periods (see sections, “Economics and the Division of Labor” and “Cultural Specialists,” below). There was no Haida term specifically denoting the physiological experience of menopause; it was simply noted that when a woman reached a certain point in life, she ceased becoming pregnant. Florence observed that women who had had many children experienced no physical difficulties with menopause.
A married woman could hold property independently of her husband (Swanton 1909:54; Murdock 1934a: 371) and a woman often received property from her parents as endowerment for her marriage. At her death her property was passed on to a daughter. Though a woman might continue to reside in her natal home following her marriage, the house itself and its name were considered male property; this had a critical effect upon the status of those widows who did not remarry.
Both the levirate (marriage to deceased husband’s brother) and the sororate (marriage to deceased wife’s sister) were traditionally practiced by the Haida. A man, however, had considerably more freedom in remarrying than a woman. A widower was required to give the mortuary potlatch for his deceased wife, and until he did so, he was beholden to his wife’s family. It was preferred that a deceased woman’s sister “take her chair” (the sororate) and her family would try to hold onto a man who had married into their lineage. Once a widower had given the mortuary potlatch, however, he was technically free to do as he pleased. A widow, on the other hand, was expected to marry a man of her husband’s lineage, either a younger brother or a nephew. Late nineteenth-century church records and the recollections of Masset Haida indicate that the spouse was often quite junior to the widow. Florence’s “grandmother,” widow of Albert Edenshaw, is a case in point: two years following Edenshaw’s death in 1894, she was married to one of her husband’s nephews (Phillip White), who at age twenty-four was some twenty years younger than she. Although an older widow exerted considerable influence over her young husband, who “was just like a slave to his uncle’s wife,” she had little or no voice in the selection of her new husband. Florence Davidson recounted one such levirate marriage which dates from the mid-nineteenth century:
Tałanat married an old, old lady, his uncle’s wife. He was about ten or eleven and was out playing while they prepared for the wedding. His mother called him home, washed the mud off his feet, and put a shirt on him. “You’re going to stay with that old lady, your uncle’s wife.” But he didn’t understand. His mother took him inside to the top step [of the housepit] and sat him beside the old woman on a pillow. All the food—smoked dog salmon soaked in salt water—was served. “Eat, dear, eat,” the old lady said to him, but he didn’t want to eat. “I wonder why that old thing said that to me,” he asked. “Look at all my granddaughters, those pretty girls. I’ll die quick and you’ll marry one of them.” He looked at the girls and he hated them. The old lady was supposed to let her new husband sleep by her, but he didn’t want it. Maybe when it started to get cold out he started sleeping by the old woman.
The levirate was really the only security a widowed woman had, for a widow who did not remarry was often left destitute. She was not allowed to stay in her former husband’s home, and, if lucky, she escaped with a few personal belongings when her husband’s heir took over the house and its property. Masset people cited several instances when widows hurriedly left their former husbands’ houses and, with their children, sought sanctuary in the homes of matrilineal relatives. These women were pitied and high-ranking people were instructed to be kind to them and offer them food. Widowers, as noted above, did not suffer a symmetrical fate.
Mourning rituals were identical for widow or widower (Murdock 1934a: 373). The grieving spouse remained isolated for a period of time and ate very little because, in Florence Davidson’s words, “if they think nothing of it [death], there’s no luck. You have to deny yourself.” Mortuary potlatches were given for both men and women of high rank.
ECONOMICS AND THE DIVISION OF LABOR
Although some economic activities, such as collecting shellfish and cooking, were performed by both males and females, in general the Haida division of labor was marked. Men might beachcomb during the winter following onshore storms to collect clams and cockles that had washed ashore, but clam digging and the implement of procurement, the glɨgú (digging stick), were considered part of a woman’s domain. The sexual division of labor was summed up for me by one elderly Masset man who offered the following comment on the essential property of a newly married couple: “Every man’s got to have his fishing line and devilfish stick and every woman her digging stick.”
The gathering of plant resources was women’s and girls’ work; young boys did not normally accompany their mothers on such expeditions. What little gathering men did complemented that of the women. Both sexes, for example, collected spruce roots, but women dug the small delicate roots for hat and basket weaving, and men the large roots from which they made fish traps and snares. Similiarly, both men and women collected cedar bark, but women sought the inner bark for weaving mats, and men the large sheets of outer bark for roofing.
Women’s abstention from certain economic activities seems to have been rationalized and prohibited on the basis of pollution taboos associated with menstruation and reproduction (see, for example, Swanton 1909:219). Fishing lines and hooks, sea mammal clubs, bows, arrows, and any other items of subsistence technology used by males were kept outside the house, concealed from the view of female household members. Menstruating women were believed to have supernatural visual powers capable of causing considerable damage. Were a menstruating woman to see a man’s fishing or hunting equipment, all of his economic endeavors would be doomed. If a woman were to attempt to hunt or fish herself, her efforts would go similarly unrewarded. For this reason, the Haida say, women never fished or hunted. Nor did women collect octopuses, comestible shellfish but more commonly used as halibut bait. Were a woman to catch an octopus near its rocky den, all octopuses would permanently abandon the site.
Male economic activities could be further influenced by domestic activities. Baby tending, for example, was fraught with potential ruination of male economic prowess. A man might play with his small children, but his handling of a soiled or wet baby would diminish his luck at hunting or fishing, perhaps spelling economic disaster for the entire household. To assure the ritual purity of male members of the household, men’s clothing was washed separately from that of women and children. Ritual cleanliness brought economic rewards, for “those who were ‘clean’ were blessed with food and riches,” according to Florence Davidson. Men could negatively affect their own economic endeavors by having extramarital affairs or by leaving their wives. A man who did so would lose his luck at hunting or fishing. Ritual purity and consequent economic “luck” were also acquired or enhanced by drinking medicine,8 a male prerogative. Women, too, drank medicine, but only to cure sickness, not for “luck.”
The sexual division of labor in trading is not clear. Swanton (1909) and Curtis (1916) make no mention of women in trading; Murdock (1934b:377), in his brief discussion of trading partnerships, implies that the parties are male but does not discuss trade more generally. Early maritime traders’ accounts from the late eighteenth century, however, suggest that Haida women played a significant and authoritative role in trading activities at the time of first contact. In his journals of 1790–92, Joseph Ingraham, for example, offers the following comment:
Here in direct opposition to most other parts of the world, the women maintain a precedency to the men in every point insomuch as a man dares not trade without the concurrence of his wife. Nay, I have often been witness to men being abused by their wives for parting with skins before their approbation was obtained. [Ingraham 1971:132]
The men of the ship Columbia Rediviva similarly remarked on the ascendant role of Haida women in trade:
The women in trade, as well as in everything else which came within our knowledge, appeared to govern the men; as no one dared to conclude a bargain without first asking his wife’s consent; if he did, the moment he went into his canoe he was sure to get a beating … and there is no mercy to be expected
