Who was Polynesian? Who was Melanesian?

Hybridity
and ethnogenesis in the South Vanuatu Outliers
James Flexner, Stuart Bedford, Frédérique Valentin

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James Flexner, Stuart Bedford, Frédérique Valentin. Who was Polynesian? Who was Melanesian?
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ethnogenesis in the
South Vanuatu Outliers
James L Flexner
Department of Archaeology, The University of Sydney,
Sydney, Australia

Stuart Bedford
Department of Archaeology and Natural History, The Australian
National University, Canberra, Australia; Max Planck Institute for
the Science of Human History, Jena, Germany

Frederique Valentin
Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique, Paris, France;
Maison de l’Archéologie et de l’Ethnologie à Nanterre,
Nanterre, France

Abstract
Archaeological constructions of past identities often rely more or less explicitly on
contemporary notions of culture and community in ways that can sometimes oversim-
plify the past and present. The archaeology of European colonialism has shown the
proliferation of ‘hybrid’ identities that emerged from relatively recent cross-cultural
encounters (though this concept is not without its critics). We argue that this perspec-
tive can also inform interpretations of the deeper past, with specific reference to
ongoing research in the Polynesian Outliers of Futuna and Aniwa, south Vanuatu.
Polynesian Outliers represent precisely the kinds of cross-cultural spaces where
hybrid identities likely emerged during the pre-European era. A theoretical approach

Corresponding author:
James L Flexner, Department of Archaeology, The University of Sydney, Sydney, Australia.
Email: [email protected]
2 Journal of Social Archaeology 0(0)

drawing on archaeological approaches to hybridity and ethnogenetic theories applied to

the south Vanuatu Outliers allows for a clearer understanding of the roles difference
and familiarity played in identity formation in the past.

Keywords
Identity, hybridity, ethnogenesis, Oceania, Polynesian Outliers, Vanuatu

Introduction
One of the ongoing challenges facing archaeologists remains describing the move-
ments and relationships of past peoples in ways that do not essentialise or over-
simplify. Debates about migration, ‘admixture’, and past identities have recently
re-emerged, particularly in relation to the ancient DNA ‘revolution’ (e.g. Matisoo-
Smith, 2019; Piscitelli, 2019; Terrell, 2019). Oceania, the region of tropical and sub-
tropical islands in the South Pacific, presents a particularly complex case when
understanding the settlement of islands, sustained contacts over many millennia,
and the linguistic and cultural diversity of the region, particularly in the western
part of the Pacific (see Kirch, 2017 for a recent overview).
It has been widely recognised in scholarship on Oceania for several decades now
that the divide between ‘Polynesia’ and ‘Melanesia’ proposed by French navigator
Dumont D’Urville in the 1830s is untenable as representing historical or cultural
difference. The divide is based on a racialised gaze across the Pacific that is
inappropriate and indeed historically damaging to Pacific Islanders, as it ranked
the ‘darker’ peoples of Melanesia below the ‘lighter’ ones in Polynesia (for critiques
see, e.g. Burley, 2013: 436; Clark, 2003; Douglas, 2008; Guiart, 1982; Terrell et al.,
2001; Thomas, 1989). This sense of racial hierarchy became so dominant that it
even influenced the prominent early twentieth century scholar of the Pacific, Sir
Peter Buck (also known as Te Rangi Hiroa) to posit a model of Polynesian migra-
tion that passed through Micronesia rather than Melanesia (Buck, 1938). Buck was
himself New Zealand Maori, and had reflected the racial ideologies of his time onto
his model for migration so as to avoid Polynesian affiliation with the ‘savages’ of
Melanesia (Kirch, 2017: 20–23).
Archaeologists working in other regions will recognise the chilling echoes of
racial migration stories that were once used in the service of European domination
and white supremacy (e.g. Silberman, 1995). On the one hand, as archaeologists we
should be very careful of the ways we frame our narratives when discussing the
movements of people around the world precisely because they can be misinter-
preted in racial terms (see also Terrell, 2018). On the other hand, there is real
evidence for long-distance voyages of colonisation and migration as fundamental
elements of Pacific history, both before and after European incursions into the
region. This includes the forces that resulted in different trajectories for island
groups on either side of the Polynesia/Melanesia divide, as Burley (2013) has
argued for Fiji. Pacific Islanders themselves have described the centrality of the
Flexner et al. 3

sea, long canoe voyages, and contacts between islands in their own identities (e.g.
Hau‘ofa, 1993). Thus it would be equally wrong to dismiss out of hand any kind of
explanations of culture change that rely on external contacts or migrations.
Living Pacific Islanders have also re-appropriated the term Melanesia in a post-
independence context to promote a sense of regional cooperation and unity, as in the
Melanesian Spearhead Group, which includes Fiji, the Solomon Islands, Vanuatu,
Papua New Guinea, and the pro-independence Kanak of New Caledonia
(Melanesian Spearhead Group Secretariat, 2018). Thus the term ‘Melanesia’, once
emblematic as a signifier of racial division and oppression, has been re-purposed for
the aims of economic, political, and cultural development in the twenty-first century.
The terms Polynesia and Melanesia remain pervasive in contemporary scholarship,
even if it is recognised that Melanesia especially should be used as a geographic
heuristic, and not a reflection of cultural affiliation or history (e.g. Kirch, 2017: 4).
Melanesia is unlikely to go anywhere, simultaneously loaded with colonial baggage
and tied up with contemporary identities. What is to be done in such a situation?
Archaeologist Roger Green (1991a) argued on culture historical grounds that
the term Melanesia could be ‘disestablished’ and Oceania essentially divided in two.
‘Near Oceania’ includes those islands in New Guinea and the Solomon Islands
originally settled during the Pleistocene between 40,000+ to about 10,000 years
ago. ‘Remote Oceania’ consists of islands settled beginning around 3000 years ago
beyond the sea gap between Makira (San Cristobal) and Nendö (Santa Cruz) in the
Solomon Islands, through to Vanuatu, New Caledonia, Fiji, and beyond (Figure
1). While not a focus here, Green argued for the disestablishment of the term
Micronesia on the same grounds, including the region in Remote Oceania,
although it was not settled by Lapita communities. Green (1991b) further proposed

MICRONESIA

Ne
New ar O
Guin cea
ea So nia
lom
o Re
n Is mo
lan
ds te O
ME cea Samoa POLYNESIA
LAN nia
Va

E
nu

Ne SIA
atu

w Fiji
g
Ton

Ca
led
on
ia

NORTH

0 1000 2000km

Figure 1. Map of Oceania, showing Dumont D’Urville’s boundaries of Polynesia, Melanesia,

and Micronesia and Green’s Near/Remote Oceania boundary as well as the locations of main
island groups mentioned in the text.
4 Journal of Social Archaeology 0(0)

a ‘triple-I’ model for Lapita interaction in Near Oceania, standing for intrusion,
innovation, and integration. Lapita could arguably be understood in terms of both
changes introduced by a new cultural complex (intrusion), those developed in the
course of a voyaging people moving through new territory (innovation), and those
developed through exchanges with the extant population of Near Oceania
(interaction).
Remote Oceania would further encompass the islands of Polynesia, with west
Polynesia settled during the Lapita period, and other islands much later. Kirch and
Green (1987, 2001) have argued that unlike Melanesia, Polynesia in fact holds
together reasonably well as an evolutionary phyletic unit. That is, the islands of
Polynesia arguably contain people who can be demonstrated to have a shared
common biological, linguistic, and cultural ancestry. Nonetheless, Addison and
Matisoo-Smith (2010) have suggested a ‘triple-I’ model also be applied to
Polynesian origins. To further complicate the picture, some islands that are lin-
guistically and culturally ‘Polynesian’ in fact lie outside of the great triangle stretch-
ing from Hawai‘i to Rapa Nui (Easter Island) and Aotearoa (New Zealand), along
with the ‘homeland’ area of Tonga and Samoa. The islands outside of the triangle,
which are found both in Melanesia and Micronesia, are referred to as ‘Polynesian
Outliers’ (see Feinberg and Scaglion, 2012; Kirch, 1984), and it is two such islands
in the south of Vanuatu, Aniwa and Futuna, with which we are concerned here
(Figure 2). While the term ‘Melanesian Outlier’ doesn’t exist, we find it interesting
that a slight meander along the western border of ‘Polynesia’ studiously avoids Fiji.
A minor redrawing of the boundary might encompass that very interesting archi-
pelago within Polynesia, which could indeed be considered an outlier of sorts, given
its somewhat unique trajectory in Oceanic prehistory (Burley, 2013).
To attempt to resolve the thorny contradictions and potentially acrimonious
debates about the use of labels like Melanesian and Polynesian, and how they
might relate to cultural dynamics in the deeper past, we turn to the archaeological
scholarship on hybridity to understand the spaces where the Polynesia-Melanesia
divide was breached, redefined, and in some cases, subverted. While notions of
hybridity and hybrid identities are commonly used for understanding modern
European colonial contexts, they are rarely used for the deeper past and
non-Western contexts (see case studies in Card, 2013). The concept of a ‘hybrid’
or ‘creolised’ past for Pacific Islanders has been proposed before (Spriggs, 1997:
12–13), on the basis that language, material culture, and cultural belief are not
necessarily correlated. Here we build on that proposition to explore the ways that
patterns of non-correlation developed through time in conversation with more
recent theoretical approaches to hybridity.

An argument for hybridity

Silliman (2015) proposed a ‘requiem’ for hybridity because of the vague and
general way the term has been used in archaeology. Silliman suggested that most
archaeological uses of the term ‘hybrid’ were conceptualised in terms of
Flexner et al. 5

Figure 2. Map of south Vanuatu’s TAFEA province.

‘Frankensteins’, ‘mules’, ‘purees’, and ‘melanges’ that conflated any number of

types of evidence for cultural encounters relatively uncritically. Such a formulation
offers relatively weak explanatory power for human behaviour, and likely obscures
a variety of motivations, interactions, and historical processes. If hybridity is trea-
ted as a label, or ‘thing’, it is basically ahistorical. Anything that looks ‘mixed’ can
be called ‘hybrid’, and as a result, hybridity can describe everything while explain-
ing nothing. Further, there is no evidence that scholars can demonstrate a point at
which hybridity ends, or what is specifically not hybrid, and thus how hybridity
differs from other kinds of culture change. Hybridity, like cultural essentialism,
carries a colonial baggage in archaeological interpretation, where indigenous and
subaltern people ‘get’ to be hybrid, but the dominant European male does not.
As a remedy, Silliman suggests that hybridity be understood in terms of practice,
and explicitly informed by any number of potential theoretical frameworks,
6 Journal of Social Archaeology 0(0)

including actor-network theory (Latour, 2005), entanglement theory (Hodder, 2012),

and assemblage theory (De Landa, 2006; Law Pezzarossi, 2014). Responding to
critiques of hybridity from Silliman (2013) and others, Liebmann (2015) has defined
the term more specifically, not to refer generically to cultural mixing, but rather to
describe instances where material signals of cultural difference are reassembled as a
means of negotiating power relationships (see also Bhabha, 1993). Here we apply
some of the recent archaeological discussions of hybridity to the pre-European his-
tory of Polynesian Outliers, focusing on our research in the south of Vanuatu. Where
Silliman, Liebmann, and others (e.g. Harrison, 2002; Loren, 2015) are primarily
interested in indigenous responses to European colonialism, we ask whether this
kind of framework could be usefully applied to pre-European contexts in the
Pacific, and how it might help us re-examine some of the assumptions about
the Melanesia-Polynesia divide.
In one sense, this exercise responds to some of the critiques of hybridity as
reflecting Eurocentric concerns about ‘pure’ or ‘authentic’ indigenous cultures
(e.g. Loren, 2015: 302). Here, we take some of the concepts of hybridity, drawing
on previous critiques, into the pre-contact era. The problem shifts beyond simply
asserting that all past societies were ‘mixed’, to begin to try to explain the dynamics
of how difference may have been experienced. The Polynesian Outliers represent a
useful case study in this way not simply because there were no such things as ‘pure’
Melanesians, Micronesians, or Polynesians. This instance of cultural encounter is
interesting because while the linguistic, biological, and cultural differences were
somewhat marked, the people encountering each other were related through
shared ancestry. In other words, the experience of cultural encounter was in this
case partly about negotiating difference, but also about recognising familiarity and
shared cultural practices as maritime peoples of the Pacific.
With this in mind, some of the recent archaeological work on ethnogenesis (e.g.
Hu, 2013; Voss, 2008) is potentially informative for understanding the ways that
cultural belonging is defined, practiced, and experienced. This can relate to the
notion that communities or groups of people could choose to behave in ways
that confound imposed categories, especially colonial categories. Studies of con-
tinuity and change (Silliman, 2009), indigenous persistence (Panich, 2013), and
autonomy (Panich and Schneider, 2014a) are also relevant here, particularly as
these concepts are rooted in the kinds of material patterns that archaeologists
are so good at tracing over the long term. This is not to say that hybridity
always emerged from conscious or intentional choices; it also might result from
some combination of entrenched habit and the generally chaotic, non-directed
ways in which cultures evolve, what Liebmann (2015: 323), following Bakhtin
(1981), terms ‘organic hybridity’.
Ethnogenesis (e.g. Voss, 2008) can help us to better conceptualise specific histor-
ical processes for identity construction in Polynesian Outliers. We follow Hu (2013),
who provides a heuristic tool for identifying processes of ethnogenesis along two
axes: Primordial-Instrumental and Isolationist-Interactionist. The first axis divides
theories of ethnogenesis driven by narratives of common ancestry, cultural practice,
Flexner et al. 7

and so on (fabricated or not) from those that see ethnogenesis as emerging from the
leveraging of such narratives for economic or political gain. The second divides
theories that say ethnogenesis occurs where groups become bounded for cultural,
linguistic, or political reasons, versus theories that say ethnogenesis emerges from
cross-cultural contacts. In fact, Hu (2013: 392) demonstrates that all four combin-
ations of processes can occur, and have been documented archaeologically. For the
Polynesian Outliers, we would suggest that these four elements of processes of ethno-
genesis could possibly explain the development of hybrid identities.
To re-claim a space for hybridity in archaeological discourse, we point to the
specific case of the Melanesia-Polynesia divide with reference to concepts of puri-
fication and the proliferation of hybrids created through the work of categorisa-
tion. The work of purification was inherent to European colonial projects in the
Pacific, as colonial agents sought to define, categorise, and control people,
resources, and territory across the region (see Flexner, 2017). Hence, Dumont
D’Urville’s division was created in the environment of encyclopaedic knowledge
production from the late 1700s through the 1800s. If European colonisers could
‘know’ that on one side of the line there were backwards and dangerous savages
who were inferior to their lighter-skinned neighbours (who were in turn inferior to
Europeans), they simultaneously had the necessary information and justification to
colonise the region. European attitude to actual settlement varied, from large-scale
demographic invasion by the British in the ‘temperate’ islands of New Zealand, to
protectorates and small-scale rule as in the somewhat absentee ‘Condominium’
government of the New Hebrides (now Vanuatu).
As we know now, these racial categorisations were misjudged, and masked the
historical dynamism and complexity of Oceanic history. Yet the categories have
proven remarkably persistent and difficult to erase or redefine. Even within archae-
ology that moves away from racialised divisions, the anthropological cultural dis-
tinction between ‘Polynesian chiefdoms’ and ‘Melanesian big men’ remains
influential and problematic for the discipline if used uncritically (Sand, 2002).
Defining a ‘hybrid’ identity for Polynesian Outliers requires two steps: first, a
distancing from and rejection of the racial logic originally underpinning this
division; and second, a clear formulation of the historical processes and cultural
practices that underpin this identity.

Pacific interactions and the formation of Polynesian Outliers

The presence of islands with populations featuring Polynesian languages and cul-
tural traits outside of the geographical boundaries of ‘Polynesia’ has long been an
object of fascination for Western scholars. Early debates about the formation of
Polynesian Outlier societies focused on origins: did these populations represent the
remnants of an original Polynesian settlement that was then overwritten by later
Melanesian populations, or a ‘backwash’ settlement of Polynesians later in prehis-
tory? Current consensus places the weight of evidence on voyaging from Polynesia,
specifically west Polynesia, into the neighbouring regions (Carson, 2012; Kirch,
8 Journal of Social Archaeology 0(0)

1984). However, linguistic evidence connecting the Outliers to east Polynesia sug-
gests there may be a more complex picture (Wilson, 2018).
One of the limitations in the debate about Outlier origins and historical dynam-
ics is a lack of archaeological evidence in many of the islands in question, and there
remains a pressing need for further survey and excavations to provide nuance to
our understanding of the historical dynamics of the Outliers. There have been
several major studies of Polynesian Outliers, including Davidson’s (1971) work
in Nukuoro, Kirch and Rosendahl’s (1973) work in Anuta, Kirch and Yen’s
(1982) work in Tikopia, Carson’s (2002) work in West Uvea, and Leach and
Davidson’s (2008) work in Taumako. Other smaller-scale studies have been carried
out that offer some understanding of settlement, chronology, and material culture
(for a recent synthesis see Carson, 2012; Zinger et al., forthcoming).
What is clear from these studies is that the historical dynamics of Polynesian
Outlier settlement were highly variable. Outliers were likely formed on islands that
were uninhabited at the time of Polynesian settlement, as was proposed for Anuta
(Kirch and Rosendahl, 1973), and islands that had extant populations, as was
likely the case for the south Vanuatu islands. Quite often, though not always,
they are located on small islands close to larger, more populous neighbours, as is
the case for Aniwa and Futuna (Flexner et al., 2018). In a number of cases Outliers
are on islands or atolls which are remote in the extreme, such as Kapingamarangi
(Leach and Ward, 1981). The clearest archaeological signature for Polynesian
settlement of an Outlier comes from Tikopia, where the ‘Tuakamali’ phase,
dating from ca. 1200CE, is marked by the disappearance of pottery combined
with the appearance of diagnostic Polynesian-style trapezoidal cross-section
adzes and fishing lures (Kirch and Swift, 2017; Kirch and Yen, 1982: 331–334).
In Taumako, Leach and Davidson (2008: 297–299; 305) defined a ‘Namu’ period
from ca. 1000CE, interpreting bioarchaeological evidence as indicating ‘consider-
able mixture of characteristics from both Polynesian and non-Polynesian areas’,
and identifying at least three stone adzes that could be sourced to Tutuila,
American Samoa. Yet in both cases, the authors also stress that contacts with
neighbouring islands, particularly between Taumako and Santa Cruz, were also
equally significant throughout these phases.
In the southern group of Outliers, covering what is today Vanuatu and New
Caledonia, the arrival of Polynesians is not so clear from the archaeological record.
In West Uvea, in the Loyalty Islands of New Caledonia, the Polynesian language
and cultural traits appear to have transferred with little in the way of genetic
change (Carson, 2002; Serjeantson, 1984). In Vanuatu, it has been suggested that
certain ornaments associated with chiefly burials, for example in Retoka (Spriggs,
1997: 212) and Aneityum (p.218), showed ‘Polynesian’ influences. Carson (2012:
39–40) later argued that distinctive shell ornaments from Mele and Ifira Islands
may reflect Polynesian identity. In the south of Vanuatu, Shutler and Shutler (1967:
98) described the archaeology of West Futuna as ‘indistinguishable’ from that of
the neighbouring islands, eschewing any clear ‘marker’ for Polynesian arrival (see
discussion below). Davidson (1992) similarly found no distinctively Polynesian
Flexner et al. 9

material in Nukuoro, arguing instead for general continuities in material culture

and settlement patterns adapted to life on atolls. Considering the diversity of arch-
aeological trajectories across the Outliers, we might consider the possibility of
many cultural processes operating at various scales (Zinger et al., forthcoming),
including the emergence of hybrid identities.

Melanesian Christians: Hybridity in the colonial New Hebrides

To explore some of the processes that might have resulted in hybrid identities in
Futuna and Aniwa, we can turn to evidence from the colonial period. Interactions
with Christian missionaries in southern Vanuatu show the ways that indigenous
islanders accommodated, resisted, frustrated, and integrated the beliefs and
practices of outsiders (Douglas, 1989; Flexner, 2016), as also happened in many
contexts inside and outside of Oceania (e.g. Ash et al., 2010; Äikäs and Salmi, 2013;
Crossland, 2006; Middleton, 2008; Panich and Schneider, 2014b). People in
Vanuatu (called the New Hebrides during the colonial period from 1774 to 1980)
adapted colonial material culture, practices, beliefs, and language somewhat inde-
pendently, while also maintaining distinctive local identities.
At present, the overwhelming majority of indigenous Ni-Vanuatu identify clo-
sely with two historically nested systems of belief and practice. Kastom is the
umbrella term for a variety of traditional cultural practices, spiritual beliefs, chiefly
systems of governance, cuisine, and so on. Simultaneously, contemporary worship
is overwhelmingly Christian, with 86% of people in Vanuatu identifying with a
Church of some description at the last national census (Vanuatu National Statistics
Office, 2009). However, people in Vanuatu do not see kastom and Christianity as
conflicting in the present. Rather, Christianity has been enveloped into the broader
universe of kastom, reflecting an active process of resistance, adaptation, and
re-evaluation of different beliefs and practices, from the missionary period begin-
ning in the 1840s until after independence in 1980 (Flexner, 2016).
In Ni-Vanuatu perspectives, the archaeological heritage of early Christian
encounters is incorporated within the pantheon of kastom sites (Flexner and
Spriggs, 2015). Colonial churches, mission houses, and related infrastructure exist
within the same landscapes as ancestral kastom places and they are perceived in
similar ways, not as waet man (‘white people’ or European) heritage but significant
because of their relevance to indigenous church elders. The history of conversion is
interpreted through local stories that emphasize the actions of indigenous chiefs and
communities. In an example of this from Aniwa, a colonial-era, prefabricated kitset
Presbyterian Church that had been assembled in 1894 blew down in 1959 during
Tropical Cyclone Amanda. Some of the timbers, roofing iron, and in one case a
door from the building were then taken and integrated into the domestic architec-
ture of prominent church members and elders (Figure 3). An ‘introduced’ sacred
architecture was integrated into the everyday indigenous household sphere.
So is this hybridity? Certainly from the perspectives of Christian missionaries
there was some anxiety about what was acceptable and what was not regarding
10 Journal of Social Archaeology 0(0)

Figure 3. Door from the historical mission church integrated into a ‘traditional’ Aniwan
house (above); detail of the original lock (below).

indigenous practices (Keane, 2007). Missionaries were disturbed by the possibility

that apparently sincere converts could ‘backslide’ towards the indigenous beliefs
and traditions they classed as ‘heathenism’. Particularly concerning was the ques-
tion of idolatry, the idea that people worshipped the Bible and Church as objects,
rather than the spiritual Christian symbolism they embodied. Ironically, when the
missionaries were insistent about purity of religious belief, or overreached in out-
lawing certain traditional items and practices, people abandoned the new faith
almost immediately (Bonnemaison, 1994: 226). In short, Ni-Vanuatu were only
happy being Christian while they could also maintain a sense of local identity
and kastom. Thus the habit during and since the missionary period of the mid-
1800s has been to eschew the ‘pure’ categories of Christian or native, rather
Flexner et al. 11

choosing a synthesis of the two as a means of negotiating colonialist relationships

(Flexner, 2016: 159–168).

Deeper past hybridities in south Vanuatu: Hints from

ethnohistory and archaeology
South Vanuatu’s TAFEA Province is named by the first letters of its five islands:
Tanna, Aniwa, Futuna, Erromango, and Aneityum (see Figure 2). The islands have
variable geological history and environments. Tanna (550 km2) is an active volcanic
island, while Erromango (855 km2) and Aneityum (159 km2) are significantly older,
dormant volcanic islands. These three are much larger than Aniwa (8 km2), a tiny
coral atoll located close to Tanna, and Futuna (11 km2), an uplifted limestone
makatea-type island (Carney and Macfarlane, 1971; Colley and Ash, 1971; Neef
and McCullough, 2001). The area of TAFEA was settled 3000 years ago, and while
we only have direct evidence at this point for Lapita pottery on Erromango
(Bedford, 2006: 32–39) and Aneityum (Bedford et al., 2016), we can assume that
all of the islands, which are intervisible, were known to Lapita people if not per-
manently inhabited during that time. Following the Lapita period, Vanuatu under-
went a period of regionalisation, as the northern, central, and southern islands
began to differentiate themselves culturally and linguistically (Bedford, 2006;
Bedford and Spriggs, 2008; Tryon, 1996). In the southern islands, the near neigh-
bours took slightly different paths, with Aneityum and Erromango developing
more hierarchical paramount chiefdoms, while Tanna saw a historical process of
splintering and intense competition (Spriggs, 1986; Spriggs and Wickler, 1989).

Ethnohistory
While we focus on complex processes of identity formation for Futuna and Aniwa,
it must be recognised that these two islands were part of a localised exchange
network with neighbouring islands. Tanna was particularly influential in the devel-
opment of the chiefly systems of Futuna and Aniwa. On Futuna, for example,
despite the Polynesian language, the chiefly system uses the names for the two
moieties of Tanna: Namruke (Futuna)/Numrukuen (Tanna) and Kaviameta
(Futuna)/Koyometa (Tanna). This division structures chiefly interactions and riv-
alries, as the ‘clever’ Namruke compete with the ‘aggressive’ Kaviameta for influ-
ence over island districts (Keller and Kuautonga, 2007: 61–64; for Tanna see
Bonnemaison, 1994: 148–153; Guiart, 1956: 24–27, 90–94). This form of chiefly
competition in circumscribed, but not isolated, environments keeps Tannese and
Futunese societies relatively egalitarian (Spriggs, 1986: 16–18). Geographically
much closer to Tanna, Aniwa may have served as something of a satellite for the
Tannese chiefdoms (Flexner et al., 2018: 250).
At the same time, there is extensive evidence for Polynesian influence on Tanna
in the rituals and language surrounding kava, a socially and ritually significant
intoxicating drink made from the Piper methysticum plant (Lynch, 1996). Kava
12 Journal of Social Archaeology 0(0)

itself may have been introduced to southern Vanuatu from Polynesia, despite
northern or central Vanuatu being the most likely place of initial domestication
(Lebot and Lévesque, 1989; Lynch, 1996: 30). On Tanna, kava was and is drunk in
open, cathedral-like clearings fringed by massive banyan trees called imwarim in the
south of the island (Brunton, 1989). On Futuna and Aniwa this is also true, but the
spaces are called marae, using the more widespread Polynesian term for places of
ritual significance. Linguistically, it is notable that two of the main Tannese deities
have Polynesian names, both of which trace their roots to Proto-Polynesian lan-
guage. Mwatiktiki is the demigod Maui (‘Maui tiki tiki’, Proto-Polynesian recon-
struction Maaui; Kirch and Green, 2001: 243). Tangalua is the sea snake god
(Tangaroa, Proto-Polynesian reconstruction Taangaloa; Kirch and Green, 2001:
245). Some of the more nuanced linguistic debate is beyond the scope of this paper,
but what is clear is a deep entanglement between south Vanuatu’s ‘Melanesian’
kastom and ‘Polynesian’ ritual and linguistic introductions.
Within south Vanuatu, social connections were reinforced with material
exchanges between the islands. Often these exchanges reflect the environmental
variability of the region. For example, Aniwa lacks volcanic stone, but has rich
marine resources because of its lagoon and fringing reef, and thus trades for oven
stones with neighbouring Tanna and Erromango (Flexner et al., 2018: 250). South
Tanna chiefs exchanged grass skirts, yams, and pigs for pandanus mats, taro, and
red ochre from Aneityum (Flexner et al., 2016: 34). Presumably a similar trade took
place with Futuna as well, which along with Aneityum is linked in local traditions
of Mwatiktiki (Lindstrom, 2004). Futuna myths of Mahjijiki (Futunese for Maui)
make explicit reference to a Tongan connection, said to be the source of Mahjijiki’s
wives and the place to which he eventually returned (Keller and Kuautonga, 2007:
146–165). While not ‘material’ per se, bridal exchanges between the south Vanuatu
islands remain common today, and presumably this pattern of female exogamy has
a deeper history.

Archaeology
Archaeological evidence that transcends the Polynesia/Melanesia divide in the
islands of south Vanuatu lies largely across two fields: first, evidence for shared
practices that cross linguistic boundaries; second, direct evidence for the material
exchanges that linked islands via maritime exchange networks. The combination
of these phenomena we argue resulted in the creation or ethnogenesis of hybrid
identities. When Polynesians arrived in south Vanuatu, they were entering and
amplifying extant local interaction spheres that connected these islands to each
other through kinship, political alliance, and material necessity. We also can’t
assume that these voyages all came from one side of the boundary in question.
It is equally possible that ‘Melanesian’ voyagers from south Vanuatu were travel-
ling west through Fiji and beyond into ‘Polynesia’ as part of these interactions.
Our archaeological research in Futuna and Aniwa is ongoing, but we are beginning
to piece together a general picture of the historical settlement patterns on the small
Flexner et al. 13

islands. Excavations in Futuna and Aniwa have recovered archaeological sequences

stretching back roughly 2600 years. Pottery from these islands is thus far only repre-
sented in a few small, plain sherds from Futuna. There is currently no ceramic evi-
dence from Aniwa. What is present on both islands is extensive deposits of organically
rich soil with shell midden, oven stones, and some ground stone tools. In Aniwa, the
earliest deposits are recovered from an open site on a raised reef terrace. Closer to the
coast and in rockshelters along the lagoon, evidence for occupation is limited to the
last 1000 years. In Futuna, the earliest dates come from rockshelter sites, but evidence
for sporadic coastal occupation dates to 1000BP or less.
Also present on Futuna is a massive stone-walled agricultural field system,
which is irrigated on the southern, windward side of the island (Flexner et al.,
2018: 251). This system dates to the last 1000 years. However, we would argue
that agricultural intensification involving investment in the field system does not
necessarily reflect a signature of ‘Polynesian’ arrival, as a similar system also
emerged on Aneityum around the same time (Spriggs, 1981). Investment in
terraced agriculture in Futuna could have emerged around the time of the arrival
of Polynesian speakers, but like the chiefly system (described above), the agricul-
tural field system is a synthesis that emerges during a period of interaction between
the island’s previous inhabitants and newcomers.
Despite their linguistic differences, patterns of subsistence and foodways are
remarkably similar across Vanuatu’s five southern islands. There is a broad reli-
ance on the starchy staples yams and taro as the basis for subsistence, while protein
is primarily derived from marine fish and shellfish. Shellfish remains and fish bones
have been extensive in our excavations of sites throughout southern Vanuatu. Pig
remains are rarer but have been identified on Aniwa and Futuna as they have been
in Tanna (e.g. Flexner et al., 2016: 43) and on Erromango from Lapita times
(Bedford, 2006: 227). Pigs were an integral part of feasting practices throughout
much of the Pacific, and south Vanuatu was no exception. The nieri feast on Tanna
is a classic example of chiefly pig exchanges for the purpose of solidifying alliances
and familial connections between different districts. Similar feasts would have
taken place throughout the region, and are not a unique ‘Polynesian’ or
‘Melanesian’ trait. Turtle, eaten by chiefs during certain rituals, is also represented
by archaeological specimens on all islands in south Vanuatu. Notably, the rich
marine resources on Aniwa were a key feature of the island’s exchange network
with neighbouring Tanna especially (Flexner et al., 2018: 250).
Throughout southern Vanuatu, cooking is generally done over open fires or in
earth ovens (rua‘kinea on Futuna and Aniwa, Capell, 1958: 30; nekwinimin on
Tanna, Nehrbass, 2012: 88). Evidence for earth ovens, which preserve archaeo-
logically as small, discrete concentrations of ash, charcoal, and stones, is exten-
sive on sites across Aniwa, Futuna, and Tanna. Excavated earth ovens from
Tanna and Aniwa date to within the last 1000 years (Flexner et al., 2018: 255),
though much older examples are known from elsewhere in south Vanuatu (e.g.
Bedford, 2006: 34).
14 Journal of Social Archaeology 0(0)

In addition to subsistence and cooking, there is a common pattern of use of

caves and rockshelters for inhumation of the dead across the region of south
Vanuatu during the last 1000 years (Valentin et al., 2011: 57–60). Perhaps related
to these practices were views of the ancestral spirits believed to inhabit these islands
after death, called ‘ata or a‘tua in Futuna/Aniwa (Capell, 1958: 35–39); ierehma,
yarmis, or yermis in Tanna (Bonnemaison, 1994: 178–179); and natemas in
Aneityum (Douglas, 1989: 16–17) and Erromango (Humphreys, 1926: 165–167).
There are some commonalities in beliefs about spirits throughout southern
Vanuatu, for example anxiety that they cause illness or trouble, and can be propi-
tiated with offerings of food. However, there was also some variability from island
to island in terms of beliefs about the role of human intervention in the behaviour
of these spirits (Douglas, 1989).
Turning to exchange, several artefact classes point to the movement of objects
between islands: volcanic stone artefacts, throwing clubs, and greenstone and shell
pendants. Volcanic stone was traded throughout southern Vanuatu, both as tools
such as adzes and as oven stones. As noted above, Aniwa completely lacks local
volcanic stone. Futuna does feature some volcanic outcrops (Neef and McCullough,
2001: 807) but likely also exchanged with neighbouring islands for these kinds of
objects. Despite the fact that some Oceanic peoples used limestone for oven stones
(Di Piazza, 1998), volcanic stone is still seen as superior and regularly traded for by
Aniwan people with known contemporary examples coming from Aneityum,
Erromango, Tanna, and Futuna.
Adzes from south Vanuatu do not fall easily into simple Melanesian/Polynesian
dichotomies, despite some earlier assumptions that such a distinction might exist (see
discussion in Cleghorn, 1984: 404–406). Ethnographic and archaeological examples
of basalt adzes from both Futuna and Aniwa are almost exclusively the lenticular or
oval cross-sectioned ‘Melanesian’ form. We have found trapezoidal or rectangular
cross-sectioned ‘Polynesian’ forms in south Vanuatu, indicating some affinity across
the Polynesia/Melanesia boundary though (analysis of the chemical composition of
these artefacts is forthcoming). On Aniwa, all volcanic stone must be imported from
other islands, probably from the neighbouring ‘Melanesian’ islands of Tanna,
Erromango, or Aneityum, but possibly further afield.
In addition to adzes, volcanic stone throwing clubs, called kawas on Tanna, were
made and used throughout south Vanuatu. These consisted of a smooth, polished
cylinder of volcanic stone, roughly 30–50 cm long and about 3–5 cm in diameter.
Many examples are known from museum collections (e.g., Flexner, 2016: 148, 154).
The Shutlers were gifted an example during their 1960s fieldwork on Tanna
(Shutler et al., 2002: 193). We recovered a fragment of a basalt throwing club
from excavations in Aniwa. Throwing clubs were also made from coral limestone,
derived from reef terraces that had stone that could be broken off in small colum-
nar fragments. An example of such a ‘quarry’ was shown to us in Aniwa in 2016
(Figure 4). These types of weapons were a shared part of the warrior’s assemblage
in south Vanuatu, though the basalt example from Aniwa must have been brought
from elsewhere.
Flexner et al. 15

Figure 4. Coral throwing club ‘quarry’, Aniwa Island.

Shell and stone pendants are significant exchange items in south Vanuatu, known
from ethnographic and archaeological collections (Haddow et al., 2018). Most of the
archaeological examples date to the last 400 years or less, and are distinctive from the
much older Lapita and post-Lapita valuables found at sites such as Ponamla on
Erromango Island (Bedford, 2006: 204–209; Haddow et al., 2018: 108–109). A spe-
cific type of pearl shell pendant commonly found in ethnographic collections, which
is carved to represent various animals, including fish, lizards, flying foxes, and ant-
lion larvae, is usually attributed to south Vanuatu (e.g. Flexner, 2016: 146). Most
commonly, this type of pendant is sourced to Futuna, and we have excavated at least
one archaeological example. It is possible that this pendant form originated in
Futuna and then spread to neighbouring islands. Carson (2012: 39–40) posits that
distinctive pendant forms may have been a marker of identity elsewhere in Vanuatu
and more widely among the Polynesian Outliers.
For long-distance exchanges to the west, greenstone pendants reflect connection
between south Vanuatu and New Caledonia (Aubert de la Rüe, 1938; Dubois,
1996). Ethnographic examples are known from Tanna, Aneityum, Aniwa, and
Futuna. While archaeological examples have not yet been found, these artefacts
16 Journal of Social Archaeology 0(0)

have been curated for generations and many examples almost certainly predate
missionary arrival in the mid-1800s. While the ‘Oue´nite’ or jadeite examples must
come from sources in New Caledonia, examples of similar form made of local shell
and stone exist and were also treated as sacred valuables (Aubert de la Rüe, 1938).
Connections to New Caledonia, particularly from Aneityum, are further reinforced
by oral traditions of the ‘Xetriwaan’ dynasty in the Loyalty Islands (Spriggs, 1997:
219–220). Further, the presence of a Polynesian Outlier (Uvea) in the Loyalty
Islands (Carson, 2002) indicates the complex overlap of voyaging, settlement, lan-
guage, and identity extending west from south Vanuatu across the highly variable
southern Melanesian interaction sphere (see Sand, 1998).
Recent genetic research in Vanuatu has suggested that there was a large-scale
genetic population turnover in the islands, but that aside from the Polynesian
Outliers the languages of the islands did not change dramatically during their
3000-year history of human occupation (Lipson et al., 2018; Posth et al., 2018).
Ancient DNA samples from Tanna and Futuna were particularly strongly linked to
genetic haplogroups associated with Near Oceania (Posth et al., 2018: 734–735).
We would suggest this kind of evidence be taken as tentative at the moment, as the
sample sizes are remarkably small (two individuals from Tanna and four from
Futuna were subjected to ancient DNA analysis). With the exception of one of
the Tanna samples (TAN-001), the individuals date to before 1000 BP, potentially
suggesting that Polynesian influence post-dates this period.
The two lines of archaeological evidence, shared practices and material exchanges,
transcend the marked linguistic distinctions between Futuna and Aniwa and the
neighbouring islands. These dynamics fall along Hu’s (2013) primordialist and inter-
actionist spheres. The shared practices relate to a common Oceanic ancestry and
deep history of habits and adaptations to the environment. At the same time, the
complex evidence for material exchanges suggests ethnogenesis in south Vanuatu
took place in an environment of inter-island contacts and interactions.

Ethnogenesis in the south Vanuatu Outliers

Ethnohistoric and archaeological evidence points to processes of ethnogenesis
that led to the complex identities of south Vanuatu’s Outliers. All four processes
outlined by Hu (2013) are present: primordialism, instrumentalism, isolation, and
interaction. There are specific ways in which Outlier identities were ‘hybrid’, as they
were built simultaneously on primordial narratives, used instrumentally, and based
on both geographic isolation and periodic interactions over long and short
distances. The presence of languages from the Polynesian family in Futuna and
Aniwa indicates some kind of external migration, but we have been unable to
identify a clear archaeological ‘phase’ that necessarily demonstrates that arrival.
Rather, patterns of everyday life largely continued despite the Polynesian incur-
sion, whatever form that took.
On the primordial-instrumentalist axis, myths of common ancestral connections
on Futuna faced east to Tonga, particularly in the sagas of the culture hero
Flexner et al. 17

Mahjijiki who took wives from over the seas (Keller and Kuautonga, 2007: 146–
165). Similar stories link not only Aniwa but also Tanna to these Polynesian super-
natural beings. But family histories and lineages on Futuna and Aniwa would also
have faced south and west towards Tanna, Aneityum and beyond to New
Caledonia. Mythic hero narratives and the quotidian realities of connection
through kinship cross and render culturally and historically meaningless the
modern boundary drawn between Polynesia and Melanesia as it was local under-
standings of both near- and long-term connections that mattered when reckoning
ancestry. Ancestral narratives might have been manipulated by self-aggrandising
‘chiefs’ (Earle and Spriggs, 2015). Being able to point to connections to powerful
lineages on nearby islands and mythical beings further across the ocean would
provide a valuable source of propaganda within the competitive political environ-
ments of south Vanuatu chiefdoms. There has been some suggestion that
Polynesian incursions resulted in the establishment of powerful chiefly dynasties
elsewhere in Vanuatu (see discussion in Luders, 2001). However, the picture from
Aniwa and Futuna is complicated as the political systems there draw on the egali-
tarian structure of neighbouring Tanna (see above discussion of regional
ethnohistory).
Archaeologically, the common practices of fishing and shellfishing, seasonal
camping and the use of coastal resources, shifting cultivation, cooking in earth
ovens, and burying the dead in rockshelters provide a common baseline for the
islands of south Vanuatu in the last millennium or more (Flexner et al., 2018).
These similarities would have been material evidence of the common adaptations to
island life shared by south Vanuatu’s ‘Polynesian’ and ‘Melanesian’ populations
when they first came into contact. Over time, this sense of shared environmental
management techniques, ingredients, and cuisine may have balanced apparent lin-
guistic differences against a sense of familiarity, resulting in an evolving regional
identity in south Vanuatu.
On the isolation-interaction axis, while we recognise that there was significant
interaction between the islands of south Vanuatu and beyond, there were also
environmental variations that might have impacted the intensity and frequency
of such interactions. For example, Futuna sits on the other side of a deep-water
trench from the other islands in TAFEA (Neef and McCullough, 2001: 806). High
seas or bad weather thus may have cut Futuna off from trade networks more often.
There is also a seasonal pattern where the southeastern current in this part of the
Pacific can become especially strong, pushing vessels off course. People on Aniwa
suggest this is not only an environmental danger, but a social one, as the passengers
of unfamiliar or unexpected canoes were often attacked upon reaching another
island. Thus there might have been periods when islands became somewhat more
isolated and specific island identities were strengthened.
However, there is extensive evidence for voyaging, contact, and exchange, par-
ticularly the marriage exchanges that resulted in kinship networks connecting the
islands of south Vanuatu and beyond. The archaeological and ethnohistoric evi-
dence suggests that interaction was probably more significant than isolation as a
18 Journal of Social Archaeology 0(0)

source of ethnogenesis in the region. As people moved back and forth, intermar-
ried, and traded, what were probably initial markers of apparent linguistic, physio-
logical, or cultural difference became less relevant within an extensive interaction
sphere. Even as people on Futuna and Aniwa retained their ‘Polynesian’ languages,
their practices, material culture, chiefly competitions, and kinship were increasingly
simply another part of the local scene.

Conclusions
When we talk about Polynesian Outliers, we have to make clear that these islands
did not exist as isolates in relation to neighbouring islands. They are often on
smaller, remote, or marginal islands, as was the case in south Vanuatu, as well
as Tikopia (Kirch and Yen, 1982) and Taumako (Leach and Davidson, 2008) in the
Solomon Islands, and Kapingamarangi (Leach and Ward, 1981) and Nukuoro
(Davidson, 1971) in Micronesia. But, Outliers also had sustained contact with
their neighbours. In other words, Outliers were part of local as well as more exten-
sive networks. The Outliers were not simply home to Polynesians who lived outside
of the triangle. Nor were the inhabitants of the regions in which Outliers are
located ‘Melanesian’ or ‘Micronesian’ in some monolithic way. As the south
Vanuatu examples show, islanders who settled Futuna and Aniwa would maintain
a distinct linguistic difference from their neighbours, while also adapting local
forms of governance, creating relationships through marriages and other alliances,
and participating in local exchange networks, resulting in a complex form of ethno-
genesis as described above.
Beyond Polynesia and Melanesia, this type of approach offers the opportunity
to re-imagine contemporary assumptions about cultural boundaries in the past,
allowing for the complex ways that people negotiate difference in situations of
cultural contact and entanglement. Archaeologists concerned with hybridity have
pointed to the ways that people intentionally reassemble cultural objects and
symbols, often with political ends in mind, particularly in situations of marked
struggle such as European colonialism (Harrison, 2002; Liebmann, 2015; Loren,
2015). This was true in the deeper past as well. The south Vanuatu Outliers offer
an example of identity construction in what Gosden (2004: 41–81) calls ‘coloni-
alism in a shared cultural milieu’. Power differentials in south Vanuatu may have
been more horizontal, with apparent differences less marked and balanced against
shared habits and practices. The expression of Outlier identities, marked by lin-
guistic difference but deeply entangled in local networks, was definitely a result of
the kinds of active political struggle and social emergence that have been identi-
fied in more recent past hybridities. Hybridity in this way can move beyond the
‘history/prehistory divide’ (Lightfoot, 1995), historicizing the ways that people
connected and evolved in a period spanning 1000 years or more in a remote
corner of the South Pacific, with potential applicability resonating well outside
of this region and time period.
Flexner et al. 19

Acknowledgements
We would like to thank our colleagues in south Vanuatu, particularly Denise Elena from
Aniwa, Takaronga Kuautonga from Futuna, and the VKS archaeologists Richard Shing,
Edson Willie, and Iarowoi Philp. Three anonymous reviewers offered extensive commentary
that greatly improved the argument and content of this paper.

Declaration of conflicting interests

The authors declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, author-
ship, and/or publication of this article.

Funding
The authors disclosed receipt of the following financial support for the research, authorship,
and/or publication of this article: the Australian Research Council (DP160103578).

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Author Biographies
James L Flexner is senior lecturer in historical archaeology and heritage at the
University of Sydney. James works in historical archaeology and landscape archae-
ology in Oceania, with ongoing research in Vanuatu, Tasmania, and Queensland.
His interests broadly include human adaptation to life in island and coastal envir-
onments, particularly in situations of contact and colonialism, and the construction
of identities past and present in relation to archaeological heritage.

Dr Stuart Bedford is an archaeologist who completed his doctorate, focusing on the

archaeology of Vanuatu, at the Australian National University (ANU) in 2000.
Since 2005 he has been a Research Fellow at the ANU and has continued with his
research in Vanuatu. This has involved undertaking archaeological research on
most of the islands of the archipelago and has included the excavation of many
sites dating from the period of initial colonisation (Lapita) at 3000 BP and sub-
sequent millennia right through to the period of European contact.

Frederique Valentin is a researcher at CNRS in France, specialising in bio-archae-

ology and funerary archaeology. She works in various archipelagoes of Oceania
including New Caledonia and Vanuatu. Her research, conducted in collaboration
with other researchers in the field and in the lab, deals with mortuary behavior,
dietary reconstructions, and first settlement of islands based on genetic and mor-
phological data.

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