one’s statusas Jakarta’s “orang asli.” Conversely, the Betawi Pinggir who
used to look down on the Betawi Kota for their proclaimed
lack of traditional authenticity now tend to see them in a
more positive light, the latter being, after all, the spearheads
in the process of promoting the Betawi as a whole. Thus, it
seems, the different Betawi groups are joining forces in a
mutually beneficial and reciprocal manner (Knörr 2007; cf.
Shahab 1994).
Many Indonesians of Chinese background now also claim
Betawi identity. The strong connections that have always ex-
isted between the Chinese and the Betawi facilitate such a
conversion, which, however, is also taken as a measure against
the sort of discrimination the Chinese have suffered ever sincethey inhabited Indonesia. They join Betawi associations and
actively take part in the development of Betawi arts and the
promotion of Betawi tradition in public (see Knörr 2009b ).
The Betawi tend to welcome such newcomers to gain in size
and thereby increase their (political) influence.
Some of the transethnic connotations of Betawi or Beta-
winess positively relate to the notion of mixture as such de-
50. See Shahab (1994, 1997) on internal differentiations among the
Betawi.
spite the fact that many of the more traditional Betawi of
today are on the whole not considered very dynamic, and
you often hear people say that “those Betawi always stay
among themselves.” This shows that creolization does not
necessarily involve a continuous process of interaction and
interethnic mixture but can indeed come to an end. However,
the concept of culture and identity underlying creole eth-
nogenesis may remain effective by being reconfigured and
recontextualized to comply with a contemporary need, which
is, in the case of Jakarta, a need for both ethnic and transethnic
identifications within the contemporary urban, multiethnic,
and highly dynamic setting of Jakarta and Indonesia. As one
Betawi put it, referring to the Betawi’s need to “gain in size”
to achieve more political influence, “We should open up to
other ethnic groups. After all, that’s what Betawi was all about
in the first place, we accommodated people from different
backgrounds. We should re-discover our integrative poten-
tials.”
Betawi creoleness has developed a pidgin dimension in thecontext of Jakarta in that Jakartans of different ethnic back-
grounds may retain their respective ethnic identity and at the
same time identify with Betawi identity through their ethnic
share in it. People may also identify with Betawi identity by
identifying with the latter’s transethnic dimension as such,
which is based in its historical diversity of origin and its
rootedness in the given locality that is felt to be home and
that people identify with as Jakartans. Betawi identity then
functions as a category of transethnic identification that is
verbally expressed by people labeling themselves as Betawi
baru (new Betawi) or Orang Jakarta—the latter notion having
both an ethnic connotation, linking it to the Betawi, and a
transethnic connotation, linking it to Jakarta. Depending onthe context and situation, these connotations may overlap in
ascription and may be used interchangeably—by people iden-
tifying as Orang Jakarta both ethnically and transethnically—
or in a mutually exclusive manner—by people identifying as
Orang Jakarta either ethnically or transethnically.
Because of its creole background and its location in the
capital of an extremely heterogeneous postcolonial nation,
Betawi culture and identity has been serving as a symbol of
Bhinneka Tunggal Ika for quite some time and as such has
represented the complexity of Jakarta and Indonesia. The Be-
tawi’s alienation from state institutions used to be quite pro-
nounced because of the low social status attributed to them
and because of the social discrimination they had suffered inthe years preceding and following independence. However, as
a result of their increased awareness of both the neglect they
had formerly encountered and of their social and political
potential as the rediscovered “orang asli” of Jakarta, their
engagement has become more and more politicized. For many
years, the big Betawi organizations have been promoting
prominent Betawi figures to become governor of Jakarta. They
claimed that as the original inhabitants of Jakarta, one of
them should become the official representative of the nation’s
capital. Thus, as a result of the cultural promotion of Beta-
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744 Current Anthropology Volume 51, Number 6, December 2010
winess, the Betawi have become less and less willing to func-
tion merely as cultural representatives of Jakarta’s traditional
past and have increasingly resolved to play an active role in
present day politics both on the local and national level. With
the election of Fauzi Bowo as the first Betawi governor of
Jakarta in 2007, the Betawi have gained momentum, making
a considerable move from being symbolic gatekeepers of his-
torical tradition to being active stakeholders in contemporary
political power, at least on the local level. Jakarta being the
nation’s capital, this local achievement also bears national
meaning.
Krio Identity in Freetown, Sierra Leone
In Freetown, Sierra Leone, there is also a creole group—
namely the Krio—that plays an important role in contem-
porary processes of identity formation. Freetown was estab-
lished by British philanthropists as the Province of Freedom
and declared a British crown colony in 1808. The Krio’s an-
cestors arrived there between the end of the eighteenth cen-
tury and the beginning of the nineteenth century and con-
sisted of different groups of former slaves who had been freed
from slavery in America and of so-called liberated slaves, who
were rescued from slave ships bound for the Americas. 51
The Krio-Native Divide
These different groups of people from diverse ethnic and
regional backgrounds passed through a process of creoliza-
tion, developing a rather exclusive identity as Krio. The elite
among them were put in charge as missionaries, teachers, and
civil servants by the British to Christianize and “civilize” the
local population—in Sierra Leone and across West Africa
(Fyfe 1962; Knörr 1995; Peterson 1969). Because of their priv-
ileged position in colonial society, many Krio developed a
re