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CONTENTS

Preface for Instructors X CHAPTER 7

Expectancy Violations Theory
of Judee Burgoon 79
DIVISION ONE
OVERVIEW Relationship Development 91

CHAPTER 1 CHAPTER 8
Launching Your Study Social Penetration Theory
of Communication Theory 2 of Irwin Altman & Dalmas Taylor 93

CHAPTER 2 CHAPTER 9
Talk About Theory 13 Uncertainty Reduction Theory
of Charles Berger 105
CHAPTER 3
Weighing the Words 24 CHAPTER 10
Social Information Processing Theory
CHAPTER 4 of Joseph Walther 117
Mapping the Territory (Seven Traditions in
the Field of Communication Theory) 36 Relationship Maintenance 129

CHAPTER 11
DIVISION TWO Relational Dialectics Theory
INTERPERSONAL COMMUNICATION of Leslie Baxter & Mikhail Bakhtin 131
Interpersonal Messages 51 CHAPTER 12
Communication Privacy Management Theory
CHAPTER 5
of Sandra Petronio 145
Symbolic Interactionism 53
of George Herbert Mead CHAPTER 13
Media Multiplexity Theory
CHAPTER 6
of Caroline Haythornthwaite 158
Coordinated Management of Meaning (CMM)
of W. Barnett Pearce & Vernon Cronen 65

vii
viii CONTENTS

Influence 169 CHAPTER 24

Narrative Paradigm
CHAPTER 14 of Walter Fisher 297
Social Judgment Theory
of Muzafer Sherif 171
DIVISION FOUR
CHAPTER 15 MASS COMMUNICATION
Elaboration Likelihood Model
of Richard Petty & John Cacioppo 182 Media and Culture 307
CHAPTER 16 CHAPTER 25
Cognitive Dissonance Theory Media Ecology
of Leon Festinger 194 of Marshall McLuhan 309

DIVISION THREE CHAPTER 26

GROUP AND PUBLIC COMMUNICATION Semiotics
of Roland Barthes 320
Group Communication 208
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 17 Cultural Studies
Functional Perspective on Group Decision Making of Stuart Hall 332
of Randy Hirokawa & Dennis Gouran 210
Media Effects 344
CHAPTER 18
Symbolic Convergence Theory CHAPTER 28
of Ernest Bormann 223 Uses and Gratifications
of Elihu Katz 346
Organizational Communication 235
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 19 Cultivation Theory
Cultural Approach to Organizations of George Gerbner 356
of Clifford Geertz & Michael Pacanowsky 237
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 20 Agenda-Setting Theory
Communicative Constitution of Organizations of Maxwell McCombs & Donald Shaw 368
of Robert McPhee 248

CHAPTER 21 DIVISION FIVE

Critical Theory of Communication in CULTURAL CONTEXT
Organizations
of Stanley Deetz 259 Gender and Communication 382

Public Rhetoric 273 CHAPTER 31

Genderlect Styles
CHAPTER 22 of Deborah Tannen 384
The Rhetoric
of Aristotle 275 CHAPTER 32
Standpoint Theory
CHAPTER 23 of Sandra Harding & Julia Wood 396
Dramatism
of Kenneth Burke 287
 ix
CONTENTS

CHAPTER 33 DIVISION SIX

Muted Group Theory INTEGRATION
of Cheris Kramarae 409
Integration 463
Intercultural Communication 421
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 34 Common Threads in Comm Theories 465
Communication Accommodation
Theory Appendix A: Abstracts of Theories A-1
of Howard Giles 423
Appendix B: Feature Films That Illustrate
CHAPTER 35 Communication Theories A-5
Face-Negotiation Theory Appendix C: NCA Credo for
of Stella Ting-Toomey 436 Ethical Communication A-7
Endnotes E-1
CHAPTER 36
Co-Cultural Theory Credits and Acknowledgments C-1
of Mark Orbe 449 Index I-1
PREFACE FOR INSTRUCTORS

If you’re already familiar with A First Look at Communication Theory and understand
the approach, organization, and main features of the book, you may want to jump
ahead to the “Major Changes in the Tenth Edition” section. For those who are new
to the text, reading the entire preface will give you a good grasp of what you and your
students can expect.

A Balanced Approach to Theory Selection. We’ve written A First Look for students
who have no background in communication theory. It’s designed for undergraduates
enrolled in an entry-level course, regardless of the students’ classification. The trend
in the field is to offer students a broad introduction to theory relatively early in their
program. But if a department chooses to offer its first theory course on the junior or
senior level, the course will still be the students’ first comprehensive look at theory,
so the book will meet them where they are.
Our goal in this text is to present 32 communication theories in a clear and
interesting way. After reading about a given theory, students should understand the
theory, know the research that supports it, see useful applications in their lives, and
be aware of the theory’s possible flaws. We hope readers will discover relationships
among theories located across the communication landscape—a clear indication that
they grasp what they’re reading. But that kind of integrative thinking only takes place
when students first comprehend what a theorist claims.
With the help of more than 400 instructors, we’ve selected a range of theories
that reflect the diversity within the discipline. Some theories are proven candidates
for a Communication Theory Hall of Fame. For example, Aristotle’s analysis of
logical, emotional, and ethical appeals continues to set the agenda for many public
speaking courses. Mead’s symbolic interactionism is formative for interpretive theo-
rists who are dealing with language, thought, meaning, self-concept, or the effect of
society upon the individual. Berger’s uncertainty reduction theory was the first objec-
tive theory to be crafted by a social scientist trained in the field. And no student of
mediated communication should be ignorant of Gerbner’s cultivation theory, which
explains why heavy television viewing cultivates fear of a mean and scary world.
It would be shortsighted, however, to limit the selection to the classics of commu-
nication. Some of the discipline’s most creative approaches are its newest. For exam-
ple, Sandra Petronio’s theory of communication privacy management undergirds
much of the research conducted in the field of health communication. Leslie Baxter’s
theory of relational dialectics offers insight into the ongoing tensions inherent in

x
 PREFACE FOR INSTRUCTORS xi

­ ersonal relationships. Robert McPhee’s communicative constitution of organiza-

p
tions describes how the principle of social construction works in an organizational
context. And, like almost all social media theorizing, Caroline Haythornthwaite’s
media multiplexity theory is still being tested and refined.

Organizational Plan of the Book. Each chapter introduces a single theory in

10 to 15 pages. We’ve found that most undergraduates think in terms of discrete
packets of information, so the concentrated coverage gives them a chance to focus
their thoughts while reading a single chapter. This way, students can gain an in-depth
understanding of important theories instead of acquiring only a vague familiarity
with a jumble of related ideas. The one-chapter–one-theory arrangement also gives
teachers the opportunity to skip theories or rearrange the order of presentation with-
out tearing apart the fabric of the text.
The first four chapters provide a framework for understanding the theories to
come. The opening chapter, “Launching Your Study of Communication Theory,”
presents working definitions of both theory and communication, and also prepares
students for the arrangement of the chapters and the features within them. Chap-
ter 2, “Talk About Theory,” lays the groundwork for understanding the differences
between objective and interpretive theories. Chapter 3, “Weighing the Words,”
presents two sets of criteria for determining a good objective or interpretive theory.
Based on ­Robert Craig’s (University of Colorado) conception, Chapter 4, “Map-
ping the Territory,” introduces seven traditions within the field of communication
theory.
Following this integrative framework, we feature 32 theories in 32 self-contained
chapters. Each theory is discussed within the context of a communication topic:
interpersonal messages, relationship development, relationship maintenance, influ-
ence, group communication, organizational communication, public rhetoric, media
and culture, media effects, gender and communication, or intercultural communi-
cation. These communication context sections usually cover three theories. Each
section’s two-page introduction outlines a crucial issue that theorists working in this
area address. The placement of theories in familiar contexts helps students recognize
that theories are answers to questions they’ve been asking all along. The final chapter,
“Common Threads in Comm Theories,” offers students a novel form of integration
that will help them discern order in the tapestry of communication theory that might
otherwise seem chaotic.
Because all theory and practice has value implications, we briefly explore a dozen
ethical principles throughout the book. Consistent with the focus of this text, each
principle is the central tenet of a specific ethical theory. Other disciplines may ignore
these thorny issues, but to discuss communication as a process that is untouched by
questions of good and bad, right and wrong, or questions of character would be to
disregard an ongoing concern in our field.

Features of Each Chapter. Most people think in pictures. Students will have a
rough time understanding a theory unless they apply its explanations and interpre-
tations to concrete situations. Many chapters offer an extended example to illustrate
the “truth” a theory proposes. We encourage readers to try out ideas by visualizing
a first meeting of freshman roommates, trying to persuade other students to sup-
port a zero-tolerance policy on driving after drinking, considering the turbulent
marriage of a prophet and a prostitute, and many others. We also use two speeches
xii PREFACE FOR INSTRUCTORS

of President Barack Obama, and scenes from Mad Men, The Office, The Help, and
Thank You for Smoking to illustrate principles of the theories. The case studies
in chapters follow the pedagogical principle of explaining what students don’t yet
know in terms of ideas and images that are already within their experience.
Some theories are tightly linked with an extensive research project. For exam-
ple, the impact of cognitive dissonance theory was greatly spurred by Festinger’s
surprising finding in his now classic $1/$20 experiment. And Orbe’s co-cultural
theory emerged when he conducted intensive focus groups with members of the
LGBTQ community, African American men, and people with physical disabilities.
When such exemplars exist, we describe the research in detail so that students can
learn from and appreciate the benefits of grounding theory in systematic obser-
vation. In this way, readers of A First Look are led through a variety of research
designs and data analyses.
Students will encounter the names of Baxter, Berger, Bormann, Burgoon,
Burke, Deetz, Fisher, Giles, Kramarae, Orbe, Pacanowsky, Pearce, Ting-Toomey,
Walther, Wood, and many others in later communication courses. We therefore
make a concerted effort to link theory and theorist. By pairing a particular theory
with its originator, we try to promote both recall and respect for a given scholar’s
effort.
The text of each chapter concludes with a section that critiques the theory. This
represents a hard look at the ideas presented in light of the criteria for a good theory
outlined in Chapter 3. Some theorists have suggested that we are “friends” of their
theory. We appreciate that because we want to present all of the theories in a con-
structive way. But after we summarize a theory’s strengths, we then discuss its weak-
nesses, unanswered questions, and possible errors that remain. We try to stimulate a
“That makes sense, and yet I wonder . . .” response among students.
We include a short list of thought questions at the end of each chapter. Labeled
“Questions to Sharpen Your Focus,” these probes encourage students to make con-
nections among ideas in the chapter and also to apply the theory to their everyday
communication experience. As part of this feature, words printed in italics remind
students of the key terms of a given theory.
Each chapter ends with a short list of annotated readings entitled “A Second
Look.” The heading refers to resources for students who are interested in a theory
and want to go further than a 10- to 15-page introduction allows. The top item is
the resource we recommend as the starting point for further study. The other list-
ings identify places to look for material about each of the major issues raised in the
chapter. The format is designed to offer practical encouragement and guidance for
further study without overwhelming the novice with multiple citations. The sources
of quotations and citations of evidence are listed in an “Endnotes” section at the end
of the book.
We think instructors and students alike will get a good chuckle out of the car-
toons we’ve selected for each chapter. The art’s main function, however, is to illustrate
significant points in the text. As in other editions, we’re committed to using quality
cartoon art from The New Yorker and comic strips such as “Calvin and Hobbes” and
“Dilbert.” Perceptive cartoonists are modern-day prophets—their humor serves the
education process well when it slips through mental barriers or attitudinal defenses
that didactic prose can’t penetrate.
A co-authored book always faces the challenge of being consistent in style and
voice across chapters. This has been less of a problem for us because of our history
 PREFACE FOR INSTRUCTORS xiii

together. Andrew Ledbetter and Glenn Sparks continue to be co-authors and equal
partners with Em. Both men are highly recognized scholars in their field—Andrew
in online communication and family communication, Glenn in media effects and
interpersonal communication. Glenn was a student in Em’s first persuasion course
at Wheaton; Andrew aced one of the last communication theory classes Em taught
before he retired from full-time teaching. Despite differences in our ages of more
than 40 years, the three of us are close friends and colleagues who have published
together before. Each of us vets and edits what the other two write and offers advice
on what to cover. We’re convinced that this interactive process ensures students will
read up-to-date information presented in the same style that has characterized the
book throughout the previous nine editions.
While no author considers his or her style ponderous or dull, we believe we’ve
presented the theories in a clear and lively fashion. Accuracy alone does not com-
municate. We’ve tried to remain faithful to the vocabulary each theorist uses so that
the student can consider the theory in the author’s own terms, but we also translate
technical language into more familiar words. Students and reviewers cite readability
and interest as particular strengths of the text. We encourage you to sample a chapter
so you can decide for yourself.
In 13 of the chapters, you’ll see photographs of the theorists who appear in “Con-
versations with Communication Theorists,” eight-minute video clips of our discus-
sions together. The text that accompanies each picture previews intriguing comments
the theorists made so students can watch the interview with a specific purpose in
mind. These videos are available at www.afirstlook.com, our authors’ website averaging
50,000 log-ins a month. On that site you will also find auto-graded quizzes, chapter
outlines, theory abstracts, web links, an archive of theory chapters no longer in the
text, and a list of feature film scenes illustrating specific theories. In a password-­
protected section of the site, instructors can see suggestions for classroom discussion
and activities, recommendations for further theory resources, chapter-by-chapter
changes from the previous edition, and a chart of theory coverage in other commu-
nication theory texts.
Along with many of these resources, an Instructor’s Manual, test bank, and
lecture slides are available through McGraw-Hill Connect. Connect, McGraw-Hill
Education’s integrated assignment and assessment platform, also offers SmartBook
for the new edition, which is the first adaptive reading experience proven to improve
grades and help students study more effectively. Additional information about Con-
nect is available at the end of this preface.

Major Changes in the Tenth Edition. Responding to instructors’ desire to offer

students more than one social media theory, we’re introducing Caroline Hay-
thornthwaite’s media multiplexity theory, which explores the mix of media that peo-
ple use to connect with each other and the strength of their relational bond. We’ve
also added Mark Orbe’s co-cultural theory, which is based on extensive phenomeno-
logical research among the LGBTQ community, people with physical disabilities, and
African American men. The theory plots their patterns of communication with those
in the dominant culture based on their desire to stay separate from, seek accommo-
dation from, or assimilate into that culture. To make room for these theories, we’ve
moved our treatment of Watzlawick’s interactional view and Philipsen’s speech codes
theory to the archive at www.afirstlook.com, where full chapters can be easily accessed
if you desire to assign them to your students.
xiv PREFACE FOR INSTRUCTORS

We’ve made a concerted effort to update and replace examples that no longer
have the explanatory power or appeal they did when introduced in previous editions.
We’ve also worked hard to sharpen the end-of-chapter Critique sections, and in
almost all chapters we base our comments on the six criteria for a good interpretive
or scientific theory outlined in Chapter 3. Half the chapters in the book have under-
gone major additions, deletions, or alterations. Here’s a sample:

• Our revised critique of social information processing theory cites MIT

professor Sherry Turkle’s challenge to Walther’s basic claim that anything we
do face-to-face can be done just as well or better online. She claims smart-
phones are drastically reducing our ability for conversation, intimacy, and
empathy.
• Relational dialectics theory has now been fully updated to center on Baxter’s
second version of the theory, which draws heavily on the thinking of Mikhail
Bakhtin. We have replaced the fictional film Bend It Like Beckham with exam-
ples drawn from real-life research on family communication.
• Social judgment theory is now illustrated with the issue of gun control rather
than airline safety.
• The narrative paradigm is used as a lens to consider the coherence and fidelity
of a story about the turbulent marriage between a prophet and a prostitute.
• Media ecology now includes a section on the relationship between Marshall
McLuhan’s theory and his strong religious faith. It then answers the question
of why he didn’t speak out against behavioral changes in society that he con-
sidered immoral.
• Dramatism has been rearranged to foreground Burke’s thoughts about language,
guilt– redemption, and identification. Building from this background, we then
introduce the dramatistic pentad, applying it to comprehend reactions to an
Obama campaign speech.
• Cultural studies now includes Larry Frey’s appeal for communicative activism
for social justice. This is the only ethical reflection in the book highlighting an
ethicist currently active in the field of communication.
• Agenda-setting theory now includes the recently introduced third level, whereby
the media tell us how issues connect to each other. The chapter also describes
the process of melding agendas into communities.
• Standpoint theory now more clearly differentiates between the concepts of social
location and standpoint. The critique section also mentions intersectionality as
an extension and challenge to feminist thinking.
• Based on updated research, the presentation of face-negotiation theory has been
simplified. Em concludes the chapter with a story about how knowledge of the
theory helped him mediate a bitter conflict at a mosque.

McGraw-Hill Education also offers a robust custom publishing program, Create,

that you may want to consider. Create enables you to build a book with only the
chapters you need, and arrange them in the order you’ll teach them. There’s also the
option of adding materials you prepare or using chapters from other McGraw-Hill
books or resources from their library. When you build a Create book, you will receive
a complimentary print review copy in just a few days or a complimentary eBook via
email in about one hour.
 PREFACE FOR INSTRUCTORS xv

Acknowledgments. We gratefully acknowledge the wisdom and counsel of many

generous scholars whose intellectual capital is embedded in every page you’ll read.
Over the last 30 years, more than a thousand communication scholars have gone out
of their way to make the book better. People who have made direct contributions to
this edition include Ron Adler, Santa Barbara City College; Ryan Bisel, University of
Oklahoma; Sarah Bunting, Ayurveda; Judee Burgoon, University of Arizona; Sandy
Callaghan, Texas Christian University; Ken Chase, Wheaton College; Jeff Child,
Kent State University; Stan Deetz, University of Colorado; Sandy French, Radford
University; Darin Garard, Santa Barbara City College; Howard Giles, University of
California, Santa Barbara; Caroline Haythornthwaite, Syracuse University; Arthur
Jensen, Syracuse University; Gang Luo, Ohio University; Bree McEwan, DePaul
University; Marty Medhurst, Baylor University; Julia Moore, University of Utah;
Mark Orbe, Western Michigan University; Doug Osman, Purdue University;
Kim Pearce, CMM Institute for Personal and Social Evolution; Sandra Petronio,
University of Indiana–Purdue University Indianapolis; Russ Proctor, Northern
Kentucky University; Doug Pruim, Purdue University; Art Ramirez, University of
South Florida; Erin Ruppel, University of Wisconsin–Milwaukee; Jordan Soliz,
University of Nebraska–Lincoln; Samuel Hardman Taylor, Cornell University; Jessica
Vitak, University of Maryland; Deborah Whitt, Wayne State College; Steve Wilson,
Purdue University; Paul Witt, Texas Christian University; Julia Wood, University of
North Carolina; Robert Woods Jr., Spring Arbor University. Without their help, this
edition would be less accurate and certainly less interesting.
Em has great appreciation for Sharon Porteous, a recent Wheaton graduate who
served as his research assistant and assembled the comprehensive index that contains
thousands of entries—a task no one should do more than once in life.
We are grateful to all the women and men at McGraw-Hill who have been indis-
pensable in making this edition possible: Alex Preiss, Product Developer; Jamie Lafer-
rera, Portfolio Manager; David Patterson, Managing Director; Lori Slattery, Content
Licensing Specialist; and Joyce Berendes, Senior Content Licensing Manager. We are
greatly appreciate the work of Melissa Sacco, Associate Development Program Direc-
tor and Sudheer Purushothaman, Project Manager at Lumina Datamatics.
We’ve been fortunate to work closely with a group of outside contractors who
have worked in concert for the last four editions. Jenn Meyer, a commercial computer
artist, created and revised figures on 24-hour notice; Judy Brody achieved the impos-
sible by making the extensive and complicated permissions process palatable; Robyn
Tellefsen, freelance writer and editor, was Em’s student research assistant for the
fourth edition of the book, proofreader for three editions, and copy editor for the last
two. She also edited a book Glenn wrote. Robyn is quite familiar with communication
theory and is someone whose edits we trust implicitly. Thus, the book your students
read is better than the one we wrote. Stu Johnson has been the steady webmaster
of www.afirstlook.com since its inception, creating multiple digital paths for users to
find what they want and quickly short-circuiting glitches when they occur. And Amy
Keating, for whom Andrew served as graduate advisor at TCU, graciously volunteers
to respond to the almost daily requests for passwords to enter the instructors-only
section of www.afirstlook.com. It’s a wonderful team and we’re incredibly fortunate to
have their skills and friendship.
We offer a special word of appreciation to Emily Langan, who is a central
member of our team. Emily is Em’s former student who now teaches the courses
he taught at Wheaton. This edition is Emily’s fifth as author of the ever-evolving
Instructor’s Manual that is famous among communication theory instructors.
xvi PREFACE FOR INSTRUCTORS

Em recalls the time when he first introduced Emily at a National Communication

Association short course on teaching communication theory. The participants
stood and applauded. Now she’s the lead instructor of that course, where she
introduces Em. The three of us are grateful for her wisdom, dedication, creativity,
and friendship.

Em Griffin
Andrew Ledbetter
Glenn Sparks
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www.mheducation.com/connect
www.mheducation.com/connect
DIVISION ONE

Overview

CHAPTER 1. Launching Your Study of Communication Theory

CHAPTER 2. Talk About Theory
CHAPTER 3. Weighing the Words
CHAPTER 4. Mapping the Territory (Seven Traditions in the Field of Communication Theory)
CHAPTER 1

Launching Your Study

of Communication Theory
This is a book about theories—communication theories. After that statement you
may already be stifling a yawn. Many college students, after all, regard theory as
obscure, dull, and irrelevant. People outside the classroom are even less c­ haritable.
An aircraft mechanic once chided a professor: “You academic types are all alike.
Your heads are crammed so full of theory, you wouldn’t know which end of a socket
wrench to grab. Any plane you touched would crash and burn. All Ph.D. stands for
is ‘piled higher and deeper.’”
The mechanic could be right. Yet it’s ironic that even in the process of ­knocking
theory, he resorts to his own theory of cognitive overload to explain what he sees
as the mechanical stupidity of scholars. As authors of this book, we appreciate his
desire to make sense of his world. Here’s a man who spends a hunk of his life
making sure that planes stay safely in the air until pilots are ready to land. When
we really care about something, we should seek to answer the why and what if
­questions that always emerge. That was the message Em heard from University of
Arizona communication theorist Judee Burgoon when he talked with her in our
series of interviews, Conversations with Communication Theorists.1 If we care about
the fascinating subject of communication, she suggested, we’ve got to “do t­heory.”

WHAT IS A THEORY AND WHAT DOES IT DO?

In previous editions we used theory as “an umbrella term for all careful, ­systematic,
and self-conscious discussion and analysis of communication p ­ henomena,” a defi-
nition offered by the late University of Minnesota communication professor Ernest
Bormann.2 We like this definition because it’s general enough to cover the diverse
theories presented in this book. Yet the description is so broad that it doesn’t give
us any direction on how we might construct a theory, nor does it offer a way to
figure out when thoughts or statements about communication haven’t attained that
status. If we call any idea a “theory,” does saying it’s so make it so?
In Em’s discussion with Judee Burgoon, she suggested that a theory is nothing
more than a “set of systematic hunches about the way things operate.”3 Since
­Burgoon is one of the most frequently cited scholars in the communication ­discipline,
he was intrigued by her unexpected use of the nontechnical term hunch. Would it

2
 CHAPTER 1: Launching Your Study of Communication Theory 3

“It’s just a theory, but perhaps it’s their opposable thumbs that makes them crazy.”
©Charles Barsotti/The New Yorker Collection/The Cartoon Bank

therefore be legitimate to entitle the book you’re reading Communication Hunches?

She assured Em that it would, quickly adding that they should be “informed
hunches.” So for Burgoon, a theory consists of a set of systematic, informed hunches
about the way things work. In the rest of this section, we’ll examine the three key
features of Burgoon’s notion of a theory. First, we’ll focus on the idea that theory
consists of a set of hunches. But a set of hunches is only a starting point. Second,
we’ll discuss what it means to say that those hunches have to be informed. Last,
we’ll highlight the notion that the hunches have to be systematic. Let’s look briefly
at the meaning of each of these core concepts of theory.

A Set of Hunches
If a theory is a set of hunches, it means we aren’t yet sure we have the answer.
When there’s no puzzle to be solved or the explanation is obvious, there’s no need
to develop a theory. Theories always involve an element of speculation, or conjec-
ture. Being a theorist is risky business because theories go beyond accepted wisdom.
Once you become a theorist, you probably hope that all thinking people will even-
tually embrace the trial balloon you’ve launched. When you first float your theory,
however, it’s definitely in the hunch category.
Theory By referring to a plural “set of hunches” rather than a single “hunch,” Burgoon
A set of systematic, makes it clear that a theory is not just one inspired thought or an isolated idea. The
informed hunches about dog in the cartoon above may be quite sure that all humans are crazy. But, despite
the way things work.
what the pup says, that isolated conviction isn’t really a theory. To become one, it
would have to go further. For example, good theories define their key terms, so we
might ask how the dog defines “crazy.” Perhaps the hound would say he thinks his
owner is crazy because she shows no interest in eating puppy chow and insists that
4 OVERVIEW

her dogs stay off the furniture. That definition may be debatable, but at least it begins
to flesh out the dog’s initial hunch. A theory will also give some indication of scope.
Are some humans crazier than others? Apes and giant pandas have opposable
thumbs too. Are they just as crazy? Theory construction involves multiple hunches.

Informed Hunches
For Burgoon, it’s not enough to think carefully about an idea; a theorist’s hunches
should be informed. Working on a hunch that opposable thumbs make people crazy,
the canine theorist could go check it out. Before developing a theory, there are
articles to read, people to talk to, actions to observe, or experiments to run, all of
which can cast light on the subject. At the very least, theorists should be familiar
with alternative explanations and interpretations of the types of phenomena they
are studying. (Little doggie, could it be that animals who bark at passing cars are
actually the crazy ones?)
Pepperdine University emeritus communication professor Fred Casmir’s descrip-
tion of theory parallels Burgoon’s call for multiple informed hunches:
Theories are sometimes defined as guesses—but significantly as “educated” guesses.
Theories are not merely based on vague impressions nor are they ­accidental
by-products of life. Theories tend to result when their creators have ­prepared
themselves to discover something in their environment, which triggers the process
of theory construction.4

Hunches That Are Systematic

Most scholars reserve the term theory for an integrated system of concepts. A theory
not only lays out multiple ideas, but also specifies the relationships among them.
In common parlance, it connects the dots. The links among the informed hunches
are clearly drawn so that a pattern emerges.
The dog’s hunch definitely doesn’t rise to this standard. It’s a one-shot claim
that isn’t part of a conceptual framework. Yes, he suggests there’s some connection
between opposable thumbs and craziness, but the connecting word that in the
cartoon doesn’t really show the relationship between humans’ insane behavior and
their anatomy. To do that, the puppy theorist could speculate about the nature of
opposable thumbs. They lead humans to eat with their hands rather than with
their mouths buried in a dish, and to shake hands when they greet instead of
smelling each other. (Everyone knows that smelling is believing.) Humans also use
their hands to grasp tools and build machines that sever their connection to the
natural world. No other creature on earth does that. If the hound can explain how
opposable thumbs lead humans to an artificial view of reality, he’s on his way to
integrating his thoughts into a coherent whole. As you read about any theory
covered in this book, you have a right to expect a set of systematic, informed
hunches.

Images of Theory
In response to the question What is a theory? we’ve presented a verbal definition.
Many students are visual learners as well and would appreciate a concrete image
that helps us understand what a theory is and does. So we’ll present three ­metaphors
 CHAPTER 1: Launching Your Study of Communication Theory 5

that we find helpful, but will also note how an overreliance on these ­representations
of theory might lead us astray.
Theories as Nets: Philosopher of science Karl Popper said that “theories are nets
cast to catch what we call ‘the world’. . . . We endeavor to make the mesh ever finer
and finer.”5 This metaphor highlights the ­ongoing labor of the theorist as a type of
deep-sea angler. For serious scholars, theories are the tools of the trade. The term
the world can be interpreted as everything that goes on under the sun—thus requiring
a grand theory that applies to all communication, all the time. Conversely, catching
the world could be construed as calling for numerous special theories—different kinds
of small nets to capture distinct types of communication in local situations. But
either way, the quest for finer-meshed nets is somewhat disturbing because the study
of communication is about people rather than schools of fish. The idea that theories
could be woven so tightly that they’d snag everything humans think, say, or do seems
naive. The possibility also raises questions about our freedom to choose some actions
and reject others.
Theories as Lenses: Many scholars see their theoretical constructions as sim-
ilar to the lens of a camera or a pair of glasses, as opposed to a mirror that
accurately reflects the world out there. The lens imagery highlights the idea that
theories shape our perception by focusing attention on some features of commu-
nication while ignoring other features, or at least pushing them into the back-
ground. Two theorists could analyze the same communication event—an argument,
perhaps—and, depending on the lens each uses, one theorist may view the speech
act as a b­ reakdown of communication or the breakup of a relationship, while the
other theorist will see it as democracy in action. A danger of the lens metaphor
is that we might regard what is seen through the glass as so dependent on the
theoretical stance of the viewer that we abandon any attempt to discern what is
real or true.
Theories as Maps: A good map helps us understand unfamiliar terrain. It’s
designed with a purpose. Road maps explain how to get from point A to point B.
Political maps show boundaries between states and nations. Climate maps reveal
whether a place is hot or cold. Within this analogy, a communication theory is a
kind of map that’s designed to help you navigate some part of the topography of
human relationships. In a sense, this book of theories is like a scenic atlas that pulls
together 32 must-see locations. However, we must remember that the map is not
the territory.6 Like a still photograph, no theory can fully portray the richness of
interaction between people that is constantly changing, always varied, and inevitably
more complicated than what any theory can chart. As a person intrigued with
communication, aren’t you glad it’s this way?

WHAT IS COMMUNICATION?
So far we’ve discussed theory, but what about communication? What is it, exactly?
To ask this question is to invite controversy and raise expectations for clarity
that can’t be met. When it comes to defining what it is we study, there’s little
discipline in the discipline. Frank Dance, the University of Denver scholar cred-
ited with publishing the first comprehensive book on communication theory,
cataloged more than 120 definitions of communication—and that was 50 years
ago.7 Communication scholars have suggested many more since then, yet no
6 OVERVIEW
Communication
The relational process of
creating and interpreting
messages that elicit a
response.
Text
A record of a message
that can be analyzed by
others (e.g., a book, film,
photograph, or any
transcript or recording of
a speech or broadcast).
single definition has risen to the top and become the standard within the field
of communication.
At the conclusion of his study, Dance suggested that we’re “trying to make the
concept of communication do too much work for us.”8 Other communication the-
orists agree, noting that when the term is used to describe almost every kind of
human interaction, it’s seriously overburdened. Michigan Tech University commu-
nication professor Jennifer Slack brings a splash of reality to attempts to draw
definitive lines around what our theories and research cover. She declares that
“there is no single, absolute essence of communication that ­adequately explains
the phenomena we study. Such a definition does not exist; neither is it merely
awaiting the next brightest communication scholar to nail it down once and
for all.”9
Despite the pitfalls of trying to define communication in an all-inclusive way, it
seems to us that students who are willing to spend a big chunk of their college
education studying communication deserve a description of what it is they’re look-
ing at. Rather than giving the final word on what human activities can be legiti-
mately referred to as communication, this designation would highlight the essential
features of communication that shouldn’t be missed. So for starters, we offer this
working definition:
Communication is the relational process of creating and interpreting messages that
elicit a response.
To the extent that there is redeeming value in this statement, it lies in drawing
your attention to five features of communication that you’ll run across repeatedly
as you read about the theories in the field. We’ll flesh out these concepts in the
rest of this section.
1. Messages
Messages are at the core of communication study. University of Colorado emeritus
communication professor Robert Craig says that communication involves “talking
and listening, writing and reading, performing and witnessing, or, more generally,
doing anything that involves ‘messages’ in any medium or situation.”10
When academic areas such as psychology, sociology, anthropology, political
science, literature, and philosophy deal with human symbolic activity, they inter-
sect with the study of communication. The visual image of this intersection of
interests has prompted some to refer to communication as a crossroads discipline.
The difference is that communication scholars are parked at the junction focus-
ing on messages, while other disciplines are just passing through on their way
to other destinations. All the theories covered in this book deal specifically with
messages.
Communication theorists use the word text as a synonym for a message that
can be studied, regardless of the medium. This book is a text. So is a verbatim
transcript of a conversation with your instructor, a recorded presidential news
conference, a silent YouTube video, or a Justin Bieber song. To illustrate the fol-
lowing four parts of the definition, suppose you received this cryptic text message
from a close friend: “Pat and I spent the night together.” You immediately know
that the name Pat refers to the person with whom you have an ongoing romantic
 CHAPTER 1: Launching Your Study of Communication Theory 7

relationship. An analysis of this text and the context surrounding its transmission
provides a useful case study for examining the essential features of communication.

2. Creation of Messages
This phrase in the working definition of communication indicates that the ­content
and form of a text are usually constructed, invented, planned, crafted, constituted,
selected, or adopted by the communicator. Each of these terms is used in at least one
of the theories in this book, and they all imply that the ­communicator is making a
conscious choice of message form and substance. For whatever reason, your friend
sent a text message rather than meeting face-to-face, calling you on the phone, send-
ing an email, or writing a note. Your friend also chose the seven words that were
transmitted to your cell phone. There is a long history of textual analysis in the field
of communication, wherein the rhetorical critic looks for clues in the message to
discern the motivation and strategy of the person who created the message.
There are, of course, many times when we speak, write, or gesture in s­eemingly
mindless ways—activities that are like driving on cruise control. These are preprogrammed
responses that were selected earlier and stored for later use. In like manner, our repertoire
of stock phrases such as thank you, no p­ roblem, whatever, or a string of swear words were
chosen sometime in the past to express our feelings, and over time have become habitual
responses. Only when we become more mindful of the nature and impact of our mes-
sages will we have the ability to alter them. That’s why consciousness-raising is a goal of
several theories in this book—each one seeks to increase our communication choices.

3. Interpretation of Messages
Messages do not interpret themselves. The meaning that a message holds for the
creators and receivers doesn’t reside in the words that are spoken, written, or acted
out. Many communication scholars believe that words don’t mean things, people mean
things. Symbolic interactionist Herbert Blumer stated the ­implication of this claim:
“Humans act toward people or things on the basis of the meanings they assign to
those people or things.”11
What is the meaning of your friend’s text message? Does “spent the night
together” mean talking until all hours? Pulling an all-night study session? Sleeping on
the sofa? Making love? If it’s the latter, how would your friend characterize their
sexual liaison? Recreational sex? A chance hookup? Friends with benefits? Developing
a close relationship? Falling in love? The start of a long-term c­ ommitment? Perhaps of
more importance to you, how does Pat view it? What emotional meaning is behind
the message for each of them? Satisfaction? Disappointment? Surprise? The morning-
after-the-night-before blahs? Gratefulness? Guilt? Ecstasy? And finally, what does receiv-
ing this message through a digital channel mean for you, your friendship, and your
relationship with Pat? None of these answers are in the message. Words and other
Polysemic symbols are polysemic—they’re open to multiple interpretations.
A quality of symbols that
means they’re open to
multiple interpretations. 4. A Relational Process
The Greek philosopher Heraclitus observed that “one cannot step into the same
river twice.”12 These words illustrate the widespread acceptance among communication
8 OVERVIEW

scholars that communication is a process. Much like a river, the flow of communi-
cation is always in flux, never completely the same, and can only be described with
reference to what went before and what is yet to come. This means that the text
message “Pat and I spent the night together” is not the whole story. You’ll probably
contact both your friend and Pat to ask clarifying q­ uestions. As they are answered
or avoided, you’ll interpret the message in a different way. That’s because commu-
nication is a process, not a freeze-frame snapshot.
In the opening lines of her essay “Communication as Relationality,” U ­ niversity
of Georgia rhetorical theorist Celeste Condit suggests that the c­ ommunication pro-
cess is more about relationships than it is about content.
Communication is a process of relating. This means it is not primarily or
essentially a process of transferring information or of disseminating or circulating
signs (though these things can be identified as happening within the process of
relating).13
Communication is a relational process not only because it takes place between two
or more persons, but also because it affects the nature of the connections among
those people. It’s obvious that the text message you received will influence the
triangle of relationships among you, Pat, and your (former?) friend. But this is true
in other forms of mediated communication as well. Television viewers and movie-
goers have emotional responses to people they see on-screen. And as businesses are
discovering, even the impersonal recorded announcement that “this call may be
monitored for quality assurance purposes” has an impact on how we regard their
corporate persona.

5. Messages That Elicit a Response

This final component of communication deals with the effect of the message on
people who receive it. At the end of his groundbreaking book on ­communication
theory, Dance concludes, “ ‘Communication,’ in its broadest interpretation, may be
defined as the eliciting of a response.”14 If a message fails to stimulate any cognitive,
emotional, or behavioral reaction, it seems pointless to refer to it as communication.
We often refer to such situations as a message “falling on deaf ears” or the other
person “turning a blind eye.”
Picture a mother driving her 10-year-old son home from school. He’s strapped
in the seat behind her playing Subway Surfers on his tablet, equipped with earbuds.
His mother asks if he has any homework. Is that communication? Not if he doesn’t
hear the question or see her lips moving. What if he isn’t wired for sound and hears
her voice? It depends. If he’s glued to the screen and totally engrossed in avoiding
subway cars, he may literally tune her out—still no communication.
Suppose, however, the boy hears her words and feels bad that he has homework,
sad that his mom’s so nosy, mad that she broke his game-playing concentration, or
glad that he finished the assignment during class. Although these are internal feel-
ings that his mother may miss, each response would have been triggered by Mom’s
question and would therefore qualify as communication—even if he doesn’t reply.
And of course, any vocal response, even a noncommittal grunt, indicates that some
form of communication has occurred.
In like manner, surely you would respond to your friend’s cryptic ­message about
the night spent with Pat—even if you give your friend “the silent treatment.” In fact,
the text seems to have been crafted and sent to provoke a response. How closely
 CHAPTER 1: Launching Your Study of Communication Theory 9

your thoughts, feelings, words, or actions would match what your friend expected
or intended is another matter. Successful or not, the whole situation ­surrounding
the text and context of the message fits the working definition of communication
that we hope will help you frame your study of communication theory: Communi-
cation is the relational process of creating and i­nterpreting messages that elicit a
response.

AN ARRANGEMENT OF IDEAS TO AID COMPREHENSION

Now that you have a basic understanding of what a communication theory is,
knowing how we’ve structured the book and arranged the theories can help you
grasp their content. After this chapter, there are three more chapters in the “Over-
view” division that will help you compare and contrast theories—think of these
chapters as a bird’s-eye view of the communication theory terrain. In Chapter 2,
co-author Glenn Sparks and another leading communication scholar analyze a
highly acclaimed TV ad in order to illustrate how half the theories in the book are
based on objective assumptions, while the other half are constructed using an inter-
pretive set of principles. Chapter 3 presents criteria for judging both kinds of theo-
ries so you can make an informed evaluation of a theory’s worth rather than relying
solely on your gut reaction. Finally, Chapter 4 describes seven traditions of com-
munication theory and research. When you know the family tree of a theory, you
can explain why it has a strong affinity with some theories but doesn’t speak the
same language as others.
Following this overview, there are 32 chapters that run 10–15 pages apiece,
each concentrating on a single theory. We think you’ll find that the one-chapter,
one-theory format is user-friendly because it gives you a chance to focus on a single
theory at a time. This way, they won’t all blur together in your mind. These chapters
are arranged into four major divisions, according to the primary communication
context they address. The theories in Division Two, “Interpersonal ­Communication,”
consider one-on-one interaction. Division Three, “Group and Public Communica-
tion,” deals with face-to-face involvement in collective settings. Division Four, “Mass
Communication,” pulls together theories that explore electronic and print media.
Division Five, “Cultural Context,” delves into systems of shared meaning that are
so all-encompassing we often fail to realize their impact upon us.
These four divisions are based on the fact that theories are tentative answers
to questions that occur to people as they mull over practical problems in specific
situations. It therefore makes sense to group them according to the different com-
munication settings that usually prompt those questions. This organizational plan
is like having four separately indexed file cabinets. Although there is no natural
progression from one division to another, the plan provides a convenient way to
classify and retrieve the 32 theories.
Finally, Division Six, “Integration,” seeks to distill core ideas that are c­ ommon
to a number of theories. Ideas have power, and each theory is driven by one or
more ideas that may be shared by other theories from different communication
contexts. For example, in each of the four context divisions, there’s at least one
theory committed to the force of narrative. They each declare that people respond
to stories and dramatic imagery with which they can identify. Reading about key
concepts that cut across multiple theories wouldn’t mean much to you now, but
after you become familiar with a number of communication theories, it can be an
eye-opening experience that also helps you review what you’ve learned.
10 OVERVIEW

CHAPTER FEATURES TO ENLIVEN THEORY

In many of the chapters ahead, we use an extended example from life on a c­ ollege
campus, a well-known communication event, or the conversations of ­characters in
movies, books, or TV shows. The main purpose of these illustrations is to provide
a mind’s-eye picture of how the theory works. The imagery will also make the basic
thrust of the theory easier to recall. But if you can think of a situation in your own
life where the theory is relevant, that personal a­ pplication will make it doubly inter-
esting and memorable for you.
You might also want to see how others put the theories into practice. With our
students’ permission, we’ve weaved in their accounts of application for almost all
the theories featured in the text. We’re intrigued by the rich connections these
students make—ones we wouldn’t have thought of on our own. Some ­students draw
on scenes from short stories, novels, or movies. To see an annotated list of feature
film scenes that illustrate the theories, go to the book’s website, www.afirstlook.
com, and under Theory Resources, click on Suggested Movie Clips.
As co-authors of this book, the three of us (Em, Andrew, and Glenn) will draw
upon our life experiences as well. We’ve been professional colleagues for years and
are close friends, so we’d like that warmth to extend to readers by writing in a
direct, personal voice. In the first four chapters, we’ve written using words like we
and our. We want you to know the basic commitments we share collectively as
communication scholars. For each of the remaining chapters on specific theories,
one of us took the lead in preparing the content. These chapters use I, my, and me
when referring to individual thoughts or stories from our lives. Since Em was the
original and sole author of the book for many years, many examples come from his
life. So unless you see a reference in a chapter that Andrew or Glenn is sharing his
own ideas, feelings, or experiences, you can assume that the “I” refers to Em. We
don’t use personal references in every chapter, but when we do, we want you to
know whose voice you’re “hearing.”
We also make a consistent effort to link each theory with its creator(s). It takes
both wisdom and courage to successfully plant a theoretical flag. In a process sim-
ilar to the childhood game king-of-the-hill, as soon as a theorist constructs a theory
of communication, critics try to pull it down. That’s OK, because the value of a
theory is discerned by survival in the rough-and-tumble world of competitive ideas.
For this reason we always include a section in theory c­ hapters labeled “Critique.”
Theorists who prevail deserve to have their names associated with their creations.
There is a second reason for tying a theory to its author. Many of you will do
further study in communication, and a mastery of names like Deetz, Giles, Walther,
Baxter, Berger, and Burke will allow you to enter into the dialogue without being
at a disadvantage. Ignoring the names of theorists could prove to be false economy
in the long run.
Don’t overlook the three features at the end of each chapter. The “Questions
to Sharpen Your Focus” will help you mull over key points of the theory. They can
be answered by pulling together information from this text and from the text of
your life. The italicized words in each question highlight terms you need to know
in order to understand the theory. Whenever you see a picture of the theorist, it’s
captured from one of our Conversations with Communication Theorists and shown
alongside a brief description of what we talked about. You can view these 6- to
8-minute interviews at www.afirstlook.com. And the feature entitled “A Second
Look” offers an annotated bibliography of resources should you desire to know
 CHAPTER 1: Launching Your Study of Communication Theory 11

more about the theory. You’ll find it a good place to start if you are writing a
research paper on the theory or are intrigued with a particular aspect of it.
You’ve already seen the last feature we’ll mention. In every chapter we include
a cartoon for your learning and enjoyment. C ­ artoonists are often modern-day proph-
ets. Their incisive wit can illustrate a feature of the theory in a way that’s more
instructive and memorable than a few extra paragraphs would be. In addition to
enjoying their humor, you can use the cartoons as minitests of comprehension.
Unlike our comments on the dog theorizing about opposable thumbs earlier in this
chapter, we usually don’t refer to the art or the caption that goes with it. So if you
can’t figure out why a particular cartoon appears where it does, make a renewed
effort to grasp the theorist’s ideas.
Some students are afraid to try. Like travelers whose eyes glaze over at the sight
of a road map, they have a phobia about theories that seek to explain human inten-
tions and behavior. We sympathize with their qualms and m ­ isgivings, but find that
the theories in this book haven’t dehydrated life or made it more confusing. On the
contrary, they add clarity and provide a sense of competence as we communicate
with others. We hope they do that for you as well.
Every so often a student will ask one of us, “Do you really think about com-
munication theory when you’re talking to someone?” Our answer is “Yes, but not
all the time.” Like everyone else, we often speak on autopilot—words, phrases,
­sentences, descriptions roll off the tongue without conscious thought. Old habits
die hard. But when we’re in a new setting or the conversational stakes are high, we
start to think strategically. And that’s when the applied wisdom of ­theories that fit
the situation comes to mind. By midterm, many of our students discover they’re
thinking that way as well. That’s our wish for you as you launch your study of
communication theory.

QUESTIONS TO SHARPEN YOUR FOCUS

1. Suppose you share the aircraft mechanic’s suspicion that scholars who create
theories would be all thumbs working on a plane’s wings or engine. What would
it take to transform your hunch into a theory?
2. Which metaphor of theory do you find most helpful—theory as a net, a lens, or
a map? Can you think of another image that you could use to explain to a friend
what this course is about?
3. Suppose you want to study the effects of yawns during intimate conversations.
Would your research be addressing communication as we’ve defined it (the rela-
tional process of creating and interpreting messages to elicit a response)? If not,
how would you change the definition to make it include your interest?
4. You come to this course with a vast array of communication experiences in
interpersonal, group and public, mass media, and intercultural contexts. What are
the communication questions you want to answer, puzzles you want to solve, or
problems you want to fix?

A SECOND LOOK Recommended resource: Gregory Shepherd, Jeffrey St. John, and Ted Striphas (eds.),
­Communication as . . . Perspectives on Theory, Sage, Thousand Oaks, CA, 2006.
Diverse definitions of communication: Frank E. X. Dance, “The Concept of Commu-
nication,” Journal of Communication, Vol. 20, 1970, pp. 201–210.
12 OVERVIEW

Brief history of communication theory since the early 1990s: Barbie Zelizer, “Making
Communication Theory Matter,” Communication Theory, Vol. 26, No. 4, 2015, pp. 410–415.
Theories of communication as practical: Joann Keyton, Ryan S. Bisel, and Raymond
Ozley, “Recasting the Link Between Applied and Theory Research: Using Applied Find-
ings to Advance Communication Theory Development,” Communication Theory, Vol. 19,
No. 2, 2009, pp. 146–160.
Multidimensional view of theory: James A. Anderson and Geoffrey Baym, “Philoso-
phies and Philosophic Issues in Communication, 1995–2004,” Journal of Communication,
Vol. 54, 2004, pp. 589–615.

To access 50-word summaries of theories

featured in the book, see Appendix A or click on
Theory Overview under Theory Resources at
www.afirstlook.com.
CHAPTER 2

Talk About Theory

I met Glenn Sparks and Marty Medhurst during my first year teaching at Wheaton
­College. Glenn and Marty were friends who signed up for my undergraduate per-
Behavioral scientist
A scholar who applies the
scientific method to
describe, predict, and
explain recurring forms of
human behavior.
Rhetorician
A scholar who studies the
ways in which symbolic
forms can be used to
identify with people, or to
persuade them toward a
certain point of view.
suasion course. As students, both men were interested in broadcast media. After
graduating from Wheaton, each went on for a master’s degree at Northern Illinois
University. Each then earned a doctorate at a different university, and both are now
nationally recognized communication scholars. Marty is on the faculty at Baylor
University; Glenn is at Purdue University and is a co-author of this book.
Despite their similar backgrounds and interests, Glenn and Marty are quite
different in their approaches to communication. Glenn calls himself a behavioral
scientist, while Marty refers to himself as a rhetorician. Glenn’s training was in
empirical research; Marty was schooled in rhetorical theory and criticism. Glenn
conducts experiments; Marty interprets texts.
To understand the theories ahead, you need to first grasp the crucial differences
between the objective and interpretive approaches to communication. As a way to
introduce the distinctions, I asked Glenn and Marty to bring their scholarship to
bear on a television commercial that first aired during Super Bowl XLVII, the game
where the lights went out. It’s a stealth ad for beer that doesn’t show booze on a
beach, men in a bar flirting with a waitress serving brew, or a guy tapping a keg
yelling, “Party all night!” These are typical images that turn off a significant portion
of viewers who see them as silly, distasteful, or unethical. That’s because those ads
appear to promote the dangerous practice of binge drinking among young adults as
a way to gain acceptance or get a buzz. Instead, this ad portrays the bond that
develops between a shaggy-hooved Clydesdale horse and his young trainer.1

TWO COMMUNICATION SCHOLARS VIEW A HEARTWARMING AD

Using no dialogue or voice-over, the Super Bowl commercial tells a visual story in
60 seconds. We see scenes of the newborn foal, his trainer asleep in the sick colt’s
stall, horseplay between them as the animal gains stature, and the fully grown horse
running free alongside the trainer’s truck. When it’s time for this magnificent animal
to become part of a working team of Clydesdales promoting beer, the trainer
leads him into the company’s horse van and gazes wistfully as it disappears down
the road.
Three years later, the man discovers the Clydesdales will be in a Chicago parade
and drives to the city to reconnect with his horse. He smiles with pride as the horse
prances by, but blinders keep the animal from seeing him. As the trainer walks sadly

13
14 OVERVIEW

back to his truck, the harness is removed and the horse catches a glimpse of him.
The final shots show the Clydesdale galloping down the street to catch up with his
human friend, who then buries his face in the horse’s mane as they are reunited.
Since the sponsor spent $7 million to air this one-minute commercial—and more
than that to film it—its marketing department obviously believed that featuring this
huge draft horse would sell huge amounts of draft beer. There’s no doubt that most
critics and viewers liked the ad. Former Advertising Age analyst Ken Wheaton con-
cluded, “Weepy, sentimental, nostalgic. I don’t care. This is everything I want from
a Budweiser Super Bowl spot.”2 Yet as you’ll see, social s­ cientist Glenn and rhetor-
ical critic Marty take different theoretical approaches as they analyze the intent of
the ad and how it works.

Glenn: An Objective Approach

After the 2013 Super Bowl ended, a research company announced that the
­Clydesdale ad was the year’s commercial winner.3 The researchers tracked 400 view-
Objective approach
The assumption that truth
is singular and is
­accessible through
­unbiased sensory
­observation; committed to
uncovering cause-and-­
effect relationships.
­reputation.
ers who used a mobile app to express their feelings during the broadcast. The extent
of viewers’ enthusiasm for the Clydesdale ad was on par with what they felt when
their favorite team scored a touchdown. Social scientists wonder why the commer-
cial produced such positive sentiment and whether it resulted in action. They want
to explain and predict human behavior.
How do scientists satisfy these interests? After observing behavior, we identify
or construct a theory that offers insight into what we’ve observed. In this case,
advertising guru Tony Schwartz’ resonance principle of communication is a promising
theoretical idea.4 Although Schwartz passed away in 2008, his theory lives on.
According to Schwartz, successful persuasive messages evoke past experiences
that create resonance between the message content and a person’s thoughts or feel-
ings. Schwartz believed that resonance leads to persuasion. It’s not arguments that
persuade people as much as it is memories of personal experiences triggered by the
message.
The heartwarming story of a worker dedicated to a horse he loves may tap
into viewers’ deep memories of their own devotion to animals they once nur-
tured. The emotional scene at the end of the ad might stir reminiscence of your
pet’s excitement when you would return home or the tremendous relief at being
reunited with one you thought lost. Once these good feelings are evoked, Schwartz
believed people associate them with the advertised product. For beer drinkers,
those good feelings may lead to more sales. For viewers who see drinking beer
as a health risk, the good feelings may lead to positive thoughts about a company
that seems to care not only about selling beer, but also about taking good care
of those splendid Clydesdales. In this case, persuasion may be measured both in
beer sales and positive thoughts about Budweiser—a company well aware that its
success may lead to alcohol abuse among consumers and a bad corporate
Theories need to be validated. For scientists, it’s not enough to identify a theory
that seems to apply to the situation. We want an objective test to find out if a theory
is faulty. For example, I’d want to discover if commercials that trigger warm emo-
tional memories are better than other ads at selling products or g­enerating good
feelings toward the sponsor. Testing audience response is a crucial scientific enter-
prise. Even though a theory might sound plausible, we can’t be sure it’s valid until
it’s been tested. In science, theory and research walk hand in hand.
 CHAPTER 2: Talk About Theory 15

Marty: An Interpretive Approach

There is more going on here than a simple reunion of man and horse. The entire
ad is structured by an archetypal mythic pattern of birth-death-rebirth. Archetypal
myths are those that draw upon a universal experience—what psychoanalyst Carl
Jung called the “collective unconscious.”5 Deep within the mental makeup of all
human beings is the archetype of the birth-death-rebirth cycle. The use of such
archetypes, according to rhetorical theorist Michael Osborn, touches off “depth
responses” that emotionally resonate at the core of our being.6 The ad activates
Interpretive approach these emotions by incorporating the form of the cycle within a mini-narrative.
The linguistic work of
We first see the newborn colt in the barn as the breeder feeds him, strokes his
assigning meaning or
value to communicative
coat, and even sleeps next to him in the stall. Birth naturally leads to growth, as
texts; assumes that we watch the colt mature before our eyes. But just as this Clydesdale grows to full
­multiple meanings or stature, the Budweiser 18-wheeler arrives to take away the treasured horse. Symbol-
truths are possible. ically, this is a death because it represents an absence or void. What once was is
no more. Then, three years later, the breeder and his horse are reunited in an act
of rebirth. The former relationship, which had been shattered by the symbolic death,
is now restored with the reunion of man and horse.
It is significant that the passage of time is three years. Just as Christians believe
Jesus lay in the tomb for three days before his resurrection, so the horse is gone
for three years before he reappears. But once he re-emerges, it is as though he never
left. That which was lost has been found. The emotions evoked by this ad are strong
because we are dealing with life and death, with loss and restoration. All of us
unconsciously long for a reunion with those people or things in our lives that have
been most important to us. Even the music—“Landslide” by Fleetwood Mac—­
underscores the archetypal pattern, as it speaks of love, loss, change, and being
afraid. Fear of death is a primordial human instinct. It is only through a rebirth
that we can reclaim what time and change have taken from us.
The ad subtly suggests that Budweiser beer is our constant mainstay. Life
changes and losses happen, but Bud never changes, never disappears. We see that
in the shots of the beer bottle on the breeder’s table as he reads about the upcoming
parade in Chicago. Bud is portrayed as our companion and our c­ omforter, some-
thing that will be with us through the dark nights of separation and loss.

OBJECTIVE OR INTERPRETIVE WORLDVIEWS: SORTING OUT THE LABELS

Although both of these scholars focus on the warm feelings viewers have when
seeing the Budweiser Clydesdale ad, Glenn’s and Marty’s approaches to communi-
cation study clearly differ in starting point, method, and conclusion. Glenn is a
social scientist who works hard to be objective. When we refer to theorists and
researchers like Glenn throughout the book, we’ll use the terms scientist and objec-
tive scholar interchangeably. Marty is a rhetorical critic who does interpretive study.
Here the labels get tricky.
While it’s true that all rhetorical critics do interpretive analysis, not all
Humanistic scholarship ­interpretive scholars are rhetoricians. Most (including Marty) are humanists who
Study of what it’s like to
study what it’s like to be another person in a specific time and place. But a
be another person in a
specific time and place;
growing number of postmodern communication theorists reject that tradition.
assumes there are few These interpretive scholars refer to themselves with a bewildering variety of
important panhuman brand names: social constructionists, critical theorists, hermeneuticists, post-
­similarities. structuralists, deconstructivists, phenomenologists, cultural studies researchers,
16 OVERVIEW

and social action theorists, as well as combinations of these terms. Writing

from this postmodernist perspective, University of Utah theorist James Anderson
observes:
With this very large number of interpretive communities, names are contentious,
border patrol is hopeless and crossovers continuous. Members, however, often see
real differences.7
All of these scholars, including Marty, do interpretive analysis—scholarship con-
cerned with meaning—yet there’s no common term like scientist that includes them
all. So from this point on we’ll use the designation interpretive scholars or the noun
form interpreters to refer to the entire group, and use rhetoricians, humanists, post-
modernists, or critical scholars only when singling out a particular subgroup.
The separate worldviews of interpretive scholars and scientists reflect contrast-
ing assumptions about ways of arriving at knowledge, the core of human nature,
questions of value, and the purpose of theory. The rest of this chapter sketches out
these differences.

WAYS OF KNOWING: DISCOVERING TRUTH OR CREATING MULTIPLE REALITIES?

How do we know what we know, if we know it at all? This is the central q­ uestion
addressed by a branch of philosophy known as epistemology. You may have been in
school for a dozen-plus years, read assignments, written papers, and taken tests
without ever delving into the issue What is truth? With or without in-depth study
of the issue, however, we all inevitably make assumptions about the nature of
knowledge.
Epistemology
Scientists assume that Truth is singular. They see a single, timeless reality “out
The study of the origin, there” that’s not dependent on local conditions. It’s waiting to be discovered through
nature, method, and limits the five senses of sight, sound, touch, taste, and smell. Since the raw sensory data
of knowledge. of the world is accessible to any competent observer, science seeks to be bias-free,
with no ax to grind. The evidence speaks for itself. As Galileo observed, anyone
could see through his telescope. Of course, no one person can know it all, so indi-
vidual researchers pool their findings and build a collective body of knowledge
about how the world works.
Scientists consider good theories to be those that are faithful representations
of the way the world really is. Of the metaphors introduced in Chapter 1, they like
the image of theory as a mirror that reflects reality, or a net that captures part of
it. Objective theorists are confident that once a principle is discovered and vali-
dated, it will continue to hold true as long as conditions remain relatively the same.
That’s why Glenn believes the theory of resonance can explain why other media
messages succeed or fail.
Interpretive scholars seek truth as well, but many interpreters regard that truth
as socially constructed through communication. They believe language creates social
realities that are always in flux rather than revealing or representing fixed principles
or relationships in a world that doesn’t change. Knowledge is always viewed from
a particular standpoint. A word, a gesture, or an act may have constancy within a
given community, but it’s dangerous to assume that interpretations can cross lines
of time and space.
Texts never interpret themselves. Most of these scholars, in fact, hold that truth
is largely subjective—that meaning is highly interpretive. But rhetorical critics like
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 DANCE ON STILTS AT THE GIRLS’ UNYAGO, NIUCHI

Newala, too, suffers from the distance of its water-supply—at least

the Newala of to-day does; there was once another Newala in a lovely
valley at the foot of the plateau. I visited it and found scarcely a trace
of houses, only a Christian cemetery, with the graves of several
missionaries and their converts, remaining as a monument of its
former glories. But the surroundings are wonderfully beautiful. A
thick grove of splendid mango-trees closes in the weather-worn
crosses and headstones; behind them, combining the useful and the
agreeable, is a whole plantation of lemon-trees covered with ripe
fruit; not the small African kind, but a much larger and also juicier
imported variety, which drops into the hands of the passing traveller,
without calling for any exertion on his part. Old Newala is now under
the jurisdiction of the native pastor, Daudi, at Chingulungulu, who,
as I am on very friendly terms with him, allows me, as a matter of
course, the use of this lemon-grove during my stay at Newala.
 FEET MUTILATED BY THE RAVAGES OF THE “JIGGER”
(Sarcopsylla penetrans)

The water-supply of New Newala is in the bottom of the valley,

some 1,600 feet lower down. The way is not only long and fatiguing,
but the water, when we get it, is thoroughly bad. We are suffering not
only from this, but from the fact that the arrangements at Newala are
nothing short of luxurious. We have a separate kitchen—a hut built
against the boma palisade on the right of the baraza, the interior of
which is not visible from our usual position. Our two cooks were not
long in finding this out, and they consequently do—or rather neglect
to do—what they please. In any case they do not seem to be very
particular about the boiling of our drinking-water—at least I can
attribute to no other cause certain attacks of a dysenteric nature,
from which both Knudsen and I have suffered for some time. If a
man like Omari has to be left unwatched for a moment, he is capable
of anything. Besides this complaint, we are inconvenienced by the
state of our nails, which have become as hard as glass, and crack on
the slightest provocation, and I have the additional infliction of
pimples all over me. As if all this were not enough, we have also, for
the last week been waging war against the jigger, who has found his
Eldorado in the hot sand of the Makonde plateau. Our men are seen
all day long—whenever their chronic colds and the dysentery likewise
raging among them permit—occupied in removing this scourge of
Africa from their feet and trying to prevent the disastrous
consequences of its presence. It is quite common to see natives of
this place with one or two toes missing; many have lost all their toes,
or even the whole front part of the foot, so that a well-formed leg
ends in a shapeless stump. These ravages are caused by the female of
Sarcopsylla penetrans, which bores its way under the skin and there
develops an egg-sac the size of a pea. In all books on the subject, it is
stated that one’s attention is called to the presence of this parasite by
an intolerable itching. This agrees very well with my experience, so
far as the softer parts of the sole, the spaces between and under the
toes, and the side of the foot are concerned, but if the creature
penetrates through the harder parts of the heel or ball of the foot, it
may escape even the most careful search till it has reached maturity.
Then there is no time to be lost, if the horrible ulceration, of which
we see cases by the dozen every day, is to be prevented. It is much
easier, by the way, to discover the insect on the white skin of a
European than on that of a native, on which the dark speck scarcely
shows. The four or five jiggers which, in spite of the fact that I
constantly wore high laced boots, chose my feet to settle in, were
taken out for me by the all-accomplished Knudsen, after which I
thought it advisable to wash out the cavities with corrosive
sublimate. The natives have a different sort of disinfectant—they fill
the hole with scraped roots. In a tiny Makua village on the slope of
the plateau south of Newala, we saw an old woman who had filled all
the spaces under her toe-nails with powdered roots by way of
prophylactic treatment. What will be the result, if any, who can say?
The rest of the many trifling ills which trouble our existence are
really more comic than serious. In the absence of anything else to
smoke, Knudsen and I at last opened a box of cigars procured from
the Indian store-keeper at Lindi, and tried them, with the most
distressing results. Whether they contain opium or some other
narcotic, neither of us can say, but after the tenth puff we were both
“off,” three-quarters stupefied and unspeakably wretched. Slowly we
recovered—and what happened next? Half-an-hour later we were
once more smoking these poisonous concoctions—so insatiable is the
craving for tobacco in the tropics.
Even my present attacks of fever scarcely deserve to be taken
seriously. I have had no less than three here at Newala, all of which
have run their course in an incredibly short time. In the early
afternoon, I am busy with my old natives, asking questions and
making notes. The strong midday coffee has stimulated my spirits to
an extraordinary degree, the brain is active and vigorous, and work
progresses rapidly, while a pleasant warmth pervades the whole
body. Suddenly this gives place to a violent chill, forcing me to put on
my overcoat, though it is only half-past three and the afternoon sun
is at its hottest. Now the brain no longer works with such acuteness
and logical precision; more especially does it fail me in trying to
establish the syntax of the difficult Makua language on which I have
ventured, as if I had not enough to do without it. Under the
circumstances it seems advisable to take my temperature, and I do
so, to save trouble, without leaving my seat, and while going on with
my work. On examination, I find it to be 101·48°. My tutors are
abruptly dismissed and my bed set up in the baraza; a few minutes
later I am in it and treating myself internally with hot water and
lemon-juice.
Three hours later, the thermometer marks nearly 104°, and I make
them carry me back into the tent, bed and all, as I am now perspiring
heavily, and exposure to the cold wind just beginning to blow might
mean a fatal chill. I lie still for a little while, and then find, to my
great relief, that the temperature is not rising, but rather falling. This
is about 7.30 p.m. At 8 p.m. I find, to my unbounded astonishment,
that it has fallen below 98·6°, and I feel perfectly well. I read for an
hour or two, and could very well enjoy a smoke, if I had the
wherewithal—Indian cigars being out of the question.
Having no medical training, I am at a loss to account for this state
of things. It is impossible that these transitory attacks of high fever
should be malarial; it seems more probable that they are due to a
kind of sunstroke. On consulting my note-book, I become more and
more inclined to think this is the case, for these attacks regularly
follow extreme fatigue and long exposure to strong sunshine. They at
least have the advantage of being only short interruptions to my
work, as on the following morning I am always quite fresh and fit.
My treasure of a cook is suffering from an enormous hydrocele which
makes it difficult for him to get up, and Moritz is obliged to keep in
the dark on account of his inflamed eyes. Knudsen’s cook, a raw boy
from somewhere in the bush, knows still less of cooking than Omari;
consequently Nils Knudsen himself has been promoted to the vacant
post. Finding that we had come to the end of our supplies, he began
by sending to Chingulungulu for the four sucking-pigs which we had
bought from Matola and temporarily left in his charge; and when
they came up, neatly packed in a large crate, he callously slaughtered
the biggest of them. The first joint we were thoughtless enough to
entrust for roasting to Knudsen’s mshenzi cook, and it was
consequently uneatable; but we made the rest of the animal into a
jelly which we ate with great relish after weeks of underfeeding,
consuming incredible helpings of it at both midday and evening
meals. The only drawback is a certain want of variety in the tinned
vegetables. Dr. Jäger, to whom the Geographical Commission
entrusted the provisioning of the expeditions—mine as well as his
own—because he had more time on his hands than the rest of us,
seems to have laid in a huge stock of Teltow turnips,[46] an article of
food which is all very well for occasional use, but which quickly palls
when set before one every day; and we seem to have no other tins
left. There is no help for it—we must put up with the turnips; but I
am certain that, once I am home again, I shall not touch them for ten
years to come.
Amid all these minor evils, which, after all, go to make up the
genuine flavour of Africa, there is at least one cheering touch:
Knudsen has, with the dexterity of a skilled mechanic, repaired my 9
× 12 cm. camera, at least so far that I can use it with a little care.
How, in the absence of finger-nails, he was able to accomplish such a
ticklish piece of work, having no tool but a clumsy screw-driver for
taking to pieces and putting together again the complicated
mechanism of the instantaneous shutter, is still a mystery to me; but
he did it successfully. The loss of his finger-nails shows him in a light
contrasting curiously enough with the intelligence evinced by the
above operation; though, after all, it is scarcely surprising after his
ten years’ residence in the bush. One day, at Lindi, he had occasion
to wash a dog, which must have been in need of very thorough
cleansing, for the bottle handed to our friend for the purpose had an
extremely strong smell. Having performed his task in the most
conscientious manner, he perceived with some surprise that the dog
did not appear much the better for it, and was further surprised by
finding his own nails ulcerating away in the course of the next few
days. “How was I to know that carbolic acid has to be diluted?” he
mutters indignantly, from time to time, with a troubled gaze at his
mutilated finger-tips.
 Since we came to Newala we have been making excursions in all
directions through the surrounding country, in accordance with old
habit, and also because the akida Sefu did not get together the tribal
elders from whom I wanted information so speedily as he had
promised. There is, however, no harm done, as, even if seen only
from the outside, the country and people are interesting enough.
The Makonde plateau is like a large rectangular table rounded off
at the corners. Measured from the Indian Ocean to Newala, it is
about seventy-five miles long, and between the Rovuma and the
Lukuledi it averages fifty miles in breadth, so that its superficial area
is about two-thirds of that of the kingdom of Saxony. The surface,
however, is not level, but uniformly inclined from its south-western
edge to the ocean. From the upper edge, on which Newala lies, the
eye ranges for many miles east and north-east, without encountering
any obstacle, over the Makonde bush. It is a green sea, from which
here and there thick clouds of smoke rise, to show that it, too, is
inhabited by men who carry on their tillage like so many other
primitive peoples, by cutting down and burning the bush, and
manuring with the ashes. Even in the radiant light of a tropical day
such a fire is a grand sight.
Much less effective is the impression produced just now by the
great western plain as seen from the edge of the plateau. As often as
time permits, I stroll along this edge, sometimes in one direction,
sometimes in another, in the hope of finding the air clear enough to
let me enjoy the view; but I have always been disappointed.
Wherever one looks, clouds of smoke rise from the burning bush,
and the air is full of smoke and vapour. It is a pity, for under more
favourable circumstances the panorama of the whole country up to
the distant Majeje hills must be truly magnificent. It is of little use
taking photographs now, and an outline sketch gives a very poor idea
of the scenery. In one of these excursions I went out of my way to
make a personal attempt on the Makonde bush. The present edge of
the plateau is the result of a far-reaching process of destruction
through erosion and denudation. The Makonde strata are
everywhere cut into by ravines, which, though short, are hundreds of
yards in depth. In consequence of the loose stratification of these
beds, not only are the walls of these ravines nearly vertical, but their
upper end is closed by an equally steep escarpment, so that the
western edge of the Makonde plateau is hemmed in by a series of
deep, basin-like valleys. In order to get from one side of such a ravine
to the other, I cut my way through the bush with a dozen of my men.
It was a very open part, with more grass than scrub, but even so the
short stretch of less than two hundred yards was very hard work; at
the end of it the men’s calicoes were in rags and they themselves
bleeding from hundreds of scratches, while even our strong khaki
suits had not escaped scatheless.

NATIVE PATH THROUGH THE MAKONDE BUSH, NEAR

MAHUTA

I see increasing reason to believe that the view formed some time
back as to the origin of the Makonde bush is the correct one. I have
no doubt that it is not a natural product, but the result of human
occupation. Those parts of the high country where man—as a very
slight amount of practice enables the eye to perceive at once—has not
yet penetrated with axe and hoe, are still occupied by a splendid
timber forest quite able to sustain a comparison with our mixed
forests in Germany. But wherever man has once built his hut or tilled
his field, this horrible bush springs up. Every phase of this process
may be seen in the course of a couple of hours’ walk along the main
road. From the bush to right or left, one hears the sound of the axe—
not from one spot only, but from several directions at once. A few
steps further on, we can see what is taking place. The brush has been
cut down and piled up in heaps to the height of a yard or more,
between which the trunks of the large trees stand up like the last
pillars of a magnificent ruined building. These, too, present a
melancholy spectacle: the destructive Makonde have ringed them—
cut a broad strip of bark all round to ensure their dying off—and also
piled up pyramids of brush round them. Father and son, mother and
son-in-law, are chopping away perseveringly in the background—too
busy, almost, to look round at the white stranger, who usually excites
so much interest. If you pass by the same place a week later, the piles
of brushwood have disappeared and a thick layer of ashes has taken
the place of the green forest. The large trees stretch their
smouldering trunks and branches in dumb accusation to heaven—if
they have not already fallen and been more or less reduced to ashes,
perhaps only showing as a white stripe on the dark ground.
This work of destruction is carried out by the Makonde alike on the
virgin forest and on the bush which has sprung up on sites already
cultivated and deserted. In the second case they are saved the trouble
of burning the large trees, these being entirely absent in the
secondary bush.
After burning this piece of forest ground and loosening it with the
hoe, the native sows his corn and plants his vegetables. All over the
country, he goes in for bed-culture, which requires, and, in fact,
receives, the most careful attention. Weeds are nowhere tolerated in
the south of German East Africa. The crops may fail on the plains,
where droughts are frequent, but never on the plateau with its
abundant rains and heavy dews. Its fortunate inhabitants even have
the satisfaction of seeing the proud Wayao and Wamakua working
for them as labourers, driven by hunger to serve where they were
accustomed to rule.
But the light, sandy soil is soon exhausted, and would yield no
harvest the second year if cultivated twice running. This fact has
been familiar to the native for ages; consequently he provides in
time, and, while his crop is growing, prepares the next plot with axe
and firebrand. Next year he plants this with his various crops and
lets the first piece lie fallow. For a short time it remains waste and
desolate; then nature steps in to repair the destruction wrought by
man; a thousand new growths spring out of the exhausted soil, and
even the old stumps put forth fresh shoots. Next year the new growth
is up to one’s knees, and in a few years more it is that terrible,
impenetrable bush, which maintains its position till the black
occupier of the land has made the round of all the available sites and
come back to his starting point.
The Makonde are, body and soul, so to speak, one with this bush.
According to my Yao informants, indeed, their name means nothing
else but “bush people.” Their own tradition says that they have been
settled up here for a very long time, but to my surprise they laid great
stress on an original immigration. Their old homes were in the
south-east, near Mikindani and the mouth of the Rovuma, whence
their peaceful forefathers were driven by the continual raids of the
Sakalavas from Madagascar and the warlike Shirazis[47] of the coast,
to take refuge on the almost inaccessible plateau. I have studied
African ethnology for twenty years, but the fact that changes of
population in this apparently quiet and peaceable corner of the earth
could have been occasioned by outside enterprises taking place on
the high seas, was completely new to me. It is, no doubt, however,
correct.
The charming tribal legend of the Makonde—besides informing us
of other interesting matters—explains why they have to live in the
thickest of the bush and a long way from the edge of the plateau,
instead of making their permanent homes beside the purling brooks
and springs of the low country.
“The place where the tribe originated is Mahuta, on the southern
side of the plateau towards the Rovuma, where of old time there was
nothing but thick bush. Out of this bush came a man who never
washed himself or shaved his head, and who ate and drank but little.
He went out and made a human figure from the wood of a tree
growing in the open country, which he took home to his abode in the
bush and there set it upright. In the night this image came to life and
was a woman. The man and woman went down together to the
Rovuma to wash themselves. Here the woman gave birth to a still-
born child. They left that place and passed over the high land into the
valley of the Mbemkuru, where the woman had another child, which
was also born dead. Then they returned to the high bush country of
Mahuta, where the third child was born, which lived and grew up. In
course of time, the couple had many more children, and called
themselves Wamatanda. These were the ancestral stock of the
Makonde, also called Wamakonde,[48] i.e., aborigines. Their
forefather, the man from the bush, gave his children the command to
bury their dead upright, in memory of the mother of their race who
was cut out of wood and awoke to life when standing upright. He also
warned them against settling in the valleys and near large streams,
for sickness and death dwelt there. They were to make it a rule to
have their huts at least an hour’s walk from the nearest watering-
place; then their children would thrive and escape illness.”
The explanation of the name Makonde given by my informants is
somewhat different from that contained in the above legend, which I
extract from a little book (small, but packed with information), by
Pater Adams, entitled Lindi und sein Hinterland. Otherwise, my
results agree exactly with the statements of the legend. Washing?
Hapana—there is no such thing. Why should they do so? As it is, the
supply of water scarcely suffices for cooking and drinking; other
people do not wash, so why should the Makonde distinguish himself
by such needless eccentricity? As for shaving the head, the short,
woolly crop scarcely needs it,[49] so the second ancestral precept is
likewise easy enough to follow. Beyond this, however, there is
nothing ridiculous in the ancestor’s advice. I have obtained from
various local artists a fairly large number of figures carved in wood,
ranging from fifteen to twenty-three inches in height, and
representing women belonging to the great group of the Mavia,
Makonde, and Matambwe tribes. The carving is remarkably well
done and renders the female type with great accuracy, especially the
keloid ornamentation, to be described later on. As to the object and
meaning of their works the sculptors either could or (more probably)
would tell me nothing, and I was forced to content myself with the
scanty information vouchsafed by one man, who said that the figures
were merely intended to represent the nembo—the artificial
deformations of pelele, ear-discs, and keloids. The legend recorded
by Pater Adams places these figures in a new light. They must surely
be more than mere dolls; and we may even venture to assume that
they are—though the majority of present-day Makonde are probably
unaware of the fact—representations of the tribal ancestress.
 The references in the legend to the descent from Mahuta to the
Rovuma, and to a journey across the highlands into the Mbekuru
valley, undoubtedly indicate the previous history of the tribe, the
travels of the ancestral pair typifying the migrations of their
descendants. The descent to the neighbouring Rovuma valley, with
its extraordinary fertility and great abundance of game, is intelligible
at a glance—but the crossing of the Lukuledi depression, the ascent
to the Rondo Plateau and the descent to the Mbemkuru, also lie
within the bounds of probability, for all these districts have exactly
the same character as the extreme south. Now, however, comes a
point of especial interest for our bacteriological age. The primitive
Makonde did not enjoy their lives in the marshy river-valleys.
Disease raged among them, and many died. It was only after they
had returned to their original home near Mahuta, that the health
conditions of these people improved. We are very apt to think of the
African as a stupid person whose ignorance of nature is only equalled
by his fear of it, and who looks on all mishaps as caused by evil
spirits and malignant natural powers. It is much more correct to
assume in this case that the people very early learnt to distinguish
districts infested with malaria from those where it is absent.
This knowledge is crystallized in the
ancestral warning against settling in the
valleys and near the great waters, the
dwelling-places of disease and death. At the
same time, for security against the hostile
Mavia south of the Rovuma, it was enacted
that every settlement must be not less than a
certain distance from the southern edge of the
plateau. Such in fact is their mode of life at the
present day. It is not such a bad one, and
certainly they are both safer and more
comfortable than the Makua, the recent
intruders from the south, who have made USUAL METHOD OF
good their footing on the western edge of the CLOSING HUT-DOOR
plateau, extending over a fairly wide belt of
country. Neither Makua nor Makonde show in their dwellings
anything of the size and comeliness of the Yao houses in the plain,
especially at Masasi, Chingulungulu and Zuza’s. Jumbe Chauro, a
Makonde hamlet not far from Newala, on the road to Mahuta, is the
most important settlement of the tribe I have yet seen, and has fairly
spacious huts. But how slovenly is their construction compared with
the palatial residences of the elephant-hunters living in the plain.
The roofs are still more untidy than in the general run of huts during
the dry season, the walls show here and there the scanty beginnings
or the lamentable remains of the mud plastering, and the interior is a
veritable dog-kennel; dirt, dust and disorder everywhere. A few huts
only show any attempt at division into rooms, and this consists
merely of very roughly-made bamboo partitions. In one point alone
have I noticed any indication of progress—in the method of fastening
the door. Houses all over the south are secured in a simple but
ingenious manner. The door consists of a set of stout pieces of wood
or bamboo, tied with bark-string to two cross-pieces, and moving in
two grooves round one of the door-posts, so as to open inwards. If
the owner wishes to leave home, he takes two logs as thick as a man’s
upper arm and about a yard long. One of these is placed obliquely
against the middle of the door from the inside, so as to form an angle
of from 60° to 75° with the ground. He then places the second piece
horizontally across the first, pressing it downward with all his might.
It is kept in place by two strong posts planted in the ground a few
inches inside the door. This fastening is absolutely safe, but of course
cannot be applied to both doors at once, otherwise how could the
owner leave or enter his house? I have not yet succeeded in finding
out how the back door is fastened.

MAKONDE LOCK AND KEY AT JUMBE CHAURO

 This is the general way of closing a house. The Makonde at Jumbe
Chauro, however, have a much more complicated, solid and original
one. Here, too, the door is as already described, except that there is
only one post on the inside, standing by itself about six inches from
one side of the doorway. Opposite this post is a hole in the wall just
large enough to admit a man’s arm. The door is closed inside by a
large wooden bolt passing through a hole in this post and pressing
with its free end against the door. The other end has three holes into
which fit three pegs running in vertical grooves inside the post. The
door is opened with a wooden key about a foot long, somewhat
curved and sloped off at the butt; the other end has three pegs
corresponding to the holes, in the bolt, so that, when it is thrust
through the hole in the wall and inserted into the rectangular
opening in the post, the pegs can be lifted and the bolt drawn out.[50]

MODE OF INSERTING THE KEY

With no small pride first one householder and then a second

showed me on the spot the action of this greatest invention of the
Makonde Highlands. To both with an admiring exclamation of
“Vizuri sana!” (“Very fine!”). I expressed the wish to take back these
marvels with me to Ulaya, to show the Wazungu what clever fellows
the Makonde are. Scarcely five minutes after my return to camp at
Newala, the two men came up sweating under the weight of two
heavy logs which they laid down at my feet, handing over at the same
time the keys of the fallen fortress. Arguing, logically enough, that if
the key was wanted, the lock would be wanted with it, they had taken
their axes and chopped down the posts—as it never occurred to them
to dig them out of the ground and so bring them intact. Thus I have
two badly damaged specimens, and the owners, instead of praise,
come in for a blowing-up.
The Makua huts in the environs of Newala are especially
miserable; their more than slovenly construction reminds one of the
temporary erections of the Makua at Hatia’s, though the people here
have not been concerned in a war. It must therefore be due to
congenital idleness, or else to the absence of a powerful chief. Even
the baraza at Mlipa’s, a short hour’s walk south-east of Newala,
shares in this general neglect. While public buildings in this country
are usually looked after more or less carefully, this is in evident
danger of being blown over by the first strong easterly gale. The only
attractive object in this whole district is the grave of the late chief
Mlipa. I visited it in the morning, while the sun was still trying with
partial success to break through the rolling mists, and the circular
grove of tall euphorbias, which, with a broken pot, is all that marks
the old king’s resting-place, impressed one with a touch of pathos.
Even my very materially-minded carriers seemed to feel something
of the sort, for instead of their usual ribald songs, they chanted
solemnly, as we marched on through the dense green of the Makonde
bush:—
 “We shall arrive with the great master; we stand in a row and have
no fear about getting our food and our money from the Serkali (the
Government). We are not afraid; we are going along with the great
master, the lion; we are going down to the coast and back.”
With regard to the characteristic features of the various tribes here
on the western edge of the plateau, I can arrive at no other
conclusion than the one already come to in the plain, viz., that it is
impossible for anyone but a trained anthropologist to assign any
given individual at once to his proper tribe. In fact, I think that even
an anthropological specialist, after the most careful examination,
might find it a difficult task to decide. The whole congeries of peoples
collected in the region bounded on the west by the great Central
African rift, Tanganyika and Nyasa, and on the east by the Indian
Ocean, are closely related to each other—some of their languages are
only distinguished from one another as dialects of the same speech,
and no doubt all the tribes present the same shape of skull and
structure of skeleton. Thus, surely, there can be no very striking
differences in outward appearance.
 Even did such exist, I should have no time
to concern myself with them, for day after day,
I have to see or hear, as the case may be—in
any case to grasp and record—an
extraordinary number of ethnographic
phenomena. I am almost disposed to think it
fortunate that some departments of inquiry, at
least, are barred by external circumstances.
Chief among these is the subject of iron-
working. We are apt to think of Africa as a
country where iron ore is everywhere, so to
speak, to be picked up by the roadside, and
where it would be quite surprising if the
inhabitants had not learnt to smelt the
material ready to their hand. In fact, the
knowledge of this art ranges all over the
continent, from the Kabyles in the north to the
Kafirs in the south. Here between the Rovuma
and the Lukuledi the conditions are not so
favourable. According to the statements of the
Makonde, neither ironstone nor any other
form of iron ore is known to them. They have
not therefore advanced to the art of smelting
the metal, but have hitherto bought all their
THE ANCESTRESS OF
THE MAKONDE
iron implements from neighbouring tribes.
Even in the plain the inhabitants are not much
better off. Only one man now living is said to
understand the art of smelting iron. This old fundi lives close to
Huwe, that isolated, steep-sided block of granite which rises out of
the green solitude between Masasi and Chingulungulu, and whose
jagged and splintered top meets the traveller’s eye everywhere. While
still at Masasi I wished to see this man at work, but was told that,
frightened by the rising, he had retired across the Rovuma, though
he would soon return. All subsequent inquiries as to whether the
fundi had come back met with the genuine African answer, “Bado”
(“Not yet”).
 BRAZIER

Some consolation was afforded me by a brassfounder, whom I

came across in the bush near Akundonde’s. This man is the favourite
of women, and therefore no doubt of the gods; he welds the glittering
brass rods purchased at the coast into those massive, heavy rings
which, on the wrists and ankles of the local fair ones, continually give
me fresh food for admiration. Like every decent master-craftsman he
had all his tools with him, consisting of a pair of bellows, three
crucibles and a hammer—nothing more, apparently. He was quite
willing to show his skill, and in a twinkling had fixed his bellows on
the ground. They are simply two goat-skins, taken off whole, the four
legs being closed by knots, while the upper opening, intended to
admit the air, is kept stretched by two pieces of wood. At the lower
end of the skin a smaller opening is left into which a wooden tube is
stuck. The fundi has quickly borrowed a heap of wood-embers from
the nearest hut; he then fixes the free ends of the two tubes into an
earthen pipe, and clamps them to the ground by means of a bent
piece of wood. Now he fills one of his small clay crucibles, the dross
on which shows that they have been long in use, with the yellow
material, places it in the midst of the embers, which, at present are
only faintly glimmering, and begins his work. In quick alternation
the smith’s two hands move up and down with the open ends of the
bellows; as he raises his hand he holds the slit wide open, so as to let
the air enter the skin bag unhindered. In pressing it down he closes
the bag, and the air puffs through the bamboo tube and clay pipe into
the fire, which quickly burns up. The smith, however, does not keep
on with this work, but beckons to another man, who relieves him at
the bellows, while he takes some more tools out of a large skin pouch
carried on his back. I look on in wonder as, with a smooth round
stick about the thickness of a finger, he bores a few vertical holes into
the clean sand of the soil. This should not be difficult, yet the man
seems to be taking great pains over it. Then he fastens down to the
ground, with a couple of wooden clamps, a neat little trough made by
splitting a joint of bamboo in half, so that the ends are closed by the
two knots. At last the yellow metal has attained the right consistency,
and the fundi lifts the crucible from the fire by means of two sticks
split at the end to serve as tongs. A short swift turn to the left—a
tilting of the crucible—and the molten brass, hissing and giving forth
clouds of smoke, flows first into the bamboo mould and then into the
holes in the ground.
The technique of this backwoods craftsman may not be very far
advanced, but it cannot be denied that he knows how to obtain an
adequate result by the simplest means. The ladies of highest rank in
this country—that is to say, those who can afford it, wear two kinds
of these massive brass rings, one cylindrical, the other semicircular
in section. The latter are cast in the most ingenious way in the
bamboo mould, the former in the circular hole in the sand. It is quite
a simple matter for the fundi to fit these bars to the limbs of his fair
customers; with a few light strokes of his hammer he bends the
pliable brass round arm or ankle without further inconvenience to
the wearer.
SHAPING THE POT

SMOOTHING WITH MAIZE-COB

CUTTING THE EDGE

 FINISHING THE BOTTOM

LAST SMOOTHING BEFORE

BURNING

FIRING THE BRUSH-PILE

 LIGHTING THE FARTHER SIDE OF
THE PILE

TURNING THE RED-HOT VESSEL

NYASA WOMAN MAKING POTS AT MASASI

Pottery is an art which must always and everywhere excite the
interest of the student, just because it is so intimately connected with
the development of human culture, and because its relics are one of
the principal factors in the reconstruction of our own condition in
prehistoric times. I shall always remember with pleasure the two or
three afternoons at Masasi when Salim Matola’s mother, a slightly-
built, graceful, pleasant-looking woman, explained to me with
touching patience, by means of concrete illustrations, the ceramic art
of her people. The only implements for this primitive process were a
lump of clay in her left hand, and in the right a calabash containing
the following valuables: the fragment of a maize-cob stripped of all
its grains, a smooth, oval pebble, about the size of a pigeon’s egg, a
few chips of gourd-shell, a bamboo splinter about the length of one’s
hand, a small shell, and a bunch of some herb resembling spinach.
 Nothing more. The woman scraped with the
shell a round, shallow hole in the soft, fine
sand of the soil, and, when an active young
girl had filled the calabash with water for her,
she began to knead the clay. As if by magic it
gradually assumed the shape of a rough but
already well-shaped vessel, which only wanted
a little touching up with the instruments
before mentioned. I looked out with the
MAKUA WOMAN closest attention for any indication of the use
MAKING A POT. of the potter’s wheel, in however rudimentary
SHOWS THE a form, but no—hapana (there is none). The
BEGINNINGS OF THE embryo pot stood firmly in its little
POTTER’S WHEEL
depression, and the woman walked round it in
a stooping posture, whether she was removing
small stones or similar foreign bodies with the maize-cob, smoothing
the inner or outer surface with the splinter of bamboo, or later, after
letting it dry for a day, pricking in the ornamentation with a pointed
bit of gourd-shell, or working out the bottom, or cutting the edge
with a sharp bamboo knife, or giving the last touches to the finished
vessel. This occupation of the women is infinitely toilsome, but it is
without doubt an accurate reproduction of the process in use among
our ancestors of the Neolithic and Bronze ages.
There is no doubt that the invention of pottery, an item in human
progress whose importance cannot be over-estimated, is due to
women. Rough, coarse and unfeeling, the men of the horde range
over the countryside. When the united cunning of the hunters has
succeeded in killing the game; not one of them thinks of carrying
home the spoil. A bright fire, kindled by a vigorous wielding of the
drill, is crackling beside them; the animal has been cleaned and cut
up secundum artem, and, after a slight singeing, will soon disappear
under their sharp teeth; no one all this time giving a single thought
to wife or child.
To what shifts, on the other hand, the primitive wife, and still more
the primitive mother, was put! Not even prehistoric stomachs could
endure an unvarying diet of raw food. Something or other suggested
the beneficial effect of hot water on the majority of approved but
indigestible dishes. Perhaps a neighbour had tried holding the hard
roots or tubers over the fire in a calabash filled with water—or maybe
an ostrich-egg-shell, or a hastily improvised vessel of bark. They
became much softer and more palatable than they had previously
been; but, unfortunately, the vessel could not stand the fire and got
charred on the outside. That can be remedied, thought our
ancestress, and plastered a layer of wet clay round a similar vessel.
This is an improvement; the cooking utensil remains uninjured, but
the heat of the fire has shrunk it, so that it is loose in its shell. The
next step is to detach it, so, with a firm grip and a jerk, shell and
kernel are separated, and pottery is invented. Perhaps, however, the
discovery which led to an intelligent use of the burnt-clay shell, was
made in a slightly different way. Ostrich-eggs and calabashes are not
to be found in every part of the world, but everywhere mankind has
arrived at the art of making baskets out of pliant materials, such as
bark, bast, strips of palm-leaf, supple twigs, etc. Our inventor has no
water-tight vessel provided by nature. “Never mind, let us line the
basket with clay.” This answers the purpose, but alas! the basket gets
burnt over the blazing fire, the woman watches the process of
cooking with increasing uneasiness, fearing a leak, but no leak
appears. The food, done to a turn, is eaten with peculiar relish; and
the cooking-vessel is examined, half in curiosity, half in satisfaction
at the result. The plastic clay is now hard as stone, and at the same
time looks exceedingly well, for the neat plaiting of the burnt basket
is traced all over it in a pretty pattern. Thus, simultaneously with
pottery, its ornamentation was invented.
Primitive woman has another claim to respect. It was the man,
roving abroad, who invented the art of producing fire at will, but the
woman, unable to imitate him in this, has been a Vestal from the
earliest times. Nothing gives so much trouble as the keeping alight of
the smouldering brand, and, above all, when all the men are absent
from the camp. Heavy rain-clouds gather, already the first large
drops are falling, the first gusts of the storm rage over the plain. The
little flame, a greater anxiety to the woman than her own children,
flickers unsteadily in the blast. What is to be done? A sudden thought
occurs to her, and in an instant she has constructed a primitive hut
out of strips of bark, to protect the flame against rain and wind.
This, or something very like it, was the way in which the principle
of the house was discovered; and even the most hardened misogynist
cannot fairly refuse a woman the credit of it. The protection of the
hearth-fire from the weather is the germ from which the human
dwelling was evolved. Men had little, if any share, in this forward
step, and that only at a late stage. Even at the present day, the
plastering of the housewall with clay and the manufacture of pottery
are exclusively the women’s business. These are two very significant
survivals. Our European kitchen-garden, too, is originally a woman’s
invention, and the hoe, the primitive instrument of agriculture, is,
characteristically enough, still used in this department. But the
noblest achievement which we owe to the other sex is unquestionably
the art of cookery. Roasting alone—the oldest process—is one for
which men took the hint (a very obvious one) from nature. It must
have been suggested by the scorched carcase of some animal
overtaken by the destructive forest-fires. But boiling—the process of
improving organic substances by the help of water heated to boiling-
point—is a much later discovery. It is so recent that it has not even
yet penetrated to all parts of the world. The Polynesians understand
how to steam food, that is, to cook it, neatly wrapped in leaves, in a
hole in the earth between hot stones, the air being excluded, and
(sometimes) a few drops of water sprinkled on the stones; but they
do not understand boiling.
To come back from this digression, we find that the slender Nyasa
woman has, after once more carefully examining the finished pot,
put it aside in the shade to dry. On the following day she sends me
word by her son, Salim Matola, who is always on hand, that she is
going to do the burning, and, on coming out of my house, I find her
already hard at work. She has spread on the ground a layer of very
dry sticks, about as thick as one’s thumb, has laid the pot (now of a
yellowish-grey colour) on them, and is piling brushwood round it.
My faithful Pesa mbili, the mnyampara, who has been standing by,
most obligingly, with a lighted stick, now hands it to her. Both of
them, blowing steadily, light the pile on the lee side, and, when the
flame begins to catch, on the weather side also. Soon the whole is in a
blaze, but the dry fuel is quickly consumed and the fire dies down, so
that we see the red-hot vessel rising from the ashes. The woman
turns it continually with a long stick, sometimes one way and
sometimes another, so that it may be evenly heated all over. In
twenty minutes she rolls it out of the ash-heap, takes up the bundle
of spinach, which has been lying for two days in a jar of water, and
sprinkles the red-hot clay with it. The places where the drops fall are
marked by black spots on the uniform reddish-brown surface. With a
sigh of relief, and with visible satisfaction, the woman rises to an
erect position; she is standing just in a line between me and the fire,
from which a cloud of smoke is just rising: I press the ball of my
camera, the shutter clicks—the apotheosis is achieved! Like a
priestess, representative of her inventive sex, the graceful woman
stands: at her feet the hearth-fire she has given us beside her the
invention she has devised for us, in the background the home she has
built for us.
At Newala, also, I have had the manufacture of pottery carried on
in my presence. Technically the process is better than that already
described, for here we find the beginnings of the potter’s wheel,
which does not seem to exist in the plains; at least I have seen
nothing of the sort. The artist, a frightfully stupid Makua woman, did
not make a depression in the ground to receive the pot she was about
to shape, but used instead a large potsherd. Otherwise, she went to
work in much the same way as Salim’s mother, except that she saved
herself the trouble of walking round and round her work by squatting
at her ease and letting the pot and potsherd rotate round her; this is
surely the first step towards a machine. But it does not follow that
the pot was improved by the process. It is true that it was beautifully
rounded and presented a very creditable appearance when finished,
but the numerous large and small vessels which I have seen, and, in
part, collected, in the “less advanced” districts, are no less so. We
moderns imagine that instruments of precision are necessary to
produce excellent results. Go to the prehistoric collections of our
museums and look at the pots, urns and bowls of our ancestors in the
dim ages of the past, and you will at once perceive your error.
MAKING LONGITUDINAL CUT IN
BARK

DRAWING THE BARK OFF THE LOG

REMOVING THE OUTER BARK

 BEATING THE BARK

WORKING THE BARK-CLOTH AFTER BEATING, TO MAKE IT

SOFT

MANUFACTURE OF BARK-CLOTH AT NEWALA

To-day, nearly the whole population of German East Africa is
clothed in imported calico. This was not always the case; even now in
some parts of the north dressed skins are still the prevailing wear,
and in the north-western districts—east and north of Lake
Tanganyika—lies a zone where bark-cloth has not yet been
superseded. Probably not many generations have passed since such
bark fabrics and kilts of skins were the only clothing even in the
south. Even to-day, large quantities of this bright-red or drab
material are still to be found; but if we wish to see it, we must look in
the granaries and on the drying stages inside the native huts, where
it serves less ambitious uses as wrappings for those seeds and fruits
which require to be packed with special care. The salt produced at
Masasi, too, is packed for transport to a distance in large sheets of
bark-cloth. Wherever I found it in any degree possible, I studied the
process of making this cloth. The native requisitioned for the
purpose arrived, carrying a log between two and three yards long and
as thick as his thigh, and nothing else except a curiously-shaped
mallet and the usual long, sharp and pointed knife which all men and
boys wear in a belt at their backs without a sheath—horribile dictu!
[51]
Silently he squats down before me, and with two rapid cuts has
drawn a couple of circles round the log some two yards apart, and
slits the bark lengthwise between them with the point of his knife.
With evident care, he then scrapes off the outer rind all round the
log, so that in a quarter of an hour the inner red layer of the bark
shows up brightly-coloured between the two untouched ends. With
some trouble and much caution, he now loosens the bark at one end,
and opens the cylinder. He then stands up, takes hold of the free
edge with both hands, and turning it inside out, slowly but steadily
pulls it off in one piece. Now comes the troublesome work of
scraping all superfluous particles of outer bark from the outside of
the long, narrow piece of material, while the inner side is carefully
scrutinised for defective spots. At last it is ready for beating. Having
signalled to a friend, who immediately places a bowl of water beside
him, the artificer damps his sheet of bark all over, seizes his mallet,
lays one end of the stuff on the smoothest spot of the log, and
hammers away slowly but continuously. “Very simple!” I think to
myself. “Why, I could do that, too!”—but I am forced to change my
opinions a little later on; for the beating is quite an art, if the fabric is
not to be beaten to pieces. To prevent the breaking of the fibres, the
stuff is several times folded across, so as to interpose several
thicknesses between the mallet and the block. At last the required
state is reached, and the fundi seizes the sheet, still folded, by both
ends, and wrings it out, or calls an assistant to take one end while he
holds the other. The cloth produced in this way is not nearly so fine
and uniform in texture as the famous Uganda bark-cloth, but it is
quite soft, and, above all, cheap.
Now, too, I examine the mallet. My craftsman has been using the
simpler but better form of this implement, a conical block of some
hard wood, its base—the striking surface—being scored across and
across with more or less deeply-cut grooves, and the handle stuck
into a hole in the middle. The other and earlier form of mallet is
shaped in the same way, but the head is fastened by an ingenious
network of bark strips into the split bamboo serving as a handle. The
observation so often made, that ancient customs persist longest in
connection with religious ceremonies and in the life of children, here
finds confirmation. As we shall soon see, bark-cloth is still worn
during the unyago,[52] having been prepared with special solemn
ceremonies; and many a mother, if she has no other garment handy,
will still put her little one into a kilt of bark-cloth, which, after all,
looks better, besides being more in keeping with its African
surroundings, than the ridiculous bit of print from Ulaya.
MAKUA WOMEN