Tag: Polynesia

Haunani-Kay Trask on the Interdependence of Cultural and Biological Diversity

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“Unremittingly, the history of the modern period is the history of increasing conformity, paid for in genocide and ecocide. The more we are made to be the same, the more the environment we inhabit becomes the same: ‘backward’ people forced into a ‘modern’ (read ‘industrial’) context can no longer care for their environment. As the people are transformed, or more likely, exterminated, their environment is progressively degraded, parts of it destroyed forever. Physical despoliation is reflected in cultural degradation. A dead land is preceded by a dying people. As an example, indigenous languages replaced by ‘universal’ (read ‘colonial’) languages result in the creation of ‘dead languages.’ But what is ‘dead’ or ‘lost’ is not the language but the people who once spoke it and transmitted their mother tongue to succeeding generations. Lost, too, is the relationship between words and their physical referents. In Hawai’i, English is the dominant language, but it cannot begin to encompass the physical beauty of our islands in the unparalleled detail of the Hawaiian language. Nor can English reveal how we knew animals to be our family; how we harnessed the ocean’s rhythms, creating massive fishponds; how we came to know the migrations of deep-ocean fish and golden plovers from the Arctic; how we sailed from hemisphere to hemisphere with nothing but the stars to guide us. English is foreign to Hawai’i; it reveals nothing of our place where we were born, where our ancestors created knowledge now ‘lost’ to the past” (Trask 1993/1999: 59-60).

From Huanani-Kay Trask’s book From a Native Daughter: Colonialism and Sovereignty in Hawai’i. Beautifully written, heart wrenching, and informative, it addresses indigenous struggles in the Pacific and worldwide. Although written in 1993, sadly, 27 years later, it is still very much applicable today. How can make the world hear Trask’s words? How can we heed her warnings?

“The choice is clear. As indigenous peoples, we must fight for Papahānaumoku, even as she–and we–are dying. But where do people in the industrial countries draw their battle lines? On the side of mother earth? On the side of consumption? On the side of First World Nationalism? If human beings, Native and non-Native alike, are to create an alternative to the planned New World Order, then those who live in the First World must change their culture, not only their leaders. Who, then, bears the primary responsibility? Who carries the burden of obligation? Who will protect mother earth?” (Trask 1993/1999: 62).

References:
Trask, H. 1999 [1993]. From a Native Daughter: Colonialism and Sovereignty in Hawai’i. Revised Edition. Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press.

Growing Up with Death (Death and Mourning 4/5)

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“To them [Samoans], birth and sex and death are the natural, inevitable structure of existence, of an existence in which they expect their youngest children to share. Our so often repeated comment that, ‘it’s not natural’ for children to be permitted to encounter death would seem as incongruous to them as if we were to say it was not natural for children to see other people eat or sleep. And this calm, matter-of-fact acceptance of their children’s presence envelops the children in a protective atmosphere, saves them from shock and binds them closer to the common emotion which is so dignified permitted to them” (Mead 1961/1928: 220).

Margaret Mead’s classic Coming of Age in Samoa is so powerful because it clearly knows its core audience: American parents, teachers, and anybody else that is part of the child rearing process. By comparing and contrasting practices in the US versus Samoa (remember, however, that this research took place in the early 1920’s), Mead asks adults to rethink the ways children – especially girls in this case – are led to understand the world around them. One such topic she briefly discusses is death. For Mead, American children are maladjusted to the situation of death. “Our children, confined within one family circle […] often owe their only experience with birth or death to the birth of a younger brother or sister or the death of a parent or grandparent” (Mead 1961/1928: 217). This, Mead explains, can lead to placing heavy emotional understanding on a singular experience. Whereas in Samoa, where children are enveloped in a larger community “in a civilization which suspects privacy” (Mead 1961/1928: 219), children have multiple experiences with death which help inform them how to behave. “One impression corrects an earlier one until they are able, as adolescents, to think about life and death and emotion without undue preoccupation with the purely physical details” (Mead 1961/1928: 220). In Mead’s analysis (pertinent to the time she was writing it, but also still holding relevance today in some aspects) Samoan children were socialized to see death as a natural occurring process in which they are included, whereas American children were sequestered away from the happening, shielded, and only brought to encounter death a few times in their young lives.

Mead’s book is a classic read that illustrates the multitude of possibilities in which people live. People in Samoa today may or may not continue along these same lines of practice (if anybody has any modern day sources on this topic, articles, or books, feel free to post in comments), but what is important is understanding that there are plenty of ways to approach death, and as humans and as societies we must make sure we are approaching it in healthy and beneficial ways for everybody.

References:
Mead, M. 1961 [1928]. Coming of Age in Samoa. New York, NY: Morrow Quill Paperbacks.

Superstition and Taboo

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“Ruandan women may not pass under a spear, cut the grass, roof a hut, or imitate a cock’s crow. No one must ever sit on a basket of grain. When it thunders, one must never light a pipe, sit on a chair, or lie on a sheepskin. A traveler who knocks his left foot against an obstacle, or encounters a light-colored striped rat on a path, should return to his home immediately to avoid bad luck. A woman kneading bread must be silent. Even if she is summoned, she must not answer. If a woman should become so angry as to hit her husband with a long wooden spoon used for mixing bread, he will leave her. His pride would prevent him from remaining with her after such an affront.” (Carr 1999:82).

All cultures have superstitions and taboos, whether they are believed to be true or not. A black cat crossing your path is bad luck, four leaf clovers are good luck, sneezing or itching ears means somebody is thinking of you… Here are some other examples of superstition and taboo from around the world:

Colin Turnbull gives an example of a taboo within the Mbuti culture in the Congo, “From the roof was hung a sacred banana, which initiates and instructors would set swinging as an understood command for the boys to start singing. The boys were forbidden to touch the banana, being told they would die if they did” (Turnbull 1961: 222).

Anne Fadiman’s (1997) The Spirit Catches You and You Fall Down explores how Hmong culture, religion and taboos contrast the American medical system: “To most of [the young doctors], the Hmong taboos against blood tests, spinal taps, surgery, anesthesia, and autopsies–the basic tools of modern medicine–seemed like self-defeating ignorance. They had no way of knowing that a Hmong might regard these taboos as the sacred guardians of his identity, indeed, quite literally, of his very soul” (Fadiman 1997: 61).

In my own research in the Marquesas, certain superstitions around fishing included beliefs such as: if you stepped on a small millipede before fishing, you will catch a big fish; if you during the night of dream of killing a pig, the next day you will catch many fish; you must not fight in the house when a member is out fishing, or they will not catch anything. These superstitions were relayed to me by the head of my host family, Manuhi Timau. He told me of them with a hint of nostalgia and frustration in his voice, saying that his children and the young people of the island do not pay attention to these beliefs anymore. In fact, he hasn’t even shared with his children all of the taboos and superstitions he grew up with. He says that if they don’t care, if you know they won’t listen, then they shouldn’t even be told, especially since some of the taboos are dangerous if dealt with improperly. These taboos and superstitions, which he has kept secret for himself, will disappear with him and the others that know them as time passes and they pass on.

References:

Carr, R.H. (1999). Land of a Thousand Hills: My Life in Rwanda. New York, NY: Plume Books.

Fadiman, A. (1997). The Spirit Catches You and You Fall Down: A Hmong Child, Her American Doctors, and the Collision of Two Cultures. New York, NY: Farrar, Straus and Giroux.

Turnbull, C.M. (1961). The Forest People: A Study of the Pygmies of the Congo. New York, NY: Simon and Schuster.

Mehana Vaughan on the Abundance of Kaua’i

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“Newcomers see the abundance of Kaua’i, where tropical fruits dangle from trees, as idyllic. Kuleana–the hard work, relationships, and balance of giving more than one takes–on which such abundance is built goes unseen. In reality, bountiful lifestyles depend on a community of families who share the bounty of their varied skills and care for one another. Much of this work is unseen or not recognized as work, such as hours spent watching the movement of schools of fish. Yet, this work is nonetheless critical to community well-being, survival, and abundance” (Vaughan 2018, p. 78).

I myself am a newcommer to Hawai’i (I am currently volunteering on a local coffee farm on the Big Island), and I find myself struggling with my dual roles of tourist and anthropologist (or well-informed visitor). Just the other night ten or so boats floated in the nearshore waters of Keauhou, lights illuminating the dark sea. Manta rays swam below. The boats bring tourists to swim with the rays at night. The woman I work for, who grew up fishing, hunting and gathering in this same region on the Big Island of Hawai’i, remarked that the poor rays would not be able to feed properly because of all the commotion and attention. I was torn between two contradictory feelings – firstly that it would be amazing to dive with rays at night, and secondly, that the tourism industry here has altered the natural environment drastically and continues to do so.

As a tourist, I do see this land as idyllic. The lush mountainside and the never-ending blue expanse of the sea are so different from the flatness of Minnesota, where I grew up. We eat fresh avocado every day and the air is heavy with the smell of flowers. But it is important to realize that this land has indeed been managed and cultivated since the arrival of Polynesian explorers. And these fruit trees and flowers are mostly imported species in which people have worked hard to nurture. The ocean and its species have been cared for throughout time as well. The tourism industry benefits from the cultural obligations of responsibility, sharing and knowledge that have protected and nurtured these landscapes, but the industry does not necessarily reciprocate and follow the same ideals. The islands are marketed as untouched, raw beauty, and tourists are often ignorant of the generations of people who have cared for and sustained this “paradise.” Furthermore, the marketing of these islands as a paradise have caused many wealthy mainland Americans to flock to these lands, purchasing plots for exorbitant prices. Because of this, the taxes on surrounding properties rise, making it difficult for local families to keep their traditional lands.

Vaughan’s book is about community on the island of Kaua’i, which has some important differences to the Big Island and the Kona region where I am located, but the themes and messages of the book remain relevant. Vaughan speaks to the importance of respecting resources and sharing the abundances of the island. She also notes the importance of knowledge and understanding the natural world in order to properly protect and nourish it. She stresses the struggles that native Hawaiians have faced over the years. For any tourists on their way to Hawaii, I would recommend this book as it is easily enjoyed by both anthropologists and non-anthropologists and touches on some important issues that every tourist should be aware of.

The Big Island, Hawai’i, land and sea. At Kealakekua, 2019.

References:

Vaughan, Mehana B. 2018. Kaiāulu: Gathering Tides. Corvallis, OR: Oregon State Univ. Press.

Conversations with Teifituteiki (2/2) – On Getting Old

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“He says he had three boats. They were there, he went fishing, he taught his children. He taught his children how to fish, and after awhile he started to get old, alone. And there you go, he stopped fishing a little bit. But, for the morale, he still has the morale to go fishing! Oh yes, he still has the morale. It is enough if somebody comes to find him, ‘Let’s go fishing.’ He will go. He will not wait. He gets up, and he prepares.”

Fishing is often not just a livelihood for Marquesans, but also a pastime. Many fishers talk about “la maladie de la pêche,” or the fishing illness, in which fishers “go crazy” if they haven’t been out on the sea in awhile. As fishers get older, it becomes harder to get out fishing–especially in villages like Hanatetena, where the sea is often rough–but, they often can’t shake the deeply ingrained longing that a true Marquesan fisher will always have inside.

Teifituteiki walks up the road towards the church in Hanatetena.

Original French:

Il disait, il avait trois bateaux. Etait la, il ete a la pêche, il a appris ces enfants. Appris ces enfants pratiquer la pêche, et puis après il a commencé etre vieil, seul. Et voila, il a un peu arrêter la pêche. Mais, pour la morale, il a toujours la morale de aller a la pêche! Ah oui, il a toujours la morale. Il suffit que quelqu’un vient le chercher, ‘on va a la pêche’ s’aller. Il va pas attendre. Il se lève, et il se prépare.

Conversations with Teifituteiki (1/2) – the To’a

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“For the to’a, he looks to landmarks to find the good [fishing] spots, to be able to fish the deep water fishes, i’a to’a. For the signs, he looks to crevices, trees… trees, crevices and sometimes a mountain to find the spot. He says it’s like this: when the fish bite, he looks to the mountains and takes mark of the signs. For the day after tomorrow, or perhaps for the next fishing trip. When he returns, he goes again to the same spot. He says it is truly sad for the youth, who do not know this type of fishing. Here mostly in Hanatetena, he says that maybe it is the parents that have not transmitted [the knowledge], or the parents were not fishers. This is what he says.”

Tehei translates the words of Teifituteiki (or simply, Papa’u Teiki), an old fisherman from the village of Hanatetena who speaks in his local language, Marquesan. I discussed fishing practices with him back in April of 2018. The Marquesan word to’a refers to deep-sea fishing locations, usually plateaus or rocks that provide decent feeding grounds around which large fish congregate. The practice of finding the to’a using landmarks is an ancient technique used by Marquesan fishers to this day, and may be one of the last places in the world where it continues to be practiced. Fishers triangulate two or three landmarks by moving their boats and bodies through space until the landmarks align just right. Like much of the older generation on Tahuata, Papa’u Teiki laments the changes that have taken place.

Original Transcription:

Sur le to’a, il regarde les signes pourqoui il trouve le bon endroit. Pour pouvoir pecher les poissons du fond, i’a to’a. Pour les signes, il regarde dans les cretes, les arbes… les arbes, les cretes et parfois une montagne, pour trouver le endroit.
Il disait, c’est comme ça: quand se mord les poisson, il regarde sur la montagne pour marquer les signes, pour la lendemaine, ou pour la prochaine pêche. Quand il revint, encore au même endroit.
Il disait, c’est vraiment dommage pour les jeunes, qui ne connaît pas cette pêche la. Ici surtout Hanatetena, il disait peut être c’est leurs parents n’a pas transmettent, ou leurs parents sont pas des pêcheurs. C’est-ce qu’il dit.

Plastic Beaches

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“You see the plastic from the sea? It stocks up on the beach. It is full of it there. I think it’s because of this that fish do not come to our waters anymore, they look for places that are good. I say this often during political meetings – ‘we need to go pick up all this stuff there,’ but they don’t move. It’s not good for the environment. And it’s a beautiful beach. I lived in that valley. For about four years, I lived there when I was young, when I went hunting. It’s not good. You will find nets, plastic bags, bottles, it is full of them, there is everything. It’s just above Motopu – a small village above. You say to your [government] ‘give me money so that I can go pick it up’ you say this to your [government]. You have to say this. It’s best. Because like this, soon the Marquesas will be dead. It will die.” – Kiki, Vaitahu, Tahuata

Plastic pollution is a problem for many Pacific Islands. Ocean currents bring plastic from far away places, but also from local sources of pollution. Unfortunately, islands like Tahuata do not always have the resources to clean up these beaches, nor is everybody aware of this pollution. Kiki was one of few islanders who spoke to me directly about this plastic problem, possibly because of his personal connection with the beach in question. Kiki implores the government to do something about this issue, but he says, “They don’t listen to us.” Just cleaning up the beach will not bring an end to the problem, either. Behaviors must be changed as well, both locally and globally.

Fishing vs. Drinking

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“Here, there are many young people that practice fishing. Over in Vaitahu, they practice drinking!”

I’m visiting the village of small Hapatoni, one of four villages on the island of Tahuata, when Tehei makes this joke about the drinking problems of the people in his village. We are sitting around an outdoor work bench with three women whom I am interviewing for my research on Marquesan fishing practices. Rose is the mother of Franceline and Myrna, both in their thirties. While Myrna has answered most of my questions throughout the interview, Franceline and Rose have chimed in as well, and do so more towards the end. We have been discussing differences between Hapatoni and Vaitahu in terms of fishing practices. Vaitahu is a bigger village, and the main port of the island of Tahuata. It is a twenty minute drive from Vaitahu to Hapatoni. Tehei begins discussing the differences between the two villages with this joke about beer: Although Tehei jokes, making the others laugh, I can’t help to notice the satirical truth in his words.

Rose continues to explain how important fishing is in her village:

“Even the children [fish] here, eh? Sometimes, they take the fishing cane and they go to the beach. Afterwards, they return home with their fish and say, ‘Voila, here’s my fish, it’s 500 francs!”

Here, Rose also deliberately jokes about social novelties: the new prevalence of the cash economy in today’s society. Earlier in the interview, when asked about changes that have occurred to the village, Myrna doesn’t give specifics but rather says,

“We prefer our lives from before rather than our lives today.”

They tell me of new structures such as paved roads and a new port, which makes everything feels less natural. Franceline tells me this is due to ‘la modernisé,’ or modernization, and when I ask what modernization means to them Myrna responds,

“There are new goods that have arrived. For example, before there were no telephones or iPads, but nowadays there are.”

Although they never say it directly, they speak subconsciously about new levels of consumerism and capitalism that have reached their society, due to processes of modernization and globalization. Beer and cash are an important part of this global island. Knowledge transmission is changing too, as Tehei tells me in answer to my next question: “Why do you think that more young people fish here than in Vaitahu,” I ask.

“Because [in Hapatoni] the parents transmit [the knowledge to their children]” he says, as if it were obvious. But I am still wondering about the differences between Hapatoni and Vaitahu.

“But why don’t they do this in Vaitahu?”

“I don’t know,” says Tehei, and Rose instantly agrees, “We don’t know…” Today, Tehei, Myrna, Franceline and Rose are at the pinnacle of change within their society. They prefer life before, but they can’t quite name why it is changing.

Tehei corrects his answer from before and says,

“Yes, yes the parents [in Vaitahu] do transmit [knowledge], but their children don’t listen. They prefer to drink beer rather than to fish.”

It’s not a joke this time, it’s the truth and nobody laughs. Rose accepts his statement by saying, “Voila!” as if we had cracked the code, but questions still remain for me. Why have young people stopped caring about their cultural knowledge systems? How has globalization, capitalism and consumption changed the livelihoods, hopes and desires of modern day Marquesans? And how can it be different from one village to another? The constant beer jokes seemed pointed. Do people see beer as a blockade to the continued transmission of important cultural customs? And if they do, they don’t entirely understand why, nor how to do anything about it.

Myrna finished this discussion and our interview by adding her own joke on beer, again displaying the differences between the mindsets of those from Hapatoni and those from Vaitahu:

“First we fish, then we drink! It’s better this way.”

(This interview taken in May 2018)

Tehei’s First Dives (1/3)

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“I was seven years old. My dad and Fiu’s dad were in the water. My oldest brother Toua stayed in the canoe to watch over it. And I was little. I said to my dad, I also want to go in the water. My dad said, “No, no, no, no.” In the moment that he dove down, I jumped in the water. I dove behind him. When my dad saw me, he said, “Ah, no, no! Return to the boat! Go, go!” Afterwards I cried and cried and cried, and my dad said, “Come, come.” So I went alongside my father. I had a mask, but no light. I was behind my dad. And my dad, he couldn’t very well fish because he was all the time beside me, watching me. So… there you go. It was night! That was my first dive, in the night” – Tehei of Vaitahu, 31 years old

Original French:

“J’ai sept ans. Eh… mon père avec le pere de Fiu, ete dans la mer. Et mon frère Toua il était le plus grand dans le pirogue pour garder le pirogue. Et moi j’etait petit. Et j’ai disais a mon père, je veux aussi aller à la mer. Mon père a dit, ‘Non, non, non, non.’ Au moment que mon père a plongé, j’ai parti plonger. Parti derrière. Quand mon père a vu, il dit, ‘Ah, non, non! Tu retourne dans le pirogue. Aller aller!’ Apres j’ais pleure pleure pleure, mon père a dit ‘Come, come.’ J’ai etait a coté de mon père. Avec un mask. Mais sans la lumière. Sans lumière. J’étais derrière de mon père. Et mon père, il peut pas bien pêcher parce qu’il était tout le temps la, me surveyer. Ben… voila. La nuit! C’est mon premier plonge. C’est la nuit.”