IMAGINING THE MARSHALLS:
CHIEFS, TRADITION, AND THE STATE
ON THE FRINGES OF U.S. EMPIRE
A DISSERTAnON SUBMITTED TO THE GRADUATE DIVISION OF THE
UNIVERSITY OF HAWAI'I IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF THE
REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF
DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY
IN
ANTHROPOLOGY
AUGUST 2003
By
Julianne M. Walsh
Dissertation Committee:
Geoffrey M. White, Chairperson
Jack Bilmes
Ben Finney
David Hanlon
Robert C. Kiste
© Copyright (2003)
by
Julianne M. Walsh
111
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Ii kammololAnijkin kom ien otemjq ij kememej kom, im ien otemjej ifj'ar kin kom, ifjar kin
. Ionlin. Phill:3.
For many years most of the letters I received from my friends and family in the
Marshalls began like this: Moktatll,jen kamololAnij kin ienin ibben dron. [First ofall, let us
thank God for this time we have together.] They acknowledge that time and others are
gifts, and offer their gratitude to their source. In this and many other matters, I am grateful
for the example ofmany people from the Marshall Islands. I, too, am deeply grateful for
the times shared with communities offamily, friends, students, and scholars in New
Orleans, in Majuro, and in Honolulu. I want to acknowledge not only my gratitude to them,
but also my gratitude to GodjOrthem. "I thank my God each time I think ofyou, and
when I pray for you, I pray with joy." I am so grateful for your presence in my life.
This dissertation took a long time for me to write. From the time I passed my
comprehensive exams in early 1997 to the day I distributed a final draft to my committee in
April 2003, my life has changed dramatically. In the long haul of dissertation writing and
revising, the words oftheJesuit theologian, Pierre TeiIlard de Chardin have sustained me. I
offer them here in the hopes that others will find them equally encouraging:
Above all, trust in the slow work of God. We are quite naturally impatient in
everything to reach the end without delay. We should like to skip the intermediate
stages. We are impatient of being on the way to something unknown, something
new. And yet it is the law ofall progress that it is made by passing through some
stages ofinstability - and that it may take a very long time.
And so I think it is with you. Your ideas mature gradually -let them grow. Let
them shape themselves, without undue haste. Don't try to force them on, as
though you could be today what time (that is to say, grace and circumstances acting
on your own good will) will make ofyou tomorrow.
iv
Only God could say what this new spirit gradually forming within you will be. Give
our Lord the benefit ofbelieving that his hand is leading you, and accept the
anxiety of feeling yourself in suspense and incomplete.
Despite all the hours and years, and the assistance and support ofmany people, this
dissertation remains incomplete and imperfect -like myself. I hutnbly express my
apologies and accept full responsibility for any errors or omissions
I want to thank those who were there at the beginning but who have moved on,
but who continue to inspire me: Bernadine Young, Elise Cleveland, Gladys Diedein,
Danny Hedrick, Almira "Mimi" deBrum Momotaro, John Heine, Oscar deBrum, Sr. Alice.
I thank those who welcomed me on Majuro from the first arrival in July of 1990 to
the present. Yuu have made Majuro feel like a second home, a place I always long to return
to, having had the privilege of seeing your islands through your eyes, through your stories,
and the memories that you share with me.
Assumption parish has always been my home because ofthe generosity and
welcoming spirit of the parishioners and religious there. I thank the many Jesuits at
Assumption over the years, particularly Fr. Tom Marciniak who asked the Momotaro
family to be my sponsor family before I ever arrived on Majuro. I thank Msgr. James
Gould, for the words that inspired me to stay during my first year as a volunteer when I
was ready to leave. I thank Fr. Rich McAuliff, too, for the conversations on the porch with
coffee in hand as we greeted schoolchildren in the moming. I pay tribute to the Maryknoll
Sisters in the Marshalls, and I thank Sr. Lucille Witkewiz, Sr. Rose Lauren Earl, Sr. Aurora
dela Cruz, Sr. Dora Nuetzi, Sr. Janet Hockman, Sr. Rose Patrick St. Aubin, Sr. Joan
Crevcoure, and Sr. Carolyn White for welcoming me into their home, for the many shared
meals, conversations, and the glorious ocean view from their convent. In addition, the I-
v
Kiribati Sacred Heart Sisters have been a refuge to me at many moments. Thank you for all
the laughter. I miss Sr. Alice (who died in 2002). She was the best storyteller I have ever
known.
I would like to thank Assumption School faculty, staff, and students - especially my
own students. My first homeroom, the AHS Class of1994, broke me in and I was "ruined
for life" as the Jesuit International Volunteers promised. I especially would like to thank
my former students who have served as research assistants over the years: Kakom Jetnil,
Nebwij Ritok, Jessica Reimers, Neibot Loeal<, Junior Patrick, and Dorothy deBrum.
Thanks also to my dear friends, and colleagues, at Assumption schools, especially Edna
Latak, Pablo Augustine, and the bwebwe tv at the Assumption cafeteria: Edina, Marki,
Neibaj, LiBubu, and Jinnie.
I thank Alfred Capelle who hired me to teach to classes at the College ofthe
Marshall Islands. I'm grateful to Carmen Bigler who hired me to work with the RMI
Historic Preservation Office and the staff at Alele: Terry Mote, Pearl Zebedy, Charity
Rilan, Laninbo Frank, Ken Heine, Loreen Muller, Angela deBrum, Amram Enos and
Bernice Joash, the director.
Thanks to the many women on Majuro who supported and assisted me during the
research process. I especially would like to acknowledge the Women's Athletic Club
(WAC), Women United Together in the Marshall Islands (WUTMI), the Assumption
Parish Women's club, and our "ladies lunch" group - Marie Maddison, Biram and Tina
Stege, and Holly Barker.
I am grateful to the staff at the Marshall Islands Journal, whose work has enabled
me to keep in touch and up to date as it entertained me. I appreciate GiffJohnson's help
vi
identifying resources about Kwajalein, particularly. I thank the staff at the Marshall Islands
Visitors Authority, the Nuclear Claims Tribunal, the National Telecommunications
Authority who have shared their respective agency's annual reports and other publications
with me. Thanks to Alsen Kelen and Dennis Alessio at Wnan Aelon in Mojol (WAM) who
talked with me about their work to revitalize indigenous sailing practices. Special thanks to
alI the folks at Momotaro Corporation, Robert Reimers Enterprises, and Gibson's stores
who shared the histories oftheir stores' development for this project.
I acknowledge here the constant support, assistance, andjoij ofmy family in the
Marshalls. Dennis and Daisy have always welcomed me back and back again into their
lives, as a member of their family over the m:u;y years ofcomings and goings. It is a
privilege to be a part of their family. Kom lukun emmon; Anijen kderammotl kom. Thanks to
Lolo, Konki, Komjn, Harry, Ellie,Jima KaIeman, Bubu Wini, Jima Johnny, and all my
aunties and uncles and cousins in the extended MomotaroIdeBrum and HeinelAlik
families. Itis such a pleasure to be included in so many ofthe special events ofyour lives,
from the first birthdays to the graduations. I am so proud ofyou all.
I am grateful to the many who have accompanied.me at the University ofHawai'i.
Thanks to my fellow anthropology students who sat through classes together, froze in our
shared office spaces, and cheered each other through each stage of this process, especially:
LeeRay Costa, Ty Tengan,Julie Field, Lisa Humphrey, Cissy Fowler, Marlane Guelden,
Glenn Dolcemascolo, Dominica Tolentino, Amy Herchig, JD Baker, Aunchalee Loscalzo,
Jaida N'ha Sandra, Ethan Cochrane, Chris King, and Catherine Fuller.
My dissertation committee deserves special recognition for their patience with me.
I thankJack Bilmes for daring to ask me about my progress every now and then, and for
reading critically, when he finally received his copy ofthis dissertation. I've always
appreciated Jack's attention to detail and to the quirky aspects oflife and langoage. I
appreciate Ben Finney's attempts to broaden my focus beyond to Marshalls and to
recognize and learn from relevant regional economic patterns. I also deeply appreciate his
commitment to accessible and practical anthropological work, especially now that he hopes
to apply his knowledge ofnavigation to projects in the Marshalls. I am grateful to Bob
Kiste for his steady encouragement and sustained interest in the Marshall Islands and my
work. I thank David Hanlon for his inspiration. His hopes for Oceanic scholarship inspire
and challenge me. I appreciate his attentive reading and critical questions and comments,
hut also his sensitivity ofexpression. I especially appreciate his reading and responding to
my late drafts so rapidly. My advisor, GeoffWhite helped me over and over again to think
through my ideas about the Marshalls and much else. When the writing was slow in
coming, we met for lunches that left me hopeful and invigorated. Each rime I got lost,
Geofflistened to me ramble through my ideas, and then repeated back to me a more
coherent and lucid interpretation ofwhat I didn't understand I was doing. Geoff is not
only a thorough and diligent scholar, but also a thoughtful mentor ofhis students. One of
his many gifts is his ability to encourage others by highlighting their strengths rather than
critiquing their weaknesses. I deeply appreciate the way that Geoffhas respected that this
dissertation, with all its failings, is mine. Though this work has gready benefited from his
many insights and suggestions, he allowed me the freedom to have it be an expression of
my scholarship, understandings, and interpretations, even when they are niive, and
obviously limited. I am grateful for his persistence in helping me to get the point and fully
appreciate his suggestions when they took much repetition to sink into my thick skull.
VU1
I want to acknowledge the support ofByron Bender (UH linguistics) who led me in
an independent study ofthe Marshallese language that served me well when I returned to
Majuro for fieldwork. I appreciate the willingness of Leonard Mason to share his work and
his insights with me over the years. I acknowledge the contributions of Norman Meller to
this dissertation, and regret that I did not express this to him before his death.
Besides thanking those who were there at the beginning, and remain steady
supports, I want thank those special people, who helped me to finish. GeoffWhite helped
me realize how easy it would be not to finish; Fr. Bernie Cassidy said ifit was worth doing,
it was worth doing even poorly; Kimberlee Kihleng invited me to run with her, listened for
mile after mile, and always said just the tight thing; Rosemary Casey always understood,
and reminded me that ifshe could do it, I could too; Keith Camacho andJuliann Anesi
kept me sane and well-fed. Nebwij Ritok and KakomJetnii kept in touch. Their emails and
phone calls arrived just in time. Hilda, Tommy, Kathy and Hetine revived me. I thank
Hilda for her patient support, for managing things for our non-profit when I was too busy
to handle it all, for covering for my other commitments, and for being such a wonderful,
true friend through it all. I look forward to helping her as she completes this long process,
too. I want to thank Small Island Networks, its tutors, and participating tutor program
schools for keeping me grounded and aware ofthe need for relevant resources.
I thank my husband, Scott Kroeker, for seeing this through, and seeing me through
it. As long as I've known him, I've been "working on my dissertation;" and probably still
would be, ifit weren't for his first, asking me to share a future with him (and without the
dissertation), and second, supporting me through the long hours to the dissertation's
completion. I also thank Scott for his generosity in editing, formatting, scanning, creating
ix
new graphics, improving old ones, proofreading the final document, and making me coffee
in the morning.
For those who are always there and can never be thanked enough -- Dennis, Daisy,
Mom, Dad, Tom, Mike, Greg, Gram, Aimee, and Scott. Thanks again, for everything.
Efiktata,jen kamofofAni/kin ,em" ,/;ben dron. Finally, let us thank God for this time
we share together.
x
ABSTRACT
Understandings of the Marshall Islands require attention to the interplay of
multiple discourses oftradition, modernity, chiefs, development, and democracy from
multiple sources that critically interact and mutually construct the Marshall Islands. This
multi-sited, multi-vocal ethnography explores the reproduction and transformation of
historic power relationships between Marshallese chiefs and commoners who incorporate
and "indigenize" foreign discourses and resources into culturally informed models and
practices ofauthority.
In relationships ofunequal power, such as that defined by the Compact ofFree
Association between the United States and the Republic of the Marshall Islands, dominant
global discourses about culture and progress enable both local and transnational
hegemonies. These discourses are contextually analyzed as they are invoked and challenged
in Nitijela [parliament) debates, in evaluations ofthe Compact ofFree Association, in elites'
autobiographical reflections on Marshallese-American relationships, and in foreign media
representations. Historical shifts in the political and economic powers ofMarsha1lese chiefs
through three colonial administrations, and the growth ofa commoner elite class since
World War II further highlight the ways foreign resources are appropriated for specific
local purposes that transform understandings ofpower and authority.
With discourse as both object and method ofanalysis, the agency oflocal actors is
both foregrounded and contextualized. Simplistic characterizations of chiefs, elites,
commoners, and foreigners' are complicated through close attention to the ways local
loyalties, colonial histories, political rivalries, and global discourses inform and frame
expressions ofMarshallese identities.
xi
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Acknowledgements iv
Abstract xi
Table ofContents xii
Table ofFigures xvii
Preface xx
Chapter 1 Comings and Goings 1
Commanders and Chiefs: The Marshallese Cultural Center at USAKA : 1
The View 1
The Context 5
Cultural Models of Authority..........•........................................................................................ 15
Indigenization: Marshallizing America , 17
(post) Colonial Culture 21
Power, Agency, and Resistance 22
My Bridges..............................................................................................................•................... 25
Locating the Anthropologist 31
Research Period and Methods 34
Layout ofthe dissertation 37
Chapter 2 Locating the Marshall Islands 44
lto-ltak [Back and forth] 44
Metaphor as Method 54
Creating a Space 57
Mejro Mejin Artnij 58
In the Beginning 59
Laura : 62
len an dri-Japan Dapanese times] 66
Amata Kabua International Airport 70
Long Island 74
Manit [Custom] 78
Copra and Tobolar 82
The German Era 84
D-U-D 86
Arrival ofAmericans 88
Delap 90
Historic Divisions , 91
Assutnption 96
Uliga 98
Jarrej [Rita] 103
The Small Islands 103
Ejit 105
Nuclear Tests 106
Enernanit , , '" 109
xii
Chapter 3 Historical Hierarchies 112
BwebwclIato [Storytelling] 112
Historical Accounts 113
Selecting Stories 115
Sources of Chiefly Authority 116
Joij 117
lrooj as Priests 120
Bwij and Bwidej Lineages and Land 121
lrooj as Warrior 125
Ratak and Ralik 127
Explorers 128
The Romanzov Expedition: Kotzebue, Chamisso, and Choris 129
Approaches : 131
Kadu: "Marshal1ese" Informant 134
Kotzebue's Return to Wotje: 1824 138
Summary 143
Whalers 146
The Whaleship Globe 147
Early Ethnographic Accounts 149
Lt. Paulding Makes History 153
Significance ofthe Globe Incident and Accounts 154
Missionaries 156
A Home on Ebon 158
lroojRelations 161
Copra and kings 164
Final Battles 165
Bwij-ill-Irooj[The Irooj Clan) 166
A German Protectorate 171
Protectorate Policies 171
Empowering Chiefs 173
Traditional Leaders and Continuing Disputes 173
A Japanese administered Mandate 175
Mandate Methods 176
lrooj Impacts 178
Bar BwebwenafO [felIing Stories Again) 185
xiii
Chapter 4 lroo1 Ro Ad[Our Chiefs] 190
Foreign Chiefs 192
US Lomoren [American Saviors] 192
len Bata Eo [Wartime] 193
First Impressions 197
Bwcbwenato in dri-tarinac in Amcdika [A Story ofAmerican soldiers] 197
Commanders and Chiefs 203
"Na Dri Kicn clap in Manwd' 203
The Trust Territory 206
The Atoll Council 207
Taking Sides 209
Institutionalizing Authority 210
Interior Administration 211
The Marshall Islands Congress 213
Defining Authority 215
Increasing Power ofChiefs 217
Centralizing Authority 218
The Emergence ofAmata Kabua 218
Early Life 219
Kwajalein Negotiations 221
The Congress ofMicronesia 222
Representatives, Rivalries, Separatism 222
Economic and Political Development Agendas 224
Separatism 226
The RMI Constitution 229
"Catch 22" 233
Commanding Chiefs 234
Chapter 5 The New lrooj Elites 236
Mcjro Mcjin Amrij 237
Dri Utig "RRtg" 240
Global Contexts 244
Elite Access 247
Elite Anthropologist 249
Rutcj. 251
A Businessman 251
Balik 1roo1 and Senator 255
Kqjur Senator 262
An Elected Ralik 1roo1 269
Ralik-Ratak 1roo1 and Senator 278
Kom in dri-tcl Cf) i/ojukjuk in her [Woman Community leaderJ. 285
Summarizing Stories 292
Coming Up 292
Common(er) Views 294
XlV
Chapter 6 Practicing Power 299
Introduction 299
Power in Practice 300
Political Institutions 302
Getting Elected and Staying in Power 306
Rallying and Feasting 309
Gambling Debate 313
Casino Resorts 313
Maintaining and Resisting Authority 319
The (Slot) "Machines" 322
Importing Nuclear Waste? 327
Gambling Part II 328
Repercussions 340
Conclusion 341
Chapter 7 Mom:y in Ewotlokjen Lan [The Money will Fall like Rain from Heaven] 343
Compact Context 346
Review ofCompact Negotiations 347
Compact Education 354
Referendum Results 357
Compact Evaluations 359
Interview Contexts 360
General Evaluations ofthe Compact Era 361
Compact Critiques 364
Conclusions 373
Chapter 8 Imagining the Marshalls 377
introduction: Discourse on Discourse 377
Globalization 381
Representations 383
Tristes Tropes: Paradise Lost 383
Cultural Loss and Inauthenticity 384
Shy, Gentle, and Pro-American 385
"Americanization ofEden" 386
Symbols ofMarshallese Modernity 387
The Glass Palace 388
Outrigger HoteL 391
Air Marshall Islands 392
Media (Mis)Representation 394
"Yankee, Go Home. Send Cash." 394
"Bombing Bikini Again (This Time with Money)" 396
"An Atomic Age Eden (but don't eat the Coconuts)" 397
Crippled and Corrupt 398
Dependency 403
"Becoming a Professional Victim" 406
Nuclear Victims' Remembrance Day: March 1, 1998 409
Conclusion 414
xv
Chapter 9 Re-turnings 418
Bar'~o·ittJk418
Collusions and Collisions 422
Targets 424
Collisions 425
Collusions 426
Conclusions 429
Appendix A Geography OfThe Ratak And Ralik Island Chains 431
Appendix B Marshallese Orthography 433
Appendix C Compensation Schedule/Awards For Nuclear Affected Marshallese 436
Appendix 0 US Nuclear Tests In The Marshall Islands 441
Appendix E US Atmospheric Nuclear Tests At Nevada Test Site 444
Appendix F Map Of"Downwinders" 447
Appendix G "How The Sail Came To The Outrigger" 448
Appendix H Otto Von Kotzebue In The Marshall Islands 452
Appendix I American Missionaries To The Marshall Islands 454
AppendixJ Admiral Nimitz Proclamation 455
Glossary 461
Works Cited 462
XVl
Figure 1.
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TABLE OF FIGURES
Marshallese-constructed em aj (thatch houses) 2
Col.Cottell, USAKA 2
Perfonners at the Cultural Center opening ceremony 3
Col. Cottell, 11"00/ Botlang Loeak, and 1rooj Michael Kabua 3
Botlang Loeak, one ofthe 11"00/ ofKwajalein 4
USAKA Cultural Center opening celebration 6
Ferry ride to Ebeye 6
View ofEbeye, Kwajalein 7
Housing at USAKA, Kwajalein Atoll. 7
Assumption High School Class of1994, Majuro 1991. 28
The departure ofMajuro's first Jesuit International Volunteers 29
Julie Walsh and the Momotaro family, May 1992 30
Julie Walsh and the Mornotaro family, August 1994 30
Sunrise from Assumption Convent 44
Alele Museum, Majuro 45
Playing checkers at the RRE Deli 46
Recess at Assumption Elementary 47
The RMI Capitol, also known as the "Glass Palace." 48
The curve at Delap, from the RMI Capital Building 48
Road construction ttaffic in front ofAIele Museum 49
Back road baseball 50
Assumption Convent, above the Elementary School 50
Dennis and Daisy Momotaro, my parents 52
Majuro traffic, morning rush hour 53
Trees now grow in World War II bomb craters onWotje Atoll 56
A Wotje resident rolls senmt in front ofhis home 56
Map ofthe Marshall Islands 61
Map ofMajuro Atoll 61
Map ofLaura, Majuro 62
Laura Beach 63
Map showing the location ofthe Japanese Peace Park Monument. 65
Japanese Peace Park 66
Map showing Majuro Intematiooo airport 70
Aerial view ofMajuro (Delap, Uliga, Rita) 71
Majuro from air just before landing 71
A farewell at Majuro airport 73
The road in Long Island 74
US Embassy in Majuro 1997 75
Robert Reimers Enterprises, Rairok. 75
The Majuro landfill 76
Advertisements for foreign owned businesses '" 76
Chinese operated take out store 77
Joba's curve 77
The grave of1ro.yhphp and President Amata Kabua 80
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Figure 90.
Chinese fishing base at new old dock, Majuro 81
Tobolar Copra Processing Authority 83
Map ofMajuro 86
Satellite image ofD-U-D 87
Approaching DUD in 2001 87
US Army at Delap, Majuro 1944 89
1950 US Navy Civilian Administration map ofUliga 89
Gibson's development area, 1994 91
RRE "Downtown." 91
Amata Kabua 1970s 92
"Succession ofparamount chiefs ofMajuro." 93
Assumption 1960s 97
Assumption Church, 1994 97
Sunrise from the Uliga water tower 99
The old Bikini Office, 1997 101
Mon Ekajet [House ofJustice] The RMI Courthouse, 1998 102
The Trust Territory Courthouse, date unknown 102
Map ofthe small islands ofMajuro Atoll, East to Northwest 103
The small islands ofMajuro Atoll from opposite the lagoon 104
Children ofEjit 1994 106
Ejit island, Majuro atoll 106
Arnram Enos's painting ofthe Baker shot 107
Unloading picnic supplies at Enemanit 109
Larik Chief du groupe des iles Romanzoff 120
Radakian sailing canoe or walap at Maloelap atoll 132
Rarick, Young [roof ofWotje 133
KadoIl [Kadu} inhabitant des iks Carolines 134
"Reception ofCapt. Kotzebue at the island of Otdia." 139
Map ofthe Marshall Islands showing the two parallel chains ofatolls 140
The hotel atJaluit 165
Key traditional leaders in the Ralik chain 167
Kabua 168
Loeak 169
Litokwa 170
NBK sponsors the celebration ofthe Emperor's birthday onJaluit. 184
Marines storm a pillbox on Namur, Kwajalein atoll 194
Majuro lagoon with battieships 195
Japanese survivors at Wo* atoll, upon surrender 195
Amphibious tank on Kwajalein atoll 199
US soldiers removing Marshallese at Kwajalein 201
The singing of the Kwajalein rental agreement 1964 222
Amata Kabua in the Congress ofMicronesia 223
The Presidential inauguration ofAmata Kabua 228
'The Predator and the Prey." 300
Signage for the 2F Casino 324
Royal Flush slot machine room 324
xviii
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Figure 103.
Cartoon from the Marshall Islands Joumal, 1996 345
Jab signifies a vote for Marshalls separation 348
Daisy Alik Momotaro, my adopted mother, in the 1978 rally 349
Political parades on Majuro in 1978 349
Indecision 350
Marshalls mokta [first]. Vote Jab 350
Plebiscite vote on Majuro 356
Marshall Islands Joumal cartoon 363
The Marshall Islands CapitoI... 388
Outrigger Hotel, Majuro Atoll 391
Air Marshall Islands on Wotje Atoll 392
New York Times Maga'{jne Cover story 396
Painting by Amram Enos, Alele archivist 410
PREFACE
''Truth comes in portions, some large, some small, but never whole ... "
(Hau'ofa 1983:7)
xx
CHAPTERl
COMINGS AND GOINGS
COMMANDERS AND CHIEFS:
THE MARSHAl .lESE CULTURAL CENTER AT USAKA
The View
Access to USAKA, base for the United States Army at Kwajalein Atoll in the
Republic ofthe Marshall Islands, is usually strictly controlled. The United States Army's
prime long-range missile testing facility, located approximately 5,000 miles west of
Vandenburg Air Force Base in California, is off-limits, even to the Marshallese from whom
the islands are leased. Those with security clearance for jobs on the base or a strictly
monitored local sponsorship are the only exceptions. That Monday afternoon in February
1998 was different.
A crowd slowly gathered at four in the afternoon outside the Kwajalein Cultural
Center for its opening ceremony. Since Kwajalein is located across the International Date
Line, its workweek is Tuesday through Saturday, to make communication with the United
States easier; the 'weekend' falls on Sunday and Monday. Kwajalein residents mingled
around the outrigger canoe and the newly constructed em 0/ [thatch huts] (replete with
institutional identification numbers) displayed on the frontla~.
Groups ofMarshallese gathered under the huts to weave, prepare food, and set up
their demonstrations. Eventually a huge crowd had gathered, with hundreds ofMarshallese
seated in gtoups near the tremendous ironwood tree.
1
..~'t."""'"..-.
Figure 1. Marshallese-constructed em aj (thatch houses).
The Director of the Cultural Center, Pres Lockridge, stood to begin the program
by acknowledging the guests, and participants. The base commander, Colonel Cottrell, then
strode to the podium and addressed the crowd:
Figure 2. Col.Cotrell, USAKA
Welcome to the opening of the Marshallese Cultural Center. Continuing and
improving the excellent relations between USAKA and our host nation, the
Republic of the Marshall Islands, is a major goal of the US government and this
command. This cultural center will play an active role in developing cultural
exchange and active friendships ...though sometimes we have disagreements, we're
friends and this center will always remind us that we are friends, Americans and
Marshallese, and as friends we can resolve our differences (transcription,J.Walsh
1998).
He thanked those who worked so diligently to create USAKA's Marshallese
Cultural Center. His speech was then translated by the official Marshallese liaison, who
reorganized it by recognizing individuals' contributions first, before proceeding with the
remaining content. The program continued when a group of dancers wearing grass skirts
and red armbands emerged, and a well-oiled young man blew into a conch shell. An elderly
Marshallese man in similar dress stood at the podium and chanted furiously in a very rare
public performance.
Figure 3. Perfonners at the Cultural Center opening ceremony.
The dancers walked to the VIP tent to the left of the stage and anointed the wrists
of the case Commander, the Marshallese lrooj [chiefs], and the American Culture Center
Curator with coconut oil.
Figure 4. Col. C tr 11, lroojBotlang Lom, and Iroo)
3
One of the traditional landowners of Kwajalein, Botlang Loeak, then addressed the
crowd in English and in Marshallese. He expressed gratitude to all those who worked to
create the center and suggested that the "working relationship between the United States
and the Republic of the Marshall Islands will be much easier" because ofthe new cultural
center (transcription, J.Walsh 1998).
Figure S.
The American curator followed his remarks, and began with a quotation from the
preamble to the Republic of the Marshall Islands' Constitution in which the importance
and significance ofMarshallese culture to Marshallese people is poignandy expressed. In
addressing the Marshallese audience, the curator's designated translator, unlike the previous
translator, elaborated on some and omitted many others of the curator's original points.
The Marshallese translator's voice strangely intensified with each sentence, speaking in the
manner ofa Southern preacher, in long sentences interspersed with quick gasps ofair: ''fen
aikuij kite, koutiej, im drrJibiji wot manit ko ad' [We must respect, praise, honor, and hold tight
our culturetight~!
Next came the distribution ofawards for the children's poster contest, followed by
two songs performed by the Marshallese women's groups -- first the old national anthem,
4
and a song about Alele Museum. Next, the College of the Marshall Islands' President,
Alfred Capelle, a Catholic deacon and former Director ofAkk Museum on Majuro,
offered a prayer in English and Marshallese to bless the center and the large displays of
food that were to be shared.
The doors opened, and the crowd waited in line casually to tour the museum or fill
heaping plates of food from the buffet. They moved slowly as did the lazy sun gradually
setting over the crowd eating and visiting on the lawn. Near the thatch-roofed huts were
open-air demonstration sites. A young American boy, standing above a seated Marshallese
woman who stirred the embers ofburning coconut shells, called out to his mother: "Look
how they make charcoal!"
The Context
A Majuro contingent flew to Kwajalein to participate in this opening ceremony and
I was among the invited, allowed to represent Akk, the Marshalls' National Museum,
Library, and Archive, if I chose to purchase a plane ticket. Employed by the US National
Park Service as the Marshalls' Staff Ethnographer for a portion ofmy fieldwork period, I
was also positioned at Akk as a temporary curator. I oversaw the 'borrowing' ofitems
from Akle's miniscule collections and poor storage to Kwajalein's shiny, new, state-of-the 
art museum. Others among the Majuro group who had accepted the invitation were:
Kwajalein lrooj and landowner (and Akkboard member), Botiang Loeak; Majuro mayor,
Tarmile Ishoda and her assistant; Alfred Capelle, and Dennis Alessio, the director of Woan
Acton in Mojol [Marshallese canoe] project that contributed a walap [large outrigger] for the
opening event.
5
Figure 6. USAKA Cultural Center opening celebration
Majuro Mayor's assistant, Tina and I bwebwenato [talk story] at the opening celebration.
We were all pennitted on the base for the ceremony along with nwnerous Ebeye
residents, but had to gain special pennission to stay overnight. I was grateful to be
sponsored by the Cultural Center curator. The Iroojwas permitted to stay at the Kwajalein
hotel, "Kwaj Lodge," given his status, but the others stayed with the Marshallese
community living on tiny Ebeye (.14 square miles) with a population density of 66,750 per
square mile (RMI Census 1999). Ebeye is a twenty minute ferry ride and a world away.
Figure 7. Ferry ride to Ebeye.
Photo by Gregg Geeslin.
6
Figure 8. View of Ebeye, Kwajalein.
Figure 9. Housing at USAIC\, Kwajalein Atoll.
The idea for the cultural center came about as World War II commemorations
were planned in the early 1990s. Army leaders hoped to build a site to honor Kwajalein's
significant role in the Pacific Theatre of World War II, and to create an archive, perhaps
museum and research center. Part of that project included a Marshallese Cultural Center, a
suggestion put forth by the American women residents who had participated in an
7
Asia/Pacific Cultural night with Marshallese women from Ebeye. With the commander's
support, the grant was submitted and later awarded. As stipulated, it required military
oversight. An Army director would administer the project and have ultimate responsibility
for the buildings. The Army's Director created a Board ofDirectors, mainly consisting of
civilian women and long-time Kwajalein residents who were members of the Yokwe Yuki
Women's' club, which is horribly mispronounced as ''Yock wee Yuck." A dedicated
volunteer staff gsrnered the support and contributions ofKwajalein fro"i who shared their
limited personal collections ofphotos, spears, necklaces, and genealogies. The chiefs found
weavers to construct the em qj [houses], as well as dancers, a chanter, and an anointing
ceremony for the opening. The Marshallese traditional leaders' cooperation and political
support clearly enabled the Cultural Center to exist.
The opening ceremony was controversial in its design and its actual enactment.
First, the Cultural Center staff wanted an "authentic" Marshallese event -- which to them
meant pre-missionary era rituals. Their inquiry into possible ancient blessing rituals resulted
in an anointing ceremony never seen or experienced before (nor since) by this
ethnographer or the Marshallese audience members I questioned later. When one
influential Marshallese participant learned there was to be no prayer, he balked, "How can
we have a Morshalkse ceremony without an opening prayer?"
Another subdy controversial act involved the translation ofthe Curator's speech.
The translator ofthe Curator's speech used her role to offer her own exhortation about the
significance ofthe cultural center and Marshallese cultural preservation. Unlike the other
translations that were nearly literal, she only translated a small portion ofthe original
1 lom iuk is the Marshallese singular greeting pronounced, 'yock way yook', as in 'cook.' It literally means
'CVou are a rainbow" but more frequently is understood as love, or aloha.
8
speech, gave her own speech, and then took the opportunity to acknowledge the
contributions ofmany Marshallese individuals in the audience, whowere previously
overlooked and unrecognized.
The songs selected by the women's group were meaningful and potentially
contentious as well. They sang the nation's original national anthem, not the newer official
anthem composed by the late Amata Kabua. The song they sang about A/ele was originally
performed at the opening of the A/ele Museum on Majuro over twenty years earlier, though
no description was made of the songs they sang nor their reasons for each selection.
Perhaps most contentious of all was the Commander's disruption of the scheduled
line up. As the emcee stood to welcome and introduce the honored guests, the
Commander assumed he was the first on the list and stood up to give his speech. He
interrupted and rather arrogandy, ifinnocendy, co-opted the ceremony. Any intended
deference to and recognition ofMarshallese people, culture, and hierarchy was effectively
denied as he stood, authoritatively speaking out ofturn. Since he spoke in English, the
translator who had seen the program and was thus, unprepared for this early speech
making, had to be located and rushed suddenly to the stage. He later told me:
I hate doing this stuff. I hate having to kiss their ass. They won't even let the
women leave the island with a Coke in their purse after working as a maid all day.
We have to put up with them and can't even buy food from vending machines at
the dock to take back to Ebeye (personal communication,]. Walsh 1998)?1
What is going on here? Why, after nearly fifty years ofAmerican presence on
Kwajalein would the US decide a Marshallese Cultural Center was in order? Why build it
on Kwajalein rather than on Ebeye, where the Marshallese people reside? Placing a cultural
center on an atoll whose lagoon serves as target practice for US missiles is just the
beginning of the irony. Americans pursuing Marshallese cultural preservation on Kwajalein,
9
where Marshallese people are not permitted to step foot on their own land, the source of
their identity, without Army approval, might be construed as incredibly offensive - or not.
The irony oflistening to the Center's Curator quote the preamble to the Marshallese
Constitution in English: "[We] value nothing more dearly than our home on these islands,"
to address a gathering of Marshallese people on Kwajalein was apparently lost on most of
the audience.
The difference between the view and the context in the above descriptions is the
contribution of anthropological research, and long-term relationships. Yet, participation
and observation alone (like "the view" of the Kwajalein audience who participated in and
observed the opening events) is insufficient to get at the constructions ofmeaning, the
frameworks ofinterpretation, and a larger interpretive goal of cultural translation and
improved understanding.
To explore the deeper context of this particular event, would require a deeper
understanding ofthe personal histories ofthe key organizers. For example, knowing that
the Commander was rumored to be exceptionally envious ofthe "community of
distinction" award, and more than likely aware of the statistic that no commander of
Kwajalein has ever been promoted at the end ofhis assignment might explain his desire to
support and claim credit for the Cultural Center. Similarly, the Curator's translator's history
would offer insight into her translation/exhortation. Recognizing her marriage to an
American, who is a long-term resident ofthe Marshalls, and her residence on Kwajalein,
rather than Ebeye, might make her self-designated representation ofMarshallese culture
more understandable. Likewise, any temptation to dismiss the curator as naive cultural
missionary might be complicated by an awareness ofher dedication to teaching art to high
10
school students on the nearby island of Gugeegue, her long-term residence on Kwajalein,
her close friendships with numerous Marshallese on both Ebeye and Majuro, and her
husband's long-term commitment to serving Marshallese through his position as a doctor
on Kwajalein. The irony of an American reciting the Marshallese Preamble in English to a
Marshallese audience on Kwajalein is only heightened by the knowledge that an American
Peace Corps volunteer originally drafted the Constitution's preamble.
Where does it stop, this context building? How "deep" must one go to get at truth,
truths, multiple perspectives, motivations, and interpretations? Is greater and greater
personal, historical detail more beneficial than perhaps the broader perspective gained
through distance? To understand the broader context of this scene is to imagine the
institutions that shaped the lives ofthese particular actors and to examine the strategies of
the other powerful people who initiated the policies and practices that resulted in
Marshallese-American relationships and interactions as represented here. A more distant,
less personal perspective explores themes ofinteraction, similarities in representations of
this unique relationship, similarities with other global relationships, colonial situations, and
regions of the world as well as a longer historical trajectory. And yet, while the more
distant, less personal significance ofwhat happens here is understood only in compararive
context, real meaning for the people herein represented lies in their interpretations ofthe
minute details that constitute their daily lives, and this event.
The opening ofthe Marshallese Cultural Center on Kwajalein reproduced frequent
longstanding aspects ofAmerican-Marshallese relationships. The complexity ofthis event
correlates with numerous issues that this dissertation will attempt to explore, dissect, and
unpack at multiple levels ofanalysis. From "thick" contextualized ethnographic accounts
11
of Marshallese political action to deeply personal life histories ofelites, from indigenous
and foreign cultural representations to global discourses ofdevelopment, cultural
preservation, human rights, and democracy, the depth and breadth ofUS-Marshallese
relations will be presented.
The focus on discourse is critical to this endeavor. By discourse, I mean the
knowledge that is circulated, organized, and represented in institutions, and negotiated by
particular people in specific contexts for particular ends. Discourse connects knowledge
with power, as it emphasizes the ways knowledge is used, rather than its truth or accuracy
(Foucault 1978). Discourse includes the broad organizing themes through which societies
construct and negotiate meaning and which are recognizable to those who participate in
them (Gee 1999). Study ofdiscourse includes the ways in which certain concepts gain
acceptance, are normalized, repeated, and taken for granted. Discourses have the power to
shape social attitudes and influence social actions.
Instead ofexploring development, human rights, dem9cracy, and culture per se, I
examine the discourses produced about these topics. My focus on discourse makes this
ethnography multi-vocal and also multi-sited as discourses reach across geographic
boundaries, and limited dichotomous representations ofpeople, who may speak with one
voice in one setting and with another in a different setting. With a focus on discourse,
relationships ofpower emerge clearly, through examination ofthe construction, function,
and specific contexts certain discourses are enacted. How does a discourse ofdevelopment
emerge? Why does it emerge at any historical moment? Who produces it? Who reproduces
it? In what context? For what type ofaudience? How is it interpreted, challenged,
contested, accepted? By whom, and for what purposes? A focus on discourse enables an
12
appreciation ofthe complexity ofrelationships that defy broad general characterization.
Discourses intersect, overlap, and influence each other, particularly in post-colonial sites
like the Marshalls, where discourses ofdemocracy, tradition, modernity, and development
are foregrounded. Concepts of'culture', its representation, preservation, and politicization
are central to this dissertation. Culture functions as a resource, particularly in the friction
created at bordering and intersecting cultural spheres, which may be claimed or abandoned
by the powerful. As a resource, culture is constantly reshaped, and altered as its definitions
are applied in new ways, in new contexts and situations, and with new players. As icons of
culture and tradition, hereditary chiefs playa pivotal role in representing culture, and well
as defining, enacting, preserving, and altering understandings (Hau'ofa 1994: 2). Chiefs not
only embody, but enact culture. Thus they are as capable ofreshaping understandings and
validating change, as they are ofvalidating the past and preserving long-standing cultural
values. \
Chiefs and elites (educated and wealthy commoners) who maintain significant
positions in traditional and contemporary realms ofpower are important foci ofthis study.
Their positions in significant social institutions make them personal sites ofintersection
with international corporations, products, resources, and discourses. Understanding how
their power is viewed, garnered, and maintained is a critical endeavor. While the study of
traditional chiefs in contemporary societies has long been an anthropological project aimed
at discovering cultural continuities, political economy, and transforming hierarchies
(Sahlins1985; White and Lindstrom 1997), studies of elites, particularly contemporary
13
Pacific Islander elites, have rarely been attempted by anthropologists' (Marcus 1979;
Marcus 1982; Marcus 1983).
Anthropology has long-focused on the plight of the world's "peripheral" peoples.
Anthropology's understandings ofpower and wealth are stilted by the one-sidedness of
research, despite the disciplinary ideal ofholism. "Instead ofasking why some people are
poor, we need to ask why others are so affluent," Laura Nader demands (1969: 289). The
reasons for the narrow focus on the marginalized and peripheral have as much to do with
the history ofthe discipline as well as its practitioners.
Given the increasing intersection ofglobal economies and a growing awareness of
the collaboration oflocal actors in the economic and political subordination of small-scale
communities, understandings ofpower and political transformation are unforgivably
incomplete without an understanding ofhow those with power perceive, gain, retain, and
use it. Writing accurate and adequate histories and accounts ofpower requires sensitivity to
local agency, and to hegemony at multiple levels. Anthropologists need to listen to the
powerful as well as the powerless. Yet, anthropologists have successfully avoided the
challenge ofpursuing the powerful, by focusing on less-threatening communities and
participants --those whose potential to negatively impact goals, and academic careers is
limited. Aligned with the powerless, anthropologists may assert a moral indignation,
amplify and sometimes assume the voices of the marginalized (Marcus and Fisher 1986).
Not only for personal, political, and disciplinary leanings are elites often
overlooked, (and in this sense, marginalized within anthropology), but also for
2 For specific studies ofTonga and Papua New Guinea see Marcus 1979; Marcus 1981, Gewertz and
Errington 1999 respectively. For an early acknowledgement ofpan-Pacific elites see Hau'ofa 1987, "A New
South Pacific Society;" for political or bureaucratic elites see Watters 1987.
14
methodological challenges. "Studying up" requires different methods than "studying
down" (Nader 1969). With elites, the fundamental task ofestablishing rapport takes on
new meaning as the stakes for anthropologists are higher and opportunities for access are
rare.
Research on elites is perhaps more easily recognized as research with elites, since
power is shared or inverted between the anthropologist and participants in ways that
"studying down" often precludes. Elites typically bring greater material wealth, influence,
to the relationship than an ethnographer living off a limited grant or salary. What
anthropologists can offer elites is quite different from what anthropologists can offer
peripheral and marginalized community members.
This work aims to illuminate how processes and institutions ofcolonialism work in
conjunction / collaborate with local cultures to create, reinforce, and also limit the power of
traditional chiefs and political elites (Thomas 1994; McPherson 2001; White 1991).
Contemporary political elites include financially successful businessmen, educated
politicians, influential women in the local community, as well as religious leaders,
educators, and health care providers. Where land was once the primary requisite ofpolitical
power, today's money economy provides new means of social mobility that challenge
traditional authority. Only as recently as 2000 was the nation's first commoner President
elected.
Cultural Models ofAuthority
This work explores the significance oflocal, cultural models of authority on the
understanding ofglobal alliances. I inquire into the ways both American andMarshallese
cultural models ofauthority, power, and dependency construct chiefs and elites today. An
15
analysis ofMarshallese chiefs' interactions with foreign powers through history provides
insights into the ways relationships between chiefs, commanders, commoners and civilians
in the present reproduce and reshape historic relations between Marshallese chiefs, their
people, and foreign administrations. Cultural models of power, authority, and dependency
provide frameworks for social interaction, particularly in encounters between foreign and
native players. Who can speak? How? To whom? Who are the authorities? What kind of
authority do they have? How is authority challenged? When is it marshaled, by whom, and
for what reasons? The answers to these questions are perpetnally in flux, naturally
negotiated in daily interactions.
The collective experience ofUS colonialism in the Marshall Islands serves as a
frame for other interactions between Marshallese and American people whether they reside
in the Marshalls; Honolulu, Hawai'i; Costa Mesa, California; Enid, Oklahoma; Springdale,
Arkansas; or Cleburne, Texas. Few, ifany, Marshallese label the relationship "colonial" or
"hegemonic." Both US and RMI government officials, lacking any neutral term,
consistently refer to the political agreement that legally links the two as "special" in their
press releases. Alternatively, average Marshallese citizens describe the relationship with the
United States in metaphors offamily and hierarchy -- their primary relationships
characterized by power, dependency, and reciprocity.
In the event described earlier, the cooperation ofMarshallese chiefs, US military
commanders, Ebeye residents, Cultural Center staff, and multiple volunteers is evident.
How is this cooperation to be understood? Is it passive acceptance? Is it complicity? Might
it be exploitation? Ifso, ofwhom and by whom?
16
TIlls work attempts to highlight local relationships ofdependency and power
through analysis ofmetaphors that describe relationships between chiefs and commoners,
parents and children, and elder and younger siblings. The similarities ofexpectations of
those with authority as well as appropriate responses and actions from subordinates in
multiple categories are expressed in phrases that refer to looking after, caring for, providing
for protecting and guiding. Using examples from daily interactions, I will demonstrate how
power is often maintained by encouraging dependency. Those with the publicly ascribed
and acknowledged authority to lead are few; others, no matter how independent and
ambitious, are effectively discouraged from taking responsibility through direct challenges
to their junior positions, their knowledge, or their lack of traditional authority.
Indigenization: Marshallizing America
Relationships of dependency on those above and responsibility for those below,
contribute to the familiar and familial feel ofthe RMI/US relationship. Examples of
familial or hierarchical metaphors of authority are repeated again and again in participants'
descriptions ofUS/RMI relations. In contrast to some local leaders who view the
relationship as colonial and oppressive, average Marshallese citizens portray the US as an
ally, a type ofrelative, to call upon to step in and make things right. For traditional leaders
accustomed to competing with educated commoners for authority and economic
advantage, the US is the ultimate source oftheir opponents' strength, as well as their own.
.
Their relationship to the US is ambivalent since the US economically empowers them
through direct land payments, yet also constrains their influence indirecdy through
discourses ofdemocracy, human rights, civil society, accountability and transparency, that
Me critical oftraditional hierarchical relations ofpower.
17
'Ibis dissertation will show how powerful nations, their ideologies and practices, are
indigenized and understood in local, culturally framed ways. Cultural metaphors not only
provide a model for Marshallese interpretations of the US, but a means of enhancing and
limiting the power of the US vis-a-vis the Marshalls. Identically, American cultural
understandings enhance and limit the authority ofMarshallese chiefs and the reproduction
ofhierarchy in the Marshalls. How power is negotiated in the midst ofthese
frameworks/worldviews/cultural models is a central question here. While earlier studies of
the Marshalls emphasize American empowerment of chiefs and disempowerment ofthe
larger, general Marshallese population (Spoehr 1949; Kiste 1974; Rynkiewich 1974), thus an
American distortion ofhierarchy, I attempt to show also how American power and
influence are constrained by Marshallese models of authority. The processes of
indigenization and Americanization involve intercepting ideas, objects, symbols, funds,
populations, missiles, ideologies, and images, in familiar culturally-patterned ways, that then
in rum supplement and expand those same cultural patterns.
As shown in recent studies of 'missionization,' people are not passively colonized,
but are active participants in their own history (Burt 1994; Barker 1990). This is not to
underestimate the force offoreign global systems but to recognize the importance oflocal
perspectives rather than privilege the foreign. US militarism, capitalism, and~olonialism
impact Marshallese lives on a daily basis. But these forces are viewed and engaged through
the lens oflocal histories and experiences, through the collective memories ofMarshallese
people and society.
'Ibis study argues that many Marshallese see the US not as an exploitative,
militaristic nation, but as a wealthy, generous benefactor whose behavior is much like one's
18
Irool [Chief]. In return, the kajur [commoners] are respectful, silent, and apparendy loyal.
Claiming that US!RMI relations replicate Irool! kajurrelations is to assert, as I will show in
later chapters, that these relations are contentious, involve exploitation from above and
below, are based on idealized models, but in reality, are fluid, and constandy contested,
challenged, critiqued, and resisted in multiple contexts.
As scholars have noted, the presence of an 'other' does not always result in
denigrating the foreign and valori2ing the local. In some contexts, encounters with others
entail the wholesale condemnation!destruction oflocal culture in favor ofthe foteign
(Thomas 1992; Burridge 1960; Lawrence 1964). The anthropological literature on 'cargo
cults' contributes to our understanding of how indigenous societies denigrate local
practices in the face of previously unimaginable force and wealth of foreign others
(Lindstrom 1993; Worsley 1957).
The collective memory ofWorld War II, with bothJapanese and US militaries,
created a deep sense of the self at the mercy ofpowerful others (poyer et al. 2001).
International hegemony was secured through local hierarchy. Marshallese recognized
foreigners as the source ofeconomic power as the realms ofIroof authority gradually
diminished. While the presence ofAmericans marked a liberation of sorts from the
oppression ofJapanese military occupation and an old colonial administration, it also
presented an opportunity for Marshallese to reassert and further define themselves in
contrast to a new colonial powet. Throughout the Pacific, the post-war era of
decolonization became an era ofre-valori2ation of tradition (Kelly and Kaplan 2001;
Lindstrom and White 1993). In contrast, I will argue that for the Marshall Islands the post 
war period is characterized by denigrating the past (and symbols and images of "tradition")
19
in favor of participating in the powerful discourses ofmodernity, development, and
progress (Hanlon 1998). The US was yet another nation to recolonize the Marshall Islands
according to its cultural assumptions, values, and priorities. With a new colonizer arriving
on average every forty years, the Marshallese people were by this time well aware of the
power offoreign others.
America is recognized as the source ofsome highly valued local institutions such as
churches, schools and hospitals (Carucci 1989). American missionaries from Boston
(American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions) introduced Congregational
Protestantism in 1857. The American government established schools, and hospitals during
the 1950s. The American display offorce during World War II, and the subsequent nuclear
bomb testing in the islands left deep impressions about the power, wealth, and knowledge
ofAmerica and Americans (Carucci 1989; Alcalay 1984: Kiste 1974). Tt also did little to
empower a Marshallese sense of cultural pride and identification with their traditional
knowledge and skills.
Many Marshallese on Majuro look to the United States for opportunities and
protection (from the abuses oflocal authorities, as I will present in later chapters) and
some view their close alliance with a world power as a source ofpride (Carucci 1989). Free
Association with the United States has its benefits. Yet this close relationship also provides
a lens through which Marshal1ese view their own culture, technology, knowledge, and
environment negatively. Through the high assessment ofAmerican skills, knowledge, and
goods, Marshallese subtly and implicitly devalue indigenous ways of doing and knowing.
Where employment and economic advancement are acqnired solely through familiarity
20
with Western ways, words, people, and knowledge within the contemporary social world of
the MarshaII Islands, indigenous ways have few economic rewards and litde recognition.
Preferring a progressive self-representation in contrast to the traditionalisms of
other Pacific Island neighbor nations (Keesing and Tonkinson 1982), the MarshaIIs
chooses to highlight its affiliation with the United States and thereby gain control and
participation in the new social world ofAmerica. Given the Marshallese experience of
World War II, which highlighted their powerlessness underJapanese military occupation,
and the unavoidable strength and power ofUS military, this choice is a pragmatic one.
Asserting ties to the United States enhances Marshallese management and control over
their social world. Americans frequently condemn or bemoan this choice as cultural loss or
denigration, rather than recognizing the resilient strength it reveals.
(Post) Colonial Culture
It might be argued that the process of"Americanization" is in actua1ity one of
resistance to US representations ofthe islands and islanders over fifty years ago. Those
who lived through World War II spent their remaining years compromising with an
American administration. Their children pursued the disproportionate power ofAmerican
knowledge so that they might playa more direct role in their own affairs in this new social
world. Since post-war MarshaIIese leadership and those who interacted more closely with
Americans in the political development ofthe islands may have internalized negative
foreign judgments, 'modernization' becomes a perpetual and dominant national aim.
Particularly among Western educated government leaders, the desire to implement policies
that reward development is strong. Budgetary priorities disproportionately support
construction projects on the capital, a national airline, a regionally recognized super-power
21
plant, etc. These 'developments' come at the expense ofbasic services such as a
functioning health care and education systems. The discourse ofdevelopment (Hanlon
1998) traps Micronesian nations into foreign discourses ofmodernity while further de 
valuing indigenous ways. It also leaves indigenous national leaders vulnerable to
accusations ofinauthenticity, mimicry, and greed. In a world ofWestern double standards
ofdevelopment and cultural preservation, and local duplicity oftraditional reciprocal
relations in development, Marshallese leaders walk a fine line as they attempt to maintain
status and authority in spheres with drastically different expectations and values. This
dissertation explores the negotiation and manipulations ofthese spheres by'Marshallese
leaders through analysis ofelites' life histories and institutional roles, the everyday
conversations about them, and the international discursive practices in which elites
contribute to the imaginings ofthe Marshall Islands today.
Power. AgeD!;)'. aV" Resistance
The focus on "modernity" is typical ofFirst/Third World relations where new
nations struggle to claim recognition through symbols and rhetoric ofdevelopment defined
by the First World. The progressivist agenda is a common byproduct of the colonial
experience. Like other new Pacific nations, the former Trust Territory (IT) districts'
experience ofAmerican administration fostered national development projects and actively
sought Western approval by co-opting symbolS ofwestern wealth and power, recognized
in local arenas as well as international circles.
Some have represented Micronesians as having an "expensive taste for modernity"
(Hezel 1992). The preference for progressivism over the traditionalism ofthe South Pacific
makes Micronesia a challenge for scholars ofOceania. A lack oflocally produced materials
22
toch~llengeWesterninterpret~tionscontributes to representations that portray islanders as
naive,p~ssivelycolonized, or corrupt. N~tiveviews ofM~rshallesepolitics, forex~ple,are
more likely learned through conversation than in published texts. To understand
Marsh~lleseand otherMicronesi~npolitical views~ndstrategies requires more thanre~ding
the unpublished reports ofa IT district~nthropologist(Tobin 1953), a single volume by a
political scientist (Meller1969), and a study of the internal politics ofa forced migration and
resettlement (Kiste 1974). While each is insightful, there have to date been no targeted
anthropological studies ofpolitics, authority, and cultural practices ofleadership. This
study seeks to explain contemporary politics through cultural and historical analysis capable
ofgenerating deeper awareness ofpersistent, indigenous, Marshallese political practices and
perspectives, especially understandings of power,.authority, and resistance.
This dissertation explores Marshallese cultural, historical, and personal perspectives
that consider explicit cooperation and collaboration with the United States a delibetately
practical, even strategic activity. How might what has repeatedly been dubbed
"Americanization" actually be understood as indigenous agency, marshalling the powers of
America?
For many of the Marshallese in this study, affiliation means access to, and thus an
opportunity for control over dominant foreign powers and influences. This is consistent
with indigenous methods ofresistance in a rigidly hierarchical society. Social scientists
working with marginalized people like to talk about resistance, "weapons ofthe weak"
(Scott 1985), and everyday passive aggression. In this work I attempt to describe
Marshallese methods of resistance, how they are envisioned, spoken of, and understood
within the framework ofMarshallese society. While I call this activity "resistance" -
23
Marshall Islanders do not. The word itself is so directly confrontational it would likely be
denigrated as American, or man/in belk [an American way/custom]. Furthermore, use ofthe
term reduces the effectiveness ofany 'resistance' practices. Thus, as I see it, Marshallese
forms of "resistance" are often about maintaining ties and influence, about degrees of
cooperation and participation, and rarely about confrontation, denial, and outright refusals.
This dissertation pursues these arguments and ideas by tracing the historical
development ofinternational relationships, the localization/indigenization offoreign
powers, and the role of cultural models of authority and US colonialism in sustaining
Marshallese political elites. Possibly unique among Pacific Island nations, Marshallese
representations ofcultural and national identity have been transformed by a discourse of
development pioneered by President and lroijlaplap Amata Kabua decades ago, and
perpetuated by the dominant political party, in the context ofrelations between US and
traditional Marshallese leaders.
The lack of scholarly work on the Marshall Islands, the Marshallese people and
their life ways compounds predominant recurring perceptions and representations. With
few sources or advocates, those who seek to learn, write, and represent the Marshalls
(particuIarly the foreign media) contribute to, and reinforce the inherently limited
observations ofvery few people. Without a stronger representation ofcontemporary
Marshallese voices, Marshallese society is understood not on its own terms, but in terms of
ill-formed stereotypes, regional comparisons, and authorial biases. This dissertation aims to
show that Marshallese resistance differs dramatically from Western models, or even others
in the non-Western world. A lack ofvocal confrontation is not necessarily an indication of
complicity or collaboration (although, it sometitnes may be). As human beings, we make
24
sense ofthe foreign in terms of the familiar. This work is an attempt to show some ofthe
ways the Marshallese (and their American counterparts), use the familiar to frame the
foreign throughout their historic relationship.
We bridge our foreign and familiar wotlds with metaphors such as this one.
Linking disparate islands ofexperience and knowledge eventually we create a Venice, a
pseudo-city constructed ofislands and bridges, indirect routes, and imperfect passages. We
navigate our way, unaware that the structures upon which we tread are created and fragile,
conscious. only oftheir apparent solidity. In worlds surrounded and separated by water,
bridges are as critical as boats, depending on the distance between shores. Both offer the
prospect ofadventure, discovery, exploration, and importantly, return. They allow comings
and goings, f'tltlj [going} and rooJtok [going back], ito-itak, [back and forth]. We are connected
to others' shores, homes, and hearts by bridges we individually, mutually, and imperfectly
construct and negotiate.
My Bridges
The metaphorical bridge that keeps myself and my Marshallese family and friends
connected is built on mutual appreciations of faith, family, service, and community. I was
raised in an environment that acknowledged disability, discrimination, and privilege. At
home, I grew up constantly outnumbered by my three brothers (Tom, Mike, and Greg) and
often felt lonely, excluded, and somewhat sorry for myself. Yet, in the face my own
experience ofmarginalization, I empathized with my two older brothers' difficulties
growing up with severe hearing losses. I was well aware ofmy blessings when I witnessed
their struggles to use the phone, to hear their teachers, and to be accepted by their peers.
For years, I lip synced phone calls so they could "hear" the other party by reading my lips
25
and repeated punch lines from our favorite televisions shows during commercials. When I
was seven, my lively grandmother and young uncle with Down's Syndrome entered our
daily lives after a tragic plane crash claimed my too-young grandfather's life. Danny became
a fourth, special brother who helped my family learn to not take ourselves or our various
struggles too seriously.
We were all privileged. A friendship with our housekeeper was among my most
significant influences. Bernadine brought her vibrant stories and laughter, into my
somewhat sterile, ifcomfortable, suburban existence. Bernadine Young worked for my
parents before I was born, and taught me things I never would have learned as a white girl
in the segregated South. Stories of her life as a black woman have shaped my life. She told
them while she protected me from my brothers and taught me to fight back, as she cleaned
my bathroom and mopped the kitchen floor week after week after week for all ofmy life in
New Orleans. She was a strong, impressive, and proud black woman; I was devoted to her.
I hated that she worked for us. I hated that I wouldn't have known and loved her if she
hadn't. Loving her, I loved her people across our socially segregated distance. I anguished
over her strnggles as well as my privilege and power, questioning how and why things were
the way they were.
Bernadine is the base ofmy bridge to the Marshalls, expanded by early international
travels, numerous opportunities for study and volunteerism abroad, family support, and a
lifelong Catholic education that emphasizes: "From those who are given much, much is
expected." On the other side of the bridge lay Majuro and a Marshallese community.
I not only appreciated the sense of community and caring I experienced among
Marshallese people but I came to connect my appreciation ofwonderful, eccentric,
26
excessive Majuro with my experience ofgrowing up in "the city that care forgot." Like
Majuro, New Orleans is indulgent, surrounded by water, and filled with lovely, lively,
eccentric people, and incredible storytellers. Both cities appreciate ancient social
distinctions, and a strange, but not surprising, blend ofalcoholism and religiosity. Both are
slow-moving oral societies, where face-to-face interaction and family, friends and food
(preferable from the sea) are valued above most else. I believe I adjusted and adapted well
to Majuro because I was raised in New Orleans. I feel equally at home in these paradoxical
places that are warm and steamy; oppressive yet carefree.
In the numerous comings and goings to my water-surrounded homes scarcely
above (if not below) sea level, I recognize the value and beauty of a modern life that carries
us back and forth like the tides. Itis a positive process -- this examination, re-examination,
turning and returning. What I used to imagine as separate chapters of my life appear now
as intermingled words on every page.
These days, anthropologists highlight this common experience rather than deny the
intensity or frequency ofthis back and forth process or the integration ofthe personal, and
professional relationships. As Clifford (1997) notes, "the field" is not out there. As the
communities ofresearch become our homes and their residents share our spheres, the
spatial practices and understandings of ethnography have shifted. We study ourselves as
much as we study others; our paths and lives intersect at more numerous junctures than
previously possible or imagined. Anthropologists are increasingly interested in examining
the sites ofthese intersections, rather than continuing to position others as "stationary
objects to our wandering interests" (Clifford 1997), evidenced by the growing body of
literature on diasporic communities, and transnational cultures (Small 1997; Hau'ofa 1998).
27
Nebwij gave birth to her daughter, Melina, last year. Kakom's son, Kyle, turned
seven this summer; Neibot's son celebrated his second birthday at the end ofMay. I first
arrived on Majuro in 1990 to teach Assumption High School Freshmen Class of 1994.
These former students are older now than I was then. At tweny-two, a couple of months
after graduating with a BA in English from Spring Hill, a small Catholic Jesuit college in
Mobile, Alabama, I went to the Marshall Islands to teach English as a Jesuit International
Volunteer OIV).
Figure 10. Assumption High School Class of 1994, Majuro 1991.
Julie Walsh,JIV, seated second row from top, right of center.
At the time,JIVs were sent to Belize, Nepal, and throughout Micronesia according
to the decisions of the JIV staff and director. Since they selected only twenty-five percent
of the applicants, most of us were too pleased to have been selected to really care where we
were assigned. As our applications attested, we were committed to the four goals of the
JIV: "Living simply, witnessing faith, doing justice, and building community." In return we
28
were promised to be "ruined for life." The Micro7 subgroup of the thirty JIVs that year
was the seventh group sent to Micronesia. We three women were the firstJIVs to go to
Majuro where we lived and taught in a world of bright red and yellow buildings and blue
and white uniforms -- Assumption Parish and Schools.
(
Figure 11. The departure of Majuro's first Jesuit International Volunteers.
(1992)
Twelve years later, I have to admit that JIV kept its promise. I was ruined, broken,
humbled, and resurrected despite my best intentions. My dreams ofbecoming an eccentric
English professor died as I grew more appreciative of the complexity ofreal people (vs.
characters), and aware of my preference to listen to their voices rather than read about
them. The Marshalls and its people remain a central focus ofmy life. Two years after
leaving Majuro, I returned for the graduation ofmy "Freshmen," with a sutpmer research
grant to do interviews for my MA thesis in anthropology.
29
Julie Walsh and the Momotaro family, May 1992.
(JIV)
Julie Walsh and the Momotaro family, August 1994.
(MA research)
Three years later I returned to work and pursue twelve months doctoral research.
When I left Majuro in 1992, I never dreamed that ten years later I would see my
o
Marshallese family on a regular basis at their second home in Hawai'i, and run into my
Marshallese cousins on campus, much less be interrupted in the writing ofthis particular
chapter by virtual chats with former students spread from Majuro to the US mainland. In a
decade celrphones, internet access, and Compact niigration have made these relationships
much easier to maintain. Even so, I am still amazed that I encounter the Marshalls every
day ofmy life, by choice or by chance. I am as much a site of transnational exchange, as
any of the elites about whom I write. Ifbeing "ruined for life" means having one's entire
world uprooted and relocated on a tiny coral atoll in the Pacific, than I can't think of a
greater privilege.
LOClIting the Anthropologist
Anthropologists have accepted the notion that it is impossible to avoid our
subjectivities in our research (Clifford 1988, Clifford and Marcus 1986). My relationship
with my 'topic' is quite different from that ofmany anthropologists. While certainly not
native, anthropologists who have served as Peace Corps or other volunteers share with
native anthropologists pre-research relationships, and struggles with objectivity,
representation, and a deep awareness of the implications ofresearch on participants and
local communities (Schwimmer and Warren 1993; Narayan 1993; Abu-Lughod 1988). A
range of anthropologists' positions exists between "native" and "non-native."
Having maintained my relationships with Marshallese friends and family for twelve
years, I intend to continue them. I couldn't claim scientific objectivity if I had to. In an
effort to reveal how this impacts this dissertation, through my interpretations and
relationships with participants, I have decided to include reflexive passages for multiple
reasons. As others have noted, emphasizing one's uncertain positionality is more honest, if
31
also more vulnerable, than pretending to be an objective bystander (Clifford and Marcus
1986; Clifford 1988; Abu-Lughod 1988; Narayan 1993; Behar 1993). My insights and
understandings are colored by my past years on Majuro, and my relationships there.
Positioning myself requires an exposure that, at times, is uncomfortable. Yet, ignoring the
ways my friendships and experiences shape this work would be even more uncomfortable.
This sort ofauthorial collateral only seems fair; I am as vulnerable as my Marshallese
friends, family, and their culture, in this process ofinscribing, and fixing.
Not only is my relationship to this topic personal, so is my research methodology. I
agree with Pacific Islander scholars and others for whom disciplinary distinctions between
personal and professional, home and work, field and academy deny the whole humans that
we are (Smith 1999; Thaman 2000; Clifford 1997; Narayan 1993; Bruner 1993).
Anthropologists have constructed their authority on notions of distance; asserting that
coming and going to and from particular positions, spaces, cultural frameworks is an
essential component ofthe interpretive process (Clifford 1997:84). As others have noted,
the particular positions, spaces, and frameworks we travel back and forth from may not be
as broadly defined as previously imagined (Clifford 1997: 86). Within our own "home"
communities, we travel back and forth between spheres and sectors where we are at one
moment "strangers" and at other times "natives" (Narayan1993; Abu-Lughod 1988). The
circles about which we might be acknowledged as authorities and about which we might
,
feel comfortable representing are frequendy (un) admittedly quite small. I admire those
who can admit the limits oftheir social spheres (Hezel 1998).
The interpretive process inherent in "comings and goings" is as much about
shifting identities, and relationships as it is about place. When I write about these
32
movements I do not mean to prioritize the coming and going to and from Majuro or
Honolulu, but to emphasize the border that is crossed between America and the Marshalls
a million times a day, in Honolulu, or in Majuro, or in cyber space.
In stressing the significance ofmental/symbolic/cultural travels, I do not want to
deny what I see as a significant contribution ofanthropology to understanding others.
Living among, accompanying, and "being with" are critical means of forming relationships
that enable certain types ofknowledge unavailable to those who pass briefly through.
While typical anthropology graduJite programs consider a year of "fieldwork" adequate to
distinguish the anthropological endeavor from other traveling observers (Clifford 1997),
local hosts would scarcely concede that difference. When I was a volunteer, two years
seemed quite a long time, considering most ofmy prior travels had not exceeded 4 months'
residence. Now, after twelve years, and numerous return trips for extended visits, I see how
insignificant two years are to host communities, and how hard it is for them to maintain
enthusiasm for the perpetual cycles of orientations, introductions, and farewells organized
for group after group offoreign teachers, doctors, workers, etc. Through interactions with
currentJesuit volunteers on my return visits, I realize anew how isolated, and removed
from local communities volunteers are, how limited their social spheres, and opportunities
to learn more deeply. I critically question the value ofresearch in which a neophyte
anthropologist spends a year gathering data. Linguistic ability, general social awareness,
political understandings, and relationships oftrust and mutuality take a long time to form.
After over forty months on Majuro, I am most frequently made aware ofmy ignorance.
I not only question the length oftime spent in communities ofresearch, but also
the methods and means ofinteracting with the community to explore a research topic. As
33
many have written; funded researchers wandering about and asking questions are not easily
understood by locals whose lives are occupied with family, work, and personal
commitments (Hymes 1969; Walsh 2001). Meaningful interaction is difficult when the
spheres of potential reciprocity are exclusive. Anthropologists gain from the information
participants provide; what do participants receive? Is it possible for anthropologists to give
back to participants in equally meaningful ways?
During the course ofmy years on Majuro, I have attempted to reciprocate the time
and energy others have contributed to my livelihood by freely offering technical assistance,
English lessons, exercise classes; writing grants; teaching summer school and giving piano
lessons; playing the organ at church; preparing and serving food; videotaping family events
for friends and relatives; tutoring; chauffeuring; etc. These actions ate merely gestures of
appreciation, but essential ones, no matter how time-consuming they sometimes may be.
A second way I attempt to reciprocate and make myself accessible and vulnerable is
by seeking local employment ifpossible, rather than an externally funded grant. In this way
I feel that I have a locally understood role, I am part ofa larger system in which I am as
dependent on others as they are on me, and I am accessible and approachable in real,
locally meaningful ways, not solely interacting with others in the service ofmy research and
interests. In a locally meaningful context, the interaction between myselfand my
coworkers, students, and others is more significant than ifI were wandering about asking
questions, unavailable for observation in the context ofnormal daily interaction.
Research Period and Methods
I artived On Majuro in August 1997 with a teaching position for the Fall semester at
the College ofthe Marshall Islands (CMI) as an adjunct instructor oftwo sections of
34
Introduction to Literature. Having arranged housing with the Maryknoll Sisters at
Assumption, I had offered to contribute teaching hours in addition to the minimal rent
they asked. The Sophomore Literature class ofthirty-five students became my daily
morning contribution -- the CMI classes were Monday, Wednesday, and Friday afternoons.
Upon my arrival, the Historic Preservation Office (HPO), where I had inquired into a
possible position months earlier, contacted me with an offer to be their "Staff
Ethnographer." Since I had made previous commitments, we negotiated my hours at ten
hours per week in the mornings at Alele Museum, after my Assumption classes, and twenty
hours per week after the semester ended.
I was "funded," but had very little time after grading papers and planning lessons
to pursue my research agenda the first three months. I was grateful to find a replacement
teacher for the high school literature class after the /irst quarter. In the CMI literature class
I was able to interact with my new (and some former Assumption) students and to hear
their reflections on topics that were indirecdy relevant to my research questions.
Reconnecting with my former students, their families, and my friends was a
priority. I spent those /irst few months listening, and getting to know my colleagoes,
housemates, neighbors, and students. My part-time work at Alele allowed me to explore
the museum's resources and participate in the planning ofcultural events and new displays.
As "Staff Ethnographer" for the HPO, I was assigned to assist in the writing of
grants for equipment and projects and to pursue a pre-approved and funded study ofthe
Marshallese dan system. Were I not hired, the HFO would have lost all the funding
associated with the projects they had proposed to justify an ethnographer position from
the US Park Service, Department ofInterior. Hiring me 'on-island' and part-time provided
35
extra funds for other HPO projects and budgetary needs since funds could be "re 
directed." The HPO Director assigned me to Alele Museum and hired a temporary curator
who happened to be a former student of mine from Assumption. I was to work with the
new curator in reorganizing the collections, planning for the annual culture week festivities,
and imagining ways to 'liven up' the museum.
In January, AIele became my sole steady commitment beyond my own research
interests. I worked Mondays, Tuesdays, and half ofWednesdays at AIele; in the remainder
ofthe week I pursued interviews, browsed through the museum's archives, wandelOed the
halls ofthe Nitijela offices, went to community meetings, and political events. When the
curator accepted a position with the newly budgeted tourism office, another young woman,
who happened to be part ofmy extended Marshallese family, replaced her. After two
months, she too left for a new position but was never replaced. The HPO Director then
designated me ''Temporary Curator." Short-staffed, the assistant curatolO and I spent most
of our days at Alele selling books and resources to increasing numbers ofAmerican
couples, who walked over from the courthouse next door after adopting Marshallese
children. Between interacting with these visitors, and assisting the Alele video production
staff, collaboratively designing interviews and identifying topics for future programs, and
offering staff training on the new computers and digital media, and internet access a recent
grant had enabled, my twenty hours per week were almost exclusively devoted to Alele
rather than other HPO assignments. I realized aftelO some frustration that my placement at
Alele, with a wage paid by the US Park Service, served to free both AIele and HPO funds
for other needs, though I never quite detelCmined what they were.
36
My research included attending and videotaping community events, including those
that I helped organize through my community role at Alele. The discussions and planning
of cultural representations and reactions to these events intrigued me as they often
centered on procuring funds, rather than participants or cultural resources. During my
'off hours, I bwebwenato-ed (shared stories) and interviewed politicians and community
leaders. When a major debate developed over gambling on Majuro, my involvement
included participating in the strategizing with Majuro community leaders who gathered at
weekly evening meetings at the Assumption library. 1 often spent whole afternoons talking
with retired politicians, the elderly, and long-time friends working at Assumption.
Attentively, I followed the RMI's international affairs, local reactions, government
activities, and news. The results include ninty hours of audio interviews with political elites,
community leaders, and average citizens about Majuro, local politics, and their views of the
relationship between the Marshall Islands and the United States. I gathered over sixty
hours ofvideotape of family and community events, cultural programs, footage ofhistoric
sites and interviews about particular moments in Marshallese history elicited around
particular historic structures remaining from earlier colonial administrations. In addition I
took over one thousand photographs, maintained a log ofevents, and kept detailed
fieldnotes from August 1997 throngh August 1998.
Layout ofthe dissertation
The dissertation is written in a form that allows for interruptions and
discontinuities for such is the hermeneutic process ofback and forth, ito-itak, that balances
breadth and depth and attempts to be true to the relationship between researcher and
communities ofresearch as they come to know each other more deeply.
37
Particu!Jlr topics are re-visited for more specific levels of analysis at various places
in this dissertation. The back and forth format also quite intentionally mirrors life on
Majuro, where residents travel a single road back and forth over the course ofa day, and a
lifetime (see Chapter 2). This style is also an attempt to express the dialectic process of
asking questions, finding answers, and asking again.
In an attempt to make this dissertation relevant and accessible to a non-academic
audience, my writing style is deliberately narrative. Providing a sense ofplace, history,
power relations, economics, and authority in the land and sea scapes ofMajuro is the
purpose ofChapter 2. Chapter 2 locates the Marshall Islands historically and geographically
through a virtual tour ofcontemporary Majuro that uses culturally significant landmarks
and contemporary structures as points ofintersection with Marshallese history in order to
convey the depths ofmemory, experience and meaning, as well as the power associated
with particular plots ofland over generations. The connection to and meauings ofland to
Marshallese, as a source ofidentity, commuuity, economic opportunity, and political power
are foregrounded here. Further this chapter will give the reader a 'feel' for contemporary
Majuro and life on a coral atoll.
Chapter 3 begins with an analysis ofMarshallese social relations, cultural forms and
practices as they have transformed through history. Foreign representations ofpower
relations between commoners and chiefs, foreigners and natives as well as persistent
cultural models of authority are the focus here, as traced through the missionary, German,
and Japanese colonial eras.
In Chapter 4 I apply chiefly models and examples ofauthority presented in Chapter
3 to the American administration of the island, and explore their transformation under the
38
influence of Amata Kabua during the periods ofpolitical development and early
independence. This chapter continues historical analysis ofthe current American
"compact" era, including a close reading of former President and lroijlaplap (high chief)
Amata Kabua's five term administration and its role in shaping the nation -- it's goals,
policies, and current models ofleadership. This chapter explores Kabua's selective use of
Marshallese culture and global discourses to expand his authority. The aim of analysis is to
understand how Marshallese, under the guidance of a high chief and President, indigenized
aspects ofAmerican culture through discourses of"development," "tradition," and
''progress'' to shape a uniquely Marshallese modernity.
The individuals who have the most influence in defining this modernity are those
who had the most personal experiences working with, or being educated by, Americans
during the US Trust Territory administration. Chapter 5 examines the rise of a commoner
elite after World War II that expanded the models ofchiefly authority to include respect
for newly formed positions of status and power linked to the Western institutions
established by the US Trust Territory administration. Interactions between new elites and
kajttr [commoners] or dtijerbol [workers] indicate an expansion and transformation of
cultural models ofauthority that reinforce emerging "class" relations. A "commoner elite"
implies a "common commonei' - a distinction that strengthens the contemporary
, lroo/Iophp jg the tenn used to designate a high chief. Numerous chiefly lines existin both the Ratak and Ralik
chains of atolls; the islands have never been united under a single recognized ruler, instead, leadership and
ownership was persistendy claimed and contested in halde through the early 1900s. Thus, multiple lroojhphp
exist today, with no single leader given a position higher than the others, except through democratic election
to the national Parliament where two lroo/!aphp have served as President of the RMI.
39
preference ofthe label dnjerbd[worker] as perhaps more apt, not to mention specific, than
the broadly defined kajur [commoner, non-royal]!
In addition, Chapter 5 examines the process ofAmerican socialization and the
impact ofUS education on the Marshalls through biographical interviews with elites who
serve as gatekeepers and key figures in institutional sites that connect the Marshalls to
broader global issues, institutions, and discourses. In these interviews, elites shed light on
their educational backgrounds, their understandings ofMarshallese identity and
nationhood, and their views ofthe Marshalls' relations with the United States. This group
ofpowerful individuals, infonned by their collective educational experiences and past
interactions with America/Americans, continues to shape the development ofthe nation.
In the process, they serve as embodiments ofcontemporary cultural and national identities.
Elites, like the missiles fired from Kwajalein, are "interceptors" offast-approaching
foreign forces such as the global discourses they encounter as leaders ofpowerful
institutions in the Marshall Islands. Their life histories and their evaluations of their own
experience shed light on the ways transnational discourses ofvarious kinds impact not only
national development, but also indigenous cultural and personal identities and practices.
This chapter also highlights internal dissension and the complexity ofelite
positionalities in discourses of cultural and national identity in the Marshalls. Informed by
clan and lineage histories, local politics are tied to land rights and generations-old political
affiliations. I have used life history/biographical methods to explore the fonnation of
leadership status and the socialization of elites living under American colonialism. In
4 The phrase "/irst commonerPcesiden~'(in English) is repeatedly used to describe the current RMI
President, Kessai Note. The Marshallese term kajur) commoner, rather than driierba1, worker, is used to
describe his traditional status.
40
addition to their varied experience ofAmerican socialization, I examine how local loyalties
and histories shape elites' divisive political positions on "development," "culture," and US 
RMI relations. Majuro's dominant political divisions, alluded to in earlier chapters, are
reexamined in light of contemporary political disputes and their development as explored
in the life histories of elites.
Chapter 6 explores the ways power, held by these elites, is negotiated, enacted,
maintained, and challenged on Majuro. The interaction between local models and practices
of authority with foreign polirical institutions in the negotiation ofpower, influence,
economic gain, political capital, and development projects are targeted through close
analysw of controversial and unprecedented political debates onMajuro in 1997-1998.
Examples oflegislative issues, particularly a national gambling debate, point to the
strengths and boundaries of hierarchical authority and methods of collaborative resistance.
These methods include alliance building and the incorporation ofpowerful
others/outsiders, namely representatives ofmission and churches who subscribe to ideas
of"equality," "justice," and "democracy" to (indirectly) oppose local authority. My analysis
ofpower on Majuro intends to illustrate the tensions and connections between Marshallese
conceptual spheres ofmanit [custom/culture] and modern democracy. This chapter not
only highlights the sites and individuals who conduct these transnational negotiations, but
foregrounds ambiguities about US relations that are made apparent as political parties take
oppositional sides in local issues which intersect international relations.
I foreground the evolving local methods ofresistance since these then serve as
examples for future political activity that strengthen local resistance to foreign as well as
local hegemony.
41
Chapter 7 focuses more closely on Marshallese understandings ofauthority through
an examination ofmetaphoric language used to describe RMI leadership and US-RMI
relations. I argue that Marshallese "Marshallize" the US as a means ofmaintaining power
and authority over its strength and resources. By incorporating the US into familiar and
familial relationships, Marshallese exercise their agency by asserting their understandings,
expectations, and evaluations ofUS activity in the Marshalls. Marshallese metaphors that
describe the US as a "parent," "chief," and "coach" point to persistent local methods of
alliance building and collaboration with power as seen in Chapter 6. Relationships between
the Bikinians and the US government, Marshallese parents and American adoptive parents,
and Marshallese citizens and the US government as understood through the Compact of
Free Association reveal the ways Marshallese evaluate both foreign and local authority
according to criteria that are reproduced in multiple spheres ofMarshallese social life. The
examples analyzed in this chapter highlight the continued cultural logic of dependency and
reciprocity, as well as the responsibilities ofauthority. While Marshallese discourses of
dependency rehearse estimarions ofUS authority, they are bolstered by discourses of
human rights, social justice, democracy, independence, and sovereignty. The analysis shows
that when Marshall Islanders request greater US investment, they assert a negative
evaluation ofUS contributions to an ideally reciprocal relationship. In requesting closer ties
to the US, the RMI also acknowledges its own continued commitment to the relationship.
Chapter 8 focuses on the mutual construction of the Marshallese Islands in foreign
media and local productions. Representations ofMarshallese culture and nation frequently
intersect around themes ofdependency/victimization, democracy/corruption, and
development/progressivism. The analysis compares foreign and local conceptions of
42
shared rhetoric/vocabulary that have drastically different interpretations and meanings. By
unpacking the mutual constructions of the Marshall Islands and the Marshallese people, I
want to demonstrate some ofthe ways cultural knowledge shapes perceptions such that the
foreign is understood in terms of the familiar. Americans as well as Marshallese use
culturally informed models of authority to define and evaluate this symbiotic relationship.
The interplay between key Marshallese individuals, who serve as intersectors (I argue for
the more deliberate term "interceptors") ofinternational discourse and widely accessible
international media works to solidify or establish particular local interpretations and
understandings ofvarious global discourses.
A ninth, and final, chapter summarizes my exploration ofMarshallese models of
power and authority, emerging from collisions oflocal and global discourses through
various periods ofMarshallese history. It further confinns the significance oflong-term
research that explores how indigenous agency and power relations are enacted, enhanced,
and reproduced in a world where foreign forces fly unceasingly at their targets, like US
missiles to Kwajalein.
43
CHAPTER 2
LOCATING THE MARSHALL ISLANDS
ITO-ITAK[BACKAND FORTH]
Ito-itak. Back and forth. Ito-itak is a way of life on a narrow strip of coral, where lik
[ocean] and iar Uagoon] are nearly always simultaneously in view. The back and forth cycles
of movement, imitating the stars, the planets, the understandings and events of our days:
epaatlok Uow tide], aibwuj;tok [high tide], ratak [sunrise], ralik [sunset], over and over, day
after day, month after month, year after year, and generation after generation. Imagine it.
Figure 14. Sunrise from Assumption Convent.
The sky brightens faintly in the East as I look out from the Maryknoll Sisters'
porch and head downstairs to begin my morning walk. At 6:00AM I've already called
Kakom to wake her to join me when I reach Small Island. We walk three mornings a week
from Mon Bada (Assumption) in Uliga to the Outrigger Hotel in Delap, about five miles
44
round trip. As we walk the sun rises on our left,Jcn lik [from the ocean(side)]. On our right,
the iar~agoon],is still a smooth pale blue, reflecting shades ofpink. An occasional car
passes in the quiet calm. My Mom, Daisy, waves at us from her car as she heads to Long
Island to open the store. Our other companions are the dogs that roam in bands but
usually leave us alone. At the Air Marshall Islands office Kakom pretends to throw a rock  
"ssss!" -- at the infamous car-chasing dog who rises from his regular site in the center of
the street to bark at us; he plops back down, disinterested. By 7 am the first of many back
and forth trips of the day is completed.
By 8 am, after a shower, I'm walking again, but this time in the opposite direction - 
lik on my right, iar on my left-- to work at Alele Museum. Once there, I pause for a cup of
coffee and brief conversation at the open-air coffee shop downstairs, then pour some salt
into my palm before heading upstairs with a hard-boiled lip [egg]. I punch in my card on
the time clock at the Library, and head to the Museum.
45
At my noon lunch break, I continue in the same direction toward Rita, walking two
hundred yards to RRE (Robert Reimers Enterprises) to purchase some coconut oil to send
home and wait in line at the Post Office. While I wait I consider my lunch options. RRE
Deli? Close but a town drunk sometimes accosts me. The Tide Table? Takes too long at
this hour. Mother's Kitchen? Too far and I've already used twenty minutes. Tuna! I
suddenly remember the leftovers from last night waiting in the fridge at home.
The half-mile walk along the back road 1s hot in the noon sun and I'm walking
unusually fast, by Majuro standards -- ribelle [American/foreigner/haole] style. At
Assumption; I cut through the High School yard, around to the Elementary where I live
upstairs with the Maryknoll sisters. I tug my little sister's ponytail as I pass her at recess.
She flashes a fake scowl at me and then continues playing volleyball. "Bar 10 iuk,jotenin,"
46
[See you later, tonight] she calls out as I run up the stairs. I'm looking forward to spending
the weekend with my family.
Recess at Assumption Elementary.
After lunch, I head back to the main road to catch a taxi to the Glass Palace, since I
have an appointment at 1 pm with the Minister of Resources and Development. I wait in
the shade in front ofAssumption and call a taxi traveling toward Delap on the opposite
side of the street over to my side -- all with a subtle flex of the wrist and a soft hiss. I join
two others passengers in the back seat of a rusty Toyota, my backpack on my lap. When
the car scrapes bottom at the huge Small Island dipS, we smile and raise our eyebrows at
each other silently, while the driver sighs, "womvtT." Just before the Capitol I quietly say,
"Mon kiel?' and the driver abruptly pulls across the road and into the circular drive. The
driver and other passengers look at me with renewed curiosity as I drop fifty cents into his
cupped palm. He tells me to reach through the open window for the exterior door handle.
; This dip is no longer a landmark as it was filled during the Japan-funded road repaving in late 1998.
47
After the interview, I stand self-consciously visible and alone on the road in full sun
in front of the Capitol and try to hail another taxi. The schools are letting out already. Most
of the taxis are already full and they honk at me when I swish my wrist to summon them.
After 10 minutes, a friend stops to offer me a ride in her air-conditioned, tinted-windowed
automobile. It is an appreciated refuge from the heat, the glare of the sun's reflection in the
mirrored-glass capitol building, and the dust from the road construction that perpetually
blows in the trade winds.
Figure 19. The curve at Delap, from the RMI Capital Building.
6
(, The open area on the lagoon side of this photo has since been filled with Korean and Taiwanese car
dealerships and stores (2002).
48
Figure 20. Road construction traffic in front of Alele Museum.
After I return to the arctic air-conditioned Museum, I am immediately sent on an
errand. We need the Secretary of Internal Affairs' signature on our purchase order (PO) for
a new printer cartridge. I borrow the keys to the Alele pick-up so my colleague, Terry, and I
can drive half a mile in the direction ofDelap, to the Historic Preservation Office (BPO)
at the Ministry of Internal Affairs (IA) before turning back to RRE in Uliga, to pick up the
cartridge. It is out of stock. We continue to Rita to see ifBing's store has one. They do, but
we can't purchase it since it is more expensive than the amount on our PO. We decide to
head back through town to an office supply store unfortunately named "The Tourist Trap"
in Delap. By 4:45 we're back at AIde, cartridge in hand, to close the Museum.
I walk home to Mon Bada, again, along the quiet back road that is by this hour
shaded. Most days I pause to watch a few minutes of the neighborhood children's baseball
game in the backyard of the former Peace Corps building. When I'm nearly whacked with a
tennis ball, I feign anger -- "I-guk! [Hey!]" -- and chase the children around the bases.
49
Figure 21. Back road baseball.
The Sisters are finishing dinner as I climb the steps above the seventh grade
classroom that lead to the convent porch that has one of the best ocean views on Majuro.
Framed by tall coconut trees, a small bay exists where once two distinct islets were
50
connected courtesy ofthe US Navy. On clear days the view across the ocean is ofa slightly
raised and quivering plateau ofcoconut pahns, Amo Atoll, ten miles away.
I sit appreciating the sisters' companionship and the evening view before
reappearing to say goodnight and catch a taxi to Jemok, Rita. I'm anxious to catch the
sunset and bwebwcnato [talk story] at Dennis and Daisy's house.
It's getting darker now and the sky above the lagoon on my left is brilliant. Abba
sings "Dancing Queen" over the radio. The taxi is empty and the driver is curious. He asks
where I'm going: "Kwoj eta! nan ia?" "Mon Momo,"[Momotaro store/house], I respond. He
asks me where I work, how I learned Marshallese, how long I have lived here, if I have a
boyfriend, and ifI want to meet him later at The Pub. I explain myself and jump out at
Jenrok to joinJima Kalemon, one ofmy grandpas, and my dad at the picnic table for a
dark Lowenbrau, a treat from Dennis's own srock. We bwebwenato while my two teenage
brothers start a fire with coconut husks in the metal tim of an old tractor wheel. Daisy
pulls up in the Jeep with my two sisters (ages three and ten) and a cooler of fish someone
dropped off at their Long Island store. The boys toss a couple of fish from the cooler on
the grill for dinner. With rice, green salad, and cantaloupe we have a meal, blessed by Daisy
before it's shared.
After we eat, Komju and I head to Delap to rent a movie and eat a soft-serve ice
cream cone. Twice again we pass through town -- the final back and forth ofthe day.
51
Figure 23. Dennis and Daisy Momotaro, my parents.
How many times in a day does a Majuro resident travel that road, back and forth,
back and forth, between Gibson's and RRE, between the airport and the dock, between
Delap and Rita? It's not a long road, about five miles from the end of Rita to the bridge at
the beginning of Delap. Traveling that same route again and again, day after day, by taxi, by
foot, in an air-conditioned car, or in the back of a pick-up, impacts the way one sees the
world.
Attentiveness is somehow both sharpened and dulled. One knows every inch, but
grows oblivious to most things except changes - a fresh paint job here, a missing row of
ironwood trees there, a new speed bump. One grows more unmindful of the more or less
constant features-the lagoon, the ocean, the low clouds in the sky, and the histories of
particular places. Sometimes places trigger memories as one passes them by in the comings
and going. These are memories of people, events, empty spaces now filled, once full spaces
now empty: a car dealership at the weather station, a string of stores at the old Delap
52
runway, or three water towers removed. The past is always there, history laid out linearly
along the road before and behind, when one chooses to acknowledge it.
The road itself changes sometimes. It may be crowded, empty, flooded, or under
construction. One rides along when the dips are flooded and the taxis stall, when the
bottom of the car scrapes against monstrous speed bumps on the back road. One sits in
line as traffic creeps downtown more slowly than anyone could walk, as children jump out
of pickups in front of schools. One watches the road fill with traffic in the mornings and
evenings as all those who live in "suburbs" near the airport commute, and those who live
in town scramble for rides to work and home. At rush hour it is nearly impossible to cross
the street; on Sundays scarcely a vehicle is on the road. A walk at 6 am is cool, calm, quiet,
and peaceful; at 6 pm it is noisy, dusty, hot, and dangerous. In the early evenings, the road
feels friendly again, as residents now refreshed, sweep their doorsteps, greet their
neighbors, and wander toward the take-outs. The road has a rhythm of its own.
Figure 24. I\.fajuro traffic, morning rush hour.
53
Metaphor as Method
Ito-itak [back and forth] along this maID road serves as a metaphor for the
hermeneutic process and reflexive methodology ofturning and re-turning to the questions
posed in this work, to the positionality of the researcher, to the relationships that reflect
and define understandings and identities, and finally, as a metaphor particularly suited to
long-term researchers who may grow, like long-term Majuro residents, perhaps more
obtuse than aware over time. This research aims to explore the places, people, and
activities alongside the road, and also to shed light on the rhythms, bumps, dips, and the
myriad vehicles anthropologists use on the road/research process itself. Metaphor is here
a method to convey the form and content ofthis research.
I present here an introduction to Majuro by providing a cultural/historical/political
tour of the atoll. The aims ofthis tour are to introduce the institutions oflocal and foreign
power that are integral to this dissertation and offer an overview ofthe Marshallese past in
a local context that convey how these institutions are situated in the landscape ofMajuro and
in the ordinary daily lives ofMarshallese people.
Rather than focus on extemal portrayals ofMajuro (of which this work is yet
another) that describe the islands relative only to foreign intetests, this chapter will
represent Majuro and its past through a virtual tour of the atoll's contemporary sites, and
their relevance to Marshallese history, politics, and lives. The introduction will highlight
how institutions offoreign power intersect with local forms and sources ofauthority on
specific plots ofland that have economically, and politically shaped the history of the
Marshall Islands. This chapter offers a glimpse at these institutions, their histories, and
54
those who lead them, setting a framework for the issues ofland, power, chiefs, and colonial
negotiations that are explored in later chapters.
In small places every parcel ofland takes on incredible significance and meaning. In
the smallest places, the intensity ofcollective relationships to land is even greatet. Centuries
ofcommunities are metaphysically (symbolically/mentally) present on these coral atolls
where residents claim they belong to their wafo or plot, rather than their wafo belonging to
them (Tony deBrum 1994, interview with author). Where history is repeated and
remembered in land -- its perpetual use -- ties to land, family, genealogies, and ways of
living are long and deep. On 'outer islands' (i.e. peripheral to urban 'centers') histories of
generations are embedded in the daily interaction with the land upon which multi 
generational families reside. On Majuro and Ebeye, the youthful urban centers where over
60% of all Marshallese reside, these histories are less visible. There, the continuity of
traditional communal activities has been interrupted and replaced with a lifestyle less based
on interaction with land, than construction upon it. The daily activities that occur on urban
centers today differ remarkable from those that occurred only a few decades ago. History is
created, recreated. tom down and rebuilt more rapidly than on any other plots ofland in
the nation.
Physical remains from earlier eras are often incorporated into contemporary
relationships with land. For example, on Wo* Atoll, an atoll that served as an ait base for
the Japanese in the early 194Os, residents relocated their village after World War II. The
cemented areas that once served as hangars for Japanese planes had been bombed in neat
rows by the United States beginning inI944. The large bomb craters offered plots in which
55
to plant trees in the midst of the cement parking lot. The homes are built upon the cement
area, bordered by rows of coconut, breadfruit, pandanus and banana trees. In one
particularly large crater uplifted slabs of broken cement encircle lush banana trees that
surround a simple plywood home.
Figure 25. Trees now grow in World War II bomb craters on Wotje Atoll.
Figure 26. j\ Wotje resident rolls senrut in front of his home
in the main village situated upon on the former Japanese hangar.
56
In examples like this, the past is tangible, yet, for the most part, the cultural
significance of connections to land, clan, and history are largely intangible and certainly not
readily accessible to visitors to overpopulated urban centers. Many of the first-time visitors
to Majuro complain about the garbage, the densely populated areas, and the surprise of
discovering a busy urban environment in the "middle ofthe nowhere." What I hope to
convey in the contextual description of Majuro to follow is its feel, its part in the larger
scheme of the Marshall Islands, and its connection with larger, dominant global powers. I
hope to evince an appreciation for the rich, intangible histories that comprise place·
according to local understandings and values.
Each building constructed, each grave that is dug, is made on land that holds
multiple meanings and memories. The land, its owners, its former inhabitants, the relations
between owners and current inhabitants, gatherings held there -- each inch on such a small
place is infused with memory and meaning, relationships to the past viewed and re 
experienced in the present. Layer upon layer ofmemories, like coral skeletons, constitute
the Marshall Islands.
In the description to follow I hope to create an appreciation for the apparent
physical limitations ofatoll life, but consequently the nearly infinite possibilities of site 
specific meaning and memory-making that arise uniquely on a well-crowded, coral atoll.
Creating a Space
My description not only locates the atoll in the minds ofreaders, but in effect creates
Majuro, given the general Western unfamiliarity with the nation or its capitol. Creating a
space for alternative forms ofrepresentation is an equally formidable task. I attempt to write
57
in a less formal tone with accessible vocabulary, so that the people portrayed here will have
a greater chance ofrecognizing themselves, their islands, and their way oflife. Pacific
Islanders involved in academic pursuits very rightly claim that most ofwhat they read
written by outsiders in not only inaccessible or irrelevant, but they often cannot even
recognize themselves in these representations (Smith 1999). I don't presume to claim that
my representation will coincide with local understandings. My hope is that my "thick"
description (Geertz 1973) ofthis most thin place will be accessible and recognizable to the
Marshallese community who call Majuro their home.
MEJRO MEJIN ARMIJ
Locating Majuro can be a challenging task; coral atolls appear as specks in the vast
blueness ofmaps. Even Marshallese people acknowledge this difficulty with a sense of
humor, and even irony. ''Where the Hell is Majuro?" t-shirts are commonly sold and worn
around the nation. Dri-Mqjo/ [Marshallese people] are accustomed to the ignorance of
outsiders about their region. The Marshalls' newspaper quips about the nation's identity
problem in Washington D.C., where "American leaders and officials say informed things
like, 'Marshall Islands? Where's that?'" (Marshall Islands ]o1lf1Ja/33(20): 10). It is generally
more shocking to discover awareness instead ofignorance ofthe RMI.
Mejro [Majuro, literally "many faces'l is an atoll well-known among Marshallese
people for the many and diverse "faces" to be encountered there. Majuro is a gathering
spot where people ofall clans, races, and nationalities intertwine. It is the place where
Marshallese go to see and be seen. The ancient idiom, Mejro mejin armiJ [Majuro is the face
58
of the people] remains applicable today since Majuro is the capital and most populated atoll
ofthe Republic ofthe Marshall Islands.
Surrounded by ocean and lagoon, Majuro inspires its residents and its guesrs with a
great variety of emotions, meanings, and memories. It's pleasures and pains are
commemorated in many popular songs. By outsiders, Majuro has been described in terms
ofits beauty, its gaudiness, its strategic location, its kind-hearted residents, and its leaders.
A former Peace Corps volunteer once described Majuro as "an odd blend of Gauguin and
K-mart... a place where you bounce from glory to squalor a dozen times a day, so often
that you wonder ifthere isn't a linkage between the two, some weird symbiosis between
lagoons and diapers, sunsets and beer cans" (Kluge 1991: 44, 46). Fanny Stevenson, the
wife ofRobert Louis Stevenson, admiringly described Majuro as "a pearl ofatolls"
(Browning 1972) during their travels through Micronesia a century earlier. In the one
hundred years between these contrasting descriptions lies a history ofthree colonial
administrations and finally, self-governing autonomy. Majuro - the ancient volcano, now
coral atoll- has transformed for millennia, but the developments ofrecent decades appear
most dramatic: "Everything is different now. Language has changed, culture has changed,
people have changed, living has changed. Everything has changed. The ocean is still the
same" (E. Latak, interview withJ. Walsh 1994).
In the Beginning
Geologists explain the formation ofatolls by describing the build-up of coral polyp
skeletons in warm surface waters along the outer fringes ofan ancient sunken volcano.
Marshallese descnbe their beginnings differently:
59
Long ago when all was water, Lwa, the uncreated, was alone in the sea.
"M1JtmIJJ11I1JI," he said, and islands rose out ofthe water. "Mmmmmm," he said, and
reefs and sandbanks were created.
"Mmmmmm," he said, and plants appeared. Again he uttered the creative word, and
birds came into being.
Then Lowa made four gods for the four directions in the sky and a white gul1to fly
encircling the heavens forever.
Iroof drilik was the one who was to preside over the west, the land ofEb, and to be
in charge oflife and increase and all living things.L~omranwas put in charge of
the east. The people say he is the one "who twists the daybreak." Lrok was given
the south and told to regulate the winds. Laliliktm is the north-man, who brings
death.
Then Lowa sent a man into the world whose name is forgotten. This man put all
the islands in a basket (a big i woven of coconut leaves) and started to put them in
order. He put the Carolines to the westward, where they are today, and arranged
the Marshalls in two long chains in their proper order. One island fell out of the
basket, but he did not stop to put it straight. This is Namodrik, which is still out of
line. The last two to be put in their places were Jaluit and Ebon. Then he threw
away the basket. It floated here and there in the ocean and then stopped and
became the island named Kili. It is named this for the kilok that formed it.
When Lwalooked down and saw that the world was now ready, he sent two
tattooers into the island to mark every living thing with its own mark. And every
plant and fish and bird, every animal, every man and woman beats these special
marks today (Leach 1956).
Lowa's creation is today known as the Republic of the Marshall Islands. The entire
Republic consists of approximately seventy square miles ofland spread over either 750,000
square miles ofocean (RMI StatistualAbstracts 1996: 3) (Appendix A). The tota/land atea is
approximately that ofWashington, D.C., or Ni'ihau, Hawai'i. The RMI is among the most
urban (66%), youthful (over 42% ate under age fifteen) and densely populated ofall Pacific
island nations (Connell 1991). Over thir(y-three thousand ofthe fifty thousand Marshall
Islanders reside on less thanfive square miles ofland, on two of the total thirty-three coral
atolls and islands that constitute the nation. These two sites ate Majuro Atoll (3.75 square
60
miles; 23,676 people) and Ebeye Island, Kwajalein Atoll (.14 square miles; approximately
100 people) (RMI Statistical Abstracts 2(00).
I Marshall Islands I
180
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Figure 27. lap of the Marshall fslands.
Source: www.discoveryschool.com
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~igure28. Map of Majuro Atoll
(csu.edu Dirk Spennemann)
o
I Ul
Majuro atoll is located approximately seven degrees north ofthe Equator. It
consists of 65 islets, (the US Navy constructed a road that connects fourteen on the South
61
side); a lagoon area ofapproximately 113 sq. miles; and a land area of3.75 square miles
(RMI Statistical Abstracts 1996: 4). It's largest islet, approximately one-half mile wide, is
named after the atoll itself, as is the custom on most Marshallese atolls. Today, Majuro,
Majuro, is called Laura - a tie to the US military code names assigned to the various islets
during World War II. Legend claims actress Lauren Bacall as its inspiration, while Jarrej?
was named Rita in honor of Rita Hayworth. In truth, each islet of the atoll was given a
woman's name as code for the US Navy occupation ofFebruary 1944. Majuro was labeled,
"Sundance."
Laura
o
Figure 29. Map ofLaura, Majuro.
N
L
t
Laura is the original prehistoric settlement ofMajuro, and the largest islet of the
atoll, located at its western end. Laura has been continuously occupied for over 2,000 years
(Riley 1987:248). In 1947 Alexander Spoehr conducted research for an ethnography ofthe
7 Jarrej, sometimes spelled Darrit, is spelled Djarrot on the maps in this section reflecting a confusing array of
non-standardized place-names. (See Appendix B) "Rita" is the military code-name and locally used title for
the island once called Jarrej.
62
village (Majuro: A Village in the Marshall Islands), while the US Army initiated its settlement
on the opposite, eastern end of the atoll in what they called D-U-D, for the three islands
that comprise it Jarrej, Uliga, and Delap. In 1947, the entire Marshallese population of
Majuro all in Laura village and Ronron, numbered between 837 to 1,214. fifty-five years
later, Majuro's population is nearly twenty-five times that figure.
Laura is a busy, productive village whose residents are still able grow local foods
such as taro, breadfruit, papaya, pandanus to supplement imported staples ofrice and
canned meats. In the early 1990s, 92% of the Marshallese diet depended upon imported
foods (Kiste 1993:77). Schools, churches, small stores, family compounds in the midst of
lush greenness, give this village at the farthest end of the Majuro road, a strong sense of
community that is still tied to their land.
Figure 30. Laura Beach.
(photo courtesy of MIVA, ©2001.)
63
Today, Laura is (still) famous for its wide, lovely beach. Navy officers bragged that
no other site in the Pacific had beaches as fine as Majuro's (US Navy Civil Adrninistration
Handbook 1950:5) At low tide, it's common to find old coca-cola bottles, presumably from
the many American soldiers who enjoyed the islands and beaches ofMajuro. Many
celebrities came to the Majuro to entertain soldiers, among then Bob Hope, Betty Hutton,
Frances Langford, Carol Landis, Jackie Cooper, Martha Tilton, and Jack Benny (US Navy
Civil Administration Handbook 1950:7).
Micronesia's longest road begins in Laura, continues for nearly thirty miles to end
in Rita. Thirty miles ofpaved road connect islands once accessible by foot at low tide.
Navy Seabees built the original roads that were later enhanced during the US
administration of the islands. In places tills single long road exists on a band ofland less
than ten yards wide, too narrow for flora -- lagoon on one side, ocean on the other. When
the high waves come, the road is covered with debris.
Today Laura is home not only to a vibrant Marshallese community, but also to a
Chinese garment factory and housing compound. In 1997, the People's Republic of China
(PRC) brought employees to Majuro where they were housed in a shelter in which they
worked, ate, slept and played volleyball, unable to leave.
The Marshall Islands had established relations with China in 1991. Its embassy
opened in 1996. Fisheries agreements, economic assistance, development grants, and the
garment factory are products ofthe accord between the two nations. Yet, disappointed by
PRC funding, the RMI sacrificed its relationship with PRC to pursue ties with a generous
Republic ofChina (ROC) that was desperately seeking international political recognition.
64
When the relationship with Taiwan was established in late 1998, and the PRe Embassy
staff left Majuro, the garment workers were left behind to fend for themselves by selling
plastic trinkets door-to-door to Marshallese consumers.
Driving from Laura, eastward, vehicles are scarce and the road winds through
jungle - a paved path lined with coconut, breadfruit, and flame trees. It is shady, cool, and
quiet. Residents along the route sell local foods at small produce stands attended by their
children, especially on Sundays, a favorite day for residents in the more crowded urban
areas to drive out to Laura for picnics. Most often passengers to and from Laura sit in the
back of a pick-up truck, enjoying the breeze and company during the hour-long drive from
town.
The communities that live in the twenty miles between Laura and the airport are
small and scattered. Passing through Wo/fl and ./ljeltake, one passes a crook at the southern
point ofthe atoll, and reaches a narrow stretch where the Japanese government built a
commemorative monument at a site known as the Peace Pink. The cement walled structure
erected in 1984 marks the violent conclusion of the Japanese colonial period in the
Marshalls by honoring theJapanese and Marshallese who died during World War II.
N
1
1
Figure 31. Map showing the location of the Japanese Peace Park Monument.
65
len an dri-]apan Uapanese times]
A Japanese military presence in Micronesia began in 1914 when naval forces
occupied the German administered Micronesian islands with British encouragement
predicated by the Anglo-Japanese Alliance of 1902. Japan occupied all German islands
north of the equator while Britain planned to control all German islands south of the
equator (Fluker 1981: 37). By 1915, the Japanese created six administrative regions with
main headquarters located on Truk (Chuuk) in the Carolines. The Japanese presence was
significantly established long before the League of Nations mandated the islands to
Japanese in 1920 - a result of the Versailles negotiations after Germany's defeat in World
War 1.
When Japan first entered the region in the late 1890s during German rule,Japanese
shopkeepers and settlers bolstered German economic development. In the early 1900s the
66
most influential trading company in Micronesia was the Nanjro Bocki KabHsbikigaisba, the
South Seas Trading Company, known as Nanbo or NBK. As a merger ofthe two most
profitable trading companies in the region, Nanbo by 1913 controlled eighty percent of all
trade in German Micronesia (peattie 1988: 24). With headquarters onJaluit Atoll in the
Marshalls, they replaced the Germans in the copra trade and they worked to develop the
larger Micronesian region. "Commercial fishing, inter-island mail, freight transportation,
and passenger service, ... together provided the basis ofa commercial network that by
World War I had gained a near monopoly oftrade in central and western Micronesia"
(peattie 1988: 25). NBK is still in Micronesia today, although to a far less extent. The
locals exchanged copra, turtle shell, and mother-of-pearl, which were sent to Japan for
processing for cloth, axes, cooking utensils, weapons and liquor (peattie 1988: 21).
A fascinating trend that developed through these interactions was the influx of
Japanese nationals as trade and profits gradually increased. In 1915, there were only some
220 Japanese in Micronesia (Fluker 1981: 40). Another estimate is lower: "On the eve of
World War I there were scarcely more than one hundredJapanese living in Micronesia,
divided almost evenly between the western Carolines and the Marianas" (peattie 1988: 25).
With either estimate, it is clear that the presence ofJapanese nationals in this early period
was more limited than their economic success suggested. The incredible increase in
Japanese population in Micronesia and the subsequent cultural influence were yet to be
seen.
In August of 1919 the recommendation of the Supreme Council ofAllied Powers
that the former German islands north of the equator be awarded to Japan as a Class C
67
mandate was approved. Japan was required to demilitarize the territory (in contrast to the
US possessions ofHawai'i, Guam, and the Philippines which were fully militarized) and its
influence in the Pacific was strictly limited to Micronesia. The mandate was approved in
December of 1920. In March of1922 the withdrawal ofJapanese naval garrisons was
finally completed.
The civil administration, known as the South Seas Bureau, or Nanyo-chO, maintained
its capital at Koror in the Palau Islands and the governor's administrative responsibilities
were divided into five departments. These were concerned with: local administration and
public works; police, prisons, and sanitation; public revenue and taxation; commerce and
industry; and communications including posts, telegraphs and shipping (Clyde 1935: 67 
68). There were six branch offices located at Saipan in the Marianas, at Yap, Palau, Truk,
and Ponape in the Carolines; and at Jaluit Atoll in the Marshalls.
In the 1920's, the Japanese presence was further established as the government
opened three-year schools, which taught Japanese language in the first through third
grades. The Japanese, using native labor, also built roads, water catchments and harbors.
life under the Mandate was systematic, well organized and efficiently administered, ifnot
in accordance with the guidelines ofthe League ofNations' mandate. Discrepancies
between Japanese self-interest and its mandate obligations, particularly in the areas of
native education and labor, were obvious. Within five years, the Japanese population had
grown from approximately two hundred in 1915 to nearly 4,000. By 1944, the Japanese
population increased over 2000 percent to 77,980 while the Micronesian population
increased by just under six percent during this same time period (Fluker 1981 :40).
68
Certainly this rapid)ncrease in Japanese migration did not reflect the intent ofthe
League of Nations mandate. In fact, in the later years ofthe mandate, the population of the
Japanese was so great that the League ofNations Commission on Mandates became
concerned with possible annexation of the territory. The commission was also concerned
with rumors ofJapanese militarization of the region. It was impossible to verify the rumors
as foreigners were all but prohibited through bureaucratic means that required lengthy
paperwork and the pre-approval ofall traders and merchants by Tokyo before entering the
region. This inconvenience virtually halted all foreign trade and Western influence and also
effectively limited external surveillance.
Improvements in facilities to foster trade ultimately aided the Japanese in the
military use ofthe islands. The administration systematically constructed docks, airstrips
and roads that were used as stepping-stones for Japan's surprise attack on Pearl Harbor in
1941. There were very few defensive fortifications built, though the sturdily constructed
school buildings were later used in this capacity. In fact, the greatest role Micronesia played
in the war was its function as a way station that permittedJapan to dominate the Pacific.
The militarization of the islands served as a successfulJapanese offensive, rather than as a
defensive stronghold.
The Japanese Peace Park memorial is a site for picnics, family parties, and late night
drinking. Just a bit further down the road is a curve that marks the end of the Majuro
runway, at which point the road follows just feet from the lagoon until one reaches the
airport terminal and parking areas.
69
Amata Kabua International Airport
N
l
.1
Figure 33. Map showing Majuro International airport
approximately ten miles from Uliga.
Approaching Majuro by air, particularly just before touching ground, is an act of
faith. Looking from the window seat or across the aisles through the opposite window, one
only views ocean - all land disappears. The experience, to me, is often surreal, having
approached through this apparendy empty vast blueness of sky and sea, descending upon
the extended airstrip that is the main road ofMajuro, and yet still surrounded by the open
blue. Out ofthis, a fantastic, busding, urban metropolis emerges.
The Majuro International Airport is named after the nation's first President and
lrot?Jhphp Amata Kabua. The US Navy Seabees built the original airport on Delap, so
Majuro could be a jumping off spot for people like John Glenn who flew the bombers that
strafed Japanese-held atolls daily during 1943 and 1944. As larger and larger planes needed
longer and longer runways, the current site was selected and enlarged with landfill so that
by the 1970s Continental's Air Micronesia flights could safely land. Today, Air Mic and
Aloha Airlines are the sole international commercial carriers in the Marshalls. Three return
Air Mic island-hopper flights per week pause at Majuro while traveling between Guam and
70
Honolulu while Aloha operates one return flight between Majuro and Honolulu weekly. A
large plane lands at least once a day, every day.
Figure 34. Aerial view of Majuro (Delap, Uliga, Rita)
Courtesy of David Huskins.
..~.
~:...-.-;.._"""~"~-.. '-'-~.~-~~~-'.~.-...,,=-,;~.----.:~,...~--=--.'
Figure 35. Majuro from air just before landing.
Ocean side at top, lagoon at bottom.
Beyond serving as a site for the exchange of passengers, and the resources they
carry, the airport is infonnation exchange central. It is a place to see and be seen, to send
71
and receive cargo, packages, coolers; to hangout and watch the foreign passengers briefly
disembark before continuing West to Kwajalein, Kostae, Pohnpei, Chuuk, and Guam, or
East to Honolulu; to watch restrained farewells and exuberant greetings, to witness
American couples leaving with Marshallese children. It also makes visible the international
travels ofRMI leaders who arrive and depart through the VIP lounge, separate from the
other travelers.
Airports have a central function in the redistribution ofresoutces and the
maintenance ofcultutal and family ties to migrant communities. In my experience on
Majuto, not a week goes by without two or more trips to the airport to see relatives off, to
find someone to hand-carty a letter, to collect relatives or packages sent from relatives
through friends, or to send a package for relatives through friends. Without actually going
to the airport, the process of sending packages is a major part ofone's weekly activities  
gsthetingitems, finding a box, packing and taping them secutely, identifying people who
are traveling, and finally meeting them at the airport for check in, then calling Honolulu to
tell someone to meet the plane (at 2:30 am). Only Continental and Aloha airlines can
document the incredible amount ofgoods exchanged daily on their Micronesian routes,
and the crucial significance ofairports as sites ofglobal exchange.
At the airport small handicraft businesses thrive, and on Saturday mornings the
restaurant and bat are filled with hungry passengers and their retinue. "Where are you
going? When will you return?" and "Will you hand-carty for me?" are followed by
handshakes, not hugs, and goodbyes are proffered from dark glasses that hide private tears.
72
Figure 36. A farewell at Majuro airport.
Loved ones are loaded with handicrafts and flowers for the journey.
(Dennis, Komju, and Daisy Momotaro.)
The main road down the atoll is only a very few feet narrower than the coral on
which is sits; the road is particularly narrow where it parallels the airport runway. The
runway is used to gather rainwater for the islands' residents, since rainfall is unpredictable
(6-11 inches per month) and inconsistent from year to year. From the runway, it is pumped
into a nearby reservoir to be used during water hours, when the Marshall Islands Water and
Sewerage Company (MWSC) pumps highly chlorinated water to Rita at the far end ofthe
atoll.
Leaving the airport and continuing into town, one first passes the reservoir at the
end of the runway, and then follows a green tree-lined route dotted with small take-out
stores, apartments, video rentals, and a few restaurants.
73
Figure 37. The road in Long Island.
Long Island
Long Island is Majuro's suburban strip. Home to many American residents and
Majuro elites, Long Island is green, fairly quiet, and offers an exceptional view ofthe
'unconnected' (by road) islands ofMajuro across the lagoon. It is a peaceful place away
from the densely populated area of town. The US Embassy, its employees' luxurious (by
Majuro standards) housing, and its private tennis courts are located here. As this part of the
atoll began to develop into an American suburb of sorts, the larger grocery and retail stores
opened businesses. In 1994, Robert Reimers Enterprises (RRE) established its stote in this
area. Just across the street, on the lagoon side, Momotaro Corporation (operated by my
Marshallese sponsor family, Dennis and Daisy Momotaro) followed suit and added a
laundry mat. Further down the road, closer to Rairok, Gibson's opened it's own Quick
Stop, a smaller version ofits main store in town. Residents no longer needed to drive to
town to shop. The community in Long Island thus became a true suburb.
74
Figure 38.
Figure 39. Robert Reimers Enterprises, Rairok.
From Rairok toward town the population grows gradually more dense. At a very
narrow juncture of islands, the dump begins on the oceanside, continuing as an extended
wide stretch of landfill for approximately 3 miles. I f you stop to throw a bag of garbage
75
into the dump, often a group ofyoung children will offer to do the dirty task in return for a
small payment-juon kwoda [one quarter].
Driving on, one passes the Stone House, a Japanese restaurant, (on the lagoon side)
and the numerous signs with Chinese characters and English words advertising car rentals,
take-out cuisine, and rooms for rent. The writing is distinctive, and the signs are evidence
of the growing population of Chinese and Taiwanese nationals, including some who
purchased RMI passports, and now reside on Majuro.
Figure 41. Advertisements for foreign owned businesses.
76
Figure 42. Chinese operated take out store.
Just past the Stone House lies the uninhabited home of Majuro's late lroo/iaplap,
Joba Kabua, the older brother of Amata Kabua, son of Lejelon Kabua. In line with the
custom of deference and silent respect toward chiefs, the road was diverged deliberately to
prevent traffic from passing indiscreetly and disrespectfully in front of the lroo/s home.
Joba's curyc
77
Manit [Custom]
In traditional times, lro,!! (chiefs) commanded complete authority over the lives of
the commoners, or kajur. Marshallese society consisted of royalty and commoners. The
word kajur literally means 'strength,' emphasizing the mutual dependency ofchiefs and
commoners. Within the lro'!J class existed various levels ofauthority, from the highest, an
lro,!!laplap down to the Bwirak, the offspring ofan lro,!! (male) and a commoner woman. As
a matrilineal society, Marshallese inherit their status and clan membership through their
mothers. Female lro,!! (Lerotj) are the true holders ofthe authority that is delegated to
brothers and sons to administer as lro'!J. Today, the word lroojis conflated with Christianity,
since the first missionaries translated the term as Lord. Chiefly succession is based on
historical understandings of the sacred origins of the islands, and the origins ofthe chiefs
who are descendants ofcreator gods, and sacred sisters (pollack 1976).
Unlike other Micronesian cultures, where structures for community gathering
created a shared space for decision-making and discussion, the strict hierarchical structure
ofpower in the Marshalls prevented formal communal decision-making. An lro,!!held
ultimate power and could enforce his proclamations through the heads ofthe various
family lineages on his land. Family lineage heads are generally men, since women typically
designate administrative authority to their brothers. Alabs serve as liaisons between the
chiefs and the commoners, limiting direct social interaction, and thus fostering the prestige
and mystery ofchiefs.
Ethno-historical accounts generally describe Marshallese chiefs as autocratic
(Mason 1947; Spoehr 1949; Erdland 1914; Yanaihara 1939). lro,!!held the power oflife and
death over the people who lived on their land. They were accorded extraordinary
78
deference, and commoners were only allowed to approach on their knees, heads as low to
the ground as possible (Erland 1914, in Pollock 1976: 94).
Respect for authority is no longer expressed by crawling, though lowered heads and
postures are common in an Irooj's presence. The parents of a generation born fifty years
ago taught their children to walk their bicycles when passing an Iroojs residence.
When I was young, when we would ride our bikes past an Iroojs house, or ifwe
were passing by with our friends, we would be very quiet, even stopping to walk
our bicycles, as we neared his place. Our parents told us this was how to respect
the Irooj, and we must not yell or scream or sing or play in front ofhis house. We
couldn't eat anything or help ourselves to the food there either, since it was rude to
eat the food from the chiefin front ofhis home ifhe didn't give it to you. When
we passed his house and were far enough so that we couldn't be heard, we would
resume our playing, or get back on our bikes (Dennis Momotaro, Interview withJ.
WaIsh 1994).
Today, these prohibitions are frequendy ignored or neglected. The curve at "Joba's
place" has been redesigned to be less severe, given the number of fatal accidents that
occurred at that curve over the years.
Passing from Joba's former residence toward town, one crosses the highest point
ofMajuro. Built with Japanese funds in 1983, the bridge stands twelve feet above sea level
at high tide (Stanley 1994: 64) The bridge is a favorite recreational jumping spot for local
teens; my former Assumption students were known for celebrating and surfing there and
sometimes took me with them. Among other conveniences, the bridge offers fishermen a
relatively safe, clear, and convenient southern passage to the ocean. Because Majuro'S only
other ocean pass is situated in the northwest comer ofthe atoll, the bridge pass saves
tremendous amounts oftime and gasoline for small boats heading south to Amo and MiJi.
When continuing on toward town the family compound of the late President
Amata Kabua lies on the iar [lagoon1shore just beyond the bridge. An impressive speed
79
bump rises directly in front of the shrub-shielded entrance. With the abundance of cars
today on Majuro (and a dearth of bicycles), speed bumps have become an alternative
means of ensuring respect and recognition. Besides their appearance in front of schools,
they are constructed outside the homes of chiefs, government ministers, and some local
businessmen. After the results of the 1991 elections were announced, three new speed
bumps were immediately erected in front of senators' homes, to the surprise of Majuro
drivers
8
• This speed bump's significance is collectively understood, though not frequently
vocalized as in this contemporary illustration of proper behavior in front of a chiefs
residence:
When we pass Amata's place, I tell the children to put their snacks down when we
are sitting in the back of the pick-up, and to be quiet until we pass. I want them to
know to respect their Iroo) (R. K. interview with J. Walsh 1994).
Figur 44.
_..... ---
The grave of lroqjlaplap and President Amata Kabua.
8 The new road project eliminated clips and speed bumps on the main road from town to the airport, except
at schools
80
Just past Amata's place lies the "old new dock," distinguished from the "new old
dock" in Uliga. Matson shipping container storage, an oil tank farm, the Chinese fishing
base, and Tobolar, the copra processing plant are all situated along the old new dock,
witness to international trade ofimported goods, and exported coconut products and fish.
Like airports, docks are significant sites of intersection with regional and international
commodities, forces, and institutions.
Figure 45. Chinese fishing base at new old dock, Majuro
The incredible volume of trade goods entering the Marshall Islands is clearly
evidenced in its increasing trade imbalance. Over the past decade, annual RMI export
revenue has paid for only ten to twenty percent ofthe nation's imports (US Census Bureau
data in Marshall Islands Journal 33:19:11, 32; Economist 364(8282): 34) In 2000, the RMI spent
$60 million on imports and earned $8 million in exports; the following year was more
typical -- the RMI exports totaled $5.5 million and imports totaled $26.6 million (US
Census Bureau data in Marshall Islands Journal 33:19:11,32). I have yet to see an economic
81
report that documents US benefits from the dependency enabled by the Compacts ofFree
Association.
In the Gertnan era, copra skewed trade tallies in the Marshalls' favor while copra-
makers thrived on the revenue earned from this primary cash crop. After World War II,
the Marshalls' desire to hold tight to its exceptional copra income and Kwajalein taxes led
to its separation from the rest ofthe Trust Territory in the 1970s and separate Compact
negotiations.
Copra and Tobolar
According to legend:
Tobolar was born ofwoman, but different from all other offspring. He was small
and green; his eyes and mouth were close together - a coconutl Tobolar was the
first coconut tree. His older brother was jealous ofthe attention their mother,
Limokare, gave to Tobolar. But Tobolar promised the mother that although he
looked strange he would be the most useful ofall his siblings. He would be eaten,
worn and used, by the entire world (Downing et al. 1992).
The bounty ofthe coconut is not only evident in the multiple and varied useful
products that are critical to life on islands, but also its ability to provide producers with
access to imported resources. Copra links family histories, economics, traditional politics
and tributes with foreign markets, commodities, and imported goods. The generous
Tobolar is a tremendous resource, even in a declining twenty-first century oil market.
Tobolar is the name ofthe government owned, yet privately operated, processing
plant for dried coconut meat, or copra. Copra has played a long and integral role in the
culture and history ofthe Marshall Islands and remains one of the few cash crops for
Marshallese people. The RMI on average produces 5000 tons of copra per year, but
weather conditions and shipping impact that figure as in 1995 and 1999 which resulted in
82
levels ofproduction that were the highest and lowest in over fifty years -- 7000 and under
3300 tons, respectively (Asian Development Bank Meto 2000:121). Tobolar is heavily
subsidized by the RMI national government at nearly one percent of the national GNP in
order to redistribute funds to outer island communities; even so, the average price per
pound in 2000 was fifteen cents. Contemporary copra makers earn approximately twelve
cents per pound once Tobolar deducts shipping costs from outer atolls and subtracts
tributes for 11'00/ and alab shares.
i L
Tobolar Copra Processing Authority
The formula for dividing profits among 11'Oq;; alab, and drijcrbal [workers, formerly
kty"utj has its basis in the traditional tribute systems that allowed a German administration
to collect taxes, paid for in copra, through Marshallese chiefs. Because a head tax paid for
by individuals would be difficult to determine and collect, tax districts based on traditional
land divisions were required to produce a set amount of copra as tax per year. In order to
ensure the tax was collected, the copra produced during the first half of the year went
83
toward paying the German tax. lbe lrolJ/ were responsible for its collection, and they
received a share (approximately one-third) ofthe collected copra tax in return. The dri-jcrba!
kept and sold all copra produced in the second half ofthe year, according to German
regulations, with no lrolJ/ tributes or shared deducted.
The German Era
In 1860, three years after the first foreigners -- American Protestant missionaries - 
had settled in the Marshalls, Adolph Capelle, a German, opened the first copra trading
station on Ebon, the southernmost atoll in the Marshall Islands. This was the beginning of
a period ofeconomic development in the Marshalls, led mainly by German traders. The
Germans paid Marshall Islanders German marks to plant coconut trees in rows on their
wafo and to dry and store copra. In return, Marshallese purchased clothes and iron tools.
By 1886 Germany annexed the Marshalls in an effort to expand its global influence. The
German government administered the islands through a German trading company, the
Jaluit Gessellsch'!ft that held a monopoly on trade. When the Spanish-American war ended in
1898 and Spain's Pacific territory was divided, Germany purchased the Carolines and
Northern Marianas from Spain for $4.5 million to expand its foothold in Micronesia
beyond the Marshalls (Hezel1983: 8). The remaining Spanish holdings in the Pacific, the
Philippines and Guam, were ceded to the United States.
As German influence and economic interests in whaling and copra grew stronger in
1898, missionaries and government officials settled in the region. Initially, German
administrators and traders expelled the few Japanese nationals they found trading in the
newly acquired islands of the Carolines and Northern Marianas. Later the Japanese were
84
allowed to return and resume their former activities, as their experience and efficiency were
found to benefit and stimulate economic activity.
In the early 1900's the German government, primarily motivated by economic gain,
took over direct administration of the islands. The introduction ofmoney into the
subsistence economy and the establishment of the copra trade were the greatest influences
of the German period. All ofMicronesia except Guam remained under German
occupation and administration until the advent ofWorld War I in 1914.
The practice of dividing copra profits three ways persists today. During the post
World War II US Trust Territory, courts upheld the breakdown with lrooj copra shares set
at six percent, and the alab and driierba/ combined shares at ninty-four percent
(Spennemann 2000c).
On Likiep Atoll where Adolph Capelle and Anton deBrum established a copra
plantation, the division of profits between landowners and driierbal, known as kanab on
Likiep, was fifty-fifty. Landowners had the responsibility ofproviding tools, paying copra
shipping fees, and medical expenses for the workers. As recent as 1996, this division was
publicly contested when Likiep workers supported by the eldest surviving deBrum family
member attempted to alter the arrangement for all ofLikiep so that the "Iroof' share was
,
set at one cent per pound, rather than fifty percent ofthe total (11/22/96 MIJ: 1,15).9
Continuing past Tobolor and the dock and storage areas, past The Pub, Majuro's
famous nightspot, and proceeding along a slight curve, the Capitol building gleams in the
distance like Oz at the end of the yellow-brick road. This is the beginning ofthe area of
9 Other descendenrs of Capelle and deBrwn opposed this effort
85
Majuro known as D-U-D, an abbreviated reference to the three main islands connected by
the US Navy at the close ofWorld War II: Delap, Uliga, and Darrit/Jarrej.
Figure 47. Map of Majuro.
Shaded area shows Delap, Uliga, and Jarrej (Rita).
D-U-D
Because this area is so densely populated and the central institutions of
government, power, authority, are so intimately connected within this short area, I will tum
and return to D-U-D throughout the course ofthis dissertation. The briefintroduction and
description provided here are intended only to offer a feel of the area, and an overview of
the loci ofpower as experienced in daily life on Majuro.
But first, it is important to stress that most Marshallese do not use the term "D-U-
D". It is more common to hear each island identified by name. The US military and civilian
administration coined the term to refer to the location ofits administrative and housing
district. Following local custom, I will identify particular islands when possible. I prefer to
call the center of trade, commerce, government, and population "town," rather than use
the older acronym.
86
Figure 49.
87
AnivalofAmericans
Delap, Uliga, and Jarrej (Rita] became "D-U-D" as a result ofthe arrival ofwaves
ofAmerican pilots on February 1, 1944. US interest in the Marshalls was responsible for
the preliminary taking ofTarawa Atoll, one of the bloodiest battles ofWorld War II in late
November 1943. Once taken, the lessons learned in the horrible slaughter of US Marines.
landing on coral reefs in that battle enabled the Marshalls to be overcome twice as fast and
with half the casualties ofTarawa (Alexander 1993:14). Majuro was selected as the site for
a base from which to bomb and strafe the Japanese-held Marshall Island atolls, a safer
strategy than approaching them directly from sea as had occurred at Tarawa atoll. The
necessary airstrip was immediately built along the widest portion ofDelap. (See Figure 51).
Subsequently, Majuro lagoon was filled with naval units, including submarines. Majuro
played a significant role in the Pacific Theatre in that it allowed an initial base from which
to venture out for aerial attacks on Japanese held atolls in the Marshalls, and from there, as
stepping stones across the region to Japan, in a reversal ofthe process the Japanese military
used to attack Pearl Harbor three years prior.
The crucial runway at Delap led to the establishment ofmilitary headquarters on
Majuro and the necessity of providing infrastructure to support the personnel and
equipment housed on the atoll. The Army selected Uliga as the locale for administration
and housing, then relocated the few island residents not already living there to Majuro
village (Laura) at the far west end of the atoll.
88
1. Dep;l;ndont.s Jlna
2. PlaT........
3. _. I>d1ding
4. GallO)'
5. C<aodssnq
6... Gencrat.cr Shack
7. ITC
6. Libr...,.
9. Surrll' Office
10.. Offkers Club
11. JX:Q
12. <XX)
13. F.xCQ
Figure 50. US Army at Delap, Majuro 1944.
89
That crucial runway began at what is now Gibson's shopping center and continued
to the area that is the Marshall Islands Water and Sewage Company (MWSC) today,
opposite the Outrigger Hotel. Since 1990 the open fidd that characterized this strip steadily
has been filled with multiple car dealerships, Korean and Taiwanese businesses, an
Assembly of God Church ("Part II''), a Japanese-funded auditorium/gymnasium, a Majuro
Atoll Local Government (MALGOV) building, a small shopping center that temporarily
housed a casino, a handicraft store, a construction company, and an office supply store
among a scattering ofother commercial buildings.
These devdopments mirror the availability of Compact monies and shifting
national priorities during the Amata Kabua administration. They also reflect historic
political rivalries. Ddap is also home to the majority ofgovernment offices and agencies on
Majuro. The hospital, once located on Uliga, was moved to Ddap when the Japanese
government funded its reconstruction in the early 1990s. The dominant strucrures in the
Majuro skyline -- the large, mirrored-glass, four-storied capitol building and the Nitijela
parliament chamber are situated here. Additionally, the large, shiny, "modem" Outrigger
Hotel, and Gibson's Shopping Center (both begun by Amata Kabua) are located on this
particular island Ddap experienced a massive burst of construction beginning in the early
1990s that has steadily drawn Majuro residents away from the historic "downtown" district
ofUliga, centered around the services ofRobert Reimers Enterprises, to competitors at
Delap. This competition is much more than business acumen; the roots ofthis rivalry lay in
the history ofMajuro's chiefly lines and a distinctive division ofauthority and land rights at
the turn ofthe twentieth century.
90
Figure 52. Gibson's development area, 1994.
Figure 53 RRE "Downtown."
Historic Divisions
Marshallese know that Amata Kabua as lroojiaplap, held control over the land rights
for Delap. He was able to make his land available for numerous public and private
91
enterprises during the course of his presidency. While this is a great offering for the nation,
particularly where land titles and leases are hotly contested and often constrain
development projects, it also ensured that long-term lease payments would ultimately also
be of financial gain to the President and his family.
At least five generations prior to Amata Kabua's leadership, the lroqjLerok served
as the hereditary lroqj of Majuro atoll. Amata Ka.bua's mother (farjikit) was the eldest of
her generation directly descended from Lerok. Her eldest son, Joba, (whose house is
responsible for the curve in the road) exercised authority over her land before authority
was transferred to Amata at his death. Since Amata's death, the eldest son Ourelang
92
Zedekiah, current speaker ofthe Nitijela) ofTarjikit's younger sister (Lerooj Atarna) now
exercis.es authority over the same lands.
The family line described above controls only half of the land holdings on Majuro;
they are descendents ofLerok's nephew Rimi. The remaining land on Majuro is under the
direction ofa corporate landholding group commonly known as Twenty-Twenty, but more
accurately recognized as the descendents ofLerok's nephew Jebrik.
I
•
"'''
JIEIIIlI~
LUkU''''tIIU
1
I
I
I
,
,
I
t
9
J
Figure 55. "Succession ofparamount chiefs of Majuro."
(Spoehr 1949:83).
93
Before his death, lrooj Lerok divided his land between his sisters' sons who were his
lroqj edik [literally, small chief; liaisons and administrators). The child of the elder sister was
Rimi; the son ofthe younger sister was namedJebrik. After Lerok's death the two battled
for total control of the atoll, with Remi's nephew, Kaibuki, continuing the battle with
Jebrik for years (Spoehr 1949; Mason 1947). Early Marshallese missionary converts sent
from Ebon to Majuro wrote accounts ofthe battles and their dangerous attempts to
negotiate peace in their letters to the American missionaries (Bliss 1906).
Ultimately, the Germans prohibited internal wars among chiefs in the islands, thus
fixing the distribution ofland ofMajuro. A direct line of descent continued for both Rimi
and Kaibuke's families, though successors had to be named twice in the Jebrik line, due to
a lack ofdirect heirs to the lroojtitle. In 1947, Langlan led Remi's line and Jitiam headed
Jebrik's. The hostilities and competition between the two lines were still strong (Spoehr
1949).
The two lineages were known to compete for recognition among the Navy visitors
and commanders. Langlan's side considered themselves the true owners of Majuro, having
held continuous possession and a direct line ofdescent since lroqjLerok's time. Jitiam's
selection as paramount chief of the Jebrik line is not without precedence. A lack ofheirs
frequently resulted in the selection ofan alternative heir to continue the family line. In
Jitiam's case, the timing ofJitiam's designation and the legitimizing influence of the
American administrators, who may have been fooled or influenced by Jitiam's followers,
.aroused suspicion (Spoehr 1949; Tobin 1953).
94
Jitiam's followers organized an executive committee composed oftwenty men and
twenty women (Twenty-Twenty) -- the only political association on the atoll. They
operated in contrast to Langlan's "feudal administration," in an efficient and enthusiastic
manner, non-characteristic of the more 'traditional' collaborati"e methods (Spoehr
1949:91). The competition and division between the two groups was manifest in separate
cooperative stores, leaders, the division oflabor for community activities such as school
construction, and even in the greeting and entertaining ofvisitors. The US Navy publicly
acknowledged both Jitiam and Langian, often being entertained in separate parties and
ceremonies by the groups. The presence of the US Navy and the opportunities for
handicraft sales to the soldiers increased economic rivalries and a desire for political
recognition. Distinct ways ofinteracting with the foreigners, revealed subtly in Spoehr's
evaluative descriptions, contrast the democratic structure ofJitiam's group with the
hierarchical organization ofLanglan's group. Similar distinctions continue through the
present in references to the descendents of these two groups.
Land holdings of the two groups are scattered throughout the atoll. The atoll is not
divided into two large divisions, but rather, wafo are scattered into small clusters ofvarious
ownership throughout. The historic political and land divisions that were strengthened
under the early US administration at Laura in the creation of the cooperative stores and
subsequent village competitions is still felt to this day, and continues to playa role in the
political maneuverings ofchiefs, commoners, businessmen, and elected officials.
When individuals have political or economic conflicts with the Kabua family, they
sometimes seek to locate themselves on land belonging to Twenty-Twenty, and vice-versa.
95
For example, the relocation ofRobert Reimers Enterprises from Delap (Kabua land) to
Uliga (Twenty-Twenty land) in the 1970s resulted from political disputes and economic
competition between Robert Reimers and Amata Kabua. Similarly, shortly after the signing
ofthe Compact of Free Association, the deceased President gradually relocated TT era
government offices from Twenty-Twenty land in Uliga to Delap. The US role in
supporting the "democratic" Twenty-Twenty, while enriching Iroof is yet another ofthe US
ambivalent and conflicting interests that impact Marshallese understandings ofAmerican
and Marshallese authority.
Today, in central Majuro where the land holdings of either group are less scattered
and more linear, historic land divisions and disputes are contemporarily re-enacted and
recreated on a physical plane with two polarities - the Kabua-affiliated businesses and
government buildings in Delap, and the "opposition" (Twenty-Twenty/Jebrik) associated
offices and businesses in Uliga and Rita. The development ofDUD reflects this historic
tug-of-war. Land remains the basis of all political power in the Marshall Islands.
Assumption
At the western tip ofUIiga, Assumption Mission (Mon Bada [Father's house]) is
located in a series ofbright yellow buildings accented in deep red. Assumption Cathedral
and schools are situated on land that LeroojTatjikit (the mother ofAmataKabua) offered
to Fr. Leonard Hacker, SJ. to establish this school and church in September of1954
(HezeI1991: 277). Tatjikit, also known as Dorothy, was among the first converts to
Catholicism, marking a division among the chiefly ranks who were almost unanimously
96
affiliated with the Marshalls' first Christian church established by the American Board of
Commissions for Foreign Missions in 1857.
Figure 56. Assumption 1960s.
TIPI photo archive #2783-11.
Figure 57. Assumption Church, 1994.
97
Assumption is the home ofthe Catholic Church in the nation, which has small
communities on eight atolls, (Majuro, Kwajalein, Arno, Likiep, Namorik,Wo~e,Jaluit,
AilingIaplap) and a disproportionate representation in elite circles ofMajuro. Assumption is
the site ofthe first Catholic mission, a symbol ofprivilege and prestige, and a sourCe for
western discourses ofdemocracy and human rights, spread through the education of the
nation's elites. The formative community ofMarshallese Catholics comes from Likiep
where the descendants ofEuropeans Capelle and deBrurn were among the first to receive a
Catholic education. The democratizing effect ofmission education enhanced oppositions
between traditional authorities and Western educated cornmoners.
Like Assumption, Uliga is my home in the Marshalls. While employed at the
Museum, I would walk the back road to and from work each day. While a Jesuit Volunteer,
I walked it to reach the since demolished Social Service Building where I taught aerobics.
On Saturday mornings I'd walk it to the Post Office to send letters home and chat with
friends also shopping at MON Roberl [Robert Reimers Enterprises; RRE].
I walked the back road to the Reimers' house to play piano. I stopped to
photograph the children I played with each day along my walk. I threw rocks at the same
dogs that came to me each day, coming and going. I remember walking home on weekend
nights with my former JIV roommates holding rented videos from DAR after eating pizza
out. We often joined friends for beers at Uliga's Charlie's Tavern.
Perhaps the most exhilarating are memories of climbing the water tower -- our
favorite adventure. It offered such an exhilarating perspective when we were bogged down
98
in papers, difficult teaching situations, and homesickness. It offered elevation, inspiration,
and an opportunity to see Majuro relative to the endless vast ocean -- to feel my own
concerns shrink into that sea. Nothing compares to watching the sun rise gradually out of
the ocean, shade-by-shade, completely unobstructed, from a two hundred foot water tower
on a coral atoll. But you'll have to take my word for it. Majuro's three water towers, one
each in Delap, Uliga, and Rita, were removed in 1997.
Sunrise from the Uliga water tower
facing North toward Rita, 1994.
Fifty years prior, the landscape of Uliga was more drastically altered. In 1943 when
the Navy decided to send the native inhabitants to Majuro and set up their own small
headquarters at the East end of the atoll, Uliga was cleared for the necessary military
structures administration buildings, just as Delap was cleared to construct the Navy
runway. The Navy built a dock at Uliga (today, the "new old dock") that allowed for
convenient off lading of supplies and men at an ideal harbor location.
99
From 1943 throughout the Trust Territory (f1) years (through 1970s) Uliga was
central to the American administration, and central to many Marshallese as the primary site
for employment, education, and other opportunities. In addition to the administrative
buildings and the dock, the Navy, and then Trust Territory administrators established a
hospital, a movie theatre, an Officers' Club, the infamous Coconut Rendezvous club
(where no locals were allowed to drink), and the fine housing of the district administrators
on the back, oceanside, dti-belk road. Many links to America and the colonial administration
wete centered on Uliga, the heart of"D-U-D."
The US Navy administration left more than buildings - it left a penchant for
acronyms that was embraced by Marshallese:
Are you aware that the Marshall Islands is hard to beat when it comes to the
abbreviation ofcompany and organization names and that a typical conversation
could be: "Students from SDA, CMI, and USP were told that representatives from
RMI's NTA, MEC, MIMRA, MIVA, and MALGov flew back from the United
States on AMI and one member celebrated the trip by first having a G&T at RRE
and then a:XXXX at the MIC (MIJ voL 31(13): 24 March 31, 2000)?
The quote above is scarcely an exaggeration ofthe sprinkling of acronyms in local
language. In addition to those mentioned above, nearly every government Ministry, or
agency is known by its acronym or abbreviation. Many ofthese organization and offices are
clustered in Uliga.
As Uliga developed, other local institutions chose to locate within the sphere of the
'democratic' institutions of the US and the Twenty-Twenty landowners. Robert Reimers
(RRE) located his store there in the early 1970s, as did other leading businessmen. US
institutions such as the Peace Corps, and US Federal Programs - JTPA Gob Training and
Placement Act), Historic Preservation Office (HPO), and the Elderly lunch program out of
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Social Security all based their services in Uliga. Micronesian Legal Counsel, the National
courthouse, the Alele Museum, and local import businesses such as MIECO, and KITCO
(more acronyms) recognized the value ofbeing near the administrative institutions. The old
IT hospital in Uliga became the College of the Marshall Islands (CMI), the police station,
the jailhouse, the now decrepit IT tennis courts, Continental Micronesia (Air Mic), the
Majuro Bowling Alley, the US-linked main Post Office, as well as the radiation-effected
"Four Atolls" offices are strategically located in Uliga.
Figure 59. The old Bikini Office, 1997.
(A larger structure was completed in 1998.)
The majority of Western (American) affiliated or empowered institutions were, and
are, located on Uliga. In addition to these, the island is dotted with hotels, restaurants,
shops, churches, and a handful of residences.
101
Mon Ekajet [House ofJustice] The R.,.\H Courthouse, 1998.
i5tf-
....... 1: -
"-
Figure 61. The Trust Territory Courthouse, date unknown.
US IT ,-\rchive photo #2842-02.
102
Iarrei [Rita]
The island referred to as Rita, or Darrej in the D-U-D designation, is the most
densely populated island ofMajuro atoll. The 1999 census data reveal a density of 30,365
people per square mile, in contrast to the average 6,314 per square atoll density, and 726
for the nation (RMI Census 2000).
Like Uliga, small retails stores line the front and back roads, but mainly, Rita is
residential and overflowing with children. On the oceanside road, children jump on the
back bumpers ofpickups that slow down for speed bumps. Rita also has innumerable
churches (Mormon, Baptist, Protestant, Seventh Day, Assembly of God [part II!], Bahai),
numerous church and government affiliated schools, and Majuro's only public high school
(MIHS). Rita's large, full breadfruit trees offer shade and a sense ofintimacy and
community that contrast sharply with stark, cemented Uliga.
The atoll's main road stops at a cul de sac at the tip of Rita, the northeast edge of
Majuro atoll.
The Small Islands
Figure 62. Map of the small islands of Majuro Atoll, East to Northwest.
103
Figure 63. The small islands of Majuro Atoll from opposite the lagoon.
Thirty-six small islets, some only 15-20 yards across lie in a series of dots and
dashes -- Morse code-like -- from Rita to Calalin. The gap between Calalin and the next
islet, Irooj Island, is the ocean pass
lO
that allows a northerly exit from the lagoon.
From the end of Rita, at low tide during the full or new moon, it is possible to walk
to seven or eight islets, stop for a swim, lunch, and nap before the tide rises too high to
walk back. Communities on these small islands consist of extended families that usually
engage in a subsistence lifestyle supplemented by items purchased in town. Living an
"outer island" lifestyle without electricity or running water, families fish, make copra, and
gather pandanus to sell. Families exchange imported resources for local foods produced by
IU This single pass is one of the reasons~[ajurowas selected by the military as its base. Unlike Jaluit that has
four passes, and the other atolls that had previously been bombed and damaged in battles with Japanese
(Enewetok, Kwajalein), Majuro saw no fighting, and thus, no damage, and was easily protected. Further, the
impressive lagoon depth of Majuro provided a safe harbor for .-\merican subs patrolling the region.
Numerous Marshallese shared their memories of subs and periscopes, before encountering the first
.-\mericans who arrived at night via submarines.
104
the few who reside on the 'small ishmds'. Yet, among these small ishnds Ejit is the
exception.
Ejit
Ejit is the third islet past Rita along the reef. A cement pathway covers the electric
lines that travel across the center of the first two islets to reach Ejit.The nuclear testing
program conducted on Bikini and Enewetak from June of1946 until August of 1958
resulted in the displacement ofvarious populations. In 1996, approximately 250 people, of
Bikinian descent settled on Ejit (Jack Niedenthal2002:13).
After twelve years ofcontinuous destruction and exposure to radioactive fallout
(see Appendices C, D, E, and F), the Bikinians' home was contaminated and uninhabitable.
The US attempt to repatriate the islanders in the 1960s resulted in extensive illness from
the consumption oflocal food items. The resettlement trust fund for the people of Bikini
(US Public Laws #97-257, #100-446) provided for the resettlement ofthe Bikinian people
to Kill Island and to Eji!, Majuro. The resettlement funds provide for local government
operations, scholarships, a medical plan, and attorney's fees, among other community
necessities.
Today the Bikinians' "home" is Kill Island, available because ofits general
undesirability - it has no lagoon, an inhospitable climate (very little rainfall), and difficult
accessibility (Kiste 1974). Kill had neither prior inhabitants nor an [roO;: Like Bikinians on
Kili, those on Ejit are provided housing and other amenities, such as a basketball court,
tennis courts, a school, and running water and electricity.
105
Figure 6-1-.
Nuclear Tests
In 1946 the US promised 166 islanders on Bikini that if they moved to allow for
weapons related testing, the US would take care of them forever. The island has since
106
become a "nuclear graveyard" (Bikini: FO'l,otten Paradise 1992). Over 40,000 scientists came
to watch what was called, "Operation Crossroads:" the testing of two twenty-three kiloton
nuclear weapons, Able and Baker, in the summer of 1946 (see Appendices C, D, E, and F).
A B-29 dropped "Able" from 520 feet to bomb sixty-three American and enemy warships  
- the sixth largest fleet ever assembled -- lined up as in battle. Seven hundred fifty-one
cameras filmed the live broadcast bombing of the Nevada (Nuclear Claims Tribunal Report
to the Nitijela 1993: 22-23). Three weeks later a second test, "Baker," was conducted with a
twenty-three kiloton bomb detonated ninty feet underwater (Nuclear Claims Tribunal
Annual report 1996: 20-21). In less than one second a million tons of coral and water were
carried a mile high into the air, creating a one hundred foot tidal wave. The shockwaves
from the blast traveling at the speed of sound hit Bikini at 3,500 miles per hour (Nuclear
Claims Tribunal Annual report 1996:21).
Figure 66. Amram Enos's painting of the Baker shot.
Unfortunately, the zeal with which American scientists pursued their knowledge of
nuclear power left no room for the consideration of the health of the native people or the
107
fact that their home ofcenturies was being permanently destroyed. The most destructive of
the sixty-seve bombs tested in the Marshall Islands was the "Bravo" shot. This fifteen
megaton hydrogen bomb was 750 times more explosive than the bomb that fell on
Hiroshima and vaporized an islet ofBikini atoll in seconds even as it spread radioactive
fallout for thousands ofmiles (New York Times Mag"'line, May 1, 1994: 46). Detonated on
February 28, 1954, ''Bravo'' is now recognized as the largest nuclear test explosion ever conducted
by the URited Stotes. It produced a crater 6,000 feet in diameter and 240 feet deep along with
a cloud top reaching 114,000 feet high (Nuclear Claims Tnbunal Annual Report to the
Nittjela, Republic ofthe Marshall Islands, 1993: 22). Hundreds ofMarshallese on atolls
downwind from the blast were affected immediately by acute radiation sickness and beta
burns, and later thyroid abnormalities responsible for nutnerous serious medical
conditions, including thyroid and other cancers. This catastrophic day is remembered
annually on March 1 as "Nuclear Victims' Day," a national holiday in the Republic ofthe
Marshall Islands.
Bikini was not the only atoll affected by the nuclear testing. Enewetak atoll was also
the target of forty-three tests, though these were ofa lesser intensity than the bombs
exploded on Bikini. Recent radiation studies throughout the Marshall Islands suggest that
more atolls and individuals were affected by the nuclear tests than previously recognized.
Despite recently declassified documents that reveal the extent and intent ofthe testing
program, the US Department ofEnergy recognizes only residents (and descendents) of
"The Four Atolls" (Rongelap, Utrik, Enewetak and Bikini) as exposed, and only they
qualify for compensation and medical treatment.
108
Enemanit
Beyond Ejit along the northern side of Majuro lie the popular picnic islands where
the local elite and US expatriates flock on Sundays. Among these, Enemanit [literally
"custom island"] is by far the most popular. After Sunday church services, the boats are
loaded with food and people at the new old dock in Uliga. From there, the slower boats
make their way to join the smaller faster boats. Many small motorboats, some ''Yachties''
passing a typhoon season at Majuro, sailors, and the ever-faithful Kurt Pinho barge loaded
with families and any visitor who cares to come, all congregate in Enemanit's crescent
beach.
Figure 67. Unloading picnic supplies at Enemanit.
The picnics are incredibly elaborate affairs -- requiring cases ofraw, marinated
chicken for barbequing, and coolers full of beer, soft drinks, potato salad, rice, and fruit. In
the calm cove boats anchor; children play; and beer, barbecue, and BS overflow. The men
gather off to the side talking politics, drinking beer, and fishing; the children play in the
109
water, diving, and jumping off the anchored boats; the women barbecue or care for babies
as they gossip; and the teenagers play volleyball or hang out under the trees away from the
adults. All ages gather here to relax away from the constant stream oftraffic and activities
ofdensely urban Majuro. After a Sunday at Enemanit, the "Blue Mondays," are a bit
brighter.
Calalen and Bikarin are also popular picnic islands, w¥e Irooj Island functions as a
nature preserve where birds and turtles thrive and may be hunted with permission. Most of
Majuro's small islands are surprisingly inaccessible - mainly frequented by their residents
and elites. For many Majuro residents Enemanit is as close as they get to "outer island" life
and activities. The nearly 25,000 residents ofMajuro live disconnected, even freed, from
many ofthe realities ofatoll life.
Coral atolls are among the most sensitive eco-niches in the world. They lack land, a
stable fresh water supply, rich soil, and plentiful flora, yet they are rich in marine resources
that one brief dive at Enemanit or a gentkwalk past Rita at low tide recalls - warm clear
waters, flashing fish, gliding eels, and crunching coral. The amazing thing about Majuro is
that it is possible to spend weeks at a time traveling the three linear miles from Rita to
Delap, surrounded by ocean, and yet living as ifit weren't there. Most people live on rice
and chicken; they work in offices, schools, or stores; they travel in automobiles, watch TV
in the evenings, and hide from the heat. Living on Majuro is like living in any densely
populated urbanity, with a few impositions ofMother Nature --like toilets that only flush
during high tide, limited water hours, and occasional periods ofdrought or typhoon.
110
As I have presented, Majuro Atoll is an iotegral site io the development ofthe
Marshallese nation, and its relations with foreign political and economic fortes. This
chapter has attempted to provide a sense of the physical as well as cultural and historical
landscapes that shape contemporary relations ofauthority on Majuro. Ownership ofland,
power over resources, and long memories shape the contemporary lives ofMajuro
residents and Marshallese citizens io ways not immediately appreciated by visitors to the
Marshalls. With a framework ofMarshallese history, and a feel for Majuro, the followiog
chapter will take a closer look at the ways 11"00/ have served as mediators offoreign
iofluences and resources.
111
CHAPTER 3
HISTORICAL HIERARCHIES
BWEBWENATO [STORYTELLING]
In the Marshall Islands grandparents inoif' [bedtime storytelling] their grandchildren
to sleep with tales about family members and mythological characters while the child's
head rests on the adult's forearm. Settled together on a sleeping mat in the darkness, each
evening the stories begin: "Etto im etto... [a long, long time ago]" forging bonds between
generations while children learn the stories oftheir family, their history, and the values of
their culture.
The phrase, etto im etto, distinguishes the words that follow from usual forms of
communication, and separates them as a genre distinct from everyday conversation. Etto im
etto not only marks an unusual mode of speech but also a special temporality -- a time in
the distant past -- " a long, long time ago." The preface serves to mark the tale as part of
the ritualized practice ofstorytelling. A listener's expectation ofwhat follows is shaped by
the recognition ofthe marked phrase, and an implicit understanding that a story serves
many purposes, among which the least significant may be the delivery offactual
information.
Every storyteller shares different stories, and tells them differently. Each individual
selects both content and form. Letao, the Marshallese trickster figure, may be more evil
than mischievous to one person; Jebro more forgiving ofhis brothers to another. Stories
may be portrayed as fact or fiction; may be embellished or stripped ofdetail. They may
have the ring ofauthority and truth or entertaining exaggeration. The tone ofthe teller may
II [non is both a category ofbedtime stories and the act oftelling these stones.
112
be marked with humor, sarcasm, or gravity depending on the purpose ofthe telling, be it
pedagogic, or entertaining. Each teller has a particular voice: soft, scratchy, lilting, deep;
each teller is influenced by age, and experience as well as status and relationship to the
audience members. In every tale, both the teller and audience are critical to the story.
Historical Accounts
Just as Marshallese bwebwenato, legends, bedtime stories, and genealogies contain
history, any historical account is also a story. Narratives are shaped and limited by their
authors and their audiences. Dissertations are also narratives. They are imperfect and
incomplete accounts shaped and limited by author and audience. Yet their power belies
these shortcomings as they fix forever, in black type on white pages, singular
interpretations of ephemeral moments with multiple perspectives. The power of the
written word is its permanence. Unlike oral communication, the written word denies the
potential for transformation through interaction and negotiation. Without the nuances of
inflection and facial expression, written accounts are limited in interpretation and
interaction.
The lack ofwritten materials by Marshallese, about their history, makes foreign
accounts ofpast events the primary resources for most people, Marshallese included, who
want to learn about the Marshallese past. Marshallese oral historians are extremely few,
since so many have passed away without others carrying on their knowledge. Learning
about Marshallese history requires listening to contemporary understandings of the past,
not solely returning to the same foreign sources time and time again. As Geertz has
pointed out, interpretation is interpretation ofinterpretations: "It's turtles all the way
113
down" (Geertz 1973: 29). Academic discourse often attempts to disguise this fact. The
layers ofinterpretation and re-tellings are merged and hidden when ethnographers and
historians inscribe oral histories, stories, and accounts. Inscribing the histories oforal
societies also involves complex issues of transcription, translation, and orthographic
convention (see Appendix B).
History has too long been ignored or unchallenged among anthropologists who
write with contemporary breadth but lack chronological depth. In previous decades of
Pacific anthropology, some succeeded at this task (Biersack 1991; Gewertz and Errington
1994). Yet, more contemporary historical ethnography that attempts to trace 'cultural
continuities' and transformation over time are sorely needed (Sahlins 1994). Historical
ethnographies reveal similarities and patterns ofinteractions, behaviors, and
understandings that persist in various forms over generations. They support the memories
and histories of earlier generations through recognition. Historical ethnographies lend
strength and respect to contemporary cultures often viewed ahistorically, in the
ethnographic present, in the face of often pessimistic, nostalgic views ofacculturation,
,
integration, global economic influence, and international trade.
International funding agencies, among numerous other sources, negatively
. .
represent these processes ofacculturation, assimilation, globalization, and economic
transfortnation as evidence of cultural "loss." In doing so, they overlook evidence of
continuity - even survlval- through processes ofincorporation that "indigenize"
foreigners and foreign resources. Acknowledging cultural continuity is as important as
recognizing change.
114
Given the power ofwritten historical texts to inscribe memories and ascribe identities,
the act of composing any text is daunting. All representation is selective. I make an effort
to represent indigenous voices and perspectives where possible to provide an alternative
account by giving voice to the more peripheral voices ofthe kajur that are often silenced
within indigenous Marshallese hierarchy and history.
Selecting Stories
This representation ofMarshallese hierarchy engages issues ofhistory and identity;
continuity and change; tradition and modernity; as familiar themes that are continually re 
enacted in contemporary geo-political power relations. Recognizing the limitation of
relying on foreign descriptions ofMarshallese interactions with foreigners, I draw attention
to the vested interests of the various authors. I not only acknowledge that my
interpretations of their interpretations is yet another "story," but also that the stories I
choose to examine are deliberately selected to suit my narrative.
The stories that follow revolve around chief-foreigner interactions, and chief 
commoner relations from the earliest recorded encounters through two colonial
administrations. The spotlight on chiefs today as symbols ofpower, authority, and tradition
is central to understanding how the power of chiefs continues to be negotiated, enhanced,
constricted, and constructed in direct relation to foreign power, authority, and discourses
(White 1991). Chiefs play significant roles as identity symbols that embody tradition and
cultural identity while they serve as key mediators of foreign forces and resources. In the
analyses to follow, I examine historical accounts ofhow chiefs interacted with foreigners
through oppositional or alliance-building strategies and how models ofinteraction with
115
authority, and understandings of authority per se, were transformed as chiefs and
foreigners intetacted. I look at the ways foreign interactions alter exchange practices,
alliance-building, identity-making, and power relations locally and transculturally. A close
look at foreign interactions with Marshallese chiefs offers opportunities to historicize
contemporaty culturally informed models and understandings ofauthority.
SOURCES OF CHIEFLY AUTHORITY
Within the canon ofMarshallese oral literature exist numerous tales of chiefs, their
uncles, wives, children, and battles. Perhaps the most well-known and repeated tale in
informal contexts and educational curricula is that ofLiktanur and her seven sons. Like
most myths, Liktanur's story has multiple meanings and functions to express cultural ideals
and values on many levels. This myth explains the unique formation ofthe constellation
known in the Ratak chain as Jeleilon, known by Westerners as the Pleiades (robin
2002:58), the reason outrigger canoes have sails, the characteristics of an ideal leader, and
the qualities and behaviors that enable Jebro, Liktanur's son, to earn his position as 1rooj.
The folktale (Appendix G) is excerpted from a version distributed by the Marshall Islands
Historic Preservation Office (RMIHPO) in a locally printed text, Bwebwenotoon Etto (1992).
This text is one of the only two published compilations ofMatshallese folktales, legends,
and myths.12 Both ate meager, but eagerly sought for classroom instruction by teachers
desperate for cultural resourceS.
12 In 2002 University ofHawai'i Press published former district anthropologist, Jack Tobin's text, Stories
from the Marshall Islands that contains Marshallese and English translations of the folklore Tobin gathered
while working for the Trust Territory.
116 .
The story ofLiktanur's sons emphasizes recurrent cultural themes ofrespect for
authority, rewards for obedience, and the value ofreciprocity. Jebro, Liktanur's youngest
son, is rewarded for his fidelity and obedience to his mother with her gift ofa sail that
enables him to reach his destination before his older brothers in a race for the title offro,!!.
Liktanur recognizes Jebro rather than the elder Timur becauseJebro cooperated with her
desire, putting respect for, and obedience to, his mother (and eldest brother) over his
personal aspirations. Jebro was recognized by Liktanur and the people ofJeh [island in
Ailinglaplap atolIl as the true fro'!!; rather than his eldest brother, Timur, who had claimed
the title for himself. Jebro is portrayed as having the support of a higher authority (his
mother Liktanur, who lived in the sky), as well as the people ofJeh Island.
The ideal fro,!! who has both sacred endorsements and popular approval is manifest
in Marshallese folklore. Various chiefs who are ambitious, covetous, and aggressive, are
begrudgingly obeyed, while those who are kind are believed to be more sacred. The
significance ofjoij, and the beliefin a connection between generosity/goodness and
holiness/divine ancestry remains an evaluative standard - clap anjoij [he/she is full ofgrace,
very kind and generous].
Joij is frequently glossed as "kind," but has deeper connotations ofgenerous
consideration for others' needs. In the Marshalls as well as throughout Oceania, the most
culturally valued way to expressjoij is to share food, to offer real nourishment to others, as
exemplified and idealized in the mother-child relationship (McArthur 1995). Jotj is the
primary cultural ideal ofreciprocity and relationships, oftruth, and goodness. Joij co mOM CO;
117
lej eo mij eo [Kindness brings life; hate/meanness brings death] is a common expression
emphasizing the importance ofsharing and kindness in social. relationships. Ioif ej mol
[Kindness is truth] is another ideal. The phrase used for thank you, kommol, literally declares
the giver as true (Kom m04' [you are true]), while kinjoif [withlfor kindness] is pronounced
by the giver in the same way that "you're welcome" is used in English. Someone with
muchjofiis distinguished from others, and acknowledged as special.
In one instance, a I..erooj I was interviewing repeatedly emphasized that true royalty
has kindness, 'Irooj in m04 clop airjoij' [A true chiefis very generous/kind], implying that
those who are less generous have less connection to the source of their divinity and
authority. She illustrated her point by acknowledging, in a whisper, that a murual friend of
ours was likely a I..erooj, though not officially acknowledged as one, because many people
recognized her selfless generosity. This understanding ofthe relationship between IrIH!J in
mol, or II/leun Iroo} [true or real Iroo/], and exceptional kindness as supernatural verification of
a higher status encouraged talk about the rea! ancestry ofthose whose traditional status is
not equal to judgments oftheir generosity. In this example, the circular reasoning
surrounding ideal Iroo} is evident, since popular support and recognition are used to assert
sacred origins, and sacred origins work to explain popularity.
The sacred origins of chiefly clans are deeply rooted in oral histories. The origin of
the Marshallese clan system is only debatable to the extent ofpopular knowledge of these
oral records." To my knowledge, published anthropological research on the Marshallese
" A RMI Historic Preservation Office ,tudy concluded that knowledge ofthe Marshallese clan system was
decreasing rapidly, and the majority ofchildren (10-17) and young adults (18-25) tested in urbancen~rsand
outer atolls not only were fiot aware of their clan, but one-third did not know the wordjowi, and over half
believed their clan membership was inherited from their father, rather than their mother (Walsh 1999).
118
clan system is limited to 1rooj clans, (Mason 1995), and clans' origins at Namu atoll (pollock
1976). Despite the decreasing knowledge ofthejowi [clan] system among Marshallese
youth, certain origin tales are better known because of their publication in the two
previously mentioned folklore collections. The founding ofthe clan called 11'00), is among
these.
According to legends, two sisters came from the Marshallese mythical land called
Eb, located somewhere in the west. Liwatoinmout [literal1y, woman oflife-giving land] the
younger sister went to the Rilik chain and stopped at Namu atoll. Liribnbju traveled east to
Aut atoll in the Ratak chain. Both women were transformed into stone pillars that are
considered the source ofeach of the leading clans in both chains (Mason 1995). In the
Rilik chain,-it is believed that Liwatoinmout's daughter, 11'00), is the mother ofthe line of
chiefs that controlled the Ralik Islands for generations. The bwij in l1'Ooj [matriline of
Liwatoinmour's daughter If'Oo/l retain their recognition as primordially ordained and
unquestioned 1rooj ofRalik today (Mason 1995). In the Ratak chain, the Rimwejor clan
controlled the entire chain until they lost Mejit atoll, and they gave control ofthe entire
chain, except Arno, to the Rannojowi From an original 8jowi, over 20 recognized sub 
clans emerged (Kabua 1993). Four became dominant over time: Erroja, Embra, Rimwejor
and Raarno, and again a circularity ofreasoning justifies their dominance: these clans are
powerful because they have sacred origins; they must have sacred origins because they are
so powerful.
119
Iraa; as Priests
The American missionaries described [rooj as having specialized knowledge and
spiritual access, yet they were not the sole mediators between people and their gods (Sam
1988:12). The Marshallese had no temples, churches, priests or religious leaders in their
worship of spirits. Chiefs burial sites, wuliqlcrp were mo (tabu), and avoided for fear of
supernatural sanctions (Tobin 2002:355). Healers (dn"-uno) and magicians (dri-anijn!J) used
medicine and chants to hurt or help others, and mediated interaction with the gods, though
they held no exclusive authority to do so.
Figure 68. Larik Chief du groupe des iles Romanzoff
Lank, the chief of the Romanoff Islands[Wo~eatoll]. Louis Choris (slide).
[rooj did, however, have the exclusive rights to tattoo, but only practiced the art
with the approval of the appropriate gods who had the authority to mark the creatures of
this world. According to Marshallese legends of creation, the god Lowa created the world.
Afterward, he returned to heaven and sent four gods to look after his work, each
representing the four corners, North, South, East, and West. The most powerful was lrooj
120
Irilik, ofthe west, who resided on Eb, a mythical island and center ofcreation, from where
all life spread to other islands. Lewoj and Lanej gave colors and markings to distinguish
every living thing through the process ofeo, or tattoo. When lrooj engaged in the spiritual
practice of eo they reconfirmed their divine ancestry by marking and distinguishing their
people's ranks just as their ancestors, the first gods, had marked the fish, birds and plants
in their environment. While little is actually known about the practice oftattooing, many of
the patterns were documented in the lithographs ofLouis Choris, and later observers (See
tattoos in Figure 68).
lroo} were not the solitary intermediaries in spite oftheir unique heavenly affiliation.
Though a chiefs gods were considered more powerful than others', and his high status
made his prayers and intercessions more easily heard and favored by the gods, each family
and clan had their own spirits to worship and honor. The lro,!! served as one ofmany
mediators, yet a notably more powerful one, between the gods and his people (Sam
1988:14).
The worship ofparticular gods in and ofparticular locations as explained in
examples involving clan origins and chief-missionary diacussions about sites of tattooing,
foregrounds the mythological, historic, religious, political, economic, social and other
significances ofland in Marshallese ideologies.
BwHand Bwidet Linel!ges and Land
In-1956, the Marshall Islands' district legislature adopted the Majuro anthem, "ij
yokwe 10k aclon eo 00," as its first national anthem at an lrrJo/s request (Meller 1969:61). The
song is sung in the first person about the love of one's island -- its walkways, paths, the
121
people who come and go. It declares, "Ijamin ilokjen e, bwc ijojiku emmo! im ao Iomorcn indrco"
[I will never leave my island, because here is my true place, and my heritage forever). The
song testifies to the depth ofdevotion and the significance ofhome islands to Marshallese
people. A well-known Majuro politician once explained to me that the significance is about
identity and ownership -- not ofland, but i?Y land. He said, "I belong to that wato [land
parcel); that wato doesn't belong to me" (Fieldnotes 1994).
The Marshallese matrilineal system of descent defines the relationships between
atolls, islands, plots oflands and their people. Every child bam ofa Marshallese woman
takes his or her mother'sjowi [clan) membership, as well as her bwij, or lineage, and obtains
rights to the mother's land. Membership in the bwij andjowi supercedes patrilineal
affiliations known as botoktok [literally, blood). The relationship between women, mothers,
children, land, and life delineate power and position in the Marshallese hierarchy. The
significance ofthe bwijis metaphorically and linguistically emphasized in its etymology: bwij
comes from bwijcn, the navel or umbilical cord, a symbol oflife-giving life (McArthur
1995:122). The related term, bwitkj, refers to life-giving land, received from the life-giving
mother, which enables her offspring to produce food necessary for sustenance and life.
Thus, concepts ofmothers, food, life, lineage, and land are symbolically and inextricably
associated in the terms bwijcn [the umbilical cord) and thebwi~'[land] 14 (McArthur
1995:123). In determining rank and inheritance, the standard practice ofprimogeniture is
followed and traced along the female lines. Male leaders, such as lrooj, inherit their
14 As evidence of this, the bwtJen is commonly buried 00 the bwidej after the birth of a child, and the practice
of pinning a small piece ofthe umbilical cord wrapped io clom to a baby's diaper to protect the baby from
those outside the bwij, is still common today.
122
positions in accordance with the birth order of their mother, with the sons ofthe mother's
eldest female sibling holding power before the sons ofher younger female sibling. An older
generation always has priority over younger generations, when determining who will serve
as Irooj. The youngest sibling within a generation is senior to the eldest sibling within the
next generation, a fact that has led to the frequent situation in which uncles and their
ambitious nephews struggle for dominance (e.g. the Kabua-Loeak rivalry discussed later in
this chapter). The expression "enwore manadmi' is used to suggest that a bwijis best served
when an uncle fishes for his sisters' sons (McArthur 1995).
Clans are linked to particular atolls and islands as delineated after the cessation of
inter-atoll warfare required by the German colonial administrators. Landholdings
previously contested on the batdefield thus became permanendy fixed. Clans define the
structure of authority, inheritance, and use of shared lands. Whoever holds the position of
Iroojlaplap is responsible for the land that is controlled or "owned" by the chiefly family.
The kajur, commoners, who also hold rights to the land, engage in (ideally) reciprocal
relations with their Irooj.
On a single parcel ofland exist multiple bwij (matrilineages) that may be chiefly or
common, delineated by known females ancestors. The bwij is identified by a particular
ancestress, yet thejowi (clan) consists ofmultiple bwij presumed to be related matrilineally
through a more distant, perhaps even legendary, female ancestor. Certain clans (e.g. ijidik,
Irribra, Erroja, etc.) maintain the status of senior lineages; various matrilineages within the
clan are considered junior and acknowledged as commoner lineages.
123
The relationship between Iroof and kajur is based upon land, its ownership, and use.
Chiefly families are acknowledged as the primary owners of the land since the colonial
period and commoner families have usufruct rights. A wato Uand parcel] consists ofland
that runs across the width of an island from lagoon beach to ocean reef. Matrilineages hold
rights to many wato that mayor may not lie adjacent to each other. The commoner families
live off the land. and consume the food they produce. They offer the chiefly families food
and other resources as requested, and they support, participate in, and contribute to the
activities directed by the Irooj. In return, the chiefly families provide necessary assistance to
the families, such as contributions toward funeral feasts, medical expenses, and occasional
transportation costs. Ifthe commoner families do not maintain the wato's productivity,
avoid responsibilities toward the chiefly families, or oppose the Iroq}, the Iroojlaptop may
evict the people from the land. This understanding critically influences contemporary local
politics, as will be discussed later in this and successive chapters.
Senior family representatives mediate interactions between chiefs and their people.
The position of a/ab is held by the head ofeach commoner lineage, the eldest living sibling
within a generation, preferentially held by the eldest male. The alab's primary role is to
enact the dictates ofthe chief. He has no authority in the determination of succession, and
no formal means to sway chiefly directives. He may, however, lead his bwij to withhold or
offer support for a chief or his rivals, particularly in battle, although this practice ended in
the early 1900s. The remaining commoners are, since the German copra era, commonly
referred to as the drijerbal, or workers, rather than the former, kajur. A distinction between
the descendents offemale and male lineage members further delineates relationships to
124
land and authority. Female offspriug have stronger rights to the land as their rights are
perpetual. Male offspring (and their children) have botoktok [literally, blood; describes
lifetime use rights] rights to the land thilt may not be inherited by a third generation. In this
hierarchy ofland rights and responsibilities, communication between lroOJloplop and dri-
jema!is mediated by the alab. At the twice-annual tribute feasts, alabs gather the required
family contributions and deliver them on their behalf. In contemporary times these
practices persist" In some cases, the a!ab has direct contact with a lower status
representative ofthe lrotj, known as bwirak, rather than the lrotjlop!op himself. The
designation lrotj edik [small chief(s)] distinguishes the lrotjwho are next in line of
succession to serve as lroOJ'laplop or as the leading [roOJ: lmo;' edik function as liaisons for the
chief, as alabs do for commoners, particularly in regard to land issues and responsibilities.
As in the case ofkajur families, distinctions are acknowledged within the lrotj, or
royalty. The child ofan lrotj father and commoner mother, is designated a bwirak, as is the
child of two bwirak. The offspriug ofa Lerotj (female lroOJ) mother and an lTV,!! father is an
lro'!f bweo [two shouldered] or double lro,!! with exceptionally high status since the ties to
sacred sources are bilaterally direct.
Irooias \Vanior
The ascnbed status and rank of chiefs that was once proven through successful
battles and territorial claims was also dependent upon the number ofwarriors an lTV,!! could
garner. The kajur [strength; commoners] ofan lTV,!! was his kajur [strength; commoners].
'5 Today the • tenants are called upon to contribute to the lrooj during holidays, lrooj family events such as
a marriage or kemmem( first birthday), or on a quarterly (or regular) basis. For example, each family might be
told to contribute a case of chicken, a bolt ofdoth, a 25 lb. bag ofrice, and $100 to. family event in addition
to the two ritual fIrst-fruit offerings for the breadfruit and pandanus seasons (Fieldnotes 1997).
125
Yet, chiefs were expected to lead the warriors in battle, and to protect the people from
invading chiefs, and foreigners.
The notorious ferocity ofparticular Marshallese chiefs, such as Lamari and
Kaibuki, who manipulated and massacred foreign whalers, mutineers, and treasure seekers
contributed to the extended isolation of the islands (Hezel1983; Lay and Hussey 1828).
While both men and women played roles in battles, they were commanded by
chiefs they chose to support. Women shrieked and threw stones while men threw spears
(Kotzebue 1830). The power, or potency, ofchiefs was determined in battle and those with
the strongest divine sanctions were the victors. Wartior chiefs such as Kaibuke and Kabua
expanded their domains and rewarded their warriors with gifts ofland. In some cases,
chiefs awaiting attack would escape to other atolls to avoid confrontation (Lay and Hussey
1963:100-101) while others assembled fleets and supplies for months for a battle that lasted
only a day or two. At the turn of the twentieth century, as Germans attempted to ban
warfare, the "battles" became more demonstrations of fierceness and threats than actual
combat. Loeak, for example, abandoned the final battle with Kabua after days ofdisplays
ofweaponry made his pending defeat obvious (Hezel1983). Even earlier accounts of
warfare describe the limited loss oflives (Kotzebue 1830). In colonial times, political rifts
and land disputes were also resolved with the help of foreign liaisons such as missionaries,
traders, or military representatives (e.g. Majuro 1870; Arno at<;>ll1880; Majuro 1912) rather
than by battle.
In sum, the potency ofan Iroojwas displayed in successful gathering ofwarriors
and resources, victory on the battlefield, fair distribution ofnew lands, and kind treatment
126
ofthe vanquished survivors. As Keesing describes, chiefs' roles include those ofpriest,
warrior, and feast-maker (1985). The ability ofan lrooj to accurately gauge the will of the
gods, and his power to enact their decrees and offer ritual tributes all contributed to the
recognition ofdivine chiefly origins and power. As contact with foreigners and access to
new resources increased, the authority ofchiefs was validated in new ways even as it
diminished in other arenas.
RATAK AND RALIK
Marshallese, like other Pacific Islanders, had no singular term to describe their
shared culture, language, and identity. They recognized and distinguished only Ratak and
Ralik, the east and west archipelagos, and the names of their atolls, islets, and wafo, the
landholdings that ran horizontally across an islet from ocean to lagoon. They identified
themselves by their lineage, bwij, and their clan, orjowi, through which their land was
matrilineally inherited. The first explorers to extensively interact with the Marshallese (in
the Ratak chain) labeled the islanders people of Radak [Ratak], presumably the locally
salient term, which they anglicized as RadaIrums and Radackers. The transformation of the
people ofRalik-Ratak into dti-Majof [person of the Marshalls] identity is charted here much
as earlier foreign interests charted the atolls. Today, the people ofthe Ratak and Ralik
island continue to identify themselves among themselves by home islands and atolls, but
use Mojo/, the collective term for the islands, as the base oftheir collective identities - 
ethnic, linguistic, cultural, and national. Dri-Majof [Marshallese people] speak kajin Majof
[Marshallese language], observe manlin Majof [Marshallese custom], and are citizens of the
Republic eo I11l Aeton in Mojof [the Republic ofthe Marshall Islands]. Representations of the
127
history ofthe "Marshall" Islands subtly discount the significant on-going histories ofRalik
and Ratak.
EXPLORERS
For nearly three hundred years European contact with the Marshall Islands was
extremely rare. The only evidence ofinteraction between Europeans and Marshall Islander
is limited to the logs ofsix ships, passing briefly through the archipelago, resting and
trading en route to other destinations. The only revelation ofMarshallese understandings
ofthese first explorers is the term still used for foreigners, dri-belle [people with clothes,
possessions, or wealth).
Although at least eight Spanish ships sailed through the islands not yet known as
the Marshalls in the sixteenth century, less than half ofthose made landfall or traded with
the Marshallese (Hezel1983). There is no record ofwestern contact in the Marshalls for
over two hundered years after 1568, when Captain Mendaiia of the Los Reyes and Todos
Santos sought the remains ofSpanish mutineer Lope Martin who had disappeared at
Ujelang atoll in 1566.
In 1788, after depositing hundreds ofBritish convicts at the first British settlement
in the Pacific at Botany Bay, Captain William Marshall (Scarborough) and his companion
Capt_ Thomas Gilbert (Charlotte) attempted an unfamiliar northeasterly route to China.
Along their route, they sighted and charted the archipelagos that currently bear their names
(Hezel1983).
Because the route from Australia to China charted by Marshall and Gilbert was
safer than others that passed closer to Palau, the number offoreign vessels passing through
128
eastern Micronesia along the "Outer Passage" increased (Bezel 1983: 65). Still, only three
are known to have stopped to trade: the Brittaniaat Namu in 1797, the Rol/a at Ailinglaplap
in 1803, and the EliZabeth at Jaluit in 1809. The trading ofcloth, beads, iron hoop and
hatchets for water, food, and coconuts is described as friendly in their accounts (Dye
1987:10).
The Romanzov E1qledition: Kotzebue. Chamisso. and Choris
Among the first Western accounts that offer insight into Marshallese interests,
politics, and leadership in the nineteenth century are the volumes produced by Otto von
Kotzebue, and Adelbert von Charnisso, (complemented by the drawings of artist, Louis
Choris) upon their return from a voyage around the world with the Romanzov e>:ploring
e>:pedition in the years 1815 to 1818
16
• Romanzov, a Russian nobleman and statesman,
financed the global expedition, though the captain, crew, and vessel were of the Russian
Navy. The Rurik was technically a Russian man-of-war (Kratz 1986: xii). The ship's captain,
Otto von Kotzebue, was a lieutenant in the Russian Navy and the son ofGermany's most
successful playwright of the era. He began the voyage at the age of twenty-eight; and was
credited with the discovery ofatolls in the Marshalls group hitherto unknown in Europe,
that is, unchatted by Captain Mendaiia in the rnid-1500s (Kratz 1986: xiii). (See Appendix
H for an accounting ofKotzebue's travels in the Marshall Islands.)
Accompanying Kotzebue were Louis Choris, who gained renown for his paintings
oftheir travels, and the botanist and author Adelbert von Charnisso, among others. The
I'This was nearly 40 years after James Cook had been killed in Hawai'i. The Marshall Islands had had no
foreigners amoog them and only two atolls were even noted on European tnaps at the time. Kotzebue was
credited with the charting of the Ralik and Ratak chains though he only viewed nine of the twenty-eight
atolls.
129
voyage was Chamisso's first at age thirty-four. His detailed descriptions ofdaily interactions
with the peoples they encountered are rich with vignettes and anecdotes. Chamisso's
attention to detail and literary sensitivity to relationships and emotion make his two-part
document rich and rewarding reading.
17
Kotzebue and Chamisso's accounts, while paternalistic and self-serving, are the first
written records ofextended European-Marshallese encounters. Among all the people they
encountered in their world travels, Chamisso and Kotzebue enthusiastically claimed the
people ofRatak as their favorites.
Kotzebue's descriptions are the first examples ofRatak hierarchy, warfare, leading
chiefs, and commoner relations with those chiefs. As the initiators of foreign discourses
about the Marshall Islands, Kotzebue's interpretations ofRadakian affairs predict
persistent interactions and interpretations throughout the next two hundred years. These
travelogues are examined with particular attention to interactions between various chiefs
and Kotzebue, and Kotzebue's accounts ofMarshallese accounts ofchiefs. Ofparticular
interest are the impact ofthe relationship between Kadu, a Carolinian living in the
Marshalls who joined the expedition for eight months and Kotzebue, and the impact of
Kotzebue's visit on Ratak political economy.
The interactions between Kotzebue and the people ofRatak reveal the significance
of foreign resources and foreign support for local interests (conquering other atolls and
chiefs), personal status, and political resistance. They also show an appreciation for foreign
'Chamisso's Tagelmch Ooumal) was written nearly twenty years after the voyage and included notes and letters
written during the period. BtmerkN"§,, ""dAnsicb"" (Nores and Opinions) was published as an appendix in
Kotzebue's three volume account; it contained scientific notes distinct from his Journal
130
power that inspires fear, similar to the fear inspired by the warrior lroojlaplap Laman among
the Rotak people.
At the start ofhis voyage on the Rurik in 1817, Kotzebue was directed to a litde
known archipelago for exploration and possible charting. To that end he was successful.
While Kotzebue's is credited with geographical knowledge ofboth Ratak and Ralik, he
charted only a few Ratak atolls himself, and relied solely upon islanders' information for
the remainder as well as for his charts of Rolik. Kotzebue's faith in the islanders' accounts
resulted from the exceptionally accurate directions he was given toward various Ratak atolls
beyond Wotje or "Odjia" -- as the Russians.transcribed --the site ofhis first landing.
Kotzebue never viewed the Ralik atolls, despite his attempts, and likely would not have
known of them at all ifnot for Radakian
18
informants."
Approaches
Upon Kotzebue's initial approach to the vanous islands, Radakians often
approached the large Russian ship in their sailboats and canoes to view the Rurik from a
"shy" distance.
The Russian crew attempted to trade with the islanders from smaller crafts. The
islanders obViously already knew iron in small pieces, possibly obtained from wrecked
ships' remains. When Kotzebue's crew offered iron, Radakians would excitedly share the
news by yelling, "Molll Moll!" [Maa.(· aen. IronJ. The Radakians then exchanged shell
necklaces, woven mats and headbands, and other decorative items for the pieces ofmetal.
18 Radakian/Radackian is the Russian term for the Marshallese people the encountered, tnost ofwhom were
in the Ratak chain.
" Kotzebue's infonnanm were Lagediak, from Aur, and lrooj Langedju of "Kawen" (now called Malodap
Atoll. Langemui, an lroo) of "Ailu" (Ailuk Atoll), is credit with explaining Ralik geography to Kotzebue.
131
Once invited on shore, the islanders and the expedition leaders greeted each other,
exchanging names and gifts.
20
1\
,z7,w/ of~h. U-nd".~YtUd;.kbm,riy bJ deftat:t".7£dk~,-"~and'~tik"".
Figure 69. Radakian sailing canoe or walop at Maloelap atolL
"View of the Island of Airick, belonging to the Group of Kawen in the Radack Chain"
Louis Choris, p. 111.
After the leaders acknowledged each other's positions thereby establishing
relations, the expedition leaders pursued their research projects and interests with the
apparent cooperation ofthe islanders. Chamisso and the other scientists gathered floral and
faunal specimens, while Kotzebue's officers mapped the islands. They also offered
assistance and gifts that were intended to improve the quality of life for the islanders.
Kotzebue shared goats, chickens, pigs, cats, taro roots, watermelon seeds, and other plants
with the Radakians with various consequences.
20 The practice is referred to as "Polynesian style" in Kotzebue and Chamisso's writing. Kotzebue (fotabu),
Chamisso (famiso), and Lt. Schischmareff (fimaro) earned new pronunciations of their names in this
process (Chamisso 1824).
132
The islanders assisted with the crew's rations by offering coconuts, coconut shells
filled with fresh water, and mogan, a log of preserved sun-dried pandanus pulp. The Russian
crew were greatly impressed by the generosity of the islanders, who often gave abundantly
from their meager supplies, even on resource-poor islands, and when there seemed no
ulterior motive of hoping for iron or other gifts in return: "ChiefLaergass [of Wodmej
island, Wotje atoll] was magnanimous and unselfish beyond any person I have known. He
wished only to give, to bestow, and did it at a time when no counter gifts could be
expected any more" (Chamisso 1836:137). The Russians expedition felt the Radakians
traded honestly and fairly: "We did not trade on Wotje. We gave gifts and received gifts in
return" (Chamisso 1986: 277). The authors are quick to dismiss any expectation of
reciprocity that might partially be explained by cultural values of cooperation and practices
of alliance building.
Figure 70. Rarick, Young lroo/ ofWotje.
"Kotzebue's Voyage of Discovery Vol. II. "Rarick." Facing title page.
133
Kadu: "Marshallese" Informant
Kotzebue spent a full month at Wotje atoll, and another six weeks visiting and
charting the Northern Ratak atolls in early 1817 (See Appendix H: "Kotzebue in the
Marshalls"). The ship anchored and interacted with islanders at Wotje then Maloelap, Aur,
and Ailuk. On Aur atoll he met Kadu, a Western Carolinian, from Woleai atoll. Kadu and
his companions drifted nearly two thousand miles from Woleai to land at Aur about four
years before Kotzebue's arrival. lroqiTigidien protected them and Kadu, who was afforded
some status as a knowledgeable foreigner, married a Radakian woman (Kotzebue 1821:
120, Chamisso 1986: 264).
·/{;;.,(r ....
~a-';:. oN' ,;(. " • lOn~./'(".
Figure 71. Kadou [KaduJ inhabita"t des des Carolines.
"Kotzebue's Voyage of Discovery Vol. II. "Rarick." Facing tide page.
According to Charnisso, when the Rurik fIrst appeared the islanders sought Kadu
for advice. Kadu, among all the islanders, had seen white men, their ships and their
munition-inspired authority before. After seeing the Russian ship and crew, Kadu was
134
impressed enough to insist that he be allowed to accompany Kotzebue and his crew on
their voyage. Kadu would not change his mind despite the attempts ofhis fellow
Carolinian friend and Kotzebue to dissuade him.
Kadu's interaction with Kotzebue and his crew offers a more intimate look at
foreigner/islander interaction, from the Europeans' perspectives, since he was their most
intimate informant. Over the course ofthe following eight months, their deepening
understandings of each other allowed mutual insight into their respective worldviews. In
the Russian expedition, Kadu sought a way home, and an elevation ofstatus -- evident in
his changed behavior toward the Radakians after he was allowed to stay on the boat even
the first night at Aur. Traditional leaders also saw an opportunity for increased wealth,
access to resources, and improved military strength through affiliation with Kotzebue.
Lamari [La mare, literally, spear] was the dominant lrooj in the Ratak chain at the
time Kotzebue and Chamisso interacted with the Marshallese. From Kadu, the Russian
crew learned that Lamari rose to power through the murder of other influential chiefs, and
through numerous raids on unsuspecting atolls.
We learned that there was still another chiefofthe name Lamari, under whose
power the iSland-groups from Aur to Bikar were subjected, and who was now
absent to assemble a military force with which he intended to seize upon the group
ofMediuro [Majuro], lying to the south ofAur: its inhabitants often make
incursions upon Aur, Kawen [Maloelap] and Odjia [Wotje], to seize provisions, of
which they are in great want, on account ofthe numerous population. An incursion
on Lamari's island, by which a man lost his life, was not to be unpunished. Kadu
told us that the most shameful pillage was committed upon Otdia; the enemy
destroyed everything they could not carry off: by this information the riddle was
solved, why we everywhere had found newly-planted trees (Kotzebue 1821: 127 
128)
The days before the crew left Aur, the islanders came to barter for iron at the ship,
and the lroojbrought gifts ofmogan, (sun-dried pandanus pulp) a common departure gift.
135
Kotzebue describes the chiefs' ulterior motive and secret proposition to participate in a
batde against Lamari:
As soon as I was alone with my guests in my cabin, they examined very carefully
whether anybody could overhear us; they entreated, with an air ofmystery, but very
earnesdy, that I would remain here till their military force was assembled, to kill
with them, all the inhabitants ofMediuro [Majuro], and then, laden with coconuts
and breadfruit, return to Aur; they would give me for it an Eb (honorary
song/dance performance] every day. This proof oftheir confidence astonished me,
but willingly as I would have defended these poor islanders against their foes, and
perhaps even secured them from future attacks, merdy by my appearance, the
approaching spring would not allow me time. My refusal dejected them very much;
but, to assist them as far as lay in my power, I made them a present of some lances
and grappling hooks, which made them inexpressibly happy. Everything was
immediatdy shown to the people in the boats, who unanimously set up a loud "0- 
-hi" Tiuraur danced and sang to it a war-song, showing us how he would throw his
enemies down; the people roared for joy, and had their foes appeared at the
moment, these valiant men, inspired by martial ardour, would certainly have gained
the victory (131-132).
Kotzebue supplied the people ofAur with hatchets and iron as contributions for
their war, since the schedule ofthe voyage prevented his participation. Charmsso
ominously wrote ofthe negative implications of their gifts:
The real wealth ofiron, which we expended with pleasure on Radak, can stir up a
ruinous War between the south and north ofthis chain, and between it and RaIik,
and blood could be the fruit ofour generosity (1986: 282).
Before leaving Rata!<, Kotzebue decided to look for Lamari. The crew left Aur, en
route to Ailuk and the northern atolls before conrinuing on their voyage to Alaska. They
were able to meet briefly, on the open ocean, between Utirik and Taka.
I resolved to remain here only one day under sail to speak with Larnari. Four
canoes soon appeared with their chief, ... when they, to their great astonishment,
recognized Kadu. Larnari remained only a short time with us on board, because his
people were afraid that we might keep him. He was distinguished from the other
islanders less by his dress than his tall and robust person. His face indicated much
sense, but his right eye, smaller than the left, gave him a sly look. Kadu afterwards
told us that Lamari was now about thirty years old, a native ofArno, and carne
some years ago to Aur; had murdered its chiefwithout any provocation, and
136
usurped the dominion; thence he had gone to Kawen (Maloelap], and continued to
proceed farther to the north with his partisans, to Utirick, had everywhere
murdered the most distinguished chiefs, and now rules with unlimited sway over
the whole chain from Radak (sic) to Aur (1821: 151).
Kadu remained aboard the Rurik for nearly eight months and learned to
communicate with the crewmembers in Russian, and to teach Chamisso some basic
Marshallese vocabulary, which Chamisso appended to his account of the voyage. Kadu
significantly influenced Chamisso and Kotzebue's written descriptions oflife in the
Marshalls since he was the sole source ofmuch of their knowledge ofaspects ofthe
Radakians'lives that they did not personally witness. Kadu's presence aboard ship at that
time enhanced their interaction, and no doubt elevated his status in Lamari's eyes.
After eight months aboard the Rurik, sailing to Alaska, and Oahu, Kotzebue's ship
retnmed to Wotje in October of 1817. Once 'home,' Kadu's decision to abandon the
expedition and to rejoin his family on Aur caused the crew much grief:
As he intended to leave the ship today, because we sailed tomorrow, we all
collected presents for him. He looked at his treasures with mute astonishment, and
was only afraid that the Radakers could not resist the temptation ofrobbing him. I
did not doubt that Lamari, as soon as he heard ofit, would not fail to take from
him the greatest part,>! and to avoid this, left some very considerable presents for
him also ...To protect Kadu as much as possible against such an event, I intended
to make an exhortation to all the savages (216-217).
They devised a ceremony for Kadu's protection. First, in a formal speech Kadu
claimed the Russian monarch had called upon him to care for the plants and animals left by
the expedition. Kadu was to be honored and protected, and assisted in caring for these
things. Kotzebue publicly added that in ten months another Russian ship would retnm to
21 Lamari immediately raided Wotje after the Rmi)/s departure to collect all the iron and other tnaterW items
given to the people by the crew.
137
the island to see how Kadu fared, and to offer iron. IfKadu was robbed or injured the
criminals were to be punished with death -- and at that point in his speech the ship fired
two guns and a rocket, which illuminated the whole island (219). "Lagediak [an Irooj of
Wotje who befriended Kotzebue] threw both his arms round me and begged me to put an
end to this terrific scene (219).
Kadu benefited by invoking the power of a foreign monarch or chief to maintain
his status on the island. Kotzebue gladly contributed to Kadu's status with gunpowder to
invoke the islanders' fear and respect of that foreign Irooj, whom he represented. Not until
Kotzebue's return trip did the impact of Kadu's daring social climb become clear.
Kotzebue's Return to Wotje: 1824
In late April of 1824, Kotzebue again returned toWo~e,this time for a single week.
He arrived in an even larger ship, the Predpriatie, which was specifically designated for his
second world voyage. His reception atWo~ewas marked by the special treatment accorded
chiefs -- his needs were anticipated, he was offered the best foods, and treated royally by
the community ofWotje.
Four islanders lifted me from the boat and carried me ashore to where Lagediak
awaited me with open arms, and pressed me most cordiilly to his bosom. The
powerful tones ofthe muscle hom now resounded through the woods, and our
friends announced the approach of [Iroo)] Rarik. He soon appeared running at full
speed towards us, and embraced me several times, endeavouring in every possible
way to express his joy at our return. Though the friends to whom I was thus
restored were but poor ignorant savages, I was deeply affected by the ardour of
their reception; their unsophisticated hearts beat with sincere affection towards me,
-- and how seldom I have felt this happy consciousness among the civilized nations
of the world (Kotzebue 1830: 303-4).
138
Figure 72. "Reception of Capt. Kotzebue at the island of Otdia."
Source: Kotzebue 1824: Facing Title Page (Volume I, 1830).
Rarik's mother:
very diffusely related that Laman, soon after our departure, had come hither with a
fleet, and forcibly carried to Aur all the animals, plants, tools, pieces ofiron, -- in
short, whatever we had left on the island. Lagediak confirmed this tale, and added,
that Laman had demanded of every islander, under pain of death, the last piece of
iron in his possession (Kotzebue 1830: 307).
Kotzebue learned that Kadu was still caring for the plants, garden, and animals
contributed in 1817. Kadu was raised to the position of great commander, married the
daughter of the chief at Wodmej island ofWotje atoll, and gave over half ofhis treasured
gifts to Laman (a gesture recommended by Kotzebue).
Kotzebue inquired into the campaign Lamari had led against Majuro, the one that
Lagediak had asked Kotzebue to join before his previous departure. Lagediak himself had
been in the battle and he pantomimed an account of the war.
Laman's fleet, as I understood my informant, consisted of forty vessels; and
therefore, judging by the size of the boats here, the whole army could not be above
four hundred strong, including the women, who, from the rear, lend assistance to
the combatants by throwing stones at the enemy, and by assuming the surgeon's
office. This force was collected from the Radack chain; the war was bloody, and
lasted six whole days. Five of the enemy were slain, and Laman gained a splendid
victory with the loss of one man! The fleet returned triumphant, laden with cocoa-
139
nuts, bread-fruit, and pandanus. Kadu had especially distinguished himself: he was
armed with a sabre and lance, and wore a white shirt, and wide trowsers, which
formidable attire was completed by a red cap on his head. All the hatchets, above a
hundred in number, which I had given to the Radakers, and which Lamari
afterwards appropriated, were fastened on long poles and distributed among the
best warriors; this gave the army ofLamari a great advantage; so that I might take
credit to myself for the happy issue of the campaign (Kotzebue 1830: 317-318).
.
'Aur
RatakChain
Ebon
Kili
Bikar
Jaluit
Lib
..
Ailinglaplap
Namu'
Namorlk
'Iuk
~.M~~
Likiep" '1'emo
Kwajalein Wotje
.; - .; Ill. Maloelap
Lae Erlkub'W
'. :
Ujile
Bikini
"
RalikChain
Enl!wetak
Figure 73. Map of the Marshall Islands showing the two parallel chains of atolls
spread southeast to northwest. The lUtak chain is to the east; the Ralik. chain lies to the west.
(Adapted from "Magnificent Micronesia" - http://Skin-diver.com/pata/section4.html)
Further, Lamari planned an attack on a Holik atoll, which the Russians referred to
as Qdia [now called Ailinglaplap] in retaliation for an attack that was made against the
people of Kawen atoll [now Maloelap]. Chamisso's statement about the potential impact of
the Kotzebue's gifts was prophetic, as warfare apparendy ensued within the Rataks and
between the Ralik and Ratak chain, Interest in foreign weapons (iron), and their associative
powers inspired batdes and assured victory.
140
The inhabitants ofthese Odia [Ailinglaplap) group ofislands had heard something
ofthe treasures which the Radackers had acquired by my visit, and their rapacity
being excited, had made an attack on the Kawen group of the Radack chain,
without the usual declaration ofwar, and thus taking the inhabitants by surptise,
had beaten and plundered them, and returned home laden with booty, though the
Kawen people had made a valorous resistance, and killed two of the Odians
without losing a man themselves. This appeared to have happened a year before my
arrival, and the vengeance ofLamari had been hitherto delayed; the levying and
provisioning an army being here a work oftime (318-319).
The explorers' descriptions offer insight into the practice ofwarfare in the Marshall
Islands in the 1900s. The weapons (spears, lances, rocks) and participants' roles are well
described by Kotzebue. The blowing ofshell horns, the singing and shrieking, the wild
mannerisms indicate supernatural beliefs associated with elements ofbattle (Kotzebue
1824: 319-322). The accounts also explain the effect of foreign resources on hisroric local
rivalries. The presence ofthe foreign materials and costumes lent extra authority to
Lamari's soldiers, according to Lagediak, and Kadu was well rewarded for his role in battle,
a role enhanced by his use ofthe foreign costume and weapons. The numbers of such
novelties as hatchets, and the presence of foreign goods, portrayed Lamari's association
with a wealthy foreign 'god' and the support ofthat source of strength that lead to the
defeat oftheir opponents on Majuro. Thus, Lagediak tried very hard to persuade Kotzebue
to remain on Wotje:
He left nothing untried to procure my acquiescence in this wish: love, ambitions,
glory, were successively held out as lures: I should have the most beautiful woman
ofthe islands for my wife, should kill the tyrant and usurper Lamari, as he had
killed his predecessor, and should reign in his stead Tamon [IrooJ1 ofRadak. (314)
The following day, Lagediak appeared on the ship with many presents and, "he
brought with him his son, about thirteen or fourteen years ofage, to present to me" (315).
Lagediak soon recurred to his yesterday's project ofmaking me chief ofRadak. He
sketched the plan ofits execution, and entered upon the further measures which
141
would be requisite to give power and stability to the new government. We were
first to sail to Aur and vanquish Lamari, and then to attack the hostile group ofthe
Mediuro (Majuro) islands, the conquest ofwhich would render me master ofthe
whole chain ofRadak. (316).
Lagediak [was] perfectly secure ofthe success ofthis undertaking, ... he continued
sanguine -- for the hatchets with which his brethren were armed, the sword and
dread-inspiring costume ofKadu, were sources ofconfidence which could not be
abated. (319)
When Kotzebue explained he could not stay:
He [LagediakJ led his son to me, and begged 1 would take him with me to Russia. 1
was then obligated to explain to him that 1 should never return to Radak, and that
ifhis son accompauied me, he must take leave ofhim for ever. This was too much
for the father's heart; he embraced his son, and would no longer think ofa
separation. He was also overcome with the idea ofseeing me for the last time; and
a little self-interest probably mingled in the melancholy look he cast upon a hatchet
which 1 had given him, as he exclaimed -- 'I shall never get any iron again' (316)1
This passage sheds light on the ways Lagediak viewed Kotzebue and his influence
in the islands. Kotzebue was expected to reciprocate their generous offerings, and
hospitality, by collaborating in political/military maneuverings ofthe time. He had already
contributed much iron to their campaigns, and was recognized for his role in the success of
Lamari's Majuro campaign through Kadu's relationship to him, revealed by his costume,
and the hatchets previously given. The Radakians hoped to retain his assistance, and
protection. Lagediak also hoped to benefit from sending his son with Kotzebue,
recognizing Kadu's social promotion through the affiliation, and the opportunity to access
the foreign knowledge that was linked to highly valued iron, and that had access to such
wealth. This passage highlights the ways Marshallese have used foreign resources (as
weapons) in battles with local chiefs over local animosities.
Just before Kotzebue left the islanders they:
142
expressed their fears that Lamari would again plunder them, when he should learn
that we had been there. I therefore commissioned Lagediak ... to infonn Lamari
that if he took their belongings, whenever white men should visit Radak they would
take vengeance upon him (335).
This pronouncement is quite different from Kotzebue's final comments in his
accounts, that perhaps the islanders would, after his visit, retain fondness and positive
attitudes toward white men. Kotzebue concluded his notes about Radak with these
remarks:
I was much pleased with observing the cordial goodwill that subsisted between the
natives and my crew, and with the reflection that this second visit would also leave
on the minds of the Radaker an impression favourable to white men (1830: 334).
SummatY
Though the Russian expedition's interaction with the Marshallese in the Ratak
chain occurred relatively late in the region's history, it is the first recorded extended contact
between Europeans and Marshallese. The expedition arrived intent upon gaining scientific
and geographic knowledge, while offering assistance "nd making friends with the
inhabitants. In the process they described a gentle and modest people, whose manners
were judged more attractive than other Pacific Islanders they encountered, and whose
navigational skills were considered superior to those ofEuropeans.
The Radakians, while both initia1ly frightened and curious, experienced the
foreigners as wealthy visitors who traded and generously gave precious gifts ofiron,
hatchets, and other useful tools. While the islanders were unfamiliar with the plants and
animals given to them, they did not reject the gifrs. The islanders were likely awed by the
wealth of the foreigners who arrived with an apparently limitless supply ofiron, an
143
imposingly large craft and crew, and knowledge ofunfamiliar, if not irrelevant, goods,
plants, and animals.
In their interaction Captain Kotzebue, the leading scientist, Chamisso, and the
ship's officer, Schitschmaroff, were treated with the same familial respect that the islanders
offered their chiefs. They were given places ofhonor in canoes and at feasts, their needs
were anticipated, and their requests met. In return, the island leaders sought the protection
and support of Kotzebue. The Ratak people offered rewards ofpower and dominion in
return for his support of their inter-atoll rivalries. They sought his powerful backing in
their endeavors -- an endorsement that would threaten other island chiefs without access to
such foreign power and wealth.
Kotzebue's close relationship with Kadu, the affection that grew, and the gifts that
symbolized it, functioned ultimately to elevate Kadu in the eyes of the Radakians. Through
his public patronage, Kotzebue lent foreign authority to Kadu, and protected him from
harm. Cannon fire reminded the islanders of the power the foreigners possessed, but did
not use against the islanders. This evidence ofjoij [goodness, generosity] may have
strengthened any understandings ofKotzebue's foreign and sacred connections.
The Russian expedition ultimately "made a chief" of Kadu, even as the islanders
sought to make a chief of Kotzebue. This case emphasizes the models and the methods of
creating and reinforcing authority in interactions between foreigners, chiefs, and
commoners as mutually beneficial processes. The expedition gained the knowledge it
sought, Kadu found social mobility, Lamari took advantage ofKadu's association with
Kotzebue to put him at the front ranks to frighten and defeat the warriors ofMajuro.
144
Other islanders received gifts ofiron, and new stories to pass along ofwhite strangers and
their interesting novelties. The long-term impact of Kotzebue's visit is evident in the
alterations ofinter-atoll rivalries as new weapons and resources were introduced and
incorporated into local warfare.
Further, the ethnographic accounts emphasize the relationship between resource
availability and social relations through descriptions ofhierarchy, warfare practices, and
social maneuvering. The symbiotic relationship between gift-givers and recipients is integral
to Marshallese understandings ofauthority. Possession of resources is the surest indication
ofwealth, power, and supernatural approval. Distribution ofresources ensures service and
loyalty from subordinates, since the provider with the greatest number of dependents can
rely on the greatest number ofsupporters. The distribution ofwealth, which secures loyalty
and dependency, is the most practical means ofelevating status. For commoners, service
and loyalty to superiors secures necessary resources. Reciprocity is the integral social
cohesive where the exchange may be loyalty, service, or material goods. Each offering
requires reciprocity, according to one's means and abilities. Where commoners are not
compensated for their services adequately, their loyalties shift and they seek to affi1iate with
someone who might better provide for their needs. A wealthy, powerful foreign leader is
preferable to a dangerous local overthrow given the long memories and potential backlash
when attempts at overthrowing the dominant powers are unsuccessful. Kotzebue's gifts
tkJine him as a provider, whose gifts forge expectations of-protection and support in their
recipients, who then offer their services and loyalty in return.
145
WHALERS
In the same year that Kotzebue bid his final farewell to the people ofRatak,
believing Marshallese would now be teceptive to other white men, American whalers made
their first ominous introductions. This first recorded encounter is quite the opposite of
Kotzebue's. A crewman aboard the mutinied whaleship Globe describes the cruel event and
his understanding ofits lasting impact:
February 8, 1824. In the morning [we] passed through the channel between the
Marshall and Gilbert Islands; liffed to and dispatched a boat to Marshall Island, but
did not land, as the natives appeared hostile, and those who swam offto the boat
endeavoured to steal from her. When about to leave, a volley ofmusketry was
discharged at them, which probably killed or wounded some ofthem. The boat
then gave chase to a canoe, paddled by two ofthe natives, which were fired upon
when within gunshot, when they immediately ceased paddling; and on the boat
approaching them, discovered that one of the natives was wounded. In the most
supplicating manner they held up a jacket, manufactured from a kind offlag, and
some beads, being all they possessed, giving their inhuman pursuers to understand
that all should be theirs if they would spare their livesl The wounded native laid
down in the bottom ofthe boat, and from his convulsed frame and trembling lip,
no doubt remained but that the wound was mortal. The boat then returned on
board and we made sail for the Mulgrave Islands [Mill atoll]. Here was another
sacrifice, an innocent child ofnature shot down, merely to gratify the most wanton
and unprovoked cruelty, which could possibly possess the heart ofman. The
unpolished savage, a stranger to the more tender sympathies ofthe human heart,
which are cultivated and enjoyed by civilized nations, nurtures in his bosom a flame
ofrevenge, which only the blood of those who have injured him can damp, and
when years have rolled away, this act ofcruelty will be remembered by these
Islanders, and made the pretext to slaughter every white man who may fall into
their hands (Lay and Hussey 1824: 22).
Two conflicting experiences, one largely positive, the other extremely negative
inform Marshallese notions ofthe foreigner, the dri-belk, by mid 1824, according to foreign
accounts ofthese events. The arrivals ofincreasing numbers offoreigners occurred during
-- and likely influenced -- a period ofinter-atoll warfare. Lamari, as described by Kotzebue,
was the dominant Iroo;" ofRatak, a warrior accustomed to battle and fueled/inspired by the
146
hatchets, and novelties introduced by and obtained through Kotzebue. At his side Kadu,
the publicly designated representative ofthe Russian monarch, functioned as a powerful
symbol offoreign support. The Globe arrived in the midst ofbattles among Ratak chiefs
and vengeful atracks between Ratak and Ralik.
The Whaleship Globe
The events associated with the American whaleship Globe are broadly significant for
Marshallese, for American whalers, for American understandings ofthe Marshall Islands,
and to the Pacific Island region as a whole. The mutiny and murder ofthe Globe's captain
at sea, followed by the vengeful murder of the lead mutineer at "The Mulgraves" [Mili
atoll] and the subsequent abandonment of the remaining mutineers by six ofthe crew was
only the beginning ofa series ofdramatic events. Once stranded on Mill, all the remaining
sailors (but two) were massacred by Mili natives. The two survivors were rescued by the
fitst US man ofwar in the region, captained by well-known War of1812 hero "Mad Jack"
Percival. The publication of the survivors' account of these events and their life among the
Marshallese for the two years leading to their rescue contributed to the Globe's and the
Marshalls' notoriety.
As word spread ofthe massacre in the whaling towns along the US eastern
seaboard, the Marshall Islands developed a reputation for ferocious natives, who were to
be avoided at all cost. These events indirectly impacted the histories ofmany Pacific
Islands, particularly whaling ports, which began to see United States warships protecting
merchant ships in the aftermath ofthe Globe events. Mad Jack Percival's presence in
Hawai'i marked the fitst American military warship in its waters. On a smaller scale, but no
147
less important, are the accounts ofWilliam Lay and Cyrus Hussey, two young men who the
Marshallese deliberately saved from harm, and put to work in the service oftheir lrooj. For
two years they lived as captives until they were dramatically rescued by the first US warship
in the region, sent specifically to discover the whereabouts of the Globe's mutineers and
survivors. Because Lay and Hussey learned to speak and understand the Marshallese
language, their published descriptions are rich in detail that enhance and support much of
Kotzebue's and Chamisso's accounts, while providing the first attempt to explain/translate
their understandings ofMarshallese social practices. No other foreigners are recorded to
have lived among the Marshallese people prior to Lay and Hussey. Unlike Kotzebue's and
Chamisso's accounts, Lay and Hussey neither wholly romanticize nor demonize their
Marshallese hosts/captors. Their stories provide insight into Marshallese religious beliefs,
attirudes and understandings of foreigners, political interactions, strategies ofwarfare and
aggression, and means ofharnessing power - foreign power -- for political and economic
gain. Their accounts also highlight the precarious existence faced by atoll dwellers who live
with unpredictable rainfall and food availability, and depend upon close, reciprocal, inter-
atoll a1liances to ensure their survival.
Lay, who was taken aside by an elderly couple, describes the first recorded instance
ofMarshallese violence toward foreigners:
My ears were astounded by the most terrifying whoops and yells ... a massacre
commenced but little exceeded by the one perpetrated on board the Globe. Our
men fled in all directions, but met a foe at every rum. Iilliston and]oe Brown fell
within six feet ofme, and, as soon as down, the natives macerated their heads with
large stones. The first whom I saw killed was Columbus Worth. An old woman,
apparently sixty years ofage, ran him through with a spear, and finished.him with
stonesl
148
My protectors [the elderly couple], for now they were truly so, shut out the scene
by laying down upon me, to hide me from the view of the merciless foe! I was
however discovered, and one ofthe natives attempted toget a blow at me with a
handspike, which was prevented by them, when after a few words, he went away.
As soon as the work ofdeath had been completed the old man took me by the
hand and hurried me along towards the village ... Believing myself the sole
survivor, the reader must pardon any attempt to describe my feelings when I saw a
number of the natives approaching the hut, and, in the midst, Cyrus Hussey
conducted with great apparent kindness (Lay and Hussey 1828:42-43).
Early Ethnographic Accounts
Lay and Hussey were separated and sent to live on different islands of Mill atoll,
under the protection oftwo lro'!i to whom they considered themselves slaves. Lay lived
with IroqjLattuon/Ladjuon and his son-in-law Luckiair, while Hussey lived with Iroo}
Lugoma. When allowed to see each other, their visits were brief, since the Marshallese
believed if they were together for too loag they might call upon their god to bring other
foreigners or calamity among them (Lay and Hussey 1828:47, 54).
Lay describes the islanders' fears when a mysterious ailment that spread thtough
the islands was blamed on the two men:
A small boy came running towards us, and exclaimed, 'Umit o-ro rqyltl m0'!Y fa
WimIm,' [Iroqj ro ren'!i mone fa Wil5om!] that is, the chiefs are going to kill Willillln.
Ladjuan, seeing that I understood what the boy said, he said, 'retib-reobl' [Riob, nab]
it is false. From the pains taken by the natives to keep Hussey and myself apart, it
was evident that they were in some measure afraid ofus; but from what cause I had
yet to learn... About midnight I overheard some ofthe natives in the tent talking
about me, and I was now convinced that some injury was contemplated I then
asked them what I was to be killed for. I was taken back to the hut and
communicated my fears to myoId mistress [wife ofLadjuan], who sympathized
with me, but said ifthe chiefs had determined it, there was no hope for me. I [later]
learned that the principal chief had said that it would have been wrong to kill me,
firmly believing that the disease with which they had been afflicted had been sent
by their God, as a punishment for having killed Payne and the others! The malady
having now entirely disappeared, they considered that crime as expiated (1828: 55 
56, 57)1
149
Marshallese ambiguity about these particular foreigners is recorded in the Lay and
Hussey account through examples such as those above. Hussy also describes local beliefs
that the terrible drought they suffered was a punishment for either allowing the foreigners
to live, or for killing their shipmates (1828:98). Yet, despite local tears and uncertainties, the
men were highly valued and sought for information, guidance, and forceful foreign
weapons.
Many times the Marshallese would ask Lay to fire offthe various weapons left
ashore by the Globe. Their reactions to the weapons were a mix of fascination, fear, and
envy:
I frequenrly fired a musket to please them, but their request; and told them if they
would let me have some powder, I would fire off the swivd, left by the Globe. They
consented, and collected in great numbers, and after I had loaded the gun with a
heavy charge, I told them they had better stand back. They said I must set her on
fire, and tell them when she was going off, and they would run! I , however,
touched her off, when they instanrly fell on their face in the greatest panic. When
their fears had subsided, they set up howling and yelling with ecstasy! They said, if
they should have a batrle, I must carry that gun with me, which would alone
vanquish their enemies (Lay and Hussey 1828: 60-61)!
The foreign men were sought to participate in battle with a chiefofAlu island, Mili
atoll, who was in dispute with another lrooj ofMili. They were specifically told to prepare
their muskets:
One day while fishing, a canoe came to the island; and as soon as the canoe was
near enough for the natives in her to be heard, they commence hallooing and
making dreadful noises, which is their practice when war is declared. They
informed us that the high Chief had killed several ofthe lower chiefs who bdonged
to the island called Alloo (an islet ofMill atoll]; that Longerene had fled to AlIoo, his
own island; and that the high Chief was determined to pursue and kill him. We were
ordered to go immediatdy to his assistance; according we set sail for Milly [MiIi
islands, Mili atoll], where we found a great number ofnatives collected for war...
[Lay] informed me that they were going to fight the other party at AlIoo and that
the chief had told him that he and I must prepare two muskets, and fight with
them. Luttuon sent for me and Lay, and informed us he was about to have a battle,
150
and that we must prepare to take a part in it... The next morning we launched 15
or 16 canoes, containing in all about 200 natives, and set sail for AlIoo; where we
arrived and landed, and proceeded to a village in order to give battle to the enemy.
On learning that the chief ofAlloo and his family had fled in a canoe, we returned
to our canoes, made sail in pursuit ofthe chief, but did not overtake him. After
returning and spending a day or two at AlIoo, we launched our canoes and went to
out respective homes, and heard no more ofthe war (Lay and Hussey 1828:100 
101).
Both Lay and Hussey contributed to the families with whom they lived by working
to produce food, such as preserved breadfruit and pandanus for daily consumption and for
tributes. They admiringly documented fishing and cooking methods, as well as sailing
techniques, in their accounts. Word of their integration into and contributions to their host
families had spread to the highest chief: "The king had long before heard of our being at
the Mulgraves [Mihl, and told Hussey he had been repairing his canoe, in order to go to
those islands with a view to induce us to live with him" (1828:72).
Perhaps one of the most insightful examples ofMarshaUese interactions with
foreigners is shown in Lay and Hussy's accounts of the islanders' reactions to the US
warship, Dolphin, which appeared at Mill to rescue the stranded Globe crew. The
MarshaUese sought and questioned each man about the ship's appearance. In addition to
considering their responses, the islanders' proposed actions were ultimately brought to
their gods for approval or rejection. Both Lay and Hussy were aware ofthe invocation of
the gods upon the foreigners' arrival, though neither man wimesses the secret process of
divination.
Hoping for rescue, Lay and Hussey deliberately misled the islanders about the
foreigners' intentions and suggested strategies intended to aid their own escape:
There was great excitement in consequence ofthe appearance ofa shipl Seeing the
natives were very much displeased at the circumstance, I concealed as well as I
151
could the gladdening emotions which filled my breast, and surrounded by about
three hundred of them, went round a point ofland when I distinctly saw a ship
standing for land. The displeasure ofthe natives increased, they demanded to know
where she came from, how many men she had in her, etc. I was compelled to tell
them that she was not coming to get me, which please them much as they appeared
determined I should never leave them (57).
Early in the morning of that day [November 23,1825], I was awakened by a
hooting and yelling ofthe natives, who said a vessel had anchored at the head of
the Island. They seemed alarmed. .. Their God was immediately consulted as to the
measure to pursue, but as I was not allowed to be present when he was invoked, I
cannot say what was the form of this ceremony, except that coconut leaves were
used. Their God, however, approved the plan, which was that they should go to the
vessel, or near her, and swim on board, a few at a time, until two hundred were on
board, and then a signal was to be given, when they were to throw the persons on
board into the water and kill them. Two large canoes which would carry fifty men
each were put in readiness, but at first they refused to let me accompany them,
fearing that I would inform oftheir having killed our men, and they would be
punished. I assured them that the vessel having but two masts, did not belong to
my nation, and I was certain I could not speak their language.
They at length consented for me to go. We arrived within a few miles of the vessel
at night, and early the following morning were joined by a number of canoes,
which made in all two hundred men. I had only time to see that it was really an
armed schooner when I was secreted with their women, about forty in number, in a
hut near the shore and the women had orders to watch me close, that I did not get
away. Night came, and I was sent for by the principal chief, and questioned closely
concerning the schooner.
[On the 29
th
of November] early in the morning, we discovered a boat under sail,
standing directly for the place where we were; the natives were considerably
agitated with fear, and engaged in planning some method by which to overcome
the people in the boat, if they should come where we were...The boat was not
within one hundred rods ofthe shore, and lJittuon called me to him, oiled my head
and body with coconut oil, and gave me my charge how to conduct. I went to the
beach accompanied by about 100 of the smartest natives, whom I charged not to
manifest a hostile appearance. I hailed the boat in English, and told the crew what
the calculations ofthe natives were, and not to land unless they were well armed.
The officer ofthe boat replied that he would be among them directly and in a few
minutes they landed, and when within a rod ofus, I ran to Lieutenant H. Paulding,
who took me by the hand, asked ifI was one ofthe Globe's crew, and inquired my
name, etc.
We then retreated to the boat, facing the natives who all kept their seats, excepting
the one I called father, who came down among us, and took hold ofme to carry
152
me back, but desisted on having a pistol presented to his breast (1828:57,63,64 
65).
Although Lay writes about this experience in terms of his own escape, his account
includes his lmderstanding ofnative perceptions of foreigners, their plans to vanquish the
unwelcome guests, their fears at the arrival of the large ship, their curiosity about the
numbers ofmen and their purpose for arriving at Mill, their fears ofretribution for the
murder ofthe Globe crew, and particularly, the significance ofsecuring the God's approval
before pursuing any course ofaction. This is the only account, albeit a foreigner's account,
ofMarshallese reactions to the arrivals of foreign ships in their midst.
In a few days, Captain Paulding was able to meet with the chiefs ofMill. Lay and
Hussey served as interpreters:
The Captain told them he had been sent by the Head Chiifofhis county, to look for
the men that had been leftth~reby the ship Globe - that he had been informed they
murdered all but two - that as it was their first offence ofthe kind, their ignorance
would plead an excuse - but ifthey should ever kill or injure another white man,
who was from any vessel or wreck, or who might be left among them our country
would send a naval force, and exterminate every soul on the island, and also destroy
their fruit trees, provisions, etc., and that if they would always treat white men
kindly, they never would receive any injury from them, but would have their
kindness and hospitality reciprocated (67-68).
The story of the Globe ends as it began, with westerners' imaginings oftheir own
self-importance in Marshallese perceptions and understandings.
Lt. Paulding Makes History
Lieutenant Paulding's account ofthe rescue ofLay and Hussey adds important
ethnographic information about interactions between Marshallese chiefs and commoners.
In an incident that mirrors that ofKotzebue, Lugoma (Hussey's benefactor and master)
153
tearfully beggedP~uldingnot tot~kehis "son" Hussey~w~y,explainingth~the could not
get along without his labor.
L~terLugom~pulled Hussey~side~ndrequestedth~the bring~n~xe,some cloth,
~ndguns with him upon his future return(P~ulding1970:133-134).Lugom~also~ttempted
toencour~geP~ulding'sprotection~ndmilitary support with the promise ofe1ev~tinghis
status and obeying him,m~kinghim~chief:
When we wereprep~ringto return on board,Lugom~came to me several times,
saying,th~tI might just~swell cut his throat,~stot~keHuzzy~w~yfrom him. 'I
h~eno one,' said he, with a distressed look,'th~tis equallyc~p~bleofassisting me,
to work my canoe, and now, he is goingaw~ywith his musket, my enemies can
come~ndkill me.' Finding, at last,th~the could not prevail upon us tole~ve
Huzzy, he said, we must bring him back very soon. That, ifwe were long absent,
we should not find him living. He said, that we must bring him clothes, like ours;
guns and axes; andth~twe shouldsh~rethe government of his islet with him,
promising to have an abundant supply for us, ofall the fruits and vegetables weh~d
planted (160).
In~ddition,just~sKotzebue experienced, a chief~ttemptedto send his young son
~waywithP~ulding,before reversing his decision when he understoodth~tthe son would
likely never return:
The high chiefs son, whoh~dvisited me a number oftimes before, and to whom I
had made presents of trifling value, but important to him, came on board with his
father, and expressed~wish to go with me. Hisf~ther~vehis consent, being
perfecdy willing that he should go; but~sthere WM great probability an
opportunity would never offer for him to return, I though it would be cruel tot~e
him from hisn~tiveislands, where, in hisf~ther'sinherit~nce,he would be so well
provided for (162).
Significance ofthe Globe Incident and Accounts
William uy~ndCyrus Hussy's depictions ofMarshallese politics, warfare, social
interactions, and religious beliefs repeatm~nyof the observations oftheRom~nzov
expedition authors. In these biased stories,M~shallesechiefs are represented asw~rriors,
154
priests, and even tyrants. Maxshallese appeaxed to the foreigners to be both frightened and
awed by the weapons, clothes, and material wealth brought by their ships. Marshallese
leaders enlisted their protection and military support against other Maxshallese lrooj. The
chiefs offered loyal support and generous amounts of food in return for valuable weapons.
They further attempted to forge relationships (with stronger ties and greater access) by
offering to send their children away with the various captains. The pattern of affiliation
with foreigners to gain access to iron, weapons, clothes, labor, and knowledge that serve
local priorities and agendas is repeated, and diminished in foreign accounts. The disputes
over these valued resources could easily have spaxked violence against foreigners,
paJ:ticularly those who aJ:rived as the Globe did -- violently.
It was only eight years after the events on Mill that Maxshall Islanders attacked the
crew ofanother foreign vessel. From 1833 to 1852, approximately rwelve shipsand/or
their crewmembers experienced violence at the hands ofMaxshallese. The most violent of
these recorded attacks occurred at Ebon, Jaluit, Kwajalein, Namodrik, and Bikini - all RaIik
atolls under the control ofwaJ:rior chieflroojlaplop Kaibuki. The only Ratak attacks
occurred at Mill. The influence ofinter-atoll politics is absent in these accounts, but surely
comes into play. Kotzebue's second visit neaxly coincided with the arrival of the Globe and
its crew. Kotzebue's gifts of1817 had already been used to wage wax on Majuro, and
prepaxations for attacks on RaIik were under way at the time ofKotzebue's return in 1824.
The weapons on the Globe were desired for battle, according to Lay and Hussy's
descriptions. RaIik ideas about foreigners might not have been as positive as those of
Ratak, who largely benefited by access to weapons that were used to obtain territorial
155
victories. Mili, a Ratak atoll closely affiliated with Majuro and its chiefs, might have shared
a less positive understanding of foreigners than Wotje, Aur, or Maloelap where Kotzebue's
gifts were more direcdy appreciated. The attacks that occurred at Mili and throughout the
Raliks might have easily resulted from inter-atoll rivalries previously impacted through
foreign tools, ttade, and affiliation. I do not think it insignificant that no attacks ever
occurred on atolls where Kotzebue landed.
IfMarshallese people were as aggressive as the whalers, sailors, and missionaries
feared, why were there not more attacks on foreign ships and crews? Significandy, only
twelve attacks are recorded to have occurred in over one hundred landings over the course
of twenty-four years (1831-1855). Considering the rapid increase in foreign interactions
after centuries ofrelatively lillie outside contact, the reputation ofthe evidence of
widespread Marshallese brutality is exaggerated.
MISSIONARIES
Capt. Ichabod Handy, an American captain, was able to trade for coconut oil in the
Marshalls despite the Marshallese reputation for fierceness that was broadly proclaimed
among sailors. Captain Handy had befriended Ralik lro'!ilaplap Kaibuki and traded with him
and other islanders for nearly seventeen years before he offered to help Rev. George
Pierson make contact with the islanders.
Pierson represented the American Board ofCommissioners for Foreign Missions
(ABCFM), an organization formed by the Congregational church and incorporated in
Boston, Massachusetts in 1812. By 1820, the ABCFM, had established the first mission in
Hawai'i. Approximately thirty years later, in 1852, the ABCFM, along with the Hawaiian
156
Missionary Society, a branch of the original mission established in Hawai'i by the ABCFM,
sent three American couples (the Snows, Gulicks, and Sturges) and three Hawaiian couples
(the Opunuis, Kanoas, and Kamukaulas) to Micronesia.
They traveled first to Kosrae (then referred to as Strong's Island, after a
Massachusetts governor) where they asked the paramount chief, 'King' George, for
permission to set up a mission. The Snows, Oponuis, and Kanoas were granted permission
to stay. The Sturges, Gulicks, and the Karnukaulas proceeded to Pohnpei (referred to as
Ascension Island. There, with the support ofone ofthe island's most powerful leaders,
they were given a prime parcel ofland on which to establish their mission (Hezel1983:
144; Ward 1967: 511-512).
Once the American Board had a toehold in the region, the missionaries' interest in
the Marshalls increased. The missionaries believed the Marshalls were in need ofbeing
saved from their violent and savage ways: "No people in Micronesia are so badly spoken of
by foreigners, especially by commanders ofvessels" (in Hezel 1983: 197). They also
considered the absence ofother foreign influences a great advantage. In September 1855,
the Honolulu Missionary Herald noted:
[Captain Handy] is very desirous to have missionaries settle upon both these
groups ofislands especially upon the Radack and Ralick Chains. There are no
foreigners residing upon them, and we might preoccupy the ground, and so avoid
many difficulties that come from wicked foreigners who have gained influence
before the arrival ofmissionaries (quoted in Browning 1972:33).
When Pierson accompauied Capt. Handy on a trip through the Marshalls in 1855, it
was by chance that they came upon the notoriously fierce 1roi!iKaibuki at Ailinglaplap atoll.
Surprisingly, he granted them his protection and support (Browning 1972: 34).
157
By 1857, only two years after the first meeting with Kaibuki, the missionary group
sailed aboard the ABCFM's newly built mission ship, Morning Star, to make theit home on
Ebon atoll. On board were Pierson, Doane, their wives, as well as Hiram Bingham, Jr., the
son of the famous missionary to Hawai\ and a native Hawaiian missionary, Kanoa, and his
wife Kaholo. Pierson and Doane were to begin a mission on Ebon, while Bingham and
Kanoa were en route to begin a mission in Abaiang in the Gilbert Islands (Crawford
1967:103).
A Home on Ebon
Bhon was selected as the site ofthe first Marshall's mission for many reasons. First,
Bbon was the home of the RJilik chiefs, and was central to the political and economic life
of the fuiliks. Further, Kaibuki had promised his protection and sent his sister Leroqj
N eimara with the missionaries to ensure local cooperation and support for theit work.
Neimara and Mrs. Pierson developed a friendship that was central to the development of
the early mission (Ward 1967:438). Ebon was also known as a fertile island that received
much rainfall and therefore would have fresh water and more resources for the
missionaries new to atoll living.
When the passengers aboard the Morning Star arrived at Ebon in November 1857,
the Marshallese Pierson befriended at Kosrae a year before surprisingly greeted them.
As the Morning Star approached Ebon's harbor, several native canoes came out to
meet the ship. The missionary patty standing on the rail was amazed to hear a
native in the leading canoe stand up and shout, 'Doketor, Doketor!' and
'Missionary!' Then presently, Dr. Pierson recognized the man as being one ofa
patty of Marshall Islanders that a year or more before had been wrecked on Kusaie
[Kosrae] and had been befriended by the Snows and Piersons [missionary families]
there. Except for the intervention of the missionaries, these 'foreigners' coming
from another island would have been killed by the Kusaie natives. During their sray
158
on Kusaie the party constructed a canoe and in due course oftime they returned to
Ebon Island, whence they had come on that ill-fated trip, and now one of them
was in the welcoming party as the Morning Star arrived. Thus did a friendly act
prove to be like bread cast upon the waters. Pierson had learned a little ofthe
Marshall language from the ship-wrecked party and now was able to talk with his
friends in their own tongue (Crawford 1967: 106).
By 1857 when the first missionaries established a home in the Marshall Islands,
they had secured the support ofthe highest chief, his respected sister, and the general good
will ofmany Ebon resident through their previous interaction on Kosrae. This
combination ofsignificant precedents contributed to the initial success ofthe Protestant
mission in the Marshalls.
Similar to earlier Marshallese interactions with foreigners, the ambiguities of
fear/respect and desire emerge. Local religious practices centered on avoiding angering the
spirits ofone's relatives, orAni;; who were frequently described as angry and vengeful.
Prayers and offerings were made to appease angry spirits, and various sites and landmarks
were known to be inhabited by ekjab, the spirits the missionaries termed idols. Marshallese
fears ofangering foreign gods, as well as being simultaneously impressed with the
technology, medicine and materials goods ofthe missionaries, could easily have
contributed to the increasing numbers ofMarshallese converts. Missionaries translated the
ever-present Ani} (which refers to many gods) to refer to a singular omnipotent God, and
chose the term Iwo/ to refer to Jesus as Lord, given their understandings ofthe feudal social
structure they perceived. Sermons in the Marshallese language about retribution,
punishment, eternal suffering ('sinners in the hands ofan angry god') must have strongly
influenced a population in which such concepts were prominent and illustrated regularly by
all-powerful, sacred chiefs.
159
Missionaries discouraged native dance, dress, sexuality, violence, idolatry,
economics, and challenged the autocratic powers ofchiefs. They insisted on observing the
Sabbath, which was particularly impractical during breadfruit seasons when the task of
presetvation required .all hands. The Sabbath also prevented the lTV'i} from commanding
labor. This practice set boundaries on chiefly authority, and separated chiefs from sacred
affairs. Over time, chiefs' roles as mediators were limited to secular, rather than ritual
worship matters, particularly as missionaries labeled earlier practices as sinful, and
idolatrous.
A small printing press enabled the missionaries to print Bible translations, stories,
and school lessons. The Marshallese language was reduced to the fourteen letters of the
Hawaiian alphabet Oohnny 1978: 37). Creating a Marshallese grammar, teaching English,
basic math, sewing, and music to any student ofany age initially, and then later in a
classroom setting. They were taught to add, subtract, manage sums, and measure. These
skills were taught to everyone, and thus they provided skills and opportunities for
Marshallese who wished to trade with or work for foreigners as they arrived and
established trading posts and stores. The interest in foreign knowledge and skills setved to
attract many "converts" to the mission. Dr. Luther H. Gulick, one ofthe first missionaries
to work in the Marshalls (1859-1860), explained in a lecture:
The Missionary is the sole representative of civilization on the Marshall Islands,
and is yet the eighth wonder to the inhabitants. His house is the great center of
attraction; it is the lodge, the lecture-room, the lyceum, the store, the market house,
the exchange, and even the hall of whatever legislation there is (Gulick 1860: 41 
42).
160
lroojRelations
Despite Kaibuki's promise to protect and support the mission, he would never
publicly endorse its message, nor convert. The lrooj were not always pleased with the work
of the missionaries. Upon the Pierson's arrival at Ebon, Kaibuki offered them servants,
whom he later dismissed since they were given clothing and dressed better than the chiefs,
according to missionary accounts (Bliss 1906: 74-75).
In some cases missionaries and chiefs clashed direcdy. After Kaibuki's death from
typhoid that ravaged the islands in 1863, successive lrooj, particularly Kabua Labon LJpIap
(The Great), were more hostile to the missionaries and their followers. One threatened to
make bwiro [preserved breadfruit] out ofhis people ifthey did not continue to produce
bwiro as tribute during his absence (Crawford 1967:130; Hezel1983:209).
In another instance, chiefs showed respect for missionaries, even though they
disagreed with their views. The act oftattooing held special spiritual significance for
Marshallese, who could only perform the art ,with the approval ofthe appropriate gods.
With the artival of the missionaries, and a shifting in spiritual understandings, a high chief
asked a missionary if tattooing was allowed on Ebon. Since the missionaries didn't
understand the religious beliefs associated with the act oftattooing, Rev. Pierson (in the
Marshalls from 1857 to 1859) asked the chiefwhy he asked for permission. The chief
replied:
This island belongs to Jehovah, since missionaries live on it, and ifHe forbids our
tattooing ceremonies, we will go to another island, where there are no missionaries
and which has not been given over to Jehovah, there we will worship the gods of
these islands, and will tattoo. They [the chiefs] were then told it was just as wrong
to worship false gods upon another island as on Ebon; that Jehovah is the God of
all islands and ofthe whole earth, and no part, or island, belonged to any other god.
But this they denied, saying, that as our God [the missionary's god, Jehovah] has no
161
missionaries and no subjects on the other island, it does not belong to Him. So
about seven or eight hundred people left for Jaluit (Bliss 1906: 73).
At times the missionaries were more direcdy confrontational, as they discouraged
local beliefs in ekjob by destroying these sacred sites with the challenge that if the spirits
were so strong they would rise again. The most well known example of this occurred on
Namu atoll when the missionary, Rev. Clinton Rife, (who arrived in the Marshalls in 1894)
tipped a sacred basalt pillar, believed to be one oftwo ancestral sisters that founded the
Ralik clans, into the sea (Buckingham n.d., in Pollock 1976: 86; Sam 1988:3).
Missionary successes were also linked to the influence of Hawaiians who worked
closely with Marshallese people in the establishment ofthe mission. According to Bliss
(1906) a total of 17 American missionaries and 13 Hawaiian missionaries worked in the
Marshalls from 1857-1881 (Appendix I). Ofthat group, the Americans stayed for one-two
year periods and only five toto/worked in the years from 1860 through 1881. The
Hawaiians were the backbone of the mission, and each served from 6-11 years on
numerous atolls. By 1875 there were churches at 7 atolls, and approximately 200 converts
(HezelI983: 209). Most ofthe Hawaiian missionaries had died or left by 1872, and the
Marshallese church was Marshallese-led only 15 years after the initial arrival ofthe
American missionaries.
The interactions with the missionaries are important as the first 1m/dined foreign
interaction in the Marshall Islands, particularly because they were apparendy received so
positively. In contrast with curious explorers, and violent whalers, missionaries were
relatively peaceful and generous. In keeping with models of authority, missionaries, like
chiefs, were supernaturally and politically sanctioned. They were foreign, unchallengeable
162
authorities whose gods were unknown and therefore feared. Yet also, the missionaries
displayed great generosity, demonstrating one ofthe highest valued chiefly traits - joij 
that both demonstrates and justifies sacred connections. The redistribution ofresources- 
land, knowledge, food, and material goods - is evidence ofaccess to resources, blessings,
sacred approval and status. Missionaries came to redistribute and share; they brought
women; they brought Hawaiian missionaries; they worked with the chiefs. The modd of
incorporating powerful (wealthy) outsiders as tools, weapons, and resources in localized
rivalries certainly began before the missionaries' arrival, and was clearly not challenged in
the Marshallese experience ofmissionary others. Unlike earlier interactions with foreigners,
a1!Y commoner could gain direct access to the resources the missionaries offered.
Eventually, the relations between some chiefs and some missionaries were
competitive and antagonistic, even if the economic activities of the missionaries ensured
the chiefs' support for their presence (if not their message ofconversion). The economic
and social gains ofnewly educated commOners contributed to missionary popularity in the
lower ranks as well. Chiefs appeared uninterested in the proselytizing efforts of the
missionaries, and underestimated their economic and political influence on local affairs.
The autocratic powers oflrooj were gradually restricted, as missionaries and their foreign
gods offered previously unknown alternatives. Missionaries constrained chiefly rights over
the life and death oftheir people; they forbade the worship of"idols," they eliminated
religious practices performed by chiefs; they interrupted labor for chiefly tributes, and
encouraged commoner education.
163
COPRA AND KINGS
Within two years ofthe missionaries' arrival, Adolph Capelle, employed by the
Gennan firm Stapenhorst and Hoffschlager, established the first trading station and coconut oil
factory in the Marshall Islands at Ebon (1859). Within a year, eight Getman ships had
traded there.
The copra economy transfotmed the Marshalls in the next two decades as
numerous foreign traders and ships arrived to purchase and transport the valuable crop.
Marshallese lrooj, parricularly the RaIik lrooj were central in the development ofthe industry.
When Klribuki died oftyphoid fever in 1863, Loeak replaced him as lrol!Jlaplap. Thus
ensued a generations-long battle for leadership between Loeak and his younger parallel
cousin/brother, Kabua, in the RaIik chain while perpetuating practices of using foreign
resources and recognition to fuel local rivalries. With the trading center located at Ebon,
and then Jaluit (in the 1870s), the RaIik chiefs' influence and authority expanded
considerably. The 1880s brought cutthroat competition and the urbanization ofJabor
Town, Jaluit atoll. Over thirty vessels made over one hundred calls per year atJabor in the
1880s -- Ja/uit was the busiest port in Micronesia (Hager 1886:121 in HezelI983).
Chiefs played a central role in mediating relations with foreign traders and
administrative representatives. And foreigners, in turn, deeply influenced chiefly rivalries
and opportunities to expand their political and economic influence. The competition
between Loeak and Kabua had a dramatic effect on the political and economic
development of the islands as the numbers and types of foreigners expanded from the
initial American missionaries, to include German, Portuguese, and British traders, and
164
culminated in Germany's administration of the Marshalls as a Protectorate from 1885-
1914.
. -
Figure 74. The hotel atJaluit.
TIPI Archive # 2788-06.
Final Battles
The decade saw the last of the traditional territorial battles among lroqi. These were
largely non-violent displays ofmodem weapons, purchased from traders, during standoffs
between long historic rivalries, particularly over land rights that brought copra profits in
the evolving cash economy. On Amo as on Majuro, a violent battle was ended with the
negotiating influence of a British captain. That same year a three-year war broke out on
Amo atoll between Lijiwirak and Lekman 'David' that was finally ended when a British
ship captain negotiated a peace arrangement (Bezel 1983:293).
In 1880, Kabua and Loeak staged a final battle that ended when Loeak sailed from
Jaluit back to Ebon. Although guns were waved and drums and shrieks filled the air, not a
weapon was fired, or a person injured (Hezel 1983:297).
The German pacification of the Marshalls fixed the Marshallese hierarchy forever.
An 1886 German report noted that only four 'true' lroqi remained in the Rolik chain:
165
Loeak, his younger brother Rijjino, Kabua and his brother, Lei!. The remaining chiefs were
all bwirak, children oflrooj and commoner women.
The significance of the Loeak and Kahua rivalry and their interactions with
foreigners recalls the interactions ofearlier chiefs, and MarshalIese conceptions ofthe
nature of these foreign relationships and interactions, in light ofvery local rivalries. Even
more, the patterns and results oftheir interactions reverberate in contemporary Ralik
relationships with the United States, particularly in the lease ofKwajalein atoll. Subtle shifts
in the extent ofchiefly authority and land tenure relations as dominant patterns of
interaction with foreigners persist today.
It was under the direction ofLoeak and Kabua that key events in Marshall Islands
history occurred. From 1863 when the fierce Kaibuki died, through the turn of the century
and the death ofKabua in 1910, the Marshalls experienced its most dramatic recorded
transformation. To grasp the basis ofthe rivalry that fueled this transformation requires
insight into local understandings ofhierarchy and authority, the genealogical foundations
of authority, and how it is typically challenged.
BwH-in-lroo;[The lrooj CIanJ22
According to the most comprehensive review ofRalik chiefly succession available
to date (Mason 1995), Lamijwe was mother to three key figures: Kaibuki, the fierce chief
who threatened foreign ships, and two daughters, Loj the eldet, and Libokean, the younger.
Kaibuki fathered a son, Neill, with Neimakwa, a commoner, which gave Nelu the less-
22 The genealogical information which follows is taken from an unpublished report by Len Mason (1995)
produced in support ofKabua Kabua's claim for Kwajalein land rights again his cousin then-PresidentAmata
Kabua. Dr. Mason's data (particularly about Kwajalein) corresponds closely with]apanese, and Gertnan
accounts of the post-Loeak inheritance disputes, and defines land rental payments for Kwajalein to this day.
166
than-lro!?/ status of Bwirak. Nelu (also known in German records as Letabalin) became one
of the richest landowners on Jaluit with an annual income of 30,000 marks. Loj, Kaibuki's
sister, was the mother of Loeak, while his younger sister Libokean was the mother of
Kabua. Nelu, Lajutok, Loeak, and Kabua were all of the same generation; as parallel
cousins, Loeak and Kabua were considered brothers. With Kaibuki's death, a significant
event occurred. Not only did Loeak, whose mother was next in line after Kaibuki, inherit
the tide lroo/laplap, but Kabua, his younger "brother" married Kaibuki's widow, and
adopted Nelu. In this way, Kabua attempted to oust his elder brother by seeking to
perpetuate the reign of their uncle Kaibuki.
Imata.Ioba
[J....O..!O
Laninmlllon UmlJwa 1.al.lkuk
0···· rI'. -Q....~-·f-·0-·-.......6.. C
Litakilan Lamari Lowor LoJ 0 LaJutok Kalbukl Neimakwa: Llbokean .Iiba
Llbolur
... ...
o Kabua • Leit
umllten;l;rL~.k•~bebeUtokwa N.lu O! -Lebon- :••0
C N";mat L "ran Uwodrin
Lobokkl]
1dapltdfrom 110nard ,\ IllJOn, "1..JIIdRi.~bl'and Tille
SJ"'~Jnonin lbe Rulil:: Chain, ,\!'lI1b"IIl.rI"nd/'
• Swi",k de.ig....ed 0 Female
successors to 'roo} Leit
1:1 other leading historical figures[]
• • •• Marriages Male
_ Children/Siblings
Figure 75. Key traditional leaders in the Ralik chain.
Genealogy of theBwij-in-lroOJ~circa 1820-2003.
In 1885, "King Kabua" and the "other chiefs" of the Marshalls signed a "Treaty of
Friendship between the Marshallese Chiefs and the German Empire" (1885). In English, it
reads:
167
King Kabua, as well as the chiefs Lagajimi, Nelu, Loiak and Launa, guided by the
desire to protect the legal trade, which is predominandy in German hands, and to
provide the German traders with full security, request the protection of His
Majesty, the German Emperor, so that they may be enabled to maintain the
independence ofthe area. His Majesty, the German Emperor affords His
Protection subject to all legal rights ofthird parties (Spennemann 2002).
Each section of the treaty begins with the phrase, "King Kabua, as well as the
chiefs Lagajimi, Nelu, Loiak and Launa," stressing the primary significance of Kabua in
German-Marshallese relations. This is the English equivalent of the German phrase that
specifically mentions, "Konig Kabua SOMe die Hauptlinge" [King Kabua and the other chiefs].
The Marshallese translation does not explicidy elevate Kabua's status. The Marshallese
document states that the agreement is between Germany, through its named representative,
and "ibben iroj ron in ailing kein. Ekan an iroj Kabua, Lagajimi, Nelu, LJiak, Laund' ["with the
chiefs of these islands: Kabua, Lagajimi, N elu, Loeak and Launa'1.
German recognition ofKabua as "King", above the other lrooj, corroborated
Kabua's own ambitions, and validated his position vis-a- vis Loeak, despite Kabua's
inferior position. Kabua and German interests were mutually supported.
Figure 76. Kabua
Source: (Kraemer 1896: 214)
168
Before his death in 1904, Loeak detennined that his land use rights (enjerbal [work]
vs en /ale Oook after]) should go to Litokwa, his wife's brother, (in the samejowi, or clan, as
Loeak's own children) who was his ally against Kabua, and his brother Jorrnelu's son,
Loran (also of the same Erroja clan). Kabua claimed the lands in a court case and won in
1907, though the outcome was overturned when it was learned that Kabua had pressured
witnesses -- including his younger brother Leit, an older relative, Jeimata, and others to
testify on his behalf. Though the disputed lands were then in Litokwa's hands, the
Germans ruled that tribute must be rendered to Kabua for his Irooj rights since Litokwa
was not Irooj, but Bwirak. Kabua still continued to threaten the people and traveled around
the islands to collect Litokwa's copra share. The people feared him and could not refuse to
pay him, despite the rulings of the German government. A year later, the decision was
changed again. The land would belong to Kabua, until his death, and then it would be
transferred to Litokwa's care.
169
Figure 78. Litokwa
Source: Kraemer 1896: 215.
Two years later, in January of 1910, a final ruling altered the arrangement once
again and set a pattern for patrilinealinheritance for particular plots of RaIik land that
continues to the present. The lands in question were divided into four parts, temporarily
under the care of only three prominent men: Loran, Kabua, and Litokwa. The land on
which Loeak had use rights would be inherited by Loeak's children and watched over until
then by Loeak's nephew, Loran. These seventy-five parcels were scattered on Namorik,
Jaluit, Ailinglaplap, Namu, and Kwajalein. Kabua was given twenty-five parcels ofland on
Jaluit, Ailinglaplap, and Namu to care for untillris death in the interest ofLoeak's heirs.
Additionally, he was given twenty /Pato, land plots, to care for that would belong to Loran,
Loeak's children, and either Laelan, orJeimata, Kabua's two sons. Wato on Ailinglaplap
would belong to either Laelan orJeimata; land on Kwajalein went to Laelan; and land on
Namu and Rongelap went to Jeimata. Finally, the fourth portion ofland was designated for
Litokwa. It included all the Loeak land in Ebon, and some land on Ailinglaplap.
170
Six months after this setdement Kabua died. Leit, his younger brother, succeeded
him. After Kabua's death, the Loeak land that Kabua once watched (en !ale) was separated
from the bwij-in-lrooj lands that were matrilineally inherited. The land Kabua watched for
Loeak went through Loeak's nephew, Loran, to Loeak's son, Lobokkij. Although Lobokkij
and Litokwa were both bwirak, they assumed the tide oflroojlaplap. Thus two new
chiefdoms' were formed: that ofLoran, who was quickly replaced by Loeak's son Lobokkij,
and Litokwa (Mason 1995, Yanaihara 1938). Leit was the sole remaining lrooj ofthe bwij-in 
lroo}, and the designated leader over the largest landholding in the Ralik; all the eon-in-meto,
the islands North ofAilinglaplap were under his domain.
AGERMAN PROTECTORATE
Capelle and Co. were pressured to sell their company to "the Firm" that had by the
mid-1880s merged with Hemsheim and Company. After the establishment ofa German
Protectorate over the Marshall Islands in 1885, the newly enlarged Firm was renamed Jaltlit
Gesselscb'!Ji, aaluit Company), and given the responsibility for the islands' administration.
The Company collected taxes, made and enforced regulations, and gathered demographic
information for the German administration.
Protectorate Policies
Kabua, Loeak, and other traditional leaders were leading lives ofluxury, and debt,
as the Germans ruled the Protectorate indirecdy through the lrooj. Because ofthe strong
ties to the Jaluit Company the lroo) grew prosperous and extremely wealthy, making more
per year than the single German commissioner stationed at Jaluit (HezeI1983). Both Loeak
171
and Kabua owned schooners and dressed their wives in fine silks. They hired Europeans to
captain their ships and collect their copra share from the other atolls.
The focus on copra production and the economic exploitation of the islands,
through native labor and enticements, altered relationships to the land, which, in turn,
altered social obligations and responsibilities. Prior to the cultivation and production of
coconuts for processing, the land was viewed as the source oflife and food. As time and
effort were put into harvesting crops, land took on an increased economic value, and
relationships to land wete altered. Ownership, possession became more significant when
the producers were earning individual profits from their labor. Produce was sold to
foreigners, as well as shared as part of a local hierarchical system ofmutual reciprocity and
obligation.
Where land took on this added economic value, land disputes occurred, and land
management became more important. The commoners, or kajur, were re-designated dri 
jeroa/ (those who work); the head ofeach lineage, the a/ab, took on the role ofland manager
responsible for the workers, and served as a liaison between the lrof!j and the dri:jerba/.
The German administrators strengthened the power ofchiefs, and ensured their
sustained economic and social dominance, by instituting a tax on all copra produced, with a
significant portion (approximately one-third to one-half) going to the chiefs to secure their
favor and support. Only in the Marshall Islands were these taxes paid in copra. In order to
distribute the income and encourage steady native labor, and incentive, the proceeds from
the first half ofthe year's harvest went to the chiefs, as tribute and tax, and the second half
ofthe year's harvest went to the workers to be distributed.
172
Empowering Chiefs
Germans empowered chiefs by increasing their control over the land. According to
early accounts, lrooj and kajur held equal rights to land, and it was considered an abuse of
lrooj power to sell or give away land independent ofthe other landholders. Whether this
power was deliberately or unintentionally enhanced, chiefs were granted more power over
the land by being permitted to make land deals with the Germans and traders without the
consent ofthe commoners. Despite chiefs' greater economic power, their political power
was strictly limited by the German authorities whose regulations succeeded in eliminating
warfare among the islands, and limited some ofthe 'despotic' or 'autocratic' powers of
chiefs (e.g., the power over life/death).
Warfare, which had been previously prohibited as noted above, resulted in a
calcification ofland claims in the late 1800s. Prior, the distribution ofland among powerful
lrooj was fluid and constantly negotiated through changing alliances, the availability of
resources, and through battles. German records ofland ownership, which also later served
the Japanese administration, are the basis for US payments for the rental ofKwajalein atoll,
war reparation funds, and explanations ofcontemporary land rights in the Republic today.
Traditional Leaders and Continuing Disputes
At the turn ofthe century, and in the decade that followed, the Marshallese people
suffered great losses. Bwirak Nelu died in 1902, leaving his matrilineal inheritance to his
younger half-brother Laelan (of the same mother, Neimakwa). Two years later, in 1904,
Loeak died and was eventually succeeded by his own son, Lobokkij, after his younger
brother's son, Loran, was deemed an unacceptable leader. A year later, a typhoon destroyed
173
all the taro crop on Arno, which then became another copra plantation. The number of
foreigners onJaluit grew to thirty and then, due to British protest, the J aluit Company's
administration was made subject to the German governor at New Guinea (1905). In the
midst ofthese dark days, Kabua's youngest son, Jeimata, fathered two children: Lejelon,
and Mannini. These two men were future fathers to the first two presidents ofthe Republic
ofthe Marshall Islands: Amata and Imata Kabua, respectively.
OnJuly 4, 1910, Kabua Laplap, also known as Kabua "The Great" died. Laelan's
wife had just given birth to a son, Kabua Kabua, who was named in honor ofhis
grandfather. Kabua Kabua was later to dispute claims to land rights with Amata and Imata,
his younger relatives who succeeded in usurping his claim using the modem RMI nation's
western court system (Mason 1995; cf. Kabua v. Kabua case in chapter 4).
Kabua Laplap was succeeded by his younger brother Leit, the last ofthe Iroo} in the
Ralik chain. Kabua's portion of the disputed Loeak inheritance was then distributed to
Loeak's son, Lobokkij and Litokwa, (Loeak's wife's nephew) and Leit (on the Kabua side).
Leit received this portion ofthe formerly disputed lands as well as his matrilineal
inheritance formerly under the care ofhis elder brother, Kabua. All the Bwirak (Litokwa,
and Lobokkij) were redesignated Irorjlaplap (See Figure 75).
The first decade ofthe century also brought some attempt at land purchase .by the
Germans who desired to increase their copra production even more. The German Station·
director, a new designation in 1911 that linked the administrator to German New Guinea
and the governor's authority, approached Leit to purchase five atolls for the sum total of
18,600 German marks. He intended to purchase Rongerik, Rongelap, Ailinginae, Bikiniand
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Wotho. Instead, Leit refused the offer and demanded 40,000 Marks for Bikini alone.
Gennan authorities believed that he was counseled by Gennan traders and missionaries in
his resistance and belligetence. They haggled over prices and Leit finally decided not to sell
a single parcel ofland to the Gennans, even though they had raised their offer substantially
(Merz 1912; Mason 1995). Leit's refusal to sell land to the Gennans shows the agency of
Marshallese leadership in protecting themselves and their land.
A JAPANESE ADMINISTERED MANDATE
At the close ofWorld War II in 1914, the Gennan governor was pressured to
fonnally surrender all Gennan territory to the British. Japan was mandated the Pacific
islands North of the Equator; Britain was to receive those to the South (peattie 1988).
Within two weeks ofGennany's surrender, Japanese Naval, forces occupied the islands.
One ofthe first tasks ofthe Japanese in the Marshalls was the settling ofland
disputes that followed Irooj Leit's death in 1914.
Small chieftains who have not the right to succeed as great chieftains when all the
persons who are legitimately in the order ofsuccession are dead [is an occasion for
breaking the regular order of succession.]. An instance ofthis kind occurred when
the great chieftain Rate [Leit, Kabualaplap's successor] of the western group died
[1914] and left no successor so that the four chieftains of the order of Bwirak clap
or Bwirak, namely Rattan [Laelan], Chemata [Jeimata], Ritkwa [Litokwa] and Roran
[Loran] took the late great chieftain's land and divided it among themselves and
each assumed the position ofgreat chieftain. These great chieftains, being in direct
paternal line [emphasis added], could not have assumed the position if the step had
not been initiated by the Japanese government, which asked them to follow the
Japanese system ofinheritance in this case. This incident took place at the time of
the Japanese military occupation of the islands ryanaihara 1939:166).
According to Japanese records quoted above, when Leit died in 1914, without an
heir, or clansman to inherit the lineage's land, it was divided among "Rattan [Laelan],
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Chemata Oeimata), Ritkwa Ilitokwa) and Roran [Loran] in a ptdrilinealline ofsuccession."
Laelan was Kabua's oldest child. Laelan thus inherited this land through his father's lineage,
in addition to land he had obtained through his mother's lineage when his older half 
brother Nelu died in 1902. Jeimata was Kabua's youngest son by a different woman. He
inherited the original Loeak-Kabua-Leit land patrilineally. Litokwa and Loran, close allies
ofLoeak a generation prior, finally received their share ofthe inheritance that Loeak had
requested for them, now that it was no longer in the care ofKabua or Leit. Two Loeak
allies (Loran and Litokwa) and two Kabuas (Laelan and Jeimata) shared the ownership of
the largest portions of the Ralik islands.
Although not stated in the above quotation, a land dispute among the ancestors of
these individuals had been settled by the German govemment just four years prior, that
established a precedent among these 'chiefs' for patrilineal inheritance. Leit was the last
"true" lrooj in the Marshall Islands. Those who succeeded him were Bwirak, and bom of
commoner mothers.
Mandate Methods
In 1917 the League ofNations grantedJapan a Class C mandate over the former
German territory ofMicronesia. The Class C Mandate had three main requirements
stipulated by the League of Nations. First, the region was not to be militarized; second, the
mental and material welfare of the native populations were to be protected and developed,
and third, an annual report was submitted to the League ofNations.
In compliance with these requirements, the Japanese administration initially
modeled itself upon the prior German leadership that used a system ofindirect rule to
176
administer the islands. They further sought to improve infrastructure with native labor
(roads, docks, administrative buildiogs, school) and established a public education system
for islanders in December 1915 (Yanaihara 1939, 241). Separate schools were created for
islanders (kanaka) andJapanese children. The islanders' public school was compulsory for
three years with a possible additional two years for excellent students. Students between the
ages of eight and fifteen were required to attend. Fourteen mission schools supplemented
the public schools in 1936. In the Marshalls, the district base was located at Jaluit and the
entire Marshalls district was known as the '1aluit administrative area." Since not every atoll
had a school, transportation to and accommodations on atolls with schools significantly
affected attendance. Also the value ofa Japanese education was low to the islanders. For a
very select few, education (namely, fluency in Japanese language) was an opportunity to
improve the standard ofliving through access to employment, wages, and material goods.
Public school students were taughtJapanese language, arithmetic, geography, science,
painting, singing, gymnastics, handicrafts (amimono, aJapanese word is still used to refer to
these items), agriculture, and domestic science. Halfthe school's total hours (twelve per
week) were devoted to the teaching ofthe Japanese language (Yanaihara 1938).
The requirement for education impacted the traditional social hierarchy because it
allowed commoners to gain skills and opportunities for social advancement unattainable
otherwise. Successful students went on to work as teachers, policemen, or employees of
Japanese businesses. TheJapanese administration's policy oflega! equality and thus
"universal" access to education among islanders contributed to the disruption ofthe social
system that had already began during the German era..
177
Following the Germanmode~the Japanese administration prohibited the sale of
land to foreigners, and established regulations that also prohibited the transfer, sale, or
mortgage ofland between Marshallese people without the approval oftheJapanese
administration. Continued also were the functions ofchiefs and alabs, and the requisite poll
tax they collected. Gradually the Japanese government instituted changes in their
administration that negatively impacted the authority and status ofthe lroOJ:
IrooiImpacts
As noted, according to Japanese law, chiefs and commoners were legally equal.
This meant that chiefs were as punishable for their offenses as commoners. lroOJ· were
publicly reprimanded for their crimes, as were the kajur. Chiefly authofity also declined
through policy shifts in 1922. Whereas prior to that year, Japanese ruled 'indirectly' through
the chiefs, afterward, they ruled more directly through their own designated islander
leaders. In the "Rules for Native Village Officials," each village was to have a village chief
and a village headman, whose duty it was to pass along rules and orders from the Japanese,
and also to record births and deaths for government reports (Yanaihara 1938: 262). Village
heads were considered minor and subordinate to chiefs, though their administrative
functions were identical to them. The Marshall Islands had sixteen headmen and only two
chiefs.
The village chiefs and village headmen of the Kanakas are in most cases the old
chiefs or great chieftains who have been appointed to these new posts by the
government. As far as their positions in the political system is concerned, these
village heads are no more than monitors, subordinate officials ofthe government,
but there are those who retain the power ofthe chieftain or great chieftains,
although, it is much reduced compared with fonner days ... Ofthe 16 headmen in
the Jaluit administrative area, there are three who were former great chieftains, six
who were chieftains, six common clansmen and one ofmixed German and native
178
blood. The administrative policy ofthe government is approaching direct rather
than indirect rule. (Yanaihara 1938:262-264)
There were some inherent difficulties explored in the creation of these positions.
First was the question of jurisdiction. A chiefs jurisdiction as a village official was not
always the same as the sphere of his influence as a traditional chief.
In the Marshalls a single island was often ruled by several chieftains whose
territories overlapped and elsewhere in the same group a number ofislands were
under the control of a single chieftain. Village headmen were appointed for each of
the atolls regardless ofthe former spheres ofinfluence of the old chieftains. The
village headman whose old social status was that ofa great chieftain has not
necessarily the traditional power ofa great chieftain over the new area under his
jurisdiction; he is merely an organ in the new administrative system. The entire
Marshall Islands are under the jurisdiction oftwo village chiefs, one for the eastern
and the other for the western group. The eastern group was under the village
headman of Maloelap, but after his death the position became vacant; the western
group is now under the village chief Rairan who is also the village headman of
Jaluit. Neither the eastern nor the western group had ever been organized into a
confederation of tribes or villages, and the present appointment ofa village chief
for each ofthe two groups ofthe Marshalls is not based on native custom. In other
words, the spheres of jurisdiction ofthe village chiefs and village headmen in the
Marshalls were determined arbitrarily by the government. The system was actually
originated by the German government in 1878 when it concluded a protective
treaty with Kabua who rules overJaluit Island and made him Great Chieftain ofthe
RoIik (western) Group ofthe Marshalls. According to native custom this treaty did
not bind the other chieftains ofthe group, but it vested Kabua with nominal
control over the whole western group and gave Germany full sovereignty over the
territory. (Yanaiham 1938:264-265)
Ofprimary importance was the question ofjurisdiction and authority. Second was
the fact that some ofthe chiefs selected as headmen were unskilled bureaucrats and thus
needed assistance, and interpreters, to perform their designated tasks. With local
administrative approval, chiefs were able to select a policemen and secretary to assist them
in their tasks. The high status ofchiefs also prohibited them from performing the tasks
required. The assistants served as intermediaries between chiefs and villagers, and between
chiefs and Japanese administrators. Since the assistants, paid only by the chief and from his
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salary, performed nearly all the chiefs duties, the chief himselfwas for the most part,
superfluous asthe Japanese moved from indirect rule through chiefs to a more direct
administration ofthe villages.
Villagers had little choice but to obey the regulations brought to them by the village
head, even when conflicting with those ofthe chiefs, since any offense was reported and
punished by the Japanese authorities (often enacted by the Marshallese policemen). It was
quite difficult to ignore, or disobey Japanese regulations, and according to participants in
my research who shared their experiences ofthe Japanese administration with me, they
lived in fear of either being beaten in school for not doing theit homework, or being
paraded around the village as punishment for an offense (J .Walsh 1994, fieldnotes).
Further weakening of the lrooj occurred when the Japanese administration
prohtbited the practice of commoner tribute to chiefs. Tributes had changed drastically
over the years when a monetary economy altered traditional relationships between chiefs
and commoners, and the people and the land. Before, the produce of the land was
brought to the chief for distribution -- the chief was offered the best, the "first fruits" of
the land but the remaining produce was distributed among all those who worked and lived
there. Once the amount ofproduce changed, since many consumables were able to be
purchased, and more effort went into the production of copra for sale instead ofthe
cultivation of food crops, the commoners often had little to bring to the chiefs, and thus
they only brought the "first fruits" to recognize the rights ofthe chief to the produce of
the land. They no longer depended on the chief to distribute what was grown. In this way,
tributes became gifts, rather than obligations. Yet, still at the time of the tributes, chiefs
180
would provide gifts ofcanned foods, rice, biscuits, and bread to offer the people in return
(Yanaihara 1938:76). Yanaihara notes: "gifts are often brought unwillingly, as at Jabor, a
town in Jaluit, where the people sell all oftheir important catch from the sea and bring a
small share to their chieftain" (1938:76). Since people had stopped bringing their produce
to the chiefs for redistribution on a regular basis, the chiefs then took all things brought to
them as gifts. To insure popular support, they also give gifts in return, an alteration of the
traditional redistribution process, and then entertained clansmen with gifts and expensive,
huge feasts. TheJapanese government, concerned that the cost ofthese feasting events was
too much, prohibited the tributes on Jaluit as of 1925 (Yanaihara 1938:172). Yanaihara
claimed that since that time the feasting ceased to be practiced except in rare instances and
in secret (Yanaihara 1938:172). While the cessation of tributes was meant to assistthe
chiefs, it ultimately destroyed yet another traditional means of chiefly interaction and
reciprocity with their clan folks.
In another misguided attempt to assist chiefs, the Japanese administration altered
the one-halfyear copra production division set up by the Germans. As drijerbol [workers]
grew shrewder about the copra tax collection, the chiefs' incomes shrank. The workers
found ways to reduce the amount submitted toward the chiefs' incomes and to increase
their own incomes by holding back crops to reduce copra in the second half ofthe year.
The chiefs were unable to pay their debts to the merchants since they were unable to
stretch their income from the first six months of the year into the second. Consideting the
chiefs unfairly treated, the copra tax was altered so that merchants paid one-half the value
of the copra they purchased directly to the chiefs and the other half to the workers. In
181
return, the chief paid the whole amount ofthe tax charged upon those who worked on his
land (Yanaihara 1938:174). The market price of copra was fixed at eight sen, during the
German era; the chiefwas paid four sen per kilo, half the value ofthe copra. In the 1930s,
despite rising copra prices, the four sen per kilo amount was set as the maximum per kilo
amount for the chiefs (Yanaihara 1938:174). They no longer received fifty percent of the
copra share.
The further distribution of copra income in 1938 varied considerably between
chiefs and commoners. How the Iroo} redistributed his share varied by island chain. In the
Ratak chain, the chief shared one-half half of his share with the lesser chiefs, and in the
Rafik chain, the amount was not set, but given as a gratuity to the lesser chiefs (Yanaihara
1938:174). Yanaihara estimated that the commoner earned approximately fifteenyenper
year, while members of chiefly families gained about 420yen per year. Iroojiopiop incomes
varied from four hundred to several thousand yen, while lesser chiefs' earned 100-400yen,
or as much as a few thousandyen per year (Yanaihara 1938:174-175).
The Marshall Islands was the only site where the poll tax was paid in copra, not
cash, from the natives. Only in the Marshalls, the poll tax was an 'island tax' instead of an
'individual tax' as it was in the other administrative areas. The tax funds were received
direcdy from the chiefs (Yanaihara 1938:270). The poll tax of220 tons ofcopra during the
German era was increased to 234 tons during the Japanese administration. This flat rate of
234 tons did not increase, despite the increase in copra production during the years ofthe
administration. In 1914, 2,940 tons of copra was produced; by 1936, even though copra
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production rose to 5,470 tons, the percentage collected as tax dropped from eight to four
petcent ofthe crop.
The Japanese also recognized the change in chiefs' responsibilities in a monetary
economy, and determined that chiefs must provide for the medical expenses ofhis people,
as a variation ofhis traditional responsibility for native welfare. With the improved
transportation system to and from Jaluit, the number ofpatients treated at the hospital in
Jabor increased. Chiefs were discovered to have occasionally rejected the certificates
guaranteeing payment (required in advance of treatment, somewhat like modem health
insurance) because of the heavy burden ofso many individuals coming for treatment at
]aluit. In the late 1920s chiefs agreed to pay half the bills ofthose who stayed at their home
atolls or visited one ofthe four smaller health facilities among the atolls. Yanaihara noted
that at this point, "The feudal system ofthe gens society is costing the chieftain a great deal
more than it is benefiting him" Clanaihara 1938:175).
A furthet obligation of chiefs imposed by a foreign money economy, became the
provision of transportation for family and clan members with whom he traveled on the
Japanese vessels. Hosting relatives is a chiefly obligation, but with the increase in
transportation provided by the Japanese boats, chiefs also were in many cases obligated to
pay for boat fares
23
• Commoner understanding ofthese chiefs obligations are important to
note:
In many cases the clansmen are themselves meeting their own expenses, for to
receive benefits from the chieftain implies a corresponding obligation on the part
ofthe clansmen to offer tribute or render manual service. Clanaihara 1938:176)
23 This prochce continued to this day and will be examined in greater detail inlater chapters, particularly when
comparing new chiefs, government officials, and elites in Majuro today are sought after for airfare, medical
assistance, school tuition, etc.
183
While chiefs still maintained control over their land, they had lost much political
and economic power in these changes. Many of the chiefs could scarcely make ends meet
with all their new Japanese-designated cultural obligations that required money. They were
losing the respect of the populace as they served Japanese interests through their
bureaucratic roles. Their original autocratic authority was at the mercy ofJapanese laws and
administrators, and they were held accountable to Japanese laws to the same degree as the
commoners beneath them.
NBK sponsors the celebration ofthe Emperor's birthday on Jaluit.
TI'PI Archives 27-8810.
The Japanese administration contributed to the monetization and structural
development ofthe islands. Administrative policies gradually reduced the power of chiefs
to figurehead bureaucrats. Commoners, while not considered equal to Japanese, were given
legal equality with chiefs. They were educated and given positions ofresponsibility in the
communities, and in some cases held more power in their islands than traditional chiefs.
The continued exploitation of the land for copra, more deeply engrained the
changing meaning ofland that began during the German era. Land had monetary value,
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and the cultivation ofland was the main economic activity. Land disputes increased, while
tributes to traditional leaders nearly ceased. The incentives for increased involvement in the
monetary economy were difficult to resist. The comparative value ofthe subsistence
economy, offishing and providing for one's family, offered few opportunities to explore
the new commodities available, or to take advantage ofeasier, more convenient modes of
transportation such as the rima [steamer].
BAR BWEBWENATO (TELLING STORIES AGAIN]
These recorded events in Marshallese history over the past two hundred years
inform the contemporary political relationship between the RMI and US in the early
twenty-first century. Long-established patterns ofhierarchical interaction between chiefs
and commoners, and between third-party foreigners and chiefs or commoners persist. The
use ofthe foreigner and foreign resources to serve local ends and rivalries is as apparent in
Kabua's "the Great's" relationship with Germans, as it is in a different Kabua's relationship
with the United States. The local use ofKotzebue's axes, and tools to enhance inter-atoll
warfare resonates in the competition and jealousy that emerge today between the "Four
Atoll" recipients ofnuclear testing compensation and the rest ofthe nation. The practice of
offering children to ships for the perceived benefits to be gained from the knowledge,
technology, and wealth of foreign visitors is recalled in the very recent trend ofMarshallese
parents offering their children for adoption by Americans (Walsh 1999).
Patterns ofMarshallese interaction with foreigners clearly evolve from local
understandings of their own chiefs and visiting chiefs; their ideas about appropriate
interaction with authority -- the fear, awe, and curiosity -- that Kotzebue highlights and that
185"
Lay, Hussey, Paulding, and the early missionaries echo. Yet, also present in these accounts
is Marshallese gratitude for chiefly protection and guidance, reciprocated in loyalty and
service, based upon a common appreciation ofjoij [generosity, kindness].
In this sense foreigners who arrived in the Ralik and Ratak atolls prepared to give
and offer their services, share their knowledge, and appreciate Marshallese skills and ways,
are perceived as havingjoij. The presence oftheir gifts, the wealth they bring to share,
mirrors the wealth and redistribution ofvalued resources by visiting Marshallese chiefs.
Every gift involves both giver and recipient in a larger circle ofproviders and recipients to
which Marshall Islanders are well attuned. Accepting gifts is obligation, the beginnings of
reciprocal relations, and the establishment ofties that bind. Offering gifts promises
support, protection, refuge, security and highly valued dependents. Ifan Iroofs strength is
literally the kajur, the greater numbers of dependents a chief can support, the greateris his
wealth, his approval, and his power. The generous redistribution ofmaterials and services
not only elevates, but reveals -- even constitutes --the status ofthe giver, while enabling
subordinate others to establish loyal, dependent ties as they further redistribute wealth and
resource.
The patterns ofincorporating the foreign into the local schema by accepting and
exchanging gifts, is the first step ofaffiliation. In this hierarchical context, the most
generous foreigners are historically the most favored and understood, and secure the
strongest ties ofloyalty and service.
The German-established system ofindirect rnle functioned to enhance the status of
German traders and administrators who controlled access to desired material goods while
186
further strengthening the status of chiefs who became the liaisons to those goods, and later
re-distributed them among their followers. Kabua knew this instinctively, while Loeak was
less interested in competing with the lower-ranking Kabua, and less interested in the
foreigners, in general.
In sharp contrast to the German Protectorate administration, theJapanese Mandate
after 1922 was detrimental to Marshallese chiefs. lro,!! no longer controlled access to
foreign resources, and in many cases their lack of a Japanese education prevented their
access. The financial and political benefits of traditional authority were replaced with
increasing responsibilities and decreased political power. The connection between culture
and cash, power and prestige is evident in the ways chiefly authority varied during the
German and late Japanese administration ofthe Marshall Islands. While it seems apparent
that indirect rule encouraged chiefs toward selfish exploitation oftheir people, it might also
be observed that colonial administrators were also more easily exploited in this model. As
particular chiefs' powers ballooned with their new wealth and influence, German control
clearly shrank. The reliance on a court system to proclaim regulations and to punish
offenders was only as effective as the military power of German ships that circulated
throughout the islands.
The decline in chiefly authority underJapanese rule, was closely tied to the chiefs
decline in access to the resources desired by their people, and the restructuring of
responsibilities that were designated to bureaucratic representatives, rather than traditional
chiefs. Chiefs were farther and farther removed from meaningful economic and political
187
spheres. By the end of the Japanese administration chiefs had become figureheads without
any economic or political power.
These examples and those ofthe missionaries, explorers, whalers, and traders
reveal continuing processes and patterns offorging indebtedness and dependence, of
accessing foreign wealth, redistributing it, and maintaining strong ties ofreciprocity, and
loyalty. These patterns have framed Marshallese-foreign interactions for centuries, and
continue to transform and mediate globa1izing forces in Marshallese lives.
Using Western historical accounts ofinteractions in the Marshalls highlights
foreign agendas in which particular Irooj emerge as "key figures" -- the prominent allies
and enemies of foreign who explore, exploit, convert, or claitn islands and islanders. How
might the on-going historical rivalries between and among Ralik and Ratak Irooj through
the centuries provide the stage for foreigners to be viewed as "key players" -- be they
Russian, Amet:ican, German, orJapanese -- in a Marshallese drama? In an attempt to avoid
some ofthe inevitable disjuncture in representing Western accounts in the framework of
localized histories ofRalik and Ratak Ironj (and vice-versa), I have attempted to highlight
the dominant chieftainships ofthe period, and their relationships and rivalries to explore
the ways Marshallese have also examined, exploited, even converted, claitned, and
occasionally killed, many of the foreigners who appeared at their shores.
The colonial endeavors previously presented occurred in a Marsha/lese sociery on
atolls in Ralik and Ratak, in which Ironj and hjurhave lived and interacted in culturally
patterned ways for centuries. Colonial practices, policies, and interactions while unequal, do
not necessarily deny Marshallese their ability to choose, use, and interpret a foreign
188
presence toward their own ends. A closer examination ofMarshallese chiefs interactions
with Americans in the processes ofdecolonization and nation building reveals the expert
ability ofMarshallese chiefs to use foreign concepts and materials in an increasingly
global/local context, despite foreign interpretations and imaginings.
Within a time frame ofapproximately 150 years, 1moj in the Rotak and R£l!ik island
chains have served as warriors, priests, feast makers, bureaucrats, businessmen, and finally,
presidents. Acknowledging changes in chiefly authority and spheres ofinfluence is a
common endeavor; it is equally important to recognize that 1mqj continue to serve as
intermediaries who access and redistribute resources for their people.
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CHAPTER 4
IROO]ROAD [OUR CHIEFS]
Irooj injela. An Iroojknows (best).
Irooj elan Iojilnin. An Iroojhas many ears (spies).
Irooj elan lonin. An Iroojhas many mouths (to feed; is responsible for many; also,
ueetfy).
Irooj elanjilu lojen. An Irooj has three stomachs: one for food, one for goods for his
people, and one for gossip.
Jede ak eo. Look up to the frigate bird, pay attention to the Irooj, the one that flies
highest. (Amata Kabua Customary Titles and Inherrmt Rights)
Jab alkojpien ak. Don't twist the wings of the frigate bird. This proverb is used
when someone is about to refuse a present or actually refuses it. Every gift, no
matter how small must be accepted; refusal is a serious insult to the donor. One
does not mistteat a person he is counting on...and whoever twists the wings ofthe
eagle ofthe sea makes it impossible for him to fly in the upper regions. This is
similar to 'Don't bite the hand that feeds you'; and 'Don't look a gift-horse in the
mouth.'
lJabonkonnaan in Majd [Wisdom from the Marshall Islands] 2000).
Today Marshallese talk about Irooj is as conttadictory as ever. Like the diverse
characterizations revealed in thejabonkonnaan above, chiefs are ttusted to know, to provide
for, to look after, and yet are also known to be jealous, easily offended, and spiteful. One is
well warned to be careful how one speaks in public, and who one might offend. Yet, more
and more, Marshallese people are speaking out about their chiefs and the others who fly,
like the ak [frigate bird], in the upper regions ofMarshallese society today.
These more frequent and more vocal criticisms take many forms. People play with
the proverbs ofthe past, in jokes such as, Irooj innuk [Irooj don't know], and reinterpret
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them in informal conversation, noting that the expression 1"'0/ elan lonin is more about the
difficulty ofsatiating a chiefs own greed, rather than his people's hunger. Talk about
chiefs, whether critical or constructive, emerges from collective and contested
understandings and expectations ofchiefs' rights, roles, and responsibilities.
What are the origins of today's expectations? How can one examine or explore the
multiple sources of chiefly authority in contemporary societies without glorifying an
idealized past, or even constructing one? How do we get at the cultural models that shape
current beliefs, values, and opinions of traditional leadership? Recognizing the limitations
ofcultural representations, and the importance ofhistoricizing cultural phenomena and
social change, this chapter draws upon the previous chapter's exploration into interactions
between chiefs and foreigners to historicize the revision/transformation ofMarshallese
chiefly models as American colonial administrations interacted with powerful traditional
leaders.
This chapter has multiple goals. I highlight the ways idealized models ofchiefly
authority are engaged in shared, popular understandings and expectations ofIroo} that
continue to be contested, contradicted, and transformed through colonial experiences and
political development. The chapter explores the ways the Marshallese experience ofWorld
War II influenced evaluations and understandings ofthe US, as a powerful protector, and
generous benefactor. Further, I examine how transactions between the United States and
Amata Kabua, the nation's first President and Iroojlaplap, broadened chiefly jurisdictions as
various American colonial administrations (Navy and Department ofthe Interior)
reinforced or deliberately challenged the powers and roles ofchiefs, and how America's
191
economic relationships with particular chiefs (through land leases) ultimately enlarged the
economic and political spheres of 'traditional' chiefly authority. Finally, the chapter offers
conclusions about the ways ambiguous and conflicting American interests in Marshallese
cultural assimilation, preservation, militarization, and democratization enhanced the agency
ofMarshallese leadership who persistendy challenge American influence in Marshallese
political spheres.
FOREIGN CHIEFS
USLomQren [American Saviors)
Marshallese refer to the period during which American forces bypassed, invaded,
and fought the Japanese on their islands as ien baM eo [wartime]. The experience ofWorld
War II in the Pacific left an indelible mark on Pacific Islanders' understandings oftheir
place in the world. Serving as a batdeground for large, powerful, opposing nations, the
entire Pacific felt the effects ofWorld War II at various levels. From the personal
experiences ofloss -- ofland, of cultural artifacts, of family members killed in batde as
scouts, soldiers, or innocent bystanders -- to the recognition ofpowerlessness in the face of
unimaginable destruction and force, Pacific Islanders' previous notions ofpower, strength,
and terror were almost literally blown away. Never before had the islanders witnessed first
hand anything near the magnitude ofthe batde ofWorld War II in the Pacific (White and
Lindstrom 1989; Poyer, et al2001; Carucci 1989).
Carucci notes that the source ofthe powerful American force(s) may be linked to
cultural models in which chiefs are viewed as foreign, distant, powerful, sacred, and
mysterious (1989). Like the warrior chiefs ofthe pre-German era, American forces that
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landed onJapanese-held atolls after months ofnear-daily bombings were fearfully met. Not
only were the Americans potent warriors, whose victory might be interpreted as evidence
of supernatural support, but they were also protectors, who revealed theirjog through
generous provisions offered to starving people. Many elderly Marshallese talked about the
American soldiers as their kmorcll, saviors. Americans were not only "saviors," but also
warriors, and generous benefactors to a degree never before witnessed in the islands.
fen Bata Eo [Wartime]
The United States' official presence in the Marshalls began in early 1942 when the
US initiated its westward campaign toward Japan via well-known batdes beginning at
Midway, Tarawa and Makin in the Gilberts (Kiribati), and Kwajalein and Enewetak in the
Marshalls continuing westward through Micronesia. The primary US interest was to gain
the Marshalls as a stepping-stone toward Japan. The Allies focused their attention on
Kwajalein, Enewetak, and Majuro atolls. The plan (Operation Flintlock) provided that
Majuro atoll be taken first to provide an anchorage for the fleet from which to support
bombardment ofKwajalein. Future plans (Operation Catchpole) called for Enewetak and
Ujelangatolls to be attacked about three months later to allow the Allies to consolidate
their positions. Having learned from the experience at Tarawa, the islands were subjected
to heavy and sustained bombardment beginning in November of1943, and intensifying in
the weeks just before the landings on Majuro, Kwajalein, and Enewetak.
Admita1 Chester Nimitz's "Joint Expeditionary Force" comprised ofnearly three
hundred vessels and over 84,000 men captured these atolls. Majuro was taken unopposed
on the evening ofJanuary 30, 1944. US Army and US Marine Corps troops landed on
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Kwajalein atoll the next day, and fought in hand-to-hand combat in one of the bloodiest
batdes ofMicronesia. An officer, who was present at the batde over Kwajalein, noted that
an average ofone hundred pounds of steel from bombs and shells plowed into every
square foot of the island (Moore 1945). With in a week, on February 8, the atoll was
entirely under US control. A month later, B-24s were flying out ofKwajalein for the first
time. Within three weeks of the capture ofMajuro and Kwajalein, Enewetak was also
under complete US control.
Figure 80. Marines stonn a pillbox on Namur, Kwajalein atoll.
February 2,1944. Photo number: NWDNS-127-N-70216, taken by Corporal John Fabian.
Source: Department of Defense. United States Marine Corps, Collections of the National Archives.
The significance ofthese attacks for Marshallese lies not only in the degree offorce
used -- the hundred of tons of bombs, but in the thousands of US troops, tanks, and
planes that invaded their islands. Of even greater significance in the daily lives, though, of
Marshallese who lived through that period were the aerial bombings that became near daily
occurrences. On the atolls with Japanese bases - Mili, Jaluit, Maloelap, and Wo*  
194
Japanese and Marshallese were gradually decimated. Cut offfrom supplies and bombed day
after day for many months, those who survived can never forget. While the survival rate of
these near daily raids for Marshallese is unknown,ftwer than halfof all the Japanese who
were stationed at these islands survived.
Figure 81. Majuro lagoon with battleships.
National Archive photo #04-0314a.
Figure 82. Japanese survivors at Wotje atoll, upon surrender.
Photo #: 80-G-347131 US Navy photo, National Archives.
195
When the frequent strafing began, living conditions for Marshallese deteriorated.
Although conditions varied in severity from atoll to atoll, in most cases Marshallese were
sent to live on smaller, less developed islands of those atolls, in order to produce food for
the Japanese army. On each atoll, Marshallese were forced laborers where living conditions
and treatment depended upon the amount of fresh water available and the scarcity or
abundance of food at the time. The Japanese ordered the young men to fish, while women
and children gathered food and shellfish in order to meet quotas. In order to avoid
starvation, Marshallese men risked their lives to fish for their families at night against
Japanese orders. Many individuals survived on less than a coconut per day (poyer et al
2001;). Walsh field notes 1994, 1998).
During the war, Marshallese people constantly relocated by choice or by force in
efforts to protect their families. They left their homes and their land - their greatest
possession. Many were compelled to hide, and they found themselves serving alternately
the Japanese and the Americans. The Japanese told them that the Americas would kill
them. Yet the Japanese did the same, according to oral accounts ofexecutions. Marshallese
men were secretly recruited to serve as scouts for the United States to spy for the US
military. Others came out oftheir hiding places after US bombing raids to help bury the
Japanese dead. In some instances, Marshallese were even more direct victims of the war.
Stray bullets killed innocent people while others suspected of serving as US informants
were condemned to death, particularly those ofmixed blood who spoke some English.
The impact of the wartime events is engraved on the niemories ofgenerations as
experiences are remembered, retold, and repeated. Commemorative stories, stories of
196
valor, suffering, shame, powerlessness, heroism, rescue, are the stuffofgrand epics. Shared
memories constitute a collective sense ofidentity and cultural/self understanding. Stories
about first encounters with American soldiers reveal some of the ways Marshallese
interpreted American force, intentions, generosity, and how they later evaluated these
strangers.
First Impressions
The following interview is excerpted from a much longer conversation than can be
reproduced here, and I have chosen to include it as characteristic ofthe numerous
accounts offirst interactions with US forces. This account was elicited when I was
interviewing Jinnie deBrum about the numerous changes she has witnessed in her life.
Jinnie is the manager of the Assumption Schools cafeteria. She is in her mid sixties and is
well respected as a church and community leader. She is married to Oscar deBrum, the
Second District Administrator of the Marshalls under the US Trust Territory, a former
Compact negotiator, and acknowledged founding father ofthe RMI.24 Jinnie was among
the first girls selected for nursing training in Saipan at the end ofthe war, and her life has
been filled with American associations. This account described her first memories of
Americans, and her reckonings ofthe impact ofAmericans on her own life, on the life of
the Marshallese people.
Bwebwenatoin dri-tarinae in Amedi/ca [A Story ofAmerican soldiers]
Jinnie deBrum was ten years old when Kwajalein was taken from the Japanese. Her
father was a navigator, with traditional status, who had worked for the Japanese. The family
24 Oscar deBrum pa.ssed away on Majuro in the summer of2002.
197
had been living on Jabor, Jaluit, when a Japanese friend informed Jinnie's father that he
should take his family to Kwajalein, because the Americans would be coming soon.
Submarines had been sighted again in the lagoon, and in the surrounding waters.
En route to Kwajalein Jinnie's father was told to ask his wife, and the children to
remain on the deck ofthe ship the entire passage, since a periscope was seen and the ship
was being followed. They arrived safely, but the following day the ship was sunk. Jinnie's
family went to one ofthe small islands ofKwajalein where her father held land rights, and
tried to settle themselves there. Shordy thereafter, the US bombed and invaded Kwajalein
(February 1944). The experience is one thatJinnie vividly recalls, and has shared with me
on more than one occasion. Her account highlights the otherworldly experience ofUS
force, and the very personal experience of war for Pacific Islanders, who themselves were
not at war. My words are printed in italics; Jinnie's are not.
JdB: Kwajalein had already been taken, but now they came to the other small places
and maybe look for Japanese and that day we were still living in the bunker and my
father came and said, 'Everybody out to the Church.' 'What happened?' 'I don't
know what kind ofboat is coming on the island from the water.' You know the
tank? (Laughter)
JW: Oh,yeah
JdB: They crawl all over the island and they
JW: Tanks allover the island?!
JdB: Yes all over the island, all over, all over around the place,
JW: Andthey had a church there too?
JdB: Yes, we had church, we had our church, I mean on our place so he said,
'Everybody out ofhere and we go to the church.' And he said, 'Ifwe have to die,
we have to die in that place, not anywhere else. So we went there and he said, he
said to my mother, 'You and my older sister and my young, the baby sister, will
have to stay here and ifsomething happen they will be with you but I'm taking
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Jinnie and my[her] brother. We'll go and meet the, the, we'll go and meet whatever
those thing are that coming on land and water.'
So he took, and you know, he said goodbye to them and we left. My grandfather,
my brother and one ofmy cousin and myself. We went to the other side because
they were coming you know, and they were already on the other end of the island
so we went we went there and wow, well, it's a good thing I was still young and I
wasn't really scared but I was so excited you know, and I was really excited, and
they were holding my hand, my father and my grandfather, and they don't said any
word, just keep walking, 'What are those things? What are those things?'
Something, Something, I haven't seen anything like that that goes on water and on
land.' But then there were about, from high school here,[reference to distance from
cafeteria where interview occurred and high school, next door, about fifty yards]
and someone 00, pastor, was using this (gesture for megaphone) and he said,
'Please do not afraid we come in peace,' but he was say it in Marshallese.
JW:Ah!
JdB: Yeah! He said you know one of one preacher was on Jabor, [Jaluit] before,
before everything was you know, so he went back to State and they were planning
to, they were planning that to take Kwajalein and all these place so they sent him to
that man who was on Jabor to train him in few Marshallese [words], that's why I
say, 'What? There's Marshallese on those things!' and he said, 'Please do not be
afraid, we come in peace.' And you know all the guns and everything were pointing
to us (chuckle--chuckle)!
(Laughter) and I could see that my father and grandfather were afraid because
when they hold my hand they were you know...(gesture) sweating.
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But I didn't I didn't really know what's going on I knew something Was not right
but (chuckle) so we went there and as soon as we got to the side, everything
stopped, because he was in front ofhis tank. So they all stopped and he carne down
and my cousin speak little English, so you know they were communicating and he
said they were asking him if there were Japanese because of those two ship that
carne to... He said, 'No, they already left.' And so they took me, you know I rode
on one ofthose things! (laughter)
JW: Didyou reallY?
JdB: Yeahl Qaughter)
JW: They tookyou?
JdB: Yeah, they took me and we went to the place whete my mothet and everybody
were. And when they look at, they were really afraid and you know some ofthem
were crying, the old people, and some ofthem passed out, because you know what,
you could feel that those thing would just come and run over you and (laughtet)
JW: Uke a monster or something•..
JdB: Yes, ummhmm, but when they look and saw me they say 'Worr' and just ran
and you know they were...scare, then we went there and we said, 'Well, it's ok
here. But I don't know how they, where they supply their food. We were out of
food because there were so many people on the island.
JW: So ma'!JMarshalkse?
JdB: Marshallese, llmhmm, they came from Kwaj [Kwajalein], you know when they
heard that my auntie told my father to get my brother and sister before the month
was over, I don't know they just got on the boat and carne to our place.
JW: The smaO island on Kwaj.
JdB: Taruij. (We can see it from Ebeye and see that place up close to Kwaj). So
before they [the Americans] left the island they gave us food -- rice, and flour and
everything. (Laughter.) And fill our cistern and water container with water, coffee
and sugar and even candy and
JW: Wow!
JdB: (Laughter) So that's why I, how I remember my you know, [childhood]
JW: Growing up was the war...
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JdB: Was the war. But none ofmy family were killed during the war... .Yes, so you,
sometime, you know, I, I could look back and see those times and still remember
the war and....
JW: Allthese people coming ontoyour land whenyou had nothing to do with it.
JdB: Yes, umhmm, (chuckle) It's very hard when you don't have anything to do
with this war and everybody coming, you know, this war the people were in war
with each other but I think we were fortunate that its not really bad like other
places nowadays. But some people on Kwajalein where they experience the war and
it was really-- they could still see today, they could still remember.
•
Figure 84. S soldiers removing Marshallcse at Kwajalein.
www.angelfire.com/hi2/palmtreesI zhisd2.html
Jinnie's descriptions of the reactions of the older people, her father's decision to
meet the strange machines head-on, and the surprise of discovering a Marshallese speaker
coming from within an amphibious tank, reveal the depth of the impact the battle for
Kwajalein had on her, and her family. Expecting the worst, they were met by a tank with a
Marshal1ese speaker and soldiers who freely distributed not only necessities (food, fresh
water, clothing), but also luxuries such as candy and coffee.
The power of this first very positive impression ofAmerican soldiers cannot be
erased. Jinnie stressed that her family wanted nothing to do with the war. Her surreal
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account expresses how foreign the whole experience was to her family, especially on their
own land. The results of the events she recounted played a critical role in her life. Jinnie's
father latet went on to work with the Americans at Kwajalein. From that day in 1944,
Jinnie deBrum's interactions with Americans and their impact on her daily life only
increased.
The amphibious tanks and the Marshallese phrases pronounced by American
soldiers also amazed Ato Langkio, of Kwajalein. His account was provided in translation,
and delivered for an audience ofKwajalein military base residents at an event sponsored by
the Marshallese Cultural Center in March of2002. He explained:
They bombed so heavily the ground shook. We could feel it...American solders
landed on Namur (Kwajalein atoll) and they started shooting - not at people 
people just froze and didn't know what to do. Then a soldier came offofthe
amphibious vehicle and ... talked to [me] in Marshallese and said, 'Peace be with
you: The Americans then came ashore and brought a pile offood, a pile larger
than this building, ofK-rations. From that moment we knew the Americans were
kind and good and helped people. Ifthe US didn't come the Japanese would have
killed all the Marshallese (Marshall Islands Journal 3/22/02: 25 emphasis added).
The incredible supplies of food, freely distributed, made the most profound
impression on Marshallese. As noted previously, the offeting offood is the primary means
ofdemonstratingjoy, generosity, and kindness. For suffering and starving people, the
overwhelming amount of food proffered by this foreign conqueror enabled Marshallese
people to interpret the actions ofthe US as exceptionally positive using common cultural
criteria. Like representations ofidealized leadership, the US was apparently, not only
powerful, and resource-rich, but provided for and protected Marshallese people. Like
Jebro, the kind, obedient, mythological [moj, (Chapter 3; Appendix G) the solders brought
calm and peace, and 'loved humanity' - all evidenced in the endless offerings offood and
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supplies for Marshall Islanders. As Langkio pointedly explained: "From that moment we
knew the Americans were kind and good and helped people."
COMMANDERS AND CHIEFS
The Americans had a different understanding oftheir role in the Marshalls made
clear in the statements of the US military leadership at the close ofthe war in a National
Geographic article entitled, "Our New Military Wards, the Marshalls." Despite the
paternalistic rhetoric ("wards'') to the contrary, Americans were not there to provide for
and look after the Marshallese. Fleet Admiral Ernest J. King justified US military presence
in Micronesia through American loss oflife:
We must have bases; these island harbors paid for by sacrifices ofAmerican blood,'
while Army General H.H. Arnold added: 'These key islands - the Marshall, Palaus,
Volcanos, Bonins, Ryukyus, and others - are vital to our future security. Their use
by the United States must be unrestricted. How else can we defend ourselves from
an enemy who could destroy our cities by long-range bombing? The future peace
of the world; indeed, the fate of mankind may depend upon it (Moore 1945:329)25.
The primary interest of the United States in the Marshall Islands is strategic.
Marshallese are US wards" only insofar as US security priorities require.
"Na DriKien dap in Manw:l'
After the fighting ceased in the Marshalls, the US Navy set up temporary
administrative headquarters at Majuro and the Pacific Fleet Commander spelled out the
policies to be observed. In July of 1944, Admiral Nimitz issued the US Navy's first
proclamation (AppendixDto the people of the Marshall Islands (US National Archives,
25 There is an ahnost timeless quality to this rhetoric, particularly prevalent in contemporary discussions
concerning~rogue'nations such as NorthKore~Pakistan, and now, Iraq.
" Moore's article is entitled, "Ont New Military Wards, the Marsh.ns:' National Geographic Mdgo!Jjne. 88(3):
325-352.
203
document declassified 14 November 2001
27
). The document demands cooperation, and
promises peace by conveying images of the expansive power ofUnited States' military,
soldiers, and weapons. Intentional, or not, it is strikingly reminiscent of early accounts of
powerful, foreign invading chiefs, and Marshallese patterns of shifting allegiances.
The formal English version was translated and distributed in three languages:
Japanese, Marshallese, and a simplified English that is nearly a literal translation of
Marshallese. In the original English document C.W. Nimitz is designated "Admiral, United
States Navy, Commander in Chief, United States Pacific Fleet and Pacific Ocean Area,
Military Governor ofthe Marshall Islands." The simplified English document names him,
"High Commander ofAmerican Warships and Fighting Forces in the Pacific Area and
Governor ofthese Marshall Islands." The Marshallese version declares Nimitz, "Dri-kien
clap in Manwa kcin imjar Tarinae in Amcrika ilo Pasifik umcfo, in na, Komissar in Ai/in hin
Marshall." The significance of the Marshallese translation is the emphasis on the powers
vested in this American leader. He holds the highest civil authority (dri kim clap), as well as
commands the strength, technology, and abundant force recognized in the mamva
[Marshallized pronunciation ofMan ofWar], thejartarinae [fighting forces; interesting
sincejaris also used for 'prayerl, the vast territory in the Pasifik umefo [the entire ocean],
and the familiar tide ofa former foreign power, komissar, from the German era.
The Marshallese translation ofthe original English document is a fascinating
example ofthe ways Marshallese interpreters/translators attempted to convey (and/or
27 I would like to acknowledge Keith Camacho who discovered this document while conducting doctoral·
research at the National Archives, and brought it to my attention.
204
understand) the power and authority of the US in tenns ofMarshallese cultural paradigms.
The English document explains that the US soldiers would not:
make war upon the civilian inhabitants of these islands but [will] permit them to
continue their nonnallives and occupations in a peaceable manner, so far as war
necessities and their own behavior permit.
The Marshallese translation points out that the soldiers do not intend to cause
suffering among the Marshallese. It further adds, Dri Amerika rrI lennan bwe dri Marsha!! rrln
joij non kim [the Americans would like the Marshallese to be kind/generous to them). This
added appeal expresses the implicit idea of the original document that ifMarshallese are
well behaved (good and kind) to the Americans they will not be disturbed or bothered. The
explicit directive in the Marshallese proclamation initiates a familiar Marshallese inference
ofhospitality, and reciprocity - Joif co, mour eo [kindness brings life) - in the context of
American/Marshallese relations.
The first point of the proclamation states the degree ofUS power more clearly,
which likely has the (intended) effect of emphasizing the value ofcooperation. The fonnal
English text explains the extent ofNimitz's authority and how it will be enacted:
All powers ofgovernment and jurisdiction in the occupied territory and over the
inhabitants therein, and final administrative responsibility, are vested in me as
Admiral, United States Navy, Commanding the United States Forces of
occupation, and Military Governor, and will be exercised through subordinate
commanders by my direction.
110 ailin kein .,.otem kajur ao, na dri kim clap in Manwa kein Amerika im Jar in Tanna.
rrI her fjin, im Komissar in ailin kefn. In ro dri kim ao rrI nqj Irooj kin kicn ko ao.
The Marshallese translation uses biblical expressions, such as kajur otcm kajur [each
and every power) to ascribe divine leadership and authority to Nimitz and his soldiers -
"110 ailin kefn kajur otcm kqjur ao" [In these islands each and every power is mine). Again the
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range of his powers is represented in terms ofbattleships, numerous troops, and expansive
territory - "na dti kim elap in Manwa kein Amerika im Jar in Tannae re ber gin, im Komissar in
ailin keitl' [1, the highest leader ofthe battleships, of the American fighting forces staying
here, and the highest leader/Kommisar of these islands]. Yet the final sentence is, to me,
the most intriguing, for its use of the word Irooj "In ro dri kien ao re noj Irooj kin kim ko ao"
[my governing people (leaders) will 'Iror!! my Iaws/commands]. Ifthis is an error of
translation, as I suppose, it is a fascinating one. Irooj is not a verb, which the structure of
the above sentence indicates. A more appropriate and grammatically correct substitution
might be kat/tid [respect]. Use ofIrooj in this context explicitly suggests that the combined
kommisar-military-govemor-admiral is treated by his subordinates with the respect and
obedience ofktyiff toward any IroOJ: Marshallese are thus compelled to subordination to US
law and governance.
The significance of Marshallese first encounters with Americans and Marshallese
interpretations and understandings ofAmerica(ns) informed relationships that persist
today. The cultural models of authority that shaped Irooj/ kajur relations for centuries also
framed early encounters with Americans and were further transformed by those
encounters. US colonial relations enabled the re-formation ofIrooj!kajUrreiations as
American admioistrators established new political and economic practices and structures.
THE TRUST TERRITORY
In 1947, the United Nations Trusteeship Agreement that established the Trust
Territory ofthe Pacific Islands' (ITPI, or TT) technically delegated the Marshalls,
Carolines, Mananas (except Guam), and Palauan islands to a United States civil
206
administration. Simultaneously US President Truman gave interim authority to the
Secretary ofthe Navy and commissioned the Cornmander-in-Chief ofthe US Pacific Fleet
as High Commissioner (Meller 1969:15).
The responsibilities ofthe US to the FormerJapanese Mandated Islands are spelled
out in Articles 6 and 7 ofthe Trusteeship Agreement. The US was to foster the
devdopment ofpolitical institutions, promote the economic, social, and educational
advancement of the inhabitants, and encourage their sdf-sufficiency (Meller 1969:15).
Unlike other Trust Territory agreements the TfPI was designated a "strategic trust." This
meant that the TfPI was under the jurisdiction ofthe UN Security Council, rather than the
General Assembly; the Administering Authority had to consent to any proposed
termination date; and most significandy, the US was permitted to have armed forces, build
fortifications, and close off the area for security reasons (Fluker 1981:70).
The Aton Council
To govern the islands, the Navy followed the Japanese modd ofadministration
rather than introduce drastic changes in an already disturbed political system:
The decision to follow the Japanese set ofofficials, with modifications, rather than
to attempt to return to a form ofindirect rule through the paramount chiefs, was a
wise one. The people were used to the Japanese structure of officialdom, and any
attempt to return to the old Marshallese class system would have seemed a step
backward (Spoehr 1949: 96).
Further, the jurisdiction of chiefs, it was learned, would not be coterminous with
viable units ofgovernments, so the Americans did not deliberately organize government
around the traditional leadership, as they did in the other districts (Meller 1969:133). The
American pattern for administration included many ofthe same positions that the Japanese
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had created (a magistrate, scribe, village headman, and policeman) as well as a small
governing body. An atoll council, whose primary role was to appoint policemen, consisted
ofthe elected magistrate and scribe, the village headman, and the heads ofall the lineages
on the atoll.
The nobility still largely held political leadership on Majuro. The magistrate was an
Irooj, yet other new status positions were available to commoners, depending upon their
skills. In 1947, Majuro's council consisted of135 members, fourteen ofwhom were lrotj.
Spoehr surmised that, "in time this system will probably supplant the hereditary
class structure and political leadership will be exercised by persons with a superior position
in this newly formed status system rather than by nobility" (Spoehr 1949:102).28 Arguably,
this was the intent ofthe US administration. The establishment ofnative atoll councils and
courts were attempts to introduce democratic institutions into Marshallese social life that
might enable commoners to outvote traditional leaders (Meller 1969: 54, 138).
In contrast to Japanese policy, the Americans did not standardize the lrooj share of
copra, leaving the donations to voluntary agreements between Irotj, alab, and drijerbaL In
response, the obligation of chiefs to provide for the medical expenses ofhis people lapsed.
The shifting ofpolicies that threatened Irooj was apparently an attempt to encourage
democratic reform:
The American administration held the position that the Marshallese people were
becoming dissatisfied with the traditional iroij [Irol!J] relationships and that its role
was to protect all the Marshallese people by allowing free decisions to be reached
on the iroij status. To the iroij, it appeared that the Americans were encouraging the
operation of the municipal councils to 'destroy iroijs' wills and rights or take over
iroijs' concerns (Meller 1969:134).
28 Not until 2000 did this occut with the election Kessai Note, the long-term Speaker of the Nitijela, as the
first commoner president inJanuary 2000.
208
Taking Sides
Contemporary divisions in Marshallese politics have deep roots in the afffiiations
established by American administrators, and their biases against and dependence upon
Marshallese traditional leadership. Majuro's hiatoric political schism was deeply
exacerbated and firmly entrenched through American activities and relationships. Even as
the US attempted to marginalize chiefs, and empower common citizens, it required the
cooperation ofchiefly authority to legitimize American interests (Carucci 1997:206).
US interests conflicted with US democratic ideals and resulted in an easily exploited
ambivalence that some Marshallese leaders were quick to use to their advantage. Within
Majuro atoll's political schism, the key elected positions ofmagistrate, scribe, and headman
were on the majority side ofLanglan. Yet, Jinam's followers were able to hold enough
political power, despite their minority srarns, to maintain a balance in village life. Jitiam, the
leader ofthe minority side, was not in direct line of succession from the paramount chief
Lerok, who controlled Majuro prior to the German administration. Spoehr notes:
There is some question as to when Jitiam was selected a paramoWlt chief Some
villagers say it was not until the American occupation and that Jitiam's side 'put
over' the idea with American military government officials that there were two
paramoWlt chiefs when there really was only one (1949:85).
The presence ofthe US military exacerbated the schiam between Langlan's and
Jitiam's groups. The groups were especially competitive for US attention and funds, as they
independently hosted US dignitaries, managed separate stores, and competed for
government positions. The rivalty pervaded village life; it was ever-present in latent form.
Even so, the two chiefs maintained friendly relations and visited with other on occasion,
209
never threatening any physical violence or physical separation ofthe community (Spoeht
1949:89-90).
It was not only the US presence that encouraged local competitions and renewed
rivalries on Majuro (and anywhere the US established itself), but it was the selection of
Majuro as the district center that intensified these divisions. Seats on atoll councils,
opportunities for land lease payments, economic and political power came with US
recognition. The US attempted to establish governing institutions based upon democratic
principles, even as they required the chiefs participation and support to legitimize those
new political positions.
At Majuro, the Navy administration's decision to treat bothJitiam and Langlan's
sides as equals benefited the US, as much as it did Jitiam's group (known as twenty-twenty
after Jitiam's death). In the name ofbalancing ofatoll politics, the Navy could employ not
only those ofhigh rank, on Langlan's side, but also the mission-educated, English-speaking
commoners who comprised the Twenty-Twenty leadership.
Institutionalizing Authority
When the US administration proposed the first meeting of[moj, followed by a
conference ofmagistrates and scribes, it was with the intent to "support indigenous
customs" (Hi Comm, quoted in Meller 1969:135) and to mobilize iroij active cooperation
by institutionalizing their privileged status in a bi-camerallegislative body consisting oflrof!j
and elected representatives (Meller 1969:135). In the process, the lrooj "recognized in
democratic practices and principals ofthe West efficient tools for the defense oftheir class
interests" (Sandelman in Meller 1969:135).
210
At that first meeting, anyone who came forth as an lroojwas recognized. The
provision for the resolution ofconflicting claims was unnecessary since, according to
custom, no claim was ever challenged by the kqjm:
In 1948, Majuro district's magistrates and scribes gathered to discuss issues of
interest to the entire Marshalls district. A year later, a second conference oflrolj convened
with representation of all the atolls. While Majuro's chiefs were acknowledged, they were
given no government authority. The charter the chiefs proposed in 1949 (signed by the
deputy high commissioner) effectively "'versed the policy ofchiefly exclusion and the
Marshall Islands first bicameral congress met the following year. One house contained lrolj
and the other elected representatives (Meller 1969:54). Only in the Marshall Islands, among
the various districts of the TIPI, did the traditional leaders refuse to give up legislative
positions (Meller 1970: 327).
Interior Administration
In 1951 administration of the Territory shifted from military to civilian control
after much debate between the Army/Navy and the Departments of State and Interior.
While the Navy administration is often criticized for ignoring the imperatives of the
Trusteeship agreement toward political development, economic, social, and educational
advancement (frumbull1959; Nufer 1978; Fluker 1981; Hughes and Lingenfelter 1974),
Micronesians recall the Navy administration more appreciatively than the Interior
administration: Heine explains:
The people ofMicronesian became accustomed to a new life-style [after the war], a
style where everything was handed out free. Massive operations in the area by the
US Navy, accomplished with few worries over cost or logistical support, resulted in
Micronesians' present fond memories of the military government.
211
However, in 1951, when the administration ofthe Trust Territory was turned over
to the Department of the Interior, reality quickly relegated the abundant life under
the military government to pleasant remembrances. The Department ofthe
Interior did not give out anything free. It had a smaller staff, less money to run the
area, fewer ships, and it showed very little experience in island government and
island affairs (1974:5-6).
In contrast with the generous, powerful, savior, warrior, feast-making Iroo} in Manwa
[Chief of the Man-of-War; Navy Administration] the stingy Interior leadership was judged
ineffective because ofits inability to access and distribute resources.
The annual budget for the entire territory was approximately $5.5 million. In 1957
local tax collections and other revenue added about $1.8 million. Budgetary constraints
explain, ifnot excuse, the lack ofdevelopment toward the imperatives ofthe Trusteeship
agreement. During the period ofUS Interior administration prior to a rapid influx of
funding in the 1960s, the region was most frequently referred to as the "Rust Territory," or
an "anthropological zoo" and characterized by "benign neglect" (Heine 1974; Nufer
1978:231). The opinions ofthe administering authority explain the meager budgetary
allotments. High Commissioner Delmas H. Nucker defended the budget against the
criticisms of the visiting UN Trusteeship Council members in 1959. He explained:
Itis true that iflarger appropriation had been made available we could have
substantially increased our staff, could have built many buildings, could have
embarked upon numerous additional economic experiments, and could so have
over-administered the Territory as to have created a facade ofvarious programs,
structures, and enterprises that had no real foundation other than the subsidies paid
into them.
I cannot believe that this type offalse economy and over-administration would
have been in the best interests of the Micronesian people. Unless the size ofthe
administration is in proportion to the need and the economic life ofthe Territory
and is firmly grounded on productivity, the dependency ofthe area is increased
because it will never be able to support the artificially high standards created by
over-subsidization.
212
The level of appropriation is, to my mind, one of judgment and balance. Opinions
on the subject obviously differ. I do not, however, believe that the past level of
appropriations has hampered the development ofthe Territory. Furthermore, I
firmly believe that the amount of subsidization should and must be related to the
needs ofMicronesia -- not to the Administering Authorities' appraisal of the
security value of the area (In Nufer 1978: 212-213).
Within two years of the 1961 release ofUN delegation's report, the annual budget
allocated to the Territory doubled to $15 million in 1963 (Kiste 1993:71). By 1970, only
seven years later, the budget rose to $60 million (Hezel 1992:216).
Despite UN imperatives to promote independent governing and self-reliance while
fostering political development, a team ofeconomists led by Anthony Solomon was sent to
the region by Presidential mandate to evaluate the future role oft~eUS in Micronesia and
determine appropriate methods to ensure that role. The confidential report written for US
PresidentJohn F. Kennedy is riow notoriously known as the "Solomon Report." The
report incorporated recommendations to the US President, which included explicit
descriptions ofhow to foster dependency and curry favorable views ofindigenous people
toward their administrative power. Solomon suggested that the US use subde
indoctrination through American-modeled educational and political institutions to lead
Micronesia to "freely choose" permanent political affiliation with the US (which would
thus acquire its strategic benefits). Whether by plan or by chance, the majority ofthe
Solomon Report's recommendations have been implemented.
The Marshall Islands Coogress
The Marshall Islands Congress in 1956 consisted offorty-two elected
representatives in the House ofAssembly, and twenty-eight lroojin the House oflrooj.
Disrinctions between the members ofthe two houses were quite marked. The Elected
213
legislators were "better educated, more traveled, enjoyed a greater command ofEnglish,
and through present, or fortner employment, were more conversant with the operations of
government introduced by Americans ...They were noticeably younger, mirrored the
prevailing Protestantism ofthe Marshalls, and had often been prepared for public office by
service as school teachers" (Meller 1969:89). Further, the House ofAssembly was not a
cross-section of the population, but was "heavily weighted toward persons ofimportance
in traditional Marshallese society. Halfofthe forty-two were alabs [alab, lineage heads], or
iroij edik [secondary "small" chiefs], and another ten were in the bwij mito (the oldest
lineage), and close in line to become alabs upon the death ofthe incumbents (Meller 1969:
89).
From the beginning ofits administration, the Department ofthe Interior opposed
the bicameral Congress ofthe Marshall Islands and the powers it offered to traditional
chiefs. The Interior administration urged a second charter, approved in 1958 that
established a unicameral system. The RMI Nitijela documents specifically notes that High
Commissioner Nucker initiated the change (Majuro District Department ofEducation
1977: 2; Meller 1969:137). Despite its intended effect ofdiminishing the influence ofthe
hereditary membership, "much to the Americans' chagrin, the Iroij basically retained their
former role and, in addition, secured protections against revision oftraditional rights which
the bicameral body could have modified" (Meller 1969:54). The Iroo/had not opposed the
change from a bi-cameral to a unicameral congress, realizing the fortn of the congress
would not diminish the weight of their authority (Meller 1969:137). Even so, the Iroo/ did
dispute the US proposal that they not hold life terms, or vote on resolutions other than
214
those concerns with customary land rights. After two days ofdiscussions the Marshallese
congress rejected the US proposals, granted the lro'!Jlifetime membership, full voting
rights, and exclusive jurisdiction over customary land matters.
Defining Authority
The charter of1958 designated to the Congress the power to determine which of
the lroojwere considered lro'!Jlaplap and given lifetime membership. The district
administration had rigidly defined the credentials clause, but wrongly assumed that with the
few-estimated lro'!Jlaplap (14), the elected membership would easily be able to limit their
numbers and influence. The administration anticipated that twenty percent ofthe Congress
would consist ofchiefs, the remainder elected representatives. Instead, when the Congress
met for the first time in 1960, over forty lrooj had been nominated, and after two days of
selections, ninteen were seated for life.
Chosen as president was an elected representative who was the son ofan lro'!J and
Lerooj, had been a former member ofthe House oflro§., and was a recogoized
spokesman for the irofj. He was backed by the iroijlaplap seated at the congress and
by 'the older fellows from the northern and western atolls [who] followed the irofj,
rather than voted oftheir own free will (Memo, acting DistAd to HiComm
10/4/60 in Meller 1969:140).
The first President of the unicameral Congress was Amata Kabua. As President,
Kabua wrote to the Acting District Administrator to explain the selection oflro'!f:
Some...are not lro'!Jlaplap in the strict sense ofthis hereditary tide; although all have
the duties and responsibilities ofan lroojlaplap. Each one has his or her own rights
and can exercise such rights to execute business and independendy decide
important matters relating to land under that jurisdiction ... In other words, the
term lroojlaplap has been given a new meaning which evolved out from the long and
hard debates in the Congress during the examination and certification ofits
permanent members. While I may disagree with the decision ofthe Congress, in
215
my position, I have no choice but to be guided accordingly by the rule of the
majority" (October 12, 1960, quoted in Meller 1969: 139).
The redefinition of Iroqjlaplap status for the purposes ofinstitutionalizing authority
and power highlights the fluid nature ofcultural practices that continue in the present." In
1960, the US administration did not challenge those seats recognizing that the claims were
so confused, only an anthropologist could potentially disqualify any of the competing
claims through thorough study of Iroqj clans (Meller 1969: 135).
Marshallese Iroqj outmaneuvered and manipulated the US administration over and
over again to retain and increase their economic and political powers. The following
instance highlights the ways Majuro chiefs appropriated the United Stated IT government
in the context ofthe Majuro schism:
A further embarrassment to the American administration was the fact that the
Marshall Islands Congress named the Administering Authority as one of the iroij
entitled to a seat. Lands on Majuro had long been disputed by two rival groups of
claimants. The administration scrupulously refrained from interfering, and from the
1950 session of the congress on, representatives ofthe opposing forces were seated
in the House ofIroij. The decision designating the Trust Temtory f!lJvernmCllt as the iroij of
the 'twCllty-twenry'gTYJ1ip, one of the contestants, in effect eliminated any ofthe
members of the group from the new congress. This drew an indignant rejection
from the high commissioner, on the grounds that 'naming ofthe iroijlaplap, ifany, is
for the people concerned to accomplish within their local customs, ifthey want
such a title within their social organization' (Message of HiCom 8/17/60 in Meller
1969:139).
The clever attempt to name the ITgovernment as an Iroof, based on the US rental
ofTwenty-Twenty land in Uliga, recalls the numerous examples previously examined in
this dissertation in which foreigners are proffered titles of authority in order to serve local
"Kabua uses the democratic value of "tnajority rule" to explain acd justify his collaboration in the
redefinition oftraditional status.
" As recent as 2001 (protection of lrooj and Lerooj Tides Act), the RMI Nitijeh passed a resolution that again
redefined Iroojlaplap credentials to prevent abuses.
216
ends regarding competing chiefs, their people, and their desire for greater access to and
control over resources. Like Kotzebue of the Romanoffexpedition and Lt. Paulding who
rescued Lay and Hussey at Mill, the IT administration is made a "chief' in an attempt to
incorporate the foreign as an ally (and weapon) within familiar, culturally-framed
understandings ofpower and historic rivalries.
Increasing Power ofChiefs
A 1963 amendment to the charter ofthe Marshall Islands Congress that reduced
the number ofelected legislators further enhanced the powers of the traditional hierarchy
(Meller 1969:54, 140). "This change is diametrically opposite to the withering away of Iroy
influence anticipated by the Administering Authority when it first proposed a unicameral
legislature for the Marshalls" (Meller 1969:140). The force behind the amendment was
Amata Kabua, who explained his role in the congress in a 1972 interview:
I came and helped to develop the tax system here and otherwise helped to organize
the Disttict Legislature, influencing it to become a unicameral rather than bicameral
body, and later to reduce the membership. This Was the forerunner ofthe
Marshalls Nitijela. There were divisions here between the common man and the
lroojhphp, the traditional royal farnilies, and the budget couldn't cover all the usual
expenses when we had 60 to 90 members meeting at that time. Well, when the
Navy pulled out and the Interior Department came in, it became quite obvious that
there was no such thing as an adequate budget to manage such a big legislature with
members coming from all over the Marshalls. Ifyou'll recall the Territory was then
run on a budget ofabout six million dollars. In any case, I guess I must have
impressed somebody because I was selected to be in the Council ofMicronesia,
and eventuaIly was elected into the Congress ofMicronesia which grew out ofthat
Council (Micronesian Reporter 1972(4): 3).
217
CENTRALIZING AUTHORITY
The Emergence ofAmata Kabua
Amata Kabua was able to assert his traditional chiefly powers and authority, even
strengthen it, through US resources, and by his clever exploitations and awareness ofUS
strategic interests in the Marshall Islands. His model of"modem Marshallese" leadership
defined Marshallese politics for decades. From his early days as a member and advisor to
the lrooj in the Marshall Islands Congress, to his negotiations for the rental ofKwajalein by
the US Department ofDefense, through his influential roles in spearheading the separation
ofthe Marshalls from the rest of the TTPI, Amata Kabua's power and influence
continually increased to the point that in 1994, one journalist blundy noted: "Kabua has it
all" (Padflc Islands Monthly 63:3:81994).
The political development of the Marshall Islands will be documented and
described through Amata Kabua's influence. Like descriptions ofother powerful,
Marshallese chiefs, Marshallese attitudes toward lro'!;' and President Amata Kabua, vary
from pride at his ability to exploit foreigners" to criticism ofhis development policies and
absolute control over resources. This section will examine Amata Kabua's ability to use
local understandings of authority to transform and enhance the power ofchiefs, through
modern political institutions that transformed models ofMarshallese politics, roles for
Marshallese chiefs, responsibilities of ko/ttr, and understandings ofthe United States.
" Tohin (2002) notes that Marshallese repeated stories of lroo) Kaibuki, who made Enropeans pay him for
pennission to enter through the pass or to anchor at Ebon, with '"pride that their leader could more than
hold his own with outsiders despite their apparendy superior power" (329). These are similar to
understandings ofAmata Kabua's role in garnering US payments for Kwajalein, and securing US "tribute" in
the Compact of Free Association (Hart 1998:27-28).
218
The Trust Territory period as experienced by Marshallese, was not merely a period
of "Americanization" (which is thorougWy documented and described), but also a petiod
of"Marshallization" -- an incorporation ofAmerican resources, knowledge, skills,
structures by Marshallese chiefs. Amata Kabua has earned full recognition for making the
Republic ofMarshall Islands what it is today.
Early Life
Born in Jaluit on November 17, 1928, Amata Kabua was the child ofLejelon
Kabua (the grandson of Ralik lroojlaplap Kabua Lebon "the Great'') and Li Tarjikit, a Ratak
Lerooj from Arno and Majuro. With royal blood from both his parents, Amata was
recognized as lrooj bweio [two shouldered].
The characteristic "foreignness" ofpowerful chiefs resonated in the recognition of
Amata and others within the Kabua patriline, whose paternity was widely -- if cautiously --
questioned, even though, according to custom, children who are raised among the family
are openly recognjzed and accepted as those with family blood. Rights to higWy valued US-
leased land have forged new definitions and reevaluations ofMarshallese customs. While
many of the cases ofpaternity are conjecture, the power ofcourts with American judges to
determine who is eligible for land lease payments according to Marshallese tradition is
higWy suspect. Although inheritance ofthe lrooj entitlements by non-blood family
members has been challenged in courts," in some cases it has been upheld.
" Loeak v. Loeak. One branch of the Loeak family was denied a share of Kwajalein land payments, and a
position in the House of lrooj after a court decided the pale-skinoed Loeak was obviously illegitimate, despite
his having been recognized as a son, and raised in Loeak's household. The controversy revolved around the
testimony ofKabua Kabua who, under oath, ststed that only the natural bom child ofan lroojloplop could
inherit the tide of his or het father, even if acknowledged as being in the house hold, and treated as a natural
bom child. Chiefly tides were only passed through blood lines, according to his knowledge. This highly
219
· Amata Kabua was among the first Micronesians to receive a college education.
When he returned from community college in Hawai'i he worked for the Marshalls District
Department ofEducation as a secondary school teacher and later, as the Superintendent of
Schools. Kabua began his political career in the 1950s as Chief Oerk to the Marshall
Islands Council of Irooj, part of the bicameral advisory body established during the Navy
administration. He held that position until he was elected to the first Marshall Islands
Congress in 1958.
His role in the development of that Congress is significant. When High
Commissioner Nucker changed the bicameral Congress to a unicameral body, with the
intent to limit the power held by traditional Iron;; Amata Kabua was able to enhance those
powers by recommending a reduction the size ofthe Marshall Islands Assembly in 1964.
Meller (1969) notes the frustration experienced by the US administration, over the chiefly
control ofthe district assembly. Americans favored the English-speaking, educated
commoners --such as Amata's rival, Dwight Heine-- over the traditional hierarchy.
publicize4 case was the predecessor to the Kabua v. Kabua case, that beglln only a few years later, lasted a
decade, and saw its way through 6 judges and $4 million in legal fees. Ama.. Kabua legally battled Kabua
Kabua over rights to Kwajalein, to deliberately challenge Kabua's testimony - which was potentially
threatening to Amato's position. In the Loeak case, Amata had sided with the "pale" Loeak. After the ease
was decided, when the newly recognized Loeak went for his elected ,eat in the Nilijefa, he was prevented,
citing Article 2, section 5 ofthe Constitution: "The Nilijelo alone shall detennine the qnalifications ofits
members." Judge Heffner,.in his review of the case, explained that the only response given to the courts for
refusing to 'eatAnjua Loeak, came from Amato Kabua who insisted that "the Courts can't tell the legislature
what to do." (March 9, 1979: Loeak v. Nitijefa, p.19) The ju4ge', reaction speaks to American frustrations at
the power ofMarshallese authorities to ignore their wishes, then. laws, and their designs: "lhis, ofcourse,
shows how far the Nitijelo has misconceived its role in the three-branch government system which has been
in effect in the Marshall Islands for many years. It also demonstrated the attempted revocation ofan
established doctrine of a democratic system. That system is a government of law, not ofmen" (High Court
Trost Territory, 1979 Civil Action No. 7-79, Marshall Islands District. Hefner, Associate Judge. p. 19).
220
Kwajalein Negotiations
Amata's father, Lejelon, was the principal landowner ofKwajalein, the site of US
missile testing. Compensation negotiation for US use ofKwajalein (682 acres), and for
sixty-eight acres on Majuro was a slow, drawn-out process. The principal negotiator for
Lejelon was Amata. While Amata attended a community college in Hawai'i in 1953, he met
attorney RE. Wiles, who later served as legislative assistant to Hawai'i Congressman Spark
Matsunaga (Kahn 1966:79). Wiles agreed to support the Marshalls' cause in Washington
D.C.,and enlisted the help ofWashington insider attorneys. They took on the case without
retainer; not realizing the negotiations with US would last over a decade.
Prior to 1953, no land in Micronesia had ever sold for more then $350 per acre.
The TT decided the 750 acres they leased was worth approximately $250 per acre for
indefinite use. They doubled their own estimate and offered the Marshalls $500 an acre. In
response, Amata Kabua refused the "indefinite use" clause and further demanded $1,500
per acre including interest (Kahn 1966:79). According to one account, US negotiators met
with Kabua in 1957 and offered $300,000 in cash piled high on a table. Amata and his
negotiating party stood up and walked out ofthe room (Kahn 1966:80).
It wasn't until 1964 that an agreement was signed that provided the US with a
ninty-nine year lease ofKwajalein in return for approximately $1,000 per acre. After legal
fees were subtracted the total sum received was $712,500. One thousand dollars each were
offered to the four Kwajalein lro'?}; and the remainder distributed among the other
landowners (Kahn 1966:85).
221
Figure 85. The singing of the Kwajalein rental agreement 1964.
Lejelon (seated on the left) with Amara Kabua standing.
#2845-03 TIPI Archives.
The Congress ofMicronesia
Representatives, Rivalries, Separatism
In 1964, the US finally began to address the economic and political development of
the islands with the formation of an advisory Council ofMicronesia consisting of
Micronesian delegates appointed by the High Commissioner. Dwight Heine was elected
the President of the Council ofMicronesia, after breaking a tie with Amata Kabua. In 1965,
the Council was transformed into the Congress ofMicronesia, comprised ofelected
Senators and Representatives from each ofthe six districts: Palau, Yap, Guam, Truk,
Pohnpei and the Marshalls.
In that new governing body, Amata Kabua was elected the first Senate President
(Heine was the first Speaker ofthe Assembly). Within a year he was also selected the Chair
of the Ways and Means Committee of the Congress ofMicronesia; he also drove an
expensive imported American car while the other two hundred cars were inexpensive
222
Japanese imports (Kahn 1966:72). His reputation for expensive taste spread throughout
Micronesia.
33
;~::"..
Figure 86. Amatll Kabua in the Congx:css of Micmoesia.
TTPI Archives #2785-01.
In 1969, the TIPI rejected first the territory and then commonwealth status
offered by the US. Only the Marianas accepted the offer for commonwealth. In July of
1969, the remaining group began the first round of negotiations for possible future status
ofindependence or free association.
By 1972, the fifth round of negotiations outlined the following agreed-upon goals
of the Micronesian delegates: Micronesians would write their own constitutions, internal
government would be the responsibility ofthe Micronesians and external, international and
military affairs could be referred to the US. There would be two bases allowed in the
region, in the Marshalls and on Palau. More bases could be negotiated in the future.
33 A Chuukese friend explained to me that whenever she or her siblings requested toys or clothes that were
beyond the family budget, her mother would always say, "Who do you think you are? The child ofAmata
Kabua?" Not until she read about the history of Micronesia in graduate studies did she understand the
reference O. Jacob, personal communication).
223
Economic and Political Development Agendas
In 1972, Kabua expressed his views on economic and political developmentin the
region. While still a Senator in the Congress ofMicronesia, Kabua was critical ofthe move
for independence. He explained his views ofpolitical deVelopment that included affiliation
with the United States:
I don't think there is anything wrong with any status that is chosen by the people. I
think that ifthey choose independence, that would be all right. It's just a question
of how we should realistically attain that kind ofgoal. Ifwe are talking about
independence in the sense that some of our youth talk about it, I don't agree with
that; not, if you just want to be by yourselfand just completely obliterate the
presence ofother people and have nothing to do with anyone else. I don't believe
in that kind ofindependence. Independence is just a degree ofa person's or
nations' being able to control his or its own fate, and not always in an unfriendly
way. IfMicronesia were to become independent with close ties to the United
States, I don't see anything wrong with that. But, ifMicronesia wants to be
independent and just curtail all its relationships with the United States, then I see
many things wrong with that. I don't know if there is a nation in the world which is
purely and definitely independent. I think we find that coexistence in the world is a
much more important thing than to be isolating oneself from the community ofthe
world (Micronesian R£pfJrler 1972:4).
He further noted his views on development when asked ifthe IT government was
doing enough to facilitate economic development:
It's a little hard to answer that question, because in this world there is no such thing
as 'enough' economic development. I mean there's always a demand for more
development in any field, and new fields are being sought constantly... I think it's
quite obvious that the administration has lagged behind in this particular field of
development, that is, the economy. In Majuro here I think that the greatest thing
that has ever happened is the development ofthe new airfield"'. We think this will
spur the influx oftourists into this area and hopefully that will bringin fresh money
into the economy (Micronesian R£pfJf1er1972:4).
The tourism envisioned by Amata early in 1972 centered on Japanese tourists ("the
world's most affluent'') and casino gambling (Micronesian Reporter1972:4, 7). These
34 That airport is now named the Amata Kabua International Airport.
224
remained central elements ofAmata's development policies throughout his five terms as
President ofthe Marshall Islands.
Kabua also pointed out the impact ofAmerican policy on the potential
development ofthe Marshalls, stressing the necessity ofboth economic and political
development:
Our economy here depends a great deal on the mentality ofthe United States. The
real question here is whether the United States should allow us now to look for
development elsewhere, continuing our trade with the US ofcourse, where the
bulk ofour shipments come from and go to. But I means also seeking out new
marketing area like Japan and the rest ofthe nations throughout the Pacific ... We
have to know whether this is possible or whether it is the US intention to close the
area and hope to support us entirely in a vacuum, and shut us off from the rest of
the world. I think that's the major question in our economic development ....We
don't know exactly what they want at this stage of the game, but if the US is going
to create an economy where they just keep pumping in money to support us, that's
one thing. But iftomorrow the Unites States would allow us to go ahead, and
would back us up in our attempts to find other ways ofpromoting our economy
that would be something else. We could do this with the blessing and backing of
the United States, but without that blessing, well, we're sunk. ..
You just can't develop the political entity in Micronesia alone. You've got to have some kind uf
economic base for the political entity, or you've got no ground to stand on (Micronesian
&potter 1972:5).
In the above passage Kabua's consciousness ofthe colonial relationship is obvious.
The blessing ofthe United States, its intentions and dominance are the primary
determinants ofMicronesia's future. He further acknowledges the "captive" situation of
the Bikinians with some sarcasm as he describes how the Bikinians -- "enthralled" by their
captors -- view the US as their 1rooj ":
Isn't it ironic that the US comes to an atoll in the Marshalls, takes the people out,
puts them in forced residence on another island for thitty years; and for those
people it's the old theory ofbecoming enthralled and entranced by your captors.
3S Numerous references to the Bikinians' relationship to the US repeat this; see chapter 8 as well as
"metaphors'" in chapter 7.
225
The Bikini and Enewetak people now hold the Marshall Islands as a sort.of third
party to this little partnership. We [the RMI] are the ones trying to take the people
out oftheir hostage situation, and mentally it is very difficult for them to accept.
At the reporter's suggestion that there must be other lands available for the
Bikinians to buy and settle on, Kabua offered a sarcastic response: "And be subject to
another Iroof other than Iroof Uncle Sam"" (Micronesian Reporter 1972:5)?
Separatism
In 1973 Senator Amata Kabua ofthe Marshall Islands threatened disunity in order
to gain a fifty percent rebate on all taxes paid by the Marshall Islands, the Micronesianst~te
with the largest income due to taxation ofAmerican workers on the US Army base at
Kwajalein and the greatest copra production. After the bill he proposed was buried in
committee, and the Marshalls House delegation staged a walkout. Soon after:
In March of1973 the Marshall Islands District Legislature adopted an ultimatum
resolution, committing itself to separate status negotiations if the legislation [for a
50 percent tax rebate] were not passed at the next regular Congress session in early
1974. It also created a Marshall Islands Political Status Committee. This brought
into the open the personal and political rivalries surrounding Senator Amata
Kabua. He was promptly denounced publicly by Senator Salii [palau] as the
architect ofthe district legislature initiative (probably true). He responded by
publicly attacking both Salii and Representative Silk, the latter part ofthe anti 
Kabua faction in the Marshalls and a consistent free association supporter as JCFS 
Goint Committee on Free-Association) co-chairman. Such public exchanges are
unusual among Congress members. Kabua also resigned from theJoint Committee,
to which he had just been appointed.
Given his preeminence in the Marshalls, far exceeding that ofany other political
leaders in their districts, Kabua's defection was the biggest blow to Micronesian
unity since the Marianas gained separate negotiations. Politics and political
personalities seem to revolve around him to a degree unequaled elsewhere in
"The question over the I"'o/title at Bikini is complex and contested. In 1994, Kabua regained the disputed
chiefly title he desired twenty years earlier. Despite tremendous opposition, and a large Bikinian presence in
the chambers un the day ofthe vote, the Nitijela passed a resolution that declared Amata Kabua the rightful
IfVfJjhplop ofBikini, thus enabling his legal access to Bikini reparation funds.
226
Micronesia. This position of power reflects the paramount status of his family in
the traditional Marshallese feudal system, which retains a strong influence upon
Marshallese life, political and otherwise (1976:524-525).
According to one account, Kabua had attempted to unseat those who don't play
the game his way" (opposition Senators Lanwi and Silk) in the 1972 COM elections
(Dorrance 1975:432-435). Another observer noted:
Kabua wants an autonomous district, his own little 'fiefdom' where he can control
all the money raised from the income tax at Kwajalein, and wheel and deal with
anyone else who comes along his way. To this end, Kabua has waged a little war in
the Senate wifh Status Committee Chaitrnan Lazarus Salii, with behind-the-scenes
backstabbing that makes 'Hamlet' look like a kiddie show.... It's in Kabua's interest
to threaten disunity, so that he can get his own way when he eventually makes a
deal with the rest ofMicronesian (Clark 1972:5).
When the rebate bill failed, the Marshalls district legislature declared its separation
from Micronesia and empowered its political status committee, appointing three 1ro'!iin
addition to Kabua, its chair. It passed a resolution to discourage Marshallese
representatives from participating in the upcoming Constitutional Convention. Marshallese
lro'!i unanimously endorsed the resolution (Renahan 1976:526--527). The influence of
Amata was felt in all realms - in the Marshalls district legislature, among the lro'!i, and
within the Congress ofMicronesia where Kabua served as President ofthe Senate for two
terms, and served as a Senator until 1978.
Although a smaller rebate bill (twenty percent) passed in a special session ofthe
Congress, the Marshalls still continued with their plans for separation. In 1974, the
Marshalls delegation boycotted the election ofrepresentatives from the various TT districts
to the Constitutional Convention on Saipan. The following year fifty-two representatives
signed the proposed Constitution for the Federated States ofMicronesia that was to
include all ofthe districts.
227
In 1975, a TT-wide advisory referendum was held requiring islanders in each
district to vote on possible future status options. The Marshalls was the only district that
voted pro status quo amongst a list of options that included independence,
commonwealth, free association, statehood and status quo (Renahan 1976: 530).
When three years, in 1978, the Micronesian Constitution was presented to each of
the remaining five districts (Saipan was under a separate administration after accepting the
Commonwealth offer in 1976). Both Palau (55-45%) and the Marshalls (61-39%) rejected
the proposed Constitution, and began to draft their own (Meller 1980: 83). The separation
was official.
In 1979 the Marshalls developed its first national constitution and had its first
elected government. The constitution called for a Parliamentary form ofgovernment with a
thirty-three member Nitijela (parliament) from which the president, Amata Kabua was
elected Oohnson 1988:72).
- -. -:.~
I
Figure 7. The Presidential inauguration ofAmata Kabua.
TfPI Archives #2835-04.
228
The RMI Constitution
The Constitution ofthe Marshall Islands is unique among those that emerged out
of the former Trust Territory (M:eller 1980; 1989). Each ofthe othergovernments that
emerged out of the TT have separate executive, judicial, and legislative powers that provide
for checks and balances on each branch ofgovernment. Only the Marshalls established a
Parliamentary government that combines the executive and legislative branches in the
President and the Cabinet.
Numerous explanations abound to explain why the Marshalls, despite having
shared the same US direction as the other TT districts, opted for a Parliamentary system. It
couId be argued that Amata Kabua deliberately crafted the docuinent to ensure the
dominance oftraditional chiefs. Meller points to the influence ofAmata Kabua:
Decades ago, Amata Kabua expressed to this author [Meller] his preference for the
parliamentary system as more fitting to Marshallese tradition. 'President Kabua is
the undisputed leader ofthe Marshalls, moving into his third term as
President...Kabua has been a key figure in Marshall Island politics for more than
30 years. He was elected to the first Congress ofMicronesia, representing the island
there until the Marshalls broke away from Micronesia, and then became the first
President of the Marshalls in 1979' aohnson 1988:83). He chaired the Marshalls'
Political Status Commission whose staff...was believed to have a pre-conventional
draft ready. 'Prior to the opening ofthe [Marshalls] ConCon [Constitutional
Convention] there was a workshop for the delegates who studied the basics of
parliamentary government...The ConCon staffwas, according to resolution,
supposed to produce two drafts - one parliamentary, the other presidential. The
presidential draft was never written' (Smith 1980:60).
Other explanations for the parliamentary form ofthe RMI government include the
leaders' legislative experience; the structure ofMarshallese society; its inexpensive cost
relative to a presidential system; and the efficacy ofinternational recognition for a leader
who emerged from a previously recognized government (Smith 1980: 59).
229
The Marshall Islands Constitution contains many features designed to reinforce the
dominant power structure. The President selected from among the Nitijela [parliament]
members and the Cabinet serve both executive and legislative roles. Further, the Marshalls'
President serves as both head of state and head ofgovernment. Unlike most parliamentary
systems in which a chief executive has no assured term, the Marshalls' constitution
uniquely returns a President to power after a vote ofno confidence should the Nitijela fail
to elect another president within fourteen days (Meller 1980: 87; 1989:7). Also, only in the
Marshalls (and Yap) are traditional chiefs provided a specific role in government. The
Council oflrooj is provided a role in reviewing legislation passed by the Nitijela, but its
objections may be overruled (In Yap, councils of traditional chiefs may veto any
legislation). The RMI Constitution neither includes Presidential term limits (though they
were proposed -- and failed -- in later ConCons) nor veto powers for the President.
The lack ofveto power does not deny the President's actual power to impact
legislation":
The direction the President [Amata Kabua] currently exerts over the Nitijelds
actions practically assumes that measures he openly opposes will not be adopted. It
appears that the incumbent President's registering objections to a bill before final
passage in the Nitijela constitutes a more effective veto than resort to the formal
negation process ... (Meller 1989:9)."
Kabua's authority, as President and lroo}, provide a level ofexecutive power not
found in either the FSM or Palau. Hezel has noted, "perhaps because they have retained
ownership ofthe land, chiefs in the Marshalls exercise a position in the modem
37 A similar note is heard in political analysis that describes elected Senators as more concerned with the
President's views than those oftheir constituents Qobnson 1988:85).
38 lbis comment is echoed in interviews to follow in later chapters. Despite exceptional opposition. the
Presidenfs gambling legislation, among others, passed.
230
government that is not paralleled in any other part ofMicronesia." Other Micronesian
leaders have similarly suggested that the Marshalls are unique in the degree of
contemporary power maintained by traditional authority. John Hage1gam (ofYap) explains
his perceptions ofMarshallese chiefs in contemporary politics:
The exception to this general rule [of Micronesian chiefs generally not serving in
elected positions] is the Marshall Islands. The first president ofthe Republic ofthe
Marshall Islands [Amata Kabua] was one of the highest chiefs who had served in
the Congress ofMicronesia. Although his administration had been described as
authoritarian and corrupt, he brought stability to the Marshalls and was widely
respected and revered by his people. His legitimacy to govern was enhanced by his
traditional role as a high chief.
It should be kept in mind that the customary power of the traditional chiefs in the
Marshalls was absolute. Only the Kosraean highest chiefwas known to possess
such an absolute customary power in Micronesia. In addition, the Germans
recognized a previous holder ofthis particular chiefly tide as the paramount chief
of the Marshall Islands. Furthermore, the customary power ofthe Marshallese
chiefs could expand or shrink depending on personal bravery, cunning, or other
.personal attributes. So in the view ofthe Marshallese leaders, the first president had
the traditional base and legitimacy to the highest office. No wonder he governed
the Marshalls unchallenged.
Two patterns seem to be emerging with regard to the influence ofthe traditional
chiefs on governance in Micronesia. First, in the areas where no consolidated
traditional leadership exists the chiefs are excluded from the government. I am not
suggesting that the traditional chiefs have no impact on governance in these areas.
They still wield considerable power in local and national elections. Second, the
Micronesians have incorporated the role oftheir traditional chiefs as a part ofthe
formal governmental strncture where a strong, cohesive traditional leadership
foundation exists. In these areas, the chiefs either serve as advisers or active
participants in the government. In this case, they are a formal part ofthe
government and at the same time they can still exert influence on the voting
process. Perhaps it is an understatement to say that the chiefs 'still exert their
power in the voting process'. In Yap the chiefs have literally 'appointed' the
governor and the lieutenant governor and the voters ouly formalized it. The
Marshall Islands is an extraordinary case. One ofthe highest traditional chiefs has
served as the head ofgovernment and head ofstate. Thus, he has not only
influenced governance, he has governed (Hage1gam 1998).
231
Because ofKabua's unchallenged influence given the "heavy influence of
Marshallese tradition [that] mitigates against open expression ofdiscontent and discourages
any attempt to mount a party by the fragmented opposition" (Meller 1989:11), political
parties did not formally organize until Kabua's campaign for a fourth term in 1991.
And yet, opposition emerged in subtle ways within the Nitijela. Various sub 
committees hold the power to determine which legis1ative measures actually reach the
Nitijela floor. Both private member and government-sponsored bills may be stalled
indefinitely in committees. Forced adjournments and last minute voting are other tactics,
that either leave highly charged legislation pending or passed in the last minutes of a
session (Meller 1989:13).
The parliamentary system as enacted in the Marshalls retains few ofthe checks and
balances typical ofparliamentary forms ofgovernment. The potential for the symbolic
defeat ofgovernment when its proposed legislation or funding levels are defeated does not
function to spur public scrutiny, opposition challenges or increased accountability. Instead,
the smooth relationship between legislative and executive branches was largely attributed to
the traditional status and leadership ofAmata Kabua. Kabua's influence in the design and
structure ofthe government of the Marshall Islands intentionally was built upon
recognition and awareness ofthe traditional authority held by Iroo;; which prevented public
dissent or opposition, even within government. Customary practices of.respect for Irooj
were integrated into the relationship between the Marshallese populace and President
through the dual positionality ofAmata Kabua.
232
"Catch 22"
The attempt to protect traditional authority through incorporating itinto the
introduced governments ofMicronesia presents a 'Catch 22' situation in which
preservation of custom inherendy serves to modify it (Meller 1980:89).
By 1979, Kabua had become the nation's first President with executive controls the
other former TT nations did not enjoy. He had no term limits; had, in effect, silenced the
Council of Iroojby denying their veto power in the Constitution; and he held control over
the nation through the government, and within the government through his traditional
status.
Further, he was a major recipient ofKwajalein funding and as a Delap landowner,
benefited from the leases for government buildings and operations on Majuro. With the
signing ofthe Compact ofFree Association, Kabua earned the nation internal autonomy,
and eliminated much of the interference of the United States. By denying employment or
government contracts to his competitors in private enterprise or his political opponents, no
Marshall Islander had the economic or political clout to challenge the power ofAmara
Kabua.
In 1994, after twenty-five years as the first President ofthe Marshall Islands,
Kabua's power and fortune were widely recognized throughout the Pacific. He had no
organized opposition, and dominated the Marshall Islands Nitije/a parliament. He was able
to legislate not only his political positions, but also his traditional status (Bikini and
Kwajalein) through the national Parliament. Thus, after an expensive ten-year legal battle
with his cousin, Kabua Kabua, over the paramount chief tide ofKwajalein, Amata was
awarded milliDns in Kwajalein rental payments when a Honolulu court, unwilling to
overturn a declaration ofthe RMI parliament, named Amata paramount chief.
233
In twenty-seven years (1979-1996) Kabua had finally gained near exclusive control
of the distribution of all US Compact funds not only those designated for the RMI
government, but also those provided for the rental ofKwajalein, and for compensation for
the victims of the nuclear testing. As Irooj and President, Kabua was responsible for the re 
emergence and dominance of Marshallese chiefs, even as chiefs in other parts of
Micronesia and the wider Pacific diminished into figureheads with very little real economic
or political persuasion.
The colonial system strengthened Amata, even as his schemes weakened the
sovereignty of the state and the spirit ofthe people whom he determined must look to and
depend upon him --and no other -- for their survival. Thus, as will be seen in Chapter 7,
many Marshallese look to the US to "save" them from their leaders, and to make things
right. The source of Amata's strength was US funds ("economics and politics cannot be
separated',); he was able to use western legal practices to enhance his access to those funds.
Amata Kabua actively challenged US authority as he successfully garnered and distributed
US funds fot his nation and for the enhancement ofhis status. In this sense he quite keenly
"Marshallized" American resources for his own purposes as Irooj within a Marshallese
framework of authority and power.
234
integrated both Western and Marshallese practices in the consolidation ofhis authority.
Traditional status enabled Kabua to dominate the Nitijela, and the Nitijela became a tool
used to legislate custom.
Contemporary expectations of chiefs, government, and elites emerged as the
nation's most powerful leader, Amata Kabua, collapsed categories oftradition and
modernity in the process ofcreating a culturally validated discourse ofprogress and
development for the Marshall Islands. The combined political powers held by the lroojlaplap
and President reclaimed and reasserted traditional controls in a contemporary context by
appealing to ancient understandings ofautocratic chiefly authority as well as Marshallese
pride and cultural identity in their new, modern, and independent nation. "Progress" was
justifiable as the collective aim ofthe nation and its leadership even as development
discourses, practices, and priorities simultaneously eroded the perceived value of
indigenous ways, skills, knowledge in a 'modern' world dependent upon "green peba "
[money; cash). Marshallese leaders, particularly those who garnered economic and political
influence through land leases, US payments, or American education, gained in previously
unimagined ways through the cultural affirmation ofdevelopment enabled by Amata
Kabua. As the providers ofand liaisons to valued resources, they transformed cultural
entidements/sacred authority into present-day patterns that continue to define
understandings, expectations, and evaluations of chiefs, elites, and government in the
Marshalls today.
235
CHAPTERS
THE NEW IROOJ: ELITES
The close ofWorld War II marked a new regime in the Marshalls. Not only did the
United States assume power over the Marshalls, but a major indigenous power shift
occurred when the capital of the Marshall Islands was moved from Jaluit to Majuro.
Although the foreign center ofpower moved from Ebon, the initial base ofcopra makers
and missionaries in the verdant Southern Raliks, to Jaluit during the German and Japanese
eras, the Marshalls "center" remained in the dominant Ralik chiefs' domain. When the
United States selected bountiful Majuro and its deep lagoon as its local headquarters on its
Westward progression through Micronesia to Japan, little did American leaders know that
centuries ofpolitical rivalries would be refueled and reengaged with American forces and
resources as pawns.
With the selection ofa new core locality, the former sub-"centers" Galuit, Wotje,
Mili, and Maloe1ap) became mere "outer" islands -- peripheral powers, a fate shared by
many oftheir traditional leaders. As Majuro's political value increased with an American
appraisal, the power ofits lrooj similarly grew. In international relations, the Ralik chiefs
had held greater influence in the German andJapanese eras, yet the selection ofMajuro by
the US finally allowed a Ratak chief to serve as a primary mediator between the Marshallese
and foreigners. The US administration's strategic selection ofMajuro set into motion the
ultimate domination ofthe Marshall Islands by an lroojwho held authority in both Ratak
and Ralik, and was able to combine that power with the political institution ofa Presidency
to unite the Marshall Islands into an independent nation. The emergence ofMajuro as the
Marshalls' capital effectively created Amata Kabua, who defined the political inspirations,
236
expectations, divisions, boundaries, and alliances that would shape the development ofthe
Marshall Islands.
Me;ro Me;in Armii
Majuro is known in proverbs and common talk as a gathering site, a place where
things happen, where one can witness new trends, see interesting things, and experience
the outside world. In this sense, both today and in the past, Majuro is the face ofthe
people -- Mqj1l1'O mdin armf/: It is the place to see and be seen, a place where appearances are
important, particularly as its audience is so multifarious varied and "intra-national," and the
implications ofand opportunities for interaction are so numerous.
Other historic representations ofMajuro retain contemporary meanings as well.
The ancient disputes between two chiefly lines who owned the entire atoll, reverberate in
the politics of the twenty-first century. With development projects and population
increases, land disputes are unavoidable, and often vicious, though the warfare is economic
and no longer fought on a battlefield.
With nearly half (forty-six percent) of the population of the Marshall Islands
located on Majuro, where vety few hold land rights, the power ofMajuro's chiefs is
dramatically increased. Outer island tenants must maintain harmonious reciprocal relations
with their AJab and ITIJo/ or risk being evicted from their homes. Many families have lived
on "leased" land on Majuro for decades with an incredible diplomacy. Because ofthe land
tenure system on Majuro that holds two chiefly lines, as noted in previous chapters,
resident-tenants must choose their loyalties carefully. Few can afford to offer unambiguous
support for one line over another. The political adeptness ofMajuro residents who
237
maintain harmonious ties to both landholding lines speaks to the centuries of Marshallese
survival and adaptability under various chiefs, local and foreign.
The reason for the link between Majuro and elites in this chapter is the unavoidable
symbiosis between land and politics. Land IS politics. Majuro's historic rivalry intensifies
the relationship exponentially (See previous chapter for discussion ofAmata Kabua and
vote for the Compact ofFree Association).
For example, voting districts are so small as to essentially reveal how individual
votes are cast during elections. Eviction may result from an unfavorable vote. Threats of
eviction are often enough to discourage opposition, particularly on a well-crowded atoll,
where land is as difficult to obtain as jobs. Government jobs may be won or lost according
to votes; government contracts are rewarded or redistributed for similar reasons. Alabs may
harness the support of tenants and family toward a particular cause or candidate and family
pressure is used to intimidate dissenters.
Majuro's politics became national politics. Outer island lroo} shared the same fate of
commoners whose loyalties were tested. The chiefs were either with or against the Majuro
lrooj Loyalties could impact development projects in other atolls, land leases on Majuro,
and opportunities for economic and political power. The formation ofthe Nitijela and the
significance ofits location on Majuro enabled the chiefs with the most important resources
(Majuro land) to consolidate their authority in ways that influenced local, national, and
international affairs."
39 For a detailed aoalysis ofthe nationalization ofMajuro politics, see the 1977 thesis ofSusao Russell,
''Ma.juro: Political Entrepreneurs and Changing Basis ofTraditional Authority in a Micronesian Town.»
238
The various distinct realms ofelites are transected by political alliances that revolve
primarily atound relationships with and attitudes towatd the first RMI President, aMajuro
chief. The complexity ofallegiances, expectations, roles, and responsibilities aptly emerges
in their life stories.
But first, who ate these elites? What defines a Marsha/lese elite? I loosely define elite
in terms ofinfluence -- social, political, economic, and personal. Elites ate not solely
economically defined, but rather, defined by their access to and control over limited
resources that include knowledge, information, land, and material wealth. Rather than
exclusively exploring elites' roles within the state, its development, or larger global
economic and political relationships, here I explore the ways elites ate organized on
Majuro, what qualities they share, and particularly how thry perceive and describe the power
relationships that shape/frarne their lives whether these are local, national, and
international.
To do that, I want to first examine the status categories that exist in kqjin MojoJ [the
Matshallese language) and explain my choice for use ofthe term mtej, [the high ones) to
refer to contemporary Marshallese elites. Following that, I will attempt to provide a holistic
description ofelites through their own self-stories, through non-elite commentary, and
through my own participant observation. The context ofmy interactions and interviews
with various elites will accompany each interview excerpt. The chapter will conclude with
an analysis ofthe broader significance ofelites as mediators/interceptors offoreign
resources and discourses.
239
Dri UUe; "Rutei>'
,
In ktfiin Mo/0I there is no single word that expresses a group ofinfluential "elite" as
I have defined it. Instead, terms exist for those with the highest authority and for those
who have acknowledged authority within particular spheres ofinfluence. There are fro'!!;
uroij, the royalty, and the lineage heads, or Alab. Today, other tides include the dri kMn 40
(government officials), dri kaki (church leaders and school teachers), dri tel iloJt,~ukin bed
(community leaders), dri business (business owners) and drimweie (wealthy people). Yet
many others are influential in less formalIy designated ways. The dri-bunbun, (the popular,
well-known, famous) are the trendsetters who, despite the lack ofa formalIy acknowledged
position, can dramaticalIy influence perspectives, apply behind-the-scene political pressure,
and create change in practices that often impact circles beyond their local communities.
As I sought a term to use in a free listing exercise with participants, I questioned
many MarshalIese scholars and linguists about the domain of "elites" since I hoped to elicit
a free list ofindividuals who MarshalIese people recognize as powerful or influential I
attempted to use the phrase armij in elab air kajur [powerful people] -- and each time the list
included only traditional leaders and government officials. I attempted to use dri tel ilo
ju~ukin bed [community leaders] but government officials were often excluded. No matter
what broad term I attempted to use, each was too specific to encompass the range of
individuals I hoped to elicit, that is the government, church, business, and traditional
leaders, as well as the powerful personalities who influenced the more formalIy
40 With each ofthese tenns J am referring to them in the Marshallese singular rather than add the pluralizing
'ro' after each. Similarly, I have kept [rooj, and lJrooj singular rather than form plurals in English, such as
lroojes. In common usage, omission of the plural marker 1'0 is acceptable to prevent the unnecessary repetition
in an obviously plural reference.
240
acknowledged leaders. In the Marshallese language, the word lrooj constitutes the domain
ofpower and authority. Despite the lack ofan appropriate term or perhaps even a
cognitive domain for the type of contemporaty influence and power I sought, I would
argue that a group ofinfluential elites does exist.
Just a glance at the patrons of the Tide Table, the popular downtown restaurant
and bar owned and operated by Robert Reimers Enterprises (RRE), on any given night
might justify use ofa broadly defined "elite". Business owners in retail and construction sit
drinking beer with the President (an lroOJ), and a few government Ministers. At nearby
tables are a Secretary of a government ministry, a handful ofAmerican ex-patriots married
to Marshallese women with their families, and the Women's Athletic Club r:wAC)
members who meet to plan their next fundraiser. It is nearly impossible to describe the
interconnectedness ofthose present, hardly noticeable to the casual observer, through
extended family relations, shared educational histories, inter-marriage, church affiliation,
and intricate political alliances among many, many other attributes.
Although !!:£gin Mojol doesn't acknowledge this contemporaty group's shared
qualities, and instead defines and labels individuals by the source oftheir influence (e.g.
popularity/personality, wealth, land rights, knowledge, or faith), I chose a word that
translates contemporaty influence into (traditional) cultural models ofauthority. My choice
is dri-utiej, or "rulif' [the high].".
" Rutgis a recognized marker for "VIPs"(Bender et a11976: 276) whether they are Marshallese or foreign.
The tenD is not generally used in common talk to refer to a group oflocally or nationally powerful
individuals, but is used to designate the high people in a particular context, such as a party, or within the
Parliamentary chambers.
241
The adjective utidhas multiple meanings. At a literal level, the word signifies
altitude and height; in a symbolic way it represents dignity, eminence, grandness (Bender et
al 1976: 276). "Hosannah i/o utidtatd' -- Hosanna in the highest -- Catholics pronounce at
Mass to emphasize their Savior's heavenly kingdom as the highest (utidtata) ofthe high
(utig). To honor or show respect for others is to koutig' [ka, causative prefix; ufie}, high]
literally, to elevate or raise. In introductory remarks in the Nitije/a, each speaker will kik
[recognize] and katttid [honor, respect] the various lrotj, Lerotj, Senators and Ministers. The
mtdlPeople of high status, VIPs (Bender et al1976: 276)] are offered special seating
arrangements at banquets. An arrogant person has utid humon [a high heart]. The link
between status and altitude is evident in the symbolic representation ofthe Marshallese
lrotj as the frigate bird, the ok, that flies highest in the sky. In a well-known proverb, people
are warned not to twist the wing of the frigate bird, that is, to not reject the gifts ofthose
of higher positions --jab a/kwljpel" ak.
Respect for higher status (height/status) individuals is evident in the behaviors,
physical postures, and social interactions between people ofvarious social positions.
Physically lowering oneself -- lowering heads, crouching, stooping -- in the presence of
higher status individuals is common, A consciousness ofheight and heads prevails.
Touching another's head is taboo; being inappropriately higher than others is rude. Status
is acknowledged and reproduced in numerous everyday interactions through these types of
subtle gestures." Due to the significance ofthe metaphor ofheight for status, I have
chosen to use the label mtry, from dri-ufie}, in reference to the group 0 f individuals whose
42 A somewhat questionable example is the behavior of waitresses who often sit to take a customer's order,
rather than stand above them. Of course, this might also be a sign of fatigue or solidarity.
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sources of authority and legitimacy are located in specific discrete realms but whose
influence is felt across the nation. The rutej [the high] are the nation's VIPs. Rutej in this
usage is not limited to those born with traditional status, nor just the wealthy, nor elected
officials, but is inclusive ofall who have the power, authority, material resources, social
relationships and cultural affiliations that enable them to exercise power over subordinate
others, and those whose "height" or position is recognized and respected. The term rute!
here emphasizes a collective identity "above" others in Marshallese society, whether the
source ofthat authority is sacred or secular. By choosing the term rutl!); rather than the
multiple distinctive terms for authority, I mark a collective elite identity in a familiar
metaphor ofheight and power without delineating particular sources ofpower.
The lack ofan indigenously marked "elite" category is not limited to the
Marshallese. The nobility ofTonga does not simply contrast as an elite with commoners.
Rather, there is also a relatively unmarked (and indigenously unlabelled) commoner elite
social pool which shares much with the noble elite (Marcus1979:142).
Commoner and royal elites share characteristics that my use ofthe term rutej
highlights, even if the term is not currendy used in this broad sense. When social realities
and their implications can no longer be avoided, appropriate terms are borrowed or born
to describe the previously un-experienced. The Marshallese victims of the US nuclear
testing program use borrowed English terms (e.g. "poison," ''bomb'') to describe the
source oftheir "never-before" experiences and illnesses (Barker n.d. 2000). Yet, for such
deeply rooted understandings as social position and status, specific authority categories
some relatively new, such as dri-business -- remain dominant despite their apparent
243
inadequacy in describing contemporary social realities and power relations. The existence
ofspecific referents ofsocial and political power sources effectively prevents a critical
awareness and a critical discourse ofa collective entity ofelites. The Marshallese emphasis
on distinctive categorical status labels obscures recognition of elites' collective participation
and control (to various degrees) over valued resources. Identifying those multiple and
intersecting arenas ofinfluence contributes to effectively delineating Majuro's mtg, their
alliances, oppositions, and impact on the development ofthe Republic of the Marshall
Islands.
Though this is an attempt to get at elites' views and self-stories, I cannot deny the
external nature of the label, "elite." Elites are always studied by outsiders; "elite" is usually
an externally applied label, and only rarely a self-reference (Marcus 1983:9). Identifying a
useful indigenous term such as mtej, does not imply that elites on Majuro recognize or refer
to themselves as rutej, or would even appreciate this representation. It is no more salient to
Marshallese (beyond it's typical use in designating high status people at specific events)
than the English word "elites." I choose mtejit in an effort to translate my intended
definition ofelites into a Marshallese colloquial context. The term is thus used here to call
attention to a status that is largely denied due to cultural ideals ofhumility and authority
and to call attention to the disjuncture of contemporary realities and cultural ideals.
Global Contexts
Elites' positions as/in strategic sites ofglobal intersection enable them to lead the
replication and transformation oflocal, national, and international discourses and
institutions. As local mediators, mtej translate foreign forces and resources into locally
244
meaningful social, symbolic, and financial capital Elites not only cmbocfy intersecting
transnational relationships, multinational institutions, and global trends, they (symbolically)
intercept them.
Elites collectively and individually indigenize, "Marshallize," and thus enculturate
the very forces and discourses over which they control access and influence understanding.
Their effectiveness at recognizing and revealing the local value offoreign discourses and
resources is enhanced and hindered by multiple personal factors. Significant among these
are facility and experience in cross-cultural communication. These in turn, are impacted by
education, employment, linguistic expertise as well as historic familial influences and
relationships. The self stories that follow highlight these shared skills, histories, and
alliances while also significantly revealing the diversity ofpersonal goals and perspectives,
and political alliances and oppositions. While I argue for a collective "rutcj," the discourses
in which they participate -- those oftradition, development, democracy -- are highly
contested.
These self-stories are significant beyond the knowledge they reveal of development
of the socio-political environment ofMajuro in the late twentieth century. They contribute
to understandings ofthe ways global processes and localized cultural and social systems
interpenetrate. The discussions and reflections which follow reveal how intimately
connected are global and local politics and discourses in individuals' lives. Studies of
globalization frequently involve high levels ofabstraction that deny the concrete ways
globalization processes are embedded in the lives ofindividuals a. Abu-Lughod 1997:131).
These stories are an attempt to ground abstraction, and privilege people over "processes."
245
Globalization is not a one-way process. Too often studies ofglobalization revolve
around the production ofglobal discourses, and ignore how these discourses are received,
consumed, and given local meaning. "Ifthere are globally produced cultures, then there are
also culturally produced view ofglobality" (King 1997:x). Furthermore, finding a way to
express that interpenetration, mutual exchange is a challenge. Abu-Lughod asserts that
there is more movement from the periphery to the center than most scholarship
acknowledges (1997:131,133).43
Even elite research which does focus on the role ofindividuals, tends to emphasize
organization and relationships to larger systems ofpower, rather than the personal
interactions among elites that are so essential to elite identity and agency.
As Marcus notes:
[The term 'elitel evokes images ofagency, exclusivity, and relationship to broader
contexts... As causal agents behind events, elites represent a way ofconceiving
power in society and attributing responsibility to persons rather than to impersonal
processes. The image is ofactors who cooperate and make decisions which bring
about effect, shaping events for others...Exclusivity... often connotes superiority,
but in essence denotes separation. The elite may be separated from others in either
invisible, low-profile, or conspicuous, visible ways. However, elites... are
commonly thought to act in a discrete backstage arena that is invisible to nonelites.
In elite theory and research, the degree to which elites are exclusive is determined
by examining empirical phenomena such as recruitment, practices ofboundary
maintenance, and emblems ofstatus that are embodied in elite life-styles. Elites are
imagined as groups in relation to other groups who are nonelites.
The major emphasis ofelite theory and research has not been on the biographical
details oflives of the elite but rather on the empirical elaboration ofthe
organization inherent in the concept... Studies ofelites frequendy concentrate on
the ways elites' function within a larger system while ignoring their internal culture
and practices (1983:9,10, 11-12).
43 Recent increases in Pacific Islander emigration might be viewed as a literal expression ofthat "move" from
periphery to center that the mutuality ofglobalization processes.
246
'TIris chapter will focus on elites' self-representations, their shared experiences and
influence and the emergent views -- shared or divergent -- that revolve around discourses
ofdevelopment, dependency, tradition, and democracy. I do not intend to define here the
boundaries ofelites, their internal interactions and relationships, nor do more than sketch a
picture oftheir influence in broad strokes. Further, this chapter is not intended as an
evaluation, indictment or judgment -- it is meant to introduce the emergence of a powerful
Marshallese elite to an external audience, to glimpse at their diverse lives and histories, and
understand their shared skills and experiences in garnering the various resources that
enable and empower them.
Elite Access
Elite accessibility is often cited as a factor that prevents anthropologists from
"studying up" (Marcus 1981, 1983; Nader 1969). Access is a tremendous issue for me
because I am well aware that, like global-local processes, elite access is reciprocal My
access to certain Marshallese elites results from my affiliation with Assumption where
many were educated, and where many oftheir family members attend school. Through
Assumption, and my sponsor family, I have been welcomed in these elite circles. I have
known many ofthe participants in this study for over a decade, prior to their election to
office, or their rise to a more secure status positions. Many are long-time friends, or friends
or relatives ofmy family, or relatives ofmy students with whom I have interacted on
numerous occasions in various contexts for many years. From Sunday Mass to picnics at
Enemanit, to work-centered interactions, family celebrations, Friday nights out, and
participation in community events, our relationships have grown and altered as our
247
positions and roles have shifted. Although most recendy I have taught at the college, and
worked at Alele Museum, and occasionally call myself an anthropologist, I am most often
identified as Julie, a former 'JIV from Assumption" (or sometimes introduced as nifin
Dennis im Daisy, immediately explained by 'JIV from Assumption").
Long-term research and relationships enable this sort ofaccess, but do not ensure
it. While most of the participants made themselves available for me at their offices, my
office, or over a meal at a restaurant, others wonld schednle appointments only to be
absent when I appeared, or wonld reschednle upon my arrival. Long-term research has its
advantages as well as disadvantages.
Communicating in English is another ambiguous characteristic ofthis research.
Elite fluency in English is greater than my fluency in Marshallese, so most ofmy interviews
were conducted in English. In some cases we shifted languages throughout, while in other
examples, we wonld begin in Marshallese and conclude in English.
44
Whatever the benefits or constraints, research with elites ensures an
anthropologist's accountability, reciprocity, and accessibility -- three frequent complaints of
indigenous communities. Accessibility is not only a matrer ofthe anthropologist having
access to elites, but include the accessibility ofelites to research written about them.
Accountability and mutuality are enhanced in these endeavors.
Even so, elites research can be politically precarious. The Marshall Islands
government has declared one American anthropologist and one former American
ambassador persona non grata (See Chapter 8). Some ofwhat I recount throughout this
44 This is likely due to the structure ofthe interviews, which began with questions to elicit biographical
information about early childhood, education, and employment and concluded with their reflections 00 the
relationship between the Marshall Islands and the Uoited Slates.
248
dissertation, and particularly in this chapter is common knowledge among Marshallese
people, residents, and scholars, but it is not available in scholarly writings. Avoiding writing
about significant personalities and moments ofMarshallese history seems an injustice, yet
inscribing transitory political information can be petty and trivial. The overbearing silence
that surrounds the political oppositions and alliances ofthe RMI that emerged under the
leadership ofAmata Kabua is akin to ignoring the "elephant in the room." In Western
academic literature about the Marshall Islands -- anthropological, economic, political - 
Amata Kabua is invisible, unnamed, and avoided. But he is still there, the "invisible center
ofpower" whose influence is documented, and historieized throughout this dissertation.
Elite Anthropologist
This chapter is particularly difficult for me to write. Majuro, despite its many faces,
is small; its elite community is even smaller. In many ways, I am included among Majuro's
elites, as an educated American who participates in the discourses and discussions about
development, democracy, and tradition that pervade social life and talk. Like many ofthe
mtej I interviewed, I have held positions ofinfluence as a teacher, and ironically, as a
cultural/historic preservation employee.
Potentially damaging meaningful relationships through objectification and analytical
distance is more threatening to me than the inherent professional vulnerability of"studying
up." I have struggled with the choice to attempt to disguise participants or let them speak
as identified selves. Ultimately, in order to protect the participants represented in this
chapter, I decided to alter their personal characteristics. While each interview transcript is
cited verbatim, its attributed source is made deliberately vague (e.g. a businessman, a
249
community leader). I have little doubt that Majuro residents reading this chapter might
make an approximate guess as to the identities of the participants, but I try to prevent any
absolute identification, by obscuring specifying details. At times this attempt feels quite
futile. I know how much everyone on Majuro knows about each other -- and their pasts.
As I read numerous reports written in prior decades that described participants' positions
and views anonymously, their identities were obvious -- not only to myself but to the
Marshallese friends with whom I shared the documents.
When I struggled to write about my friends (see Chapter 1), and their friends and
extended family, I went to my sponsor parents for advice. They responded: "Just write the
truth." I gulped. "Truth comes in portions, some large, some small, but never whole ... "
(Hau'ofa 1983:7). The 'truths' presented in the following section are those seen and
understood from the limited perspective of a middle-class-American-Catholic-woman 
volunteer-teacher-turned-anthropologist. They are not full truths. I thank many people
who have graciously shared their lives and stories with me, and ask for their forgiveness for
any failures or errors in their representation here.
The individuals' stories that follow include those of1roo/ from Ralik and/or Rata!<,
commoner businessmen, elected officials, public setvants, community-based organization
leaders, and active church goers of Catholic and Protestant religious backgrounds, and
some with combinations ofall the above. The familiar distinctions between Catholic and
Protestant, Iroo} and kojur, public and private sector, Ralik and Ratak, Kaibuki orJebrik
(Twenty-Twenty), are cross-cut in numerous ways, complicating simplistic representations
and binary oppositions.
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RUTET
A Businessman
In his late 4Os, this businessman is largely responsible for the transformation of a
family run business into one ofthe most successful private businesses in the RMI. He was
born on Kwajalein, the seventh of eight children, where his father held a contract with tbe
US military to construct boats to transport goods and provide basic services to outer island
residents. Although from Likiep, this CEO spent most of his life on Majuro, where he
moved with his family for school His older siblings begao their educations at the Catholic
school on Likiep prior to the family's move to Kwajalein; he attended Assumption
Elementary as one ofits first students.
After completing Elementary school, he attended Xavier High School on Chuuk,
and then spent one year at a business college in Hawai'i before heading to an Iowa Catholic
college for his Bachelor's degree. There, he met his American wife, and upon graduating,
returned to Majuro to work with the family business.
Within a decade, he became the CEO of the company, after a period ofworking
with a series ofAmerican store managers hired by his father. He has held the position of
CEO for approximately 20 years, during which time he witnessed and contributed to the
political development of the nation, the impact ofthe Compact of Free Association, and
the shifting cultural practices ofhis community.
Here this CEO reflects on the relationships between government and business,
culture and development, and the various confrontations and challenges that emerge over
local and transnational resources. In his position as CEO, he also speaks about the cultural,
251
personal, and bureaucratic constraints on business, and comments on the ineffectiveness of
the Compact to produce its declared intended results, given local political oppositions.
The interview took place in his office on a Saturday afternoon in late July of1998. I
had passed him in the street and asked ifhe could spare an hour to talk to me about his
views ofthe Compact and ideas for improving the new agreement. We scheduled the time
in advance and I arrived with my tape recorder and notebook. At the start ofthe interview,
he spoke rapidly, hurriedly, conducting an apparently rehearsed overview ofthe history of
the family business. The family had earned a reputation for its success in the region and is
well represented in regional and international media. My familiarity with this businessman
is largely based on ties to Assumption, and to his family. He had shown great generosity to
me and the other volunteer teachers over the years, particularly when I was teaching his
daughter. He and his wife entertained my family when they visited the Marshalls, and like
most dri-be!le, I frequented the stores, restaurants, and various facilities the company
operated. We had shared a few meals, and a few beers together over the years, but this was
the first time we had held a private conversation that lasted approximately an hour -- with
numerous telephone interruptions. Although it began somewhat perfunctorily, as we
discussed various policies and personalities, the stories he told became more personal and
emotional.
JW: Conyoupoint to otry government aJsistonce in tbe delJClopment ofyour company?
BUSINESSMAN: No. In fact, in many cases, where we saw the government was
lacking we would step in to take care ofsomething, for example, we once had a
pharmacy here. There were certain medications that the hospital couldn't keep in
stock that were very important to diabetes patients, insulin and such, so we brought
in a pharmacist. But the government thought we were competing against the
hospital and making a profit so they passed a tax saying that a professional license
would cost $2,500 per year. You know, that law is still on the books, even though
252
we closed the pharmacy?1 Ifanyone ever wonders why a professional license costs
that much, it goes back to our pharmacy...
All this stem from one man, who was against the Reimers because of the fact that
they were moving. And this us, uh, no good, to talk about it more and more
because it's so personal, it's human, it's so personal you don't want to sound like
you hate the guy. The more you talk the more 'they all hate him, that's why they're
like that,' but people have to understand that, they have to understand the culture,
they have to understand the smallness ofthe island, the way people are on the
island, and they don't understand. It's a very small place, that personality, and it can
be a real big conflict.
JW: It can dfect the entire national development
BUSINESSMAN: Exactly. It's really hard to explain to people because you can
never say that.
JW: Andeverything written about the Marshalls never mentions his name...
BUSINESSMAN: No, because of the personality conflicts. And ofcourse the
royalty, land, the chief thing. They've always been treated like a god and therefore,
'whatever I say, you do.' And then all ofa sudden we're dealing with money and a
commoner comes up and does something very good and he's developing the
country in a sense and that's a no-no. You cannot do that. It's got to be the Irooj.
Many ofthe federal grants that were designed for companies like ours were denied
us. We stood on our own, instead ofbenefiting from those programs. They
[Government] think the private sector is dangerous. We pay taxes, even when
building our hotelJ Others [hotels] came up [after us] and they were exempted! So
once that exemption passed we took advantage to build up our hotel at the beach
but by that time the Royal Garden [Arnata's daughter's hoteD was finished so they
changed the law again and we had to pay!
When we closed our store on Ebeye we had to get rid of120 employees... What
happened was that KITCO, one ofthe coops founded by the US military had taken
a Small Business Administration load and defaulted in the 1970s. Oscar asked ifwe
could run the store and payoffthe loan. Many ofthe Irooj were on that board and
all those guys would be ashamed to default on it. We signed an agreement. That
store had a very long lease. We paid the loan but not the landowner (the Irooj [on
the board] owned the land). It worked out fine, and we paid off their loan, and had
build up the store, but after the old guys died, the young guys didn't want to
continue the agreement so one day, out ofthe blue, in 1993 they closed it and
blocked up the store. They had already raised all our fees and dock fees, and we
decided to close everything. We weren't wanted there. You can fight it cause the
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lease is still good, but you don't want to. We lost one-third ofour business then. At
the same time the economy was falling down. We took a beating.
Today there is lots more competition...and also Chinese. We all share a smaller
piece ofthe pie. The laws are not followed, many businesses don't pay taxes, sell
black market items. Before, it was strict, now its loose. They took their chances
with passport sales and this is what has happened.
Everyone thought that the Compact would bring lots ofmoney around, but it really
wasn't the explosion that was expected. Most of the Compact funds were used
outside, to purchase the power plant, and the airline, and many other things were
purchased with loans against the Compact. We're still paying those. The Compact
funding was not really that huge. There was payroll, and Kwaj payments, and the
radiation money, but that was about it. We all benefited from disposable income,
from workers, employees, and radiation funds, not government money or
assistance. We're trying new things today to bring in more money, and we're using
private funds to develop these industries - aquaculture, clams, pearls - and tourism.
It is very expensive, and these are things that the government should support, and
set up. Instead we do it on our own. We have to get new money into this country,
not just look to Uncle Sam.
JW: W0' doyou think there is so littlejundingput into education, human resources?
BUSINESSMAN: There was a fear that they'd take over. The more you
understand, the more you would think that something is not right. That was the
mentality. You've got a guy who's really bloodthirsty, way up there, charismatic,
high potential, power, and a small country ofuneducated. He's way up there, and
he can take over very easily.
The government did help us indirecdy - the dock, the power plant, basic
infrastructure and communication. But in other ways they won't. We took over
management ofthe television station and want to expand it to Laura, but we need
money to put a cable, a fiber optic line, to Laura. Now, NTA is government funded
and could do it, and lease the cable to us but they don't want to help the private
sector. Some ofthem are benefiting, their own pockets are benefiting, and ifit
makes money they want a part ofit.
JW: The accountabifi!y issues are now coming up. I don't understand how the US can step in so
late andpoint.fingers.
BUSINESSMAN: Yes, the US spoiled the people. It's really their fault.
And even though I know the Kwajalein money is a lot, I am sure that more money
was given to them to get the Compact signed. How could he become one ofthe
richest men in the Pacific, with $17 million to his name, his worth - from what? As
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a public servant? He was a good talker. He'd say, 'The business people, they're
stealing from you guys, but me, I'm a public servant.' People believe that - he was a
good talker: 'A businessman trying to sell a bag ofrice and make money -look, he's
stealing from the people.' But when the politicians make money is that stealing
from the people? 'N0, it's good, he deserves it.' That's the kind ofproblem we
have.
Lots oflittle things happened like that, that goes way back. We went through hell.
The businessman's account of antagonisms with the government are clearly
personalized and focused on the policies and actions ofthe first President. In example after
example -- the closing of the Ebeye store, the hotel tax implemented, rescinded, and re-
implemented, exorbitant license fees, inaccessibility to federal grants and programs for
private sector development, and other cases oflawsuits, land battles, evictions, rejected
proposals offered to competitors -- the rivalry ofwhat is often generalized as public versus
private sector, is personalized here and even explained as culturally rooted antagonisms,
and resulting from someone hesitantly characterized as bloodthirsty, power hungry, and
cruel. This relationship, like the Majuro land division, defined much of the economic
development ofthe Marshalls, and formed many long-term alliances.
Ralik [roo; and Senator
A relative ofthe former President, this 1ro'!i and Senator offered me an hour ofhis
time when I stopped by his office, upstairs in the Capital Building, uninvited. We had not
met, though I had attended public gatherings ofthe Gaming Commission, ofwhich he was
a member. 1 believe he recognized me from those small gatherings. He invited me into a
large meeting room, with a huge window and view ofthe lagoon. We sat across from each
other at the end ofthe large table near the window. He offered me coffee and came back
with two mugs. He said he could spare an hour.
255
The Senator was born in 1949, raised in the outer islands by adoptive parents until
he was ten, and came to Majuro for school at age ten. He first attended a Protestant school,
until his Catholic grandmother insisted he attend Assumption. He began school in the
fourth grade at age ten. After graduating from Assumption, he attended Xavier High
School on Chuuk, graduated in 1970, and then went to the University ofHawai'i on an
East West Center Scholarship. He majored in English.
He returned to Majuro and began to work for his father at a company called
ITSCO. His description ofthe development ofthe company mirrors the dramatic increase
in development projects that occurred throughout the 1970s:
After school I help out with the family business like uh, my Dad and his family, on
this side of, the Ratak side. They form a big corporation doing many things so I
came home and help with that. That was called ITSCO. It started with
transportation service, and taxi. They got into construction and imports, not
exports, hmm... they got into making cement blocks -- that's a joint venture. Then
bakery, restaurant, they got into, construction...so, basically, that was a company
that I help from 1973 to about 1976.
After that I was recruited by the high school. I went and helped them as a student
counselor from about '74 on to '77. I spent time with the Education.
Following that the Peace Corps recruited me - it used to be called District
Representative, Marshall Islands was a District so I worked as a rep from 1978 to
1980. I told them I'll have only two years with you guys, I don't really like this job.
But it waS a good experience with the State Department. And ofcourse with the
volunteers. In many ways, I dealt with so many volunteers, some crazy, some good
It was quite an experience, one that I could only last two years.
The Senator's experience as Peace Corps representative was marked by the deaths
oftwo volunteers, one accidentally run over by a truck, the other committed suicide
because his parents wouldn't accept his Marshallese girlfriend.
After that challenging position, he and some friends began their own construction
company on Majuro, but he was called away to Kwajalein by the government.
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I started with them [friends in the construction company] for one year and in the
middle of a major housing project the government wanted me to go to Kwajalein.
Somebody wanted to warn them, let's put it that way, work with what was to
become the landowners sail-in. I was naive. I said sure I'll go but for one year,
because I have an obligation to do houses in Majuro.
I went one year and then I called the Chair ofthe PSC [Public Service
Commission], 'My contract is up.' He said, 'Hey stay one more year.' Then I'm
beginning to wonder why there was 00 avoidance in guys coming to work there,
and this was a problem between the Kwajalein landowners and the Army, and they
don't know how to deal with them.
I was more like a reporter. I was reporting development to this government as well
as the High Commissioner [of the Trust Territory], it was a woman theil, a lady.
Then another two years, then 1986 there was a big eruption, they went mad. That's
about the same time the Compact was approved, but 00, lot ofpeople didn't feel
happy with the Army's handling oftheir land lease.
We contain ourselves, we didn't....act like crazy people like in Indonesia where
they throw rocks, but there were close calls and some guys get drunk and there
were really close calls. The Army brought in a lot ofpolice, recruited them and
deputized a lot ofAmericans from Honolulu and the West Coast, California. Big
guys, mean guys, throw us on the floor. My job was also to make sure the
Marshallese workers did not participate in demonstration, but they need to return
home. They fear they will be attacked; my job was also to make sure they are safe.
1986 was a big one. There were several other events in previous years. Helicopters
would take people outside the atoll at night.
Oh course, I'd go and talk to them, 'Please get up because you're in violation.' The
thing was to do it peacefully. They [the Americans] may be wrong but there is
another day to do it. I was afraid that they [the Americans] would hurt them [the
MarshalleseJ. I didn't really trust the Americans to keep the peace. Those guys that
were deputized never had any real proper training. I was wondering what they
would do when they got angry -- if they would beat people or even shoot them.
The Senator was responsible for keeping the peace on Kwajalein, and discovering
the major concerns between the US and Marshallese workers. That experience led him to a
position in the Ministry ofForeign Affairs during a critical period after the signing ofthe
Compact, where the RMI busied itself establishing relations and embassies throughout the
257
world: Japan, Fiji, China, Honolulu, Washington D.C, membership in regional
organization, etc. He talked about the challenges ofrepresenting the Marshall Islands to the
world:
I tell you it's not easy [to represent the Marshalls], especially lot ofpeople,
especially from bigger countries and organization that have never dealt with these
islands. They've heard ofPacific Islands as a group but they have no concept of
what an atoll is like, what it is like to live in water, such things. Gradually, they
learn, we are small, we are people that want to exercise our rights and government.
Our setup here is also interesting a mix up of a presidential system as well as the
parliamentary model. This is what is appropriate and workable based upon our own
experience because to have just one man run the country without a Cabinet is a lot
ofwork, so we need a Cabinet to reduce the workload -- although that doesn't
mean the president doesn't handle everything.
In 1996, the Senator claimed somebody nominated him to run for office, only two
weeks before the deadline for the declaration ofcandidacy. Upon his election he was
appointed Minister and has held various portfolios, including, Public Works and Resources
and Development. He said, "This is my second year, and it's not easy."
I asked the Senator and Irooj what some of the challenges were; he replied:
Ok, it's the clash of00, I like to use that word, clash. Our policies. I am very
concerned that if our young generation -- the group that is in school -- ifthis
group doesn't learn to grow food on the land, or to fish, I think we have a new
breed. This is my concern. They are not Marshallese in the true sense. Although
education is described as about balance I don't think it is balanced, I think we put
too much stress on portraying to our people that they will be white collar workers.
This is what I fear. That's why I make this projection. We're placing more emphasis
on the white color model
JW:How?
Senator: EVERYTHING. Everything about this island. Education is not
addtessing the preparation ofMarshallese, forging character that blends the new
opportunities as well as maintaining the connection with the, their island life.
Somewhere I don't believe there is a sense of connection between the Marshallese
ofgrade school (in private or public), that connection with their true nature.
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JW: Soyou'rr talking about identifY, a sense ofwhmyou comefrom.
Senator: I'm not looking at it in terms ofanthropological meaning, I'm looking at it
in rerms of economic meaning, ok? Because if we don't teach our people to
become self-reliant, to depend on the ocean, that opportunity is lost. And I'm not
sure who is responsible, although I like to blame the government, I like to blame
every school that is here, we take people's time, people's valuable time away from
these things and we don't integrate the learning offishery, these are not being
integrated in the schools. We've learned to become consumers not producers,
that's what I'm trying to say.
lbis topic excited the Senator who further explained and explored his ideas for the
potential integration of economics, education, and self-reliance:
We've spoiled so many people. Parents do that because they have money. Some
don't ofcourse, but still the kids are coming home and saying, 'Hey, the other kids
are having this and that,' and the parents feel a new type ofguilt that sets in and
they have to give it.
All of this is done...in the name offreedom, the name of democracy, our people
have been liberated from the custom --they couldn't have money -- and now they
have money. Here you spent it, you live it, but, I don't think people really knew
. how to prioritize things considering the amount ofresources they have so the
result ofthat is buying things just to say, 'I am a new Marshallese, I have this
opportunity.'
And....some people need to maintain that status quo or their stature in society
because it has become a substitute ofwhat use to be, it used to be an equivalent.
For example A1ab, you know or an lrooj, will re-express his stature in terms of
maybe a gold watch, or maybe a necklace, or maybe a pickup or a house. I don't
need to point to you these things, you've been here since 1990 there are many
things that reflect the financial strength 0 f a person or his family....
Maybe it s cultural expression ofthe same, or maybe a corruption or popularization
ofwhat was then balanced but [now] is not. It's too much, you see, because we've
been like that.
You see these guys [government] do not know what to buy, it's not their priority,
they should put it into education, but education for what is another question. We
educate our people so they go to the US and live there, or do we educate them to
make these islands productive?
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This is probably the deep question that is being debated time and time again and no
one seem to agree on what it is that should be there. The Catholic church is part,
the Protestant, the government.
But I have raised this point publicly, I have written about it, but it seems to fall on
deaf ears. Everyone is so used to a procedure that starts in September through
May andJune the whole cycle, and I'm saying there is nothing wrong with the
calendar why don't we integrate some new ideas where you don't throw out
English math and science you maintain these as foundation things but bring in
agriculture, fisheries, you still can use mathematics and then you can apply science
as well
I think our teachers are lazy; they don't want to improve, they don't want to
change, they want to do what they've done before. We spend so much time in that
environment, very little time out ofit, very little time in the water.
They don't really understand it, lot ofpeople will probably more than likely follow
a new direction, ifthat is well supported. Ifthe school supports and the school and
the government support, then all the young people will do it. There's been no
unification ofour minds on this issue, everybody says, 'Hey leave the private sector,
parochial schools and government alone.' I really think this is an area where,
especially in this situation, small countries need to unify, the strength of their
institutions ins the strength ofthe teachers and they just work on what is the most
germane thing to do --nothing else but to work the land, work the sea.
You know in the US lots ofpeople learn how to farm ano the US started with
farms. You guys never started with science. You were, your beginning was simple,
farms -- growing com, growing potato, all ofthat -- and you follow your seasons,
you follow the growing season. We should be doing that, we should be following
our growing seasons. There are seasons here for growing food for certain crops, for
fishes, certain fish are around at different time ofthe year.
All ofthat was...maybe it's too late.
What a shame, it's like this is what we strive for, and it's arrive, so why change it. I
think it's good but it's also degrading because it makes one's mind become lazy and
the body become a case ofobesity. (laugh)
The Senator's notion ofdevelopment is based upon the atoll environment, and the
appropriate skills and knowledge that are required to make it and its people productive. He
is especially critical ofschools that educate students for white color jobs, to go live in the
United States. He blames the schools and the government for inappropriate priorities, all
260
promoted in the name ofdemocracy and freedom, that in fact, increase dependency. He
looks to the beginnings of the United States as a model for RMI development that centers
on productivity, and basic survival skills. This Senator who is Western educated questions
the value ofthis education.
The Senator's frustrations at the various churches and their rhetoric is apparent as
he criticizes them for spending too much time scolding and reminding people oftheir
obligations rather than providing services that actually help them. He explains:
The churches should no longer debate the issue of00, moral policy because this
[vocational education] is [also] a moral policy -- really. I'm talking about other
issues that the church has been talking about, they've been bogged down with
gambling, nuclear waste, and prostitution that come with change. Ifwe all spend
more energy, more resources, more time on prepaiing our own people that's
another strategy. Then we will have spent our money and time wisely. We have
Protestant, Catholics, other forms ofdenominations, all they are interested in is
reminding people that they are Christian.
The Senator's views surely have been shaped by the religious rivalries that exist
within his own family, where one side was Protestant and the other Catholic. The Senator
told me that because his relatives are pastors in churches, ifhe attends one service and not
the other, they get jealous and angry. He doesn't go to church because it's too political.
The Senator considered the changes in Marshallese society that resulted from the
increased access to resources that accompanied the Compact:
Because ofmany opportunities that have come about many people have changed
so they didn't want to ever consider obedience and alliance with the custom. Some
say, 'Now I'm a new guy, I have my own money, my own way ofway ofliving and
I'm liberated. I'm free.' Go live elsewhere. So you have that element of dissention,
disobedience -- not being one with the culture. We have established that, we have
made a new seed that is growing.
I think that is a good thing, each person has the right make its own decisions.
That's made in the constitution. But again it opens up another debate. We should
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allow that. Even in the US. How far can you pmsue, should you do it to the
detriment ofother people?
The Senator proceeded to give numerous and humorous examples ofabused of
personal rights -- from the loudspeaker used at the chmches on Sundays, to the person
singing karaoke at a restamant while he was trying to eat. By this point it was noon, and we
had spoke for over an hom. He stopped suddenly: "I'm hungry! Let's go have lunch, my
treat." We walked down the street to a nearby restaurant frequented by the Senators.
I understood the offer as characteristic ofhis 1ro'!j status. After om orders arrived at
the table, he took a look at my tuna sandwich and his two tacos, and commented: "Itlooks
like I ordered the better dish, why don't you share it with me? You take one, and I'll eat the
other. Don't be shy. Take it, it's a1right." So I did. It was hard to refuse, and definitely
better than mine. The Senator's generosity and humility were endearing. While I easily
could have pmchased my own meal, and his, I understood the value ofjoij, and his desire
to demonstrate it.
Kaiur Senator
I first met this Senator at a meeting for those elected officials and chmch leaders
who organized to propose the anti-gambling bill I had heard his speeches over the Nit!jela
broadcasts and noticed that my officemates listened intendy to him and talked positively
about him to others over lunch and breaks at the coffee shop. I stopped by the Senator's
office on a day the Parliament was not in session. He invited me in and agreed to my
recorded interview. Unlike some ofthe previous participants', who sat in dark offices
behind huge desks, his office was small and bright. He was dressed in khaki pants and a t-
262
shirt and wore inexpensive green zomes [rubber flip-flops], He pulled out a chair to sit
directly across from me, and propped one ankle upon his other knee in a relaxed position.
The Senator was from an atoll near Majuro, was raised there, and finally came to
Majuro with his family when he was a young boy. Unlike many other elites, he did not
begin school until he was ten years old. He credits the Maryknoll sistets for helping him
graduate in 1962:
I was born in [island, atoll] in 1943, I didn't go to school there until I was about,
ten years old, I used to travel back and forth between [two atolls] and within the
atoll itself. I'm the youngest in the family and I was very close to my parents, that's
why I was unable to remain in school, because they move around, and sometimes
they go to the small islands where there is no school and then right there I didn't
have to stay at the school like in~sland]the Elementary school there, when my
parents move around the islands I just went and join them, I didn't have stay in
school. And also, my parents didn't care much about education, because both
didn't attend any school And in a way I was kind offree to do things on my own. If
I didn't want to go to school, I didn't; I had the freedom to J;Ilake my own choice.
I was raised there...then later on my parents moved to Majuro and I joined them.
...I was beginning to worry about going to school. In fact I was late going to the
elementary school. I was around almost ten years old when I first went to
Assumption school.
My parents are Catholics and I was staying on the small island next to the Catholic
mission and with that very short distance, and also my parents went to Catholic
church, and my father entered me to go to school at Assumption...back in the
1950s. I started offwith say, with the first grade, being that old, all my classmates
were just small kids, and I don't know what the teachers had in mind, because I had
to move up to the upper grade. I think it was because ofmy age not that I was
making good grades and right then it was very difficult. I was really sttuggling,
cause, you know, being new to the classroom situation I was -really, I was lost. In
fact I was taking remedialclasses with the nuns, with the sisters, with the help of
them I was able to put with the kids ofmy age, some wete , most are younger than
myself, but I think that was where I fit it. That's where I was really struggling when
I was going to elementary school and I was able to graduate with the help of the
sisters back in '62.
He attended and graduated from Xavier High School in Chunk before returning
home and taking a teaching position at Assumption for two years. Because he was the
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youngest in his family, he was responsible for caring for his elderly parents, so he left his
teaching position on Majuro to return to the outer islands. There he made copra before a
representative from the Trust Territory Education Department offered him a teaching
position at the local public elementary school:
I was there as a copra maker, make our living on copra for about a year and while I
was in [atoll] the elementary school supervisor from the Ministry ofEducation
came down on the ship. We knew, we know each other while I was teaching at
Assumption, and we met again at [atoll] so this is how I was able to get hired to be
a teacher at the government school in [island]. So he saw me there and said ifI was
interested to be a teacher. He said that, 'After two years at Assumption, you are
already there. All we need is if you are interested.'
Once established with the Trust Territory Department ofEducation, the Senator
held numerous positions. He left his teaching position in the outer islands after his father's
death, and accepted a post in Majuro. He worked in various positions within the
Department/Ministry ofEducation: in teacher training, English as a Second Language
(TESL), and the Curriculum development committee. During the many years he served the
Marshalls education program he gradually worked toward a B.Ed at the University of
Hawai'i, Manoa campus. He began the coursework for his degree in 1969 on a TT
scholarship and completed his degree in 1983. He explains why it took fourteen years to
earn his degree:
During TT time there used to be scholarships for all the districts and I was lucky
enough to be picked for one ofthose to be given the opportunity to go offto
school. On the job training maybe, whatever we call it, and I was off to school.
That's where I went to the University ofHawai'i, Manoa campus.
]W: Whatyear was that?
Senator: See, the policy for TT time was you don't go out for all four years, you just
go out spend one year, come back and work after one year and then ifyou are
lucky enough again, then they send you back to continue. Piece by piece, something
like that. ... so I think it was back in, let me see, 1969, the first time, back and forth,
264
back and forth. In fact sometimes we would skip three or four years and then go
back again. That was tough...
]W: You'dfo'l,et whatyou learned!
Senator: This policy that you keep coming back and back. And I trunk that was a
good opportunity, and it was a good deal, because ofguys like me, who has a family
back home. The family would get your salary and your scholarship would provide
enough for room and board and for them while you are off to school. That's why I
was able to accept this idea, this 00 I was, I really care about my family, that there is
nothing to feed them, but because ofthe salary continues on, I was really interest to
go on to continue my education. But either way, it was very difficult, oh yeah.
]W: How Ioug untilyou actuallyfinishedyour degree?
Senator: Dh, let me see, I get my degree back in 1983. My B.Ed. in elementary
education. I took other courses from other universities, extension courses, and I
think I am halfway through for my Master's [now].
Like many other elected officials, political careers often followed teaching
experience. The Senator was first elected to represent his home atoll in 1991, and was re-
elected in 1995. The significance of the 1991 election helped to define this Senator's
politics and personality:
]W: I was at Assumption theyearyou were elected. Wereyou associated with the RRDP (RIJIik 
Ratak Democratic Party)? 4S
Senator: Well, now back in that year, [my home atoll) was on the other party, was
really supporting, was pro-government. But my myself, I don't want to involve with
any of the two, the two political parties. I was invited to the 00, to the RRDP party,
cause most ofthe members are all my very good friends, in fact I went to one or
two oftheir meetings, and I did tell them, I didn't want to hide anything from
them, I told them that with that kind of situation I didn't want to be involved. I
was trying to save myself cause [my home atoll] was still, 00, one-hundred percent
[pro-government, pro-Amata) so I didn't want to be involved on any ofthe two.
Actually I was my own, and that's what I did. I was elected.
4S The RRDP is the Ralik-Ratak Democratic Party, the first formally organized opposition to the late
P,esident Kabu•. The debates and campaigns ofthat year literally divided the atoll as the "government" party
held rallies on the President's land, and the RRDP organized at the Reimers' compound, on Twenty-Twenty
land.
265
But I did promise my other close friends who are the leaders ofthe RRDP party, I
said they shouldn't be worried, I said, that ifI had the chance I wouldn't be afraid
to fight for what I think is right, and if what they are doing is right, I would
support, them, or even ifthe other party would come up with something that is
good for the people, I would support them. I just float around with what I think is
right. Actually, I just wanted to he free on my own conscience, cause I know if! try
to stick to a party, I would be faithful for it, and even ifsomething is wrong, but
hecause of this party I belong to, I would stick to it, so that I felt, I wouldn't do
that. I didn't want to just tie myself and no freedom.
That's what I'm doing now. I'm, I just want to he on my own and on what I
helieve.
Speaking out, while still respecting others is critical for this Senator. When I asked
his views ofthe Compact he initially referred me to one ofthe men who was intimately
involved in the negotiations. When I asked if he thought the Compact was successful, he
replied:
I don't think so, there's not much improvement, and when we're talking ahout
improvement I mean, I'm just looking at it from a different aspect, I mean it's nice
to he in building like this [the Glass Palace] hut, what's the use? You go to outer
islands, people are really ....they're having hard time, and what they depend on is
copra and copra price is way down. Low for how many years? I mean, you see
fancy huildings and things like this, I mean it's nice to see good huildings, hut what
do you think of people been suffering in the outer islands?
I mean there are good things and there are had things. And these outside influence
has changed a lot of thing. For instance there is a fishing project in [atoll] where
they huy fish from the fisherman, hring them in and market, you know put them
up again, and I don't see the good thing ahout that. I mean we end up with no fish.
Over fished. There was no stndy ofhow much fish to take out, or how many
pounds offish a day, I mean it's just right there they go in and fish. And that's
common sense, I'm talking ahout common sense, No matter how much or how
many fish you get, hut you know, in your own mind the more you get, the more
money you're going to get, ifyou don't care ... that's what happening to [atoll].
MIMRA [Marshall Islands Marine Resource Authority] runs it. It comes to the
government.
JW:W~was the project set up on [atoll name]?
Senator: I was not in the Nitijela and I was raising hell like crazy. When I was still
with the Ministry ofEducation and you know when something is new to you, you
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think it is good. But I knew, I knew, that there wouldn't be any development for
[atoll], that would hurt [atoll]. And what's happening now is exactly what I said
before. People now are complaining, but I can remember from the beginning, I was
talking to a group ofguys my age, older, they thought I was dreaming. I was in
Hawai'i, I'd been to Guam, and I know what they're faced with, they're faced with
this kind of problem, and I said, 'Look at Guam, look at Hawai'i, those are two
examples and they've gone through this, and maybe we should, cause we're going
in the same direction. They said [atoll] has plenty fish, plenty fish, we wouldn't have
any problem. Now today, look at [atoll].
That project was with the support ofthe Iroof. The govemment, went to the Iroo}
and they said, "Go ahead and do it."
JW: Was there money intJOlved in that?
Senator: Oh yeah, the place where the government is leasing, the Iro'!i get his share
from that piece ofland, that's the base where they have the generators and the big
plant, for fishing.
But I did speak out. You know, I'll tell you the truth, when I think something is
right, I don't even care who is who, even the President, I just go for what I think
on my own conscience. I don't even bother.
The Senator not only values speaking his mind, he also discussed the impact of
Compact funds, and America on Marshallese culture without my initiating the question. As
we talked about the decrease in Compact funds that was purportedly designed to mirror
the increase in self-sufficiency, the Senator commented on the changes in lifestyle and
knowledge that accompany economic dependency:
Senator: The end of 2001 Marshall Islands would be on its own, one-hundred
percent. And it come down to zero, with the US funding.
JW: Is that realistic?
Senator: I don't really think so. I think [there is] too much ofthis dependency.
These outside influence, are again, they're very strong. I mean this generation have
come to a point where they cannot stand on their own feet, like our ancestors,
when there was no outsiders they would live happily, everything was provided, they
got [their?] nets, they all go out fishing, not even apenny in the pocket. Strong,
everything. And now that outside influence now has played an important role now
and I think it is the mind of these people, well, like the USA and other nationalities
267
now, it's true that they have things are very fancy like the introduction ofthe iron,
they brought in the machete that are really easy to work with I think this is what
really changed the mind of the people.
JW: Doyou tbink they vdue American tbings mlJrC tban tbeir own?
Senator: I would say yes. In my age, I don't appreciate this kind, I still, like the
Marshallese way, Marshallese style, but like, my kids, they don't really enjoy staying
in the outer islands, you know, they're glad to have ice cream, they like to see
movies or TV, things like that that are happening in Majuro, as well as what's
happening in the USA. Can you believe that this generation now? Ifyou take one
maybe one boy and put him on lroqj island [in Majuro atoll], where there is nobody,
without any ofthis, just place him there, he wouldn't last long. Maybe up to three
days you go see him, he's dead. But like my age, you can place me anywhere, no
help, just drop mel I know the right tide to catch fish, I can make my own fire, I
can get coconut, whatever's around the environment. And that's real Marshallese.
But this generation, they don't even appreciate outer island life. And that's how you
see outside influence has been played a role and for the ruin ofthe culture.
JW: Wben a new generation speaks up, wiD that mean the culture bas cbanged tbat mucb? Tbat
theyoung don't respect tbeir leaders or elders?
Senator: No, I don't think so, this future that I'm talking about probably is the
future 0 f the Marshallese will be flexible more, the Marshallese, they are
Americanized in other ways, they can deal with both, with American and as a
Marshallese. Two different, like you're in school you have two different person,
from when you are in your house at home.
JW: Areyou bopeful about the future?
Senator: I think so, but I hate to see the Marshallese culture fading away, I mean it
happens in every society, there are changes, but I think we care more about the
culture, be more, 00, get more people involved to care about it, it's gonna be okay.
The Senator speaks from a perspective that is quite different from many ofthe
other elected officials. Despite his shared educational history, his close ties to outer island
life distinguishes him -- his interests and concerns -- and frees him to speak. His only
example ofpolitical caution emerged out ofmy question about his partisan loyalties. His
home islands were within the domain ofthe first President, who was his lroqj, and he chose
not to take an oppositional stance against the former President despite his ties to the
268
RRDP. He speaks critically of development projects he views as exploitative, and those
traditional leaders who benefit from them, while he also critiques the lifestyles ofthe
younger generation. He represents himself as a man with one foot in the outer islands and
the other in Western democratic institutions. He respects traditional authority and western
knowledge, and desites the freedom to make decisions according to his conscience, and to
particular circumstances. Like the children who have two different personalities, one for
school and one for home, he highly values the personal freedom to make his own
decisions, without restriction ofcustom, political party, or other affiliations. This
achievement is unique among those who spoke with me, and is patticularly notable in the
highly politicized context ofthe RMI Nitijela, especially in that unprecedented session.
Despite his hopes for and criticisms of change, the Senator acknowledges the freedom that
comes from being "flexible," from being exposed to multiple sources ofknowledge. His
past enables him to say ofthe future: it's gonna be ok.
An Elected Ralik Iroo;
This government Minister has held his position for over a decade and through each
Presidency ofthe RMI. He was in his mid-forties at the time ofthis interview and at that
time served as Acting President while the President was away. I had no prior contact with
this Minister, although I had a friendship with the family ofone ofhis brothers, and had
recently interviewed another ofhis brothers. The interview appointment was atranged for
late afternoon in a meeting room/lounge ofthe Capitol building, and it surprisingly
continued for neatly two hours. We discovered a mutual interest in history, and discussed
literature we were each currently reading. Unlike the majority ofinterviews, the 11'Ooj asked
269
about my education, experiences, and family. He spoke candidly about his frustrations with
America, and American society, Washington D.C bureaucrats, his experience of
discrimination, he understandings ofcapitalism, dependency, and his culture:
I was born in 1952, a memorable year, that was the year the Korean war broke out
(chuckle). I grew up on Ailinglaplap, and.....1 came to school on Majuro first time,
1955. That's the first time I had an American for a teacher. I didn't know anything,
I didn't know what... (long silence, slow speech in contrast to earlier tone and
chuckle) this guy used to write on the board and afterward he'd tell us, 'Copy what
is on the board,' and I'll turn around to my friend and say, 'What did he say?'
(chuckle) That was RES [Rita ElementarySchoo~.I just spent one year there and
then I went to Ebeye, Ebeye Public School.
There was a test for a school in Chuuk -- Mizpah, and when the scores that came
back I was the only one who passed the test. Justina Langidrik and another boy also
took the test for PATS [pohnpei Agricultural Training School). My classmates say,
"Ah, let's not take the Xavier test, because we'llreally fail the test.' I don't know,
maybe ifwe put the mark for Xavier we would have passed because itwas the same
test. But when the test came [back), I also passed that one. I was the only one who
passed the test for PATS. I tested for MIHS [Marshall Islands High School), and
there were only three ofus from Ebeye who passed the test. The head teacher
wanted to send to me to Guam but they said no, because only tenth graders could
go to Guam because we were living with sponsors. That meant I had to come to
the high school here (Majuro] and spend one year before I can go. So I came here
[to Majuro to attend MIHSJ. I graduated in 1973.
I went to Oregon [Oregon Community College]. I was supposed to be met at the
airport by my counselor, the foreign student advisor, a man from Hawai'i. He saw
me there but he didn't come meet me. So I got lost in downtown Oregon, almost
halfa day, I was freezing, I didn't have any long sleeve, no jacket, yeah! I was
asking around, I show people the address I was going to and they look at me and
say, 'Couldn't take you.' That's one ofthe experiences I had about discrimination.
Finally I got smatt and I called the school and they asked 'Where are you?'
'Downtown.' 'Exactly where in downtown?' I never knew these things, but I
looked at the sign and said, 'WeD, there is this sign here....' They said, 'you will go
one block down, one and a half block right, and you will see this bus #so and so,'
and the name was different than the place I was going to. So when I got to the
school this Hawaiian guy he looked at me and said, 'Hey, I saw you last night!'
(laughter!!!)
I was there for two weeks and I couldn't stand it. I missed rice. And I came back to
Hawai'i.
270
Upon arrival in Hawai'i, he was able to enroll at Hawai'i Pacific College where he
earned a Bachelor's degree. After he returned to Majuro he was selected by the IT
government to work in legal aid "because they wanted someone who could be trained,
someone young and flexible, rather than the old stubborn people." He worked there for a
while but wanted to pursue a graduate degree in political science. He dreamed ofearning a
PhD:
I wanted to be called 'Doctor.' The IT wanted to send me to Legal training on
Guam since they wanted lawyers, but I didn't want it once I learned lawyers aren't
called doctor. They called my wife and told her the plans they'd arranged for me
and that's what happened. I went to Guam, then I came back and worked for legal
services and they sent me to Gonzaga University Law school later.
I spent three years in law school. The toughest year is the first year. Lot of anxiety,
you don't know whether you make it or not until you spend the whole year, and
just mid-terms and then the final exams, if you feel lousy during those days, that's
it. Then you get the exam and you have to wait two months for the results are out.
The professor has to go to hundred students, and they don't give multiple choice.
I boast about that school. Bing Crosby, Tom Foley, former speaker ofthe house,
his father was a judge in Spokane, and when I came back to Hawai'i, there is a man
in our school in Hawai'i -- Hawai'i Pacific College. Lots oflawyers in Hawai'i
graduate from that school
My second year my wife and sister-in-law, went to school with me. I used to
babysit and wait til they come and then in the afternoon I go to school.
I did lot ofthings. My classmates were jealous ofme (laugh) playing all day long.
Drink so much caffeine just to stay awake. One month before our final everybody
would be studying staying up all night, except me. I think I was really foolish. My
plan was just to maintain good grade, so long as I graduate, had I known, ifI were
smarter I would have really studied.
After law school, the 1ro,!! came back home and ran for office from Ailinglaplap. He
won the election after his second attempt in 1987 and has held office ever since. He has
served in vatious ministerial positions, and as a Kwajalein landowner as well as government
271
representative, has had much direct interaction with Americans, particularly US
government officials in Washington DC. He has closer ties to Compact negotiations and
transactions than most RMI officials due to his traditional status, and his views voiced here
reflect his frustrations.
Like every political situation, the people with more power [win] ....
JW: That's true. UJok what's happening in the US Congress. UJoks what's happening in
Congress with the Compact.
IROO]: Oh, those guys there. I go to Washington, I was negotiating with those
guys. Even those staffers, they are like gods. They say that.
JW: What doyou mean?
IROO]: Uh, you don't argue with those people.
JW: Rcaf!y. Like a hig chief. ..
IROO]: More than a big chief. A big chiefyou understand. In fact, a good chief, is
the one who listens. That's what I think. Usually, the highest ranking chief is
always, this is our belief, that the higher the chief, the more understanding he is. It's
people from the lower lineages who are bad because they don't have thejoy they
have very little chiefblood in them. Because here we say that the chief blood is the
thing that make you be kind, be generous, be understanding, but when you mix that
with-- like the people are always out there for themselves. You watch them, you'll
see them, different from the higher ranking ones. .
JW: I seeyourpoint about the US, but I don't know whyyou can't "'8"e with them.
IROO]: In Washington we beg. You ask and you beg. You don't argue. You don't
argue with them. You don't argue. It's only among them, you know, they argue,
the Democrat and Republican. They know they are the most powerful country in
the world, and part of the powerful US congress.
JW: I would think it'spretty intimidating to go there with those g'9S.
IROO]: Yeah, I know. We were there for months. Senator Balas and I were there,
talking with... sometimes we'd make, uh, ten appointments per day, three or four
would return our call, and we'd visit them, but for the next day we also call. I ended
up visiting two hundred-some offices, and we talked to maybe four Senators. Most
ofthe people we meet with were staffers.
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JW: You're right, American culture is really hierarchical
IROO]: When you see them on lV, you know, they look nice, you know, waving to
the people, kissing babies - (Burst of laughterl) But that's politics (laughter). But
you know, there are good people there, people with big hearts. Without even
asking, you know, they are generous. We've been fortunate to have attracted people
like that at times.
This lrooj also discussed the ways the Marshalls was impacted by the Compact in
terms ofinternational recognition, and opportunities that were previously not available. He
also reflected upon the cultural knowledge and loss that he interprets as resulting from US
funds, urban migration, and the increased exposure to American products, services, media,
and people. Commenting on cultural changes, he compared US democratic ideals with the
with the Marshallese hierarchy and critically noted the hypocrisies and inconsistencies of
American ideals and practices.
One thing is that people can go to the United States now for schooling, and seek
health care. And on Majuro we have new things we didn't have before.
People migrate from outer islands to urban centers - for medical, schools, to be in
the limelight. But their hopes and expectations are based on unsound reasoning.
They come for different reasons, and sometimes they don't know what they want.
There is also displacement when they come. There is a growing sense of
dependency. We used to know what to do, how to live on the outer islands. Now,
they come and they don't have jobs so they look for government or relatives to
fend for them. That wasn't true twenty years ago, everybody was self-reliant.
There is a change from the old economy to a money economy.
Maybe that's why they do these canoe races -- they hope to revive! People used to
know, they had skills, things that were suitable to their lives, but not in a twilight
kind ofthing, sometimes they don't know Western skills and knowledge and they
also don't know Marshallese traditional skills. Why? Changing values. Exposure to
outside. We have more goods but greater dependence. We have better medical
equipment, we are healthier, but not psychologically. There are young men on the
street begging for beer and money. That's modernization. Crime is sign ofmodem
society (laugh!). Because in changing values and tradition, I live in Long Island, I
don't know the people who live next door. We're beginning to talk like Westerners.
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Our culture is affected - people don't speak Marshallese! There is a sign at RRE
done by the hospital people - breastfeeding is best for the kids -- but the word they
usedjortaklik/e, you'll see the sign at the [ACE] hardware, the wordjortaklik is
improperly used, wawen is the right word. J0rtaklik is something saved for the
future, for example, like Social Security, saved for rainy day. The "way to the
health" makes more sense. Many people don't know proper Marshallese. We're
losing our culture, our language.
Many things we're losing. It will continue to be like this.
JW: Doyou think there will there be a revival, like Hawai'i?
IROOJ: It depends on how much pride we have. You know I go to the outer island
and I plant, and I make thatch houses and I know all kinds of traditional things.,
but others don't know. But for people like us, [Iro,?!] myself and others, people from
the lro'?!· family, we've seen lots ofthings, unlike other people.
JW: You'", been exposed to other things, and it makesyou reali'{f the value r!fyour own wqys.
IROOJ: Yeah. The other people, have more experience with American but it's like
when you have money, when you have money right away, you don't know what to
do, but when you've had money all your life, then you don't really .(care?] ....you
know that money is good for things, but you don't really...I've seen lots ofpeople
like that.
People like us, you know, my parents, went back and forth between Kwajalein and
Ailinglaplap, and I was exposed to the American base on Kwajalein, and it doesn't
really [interest me?] ... I myselfwent to the United States, I've traveled It's better
to been exposed when you are young. There is a point where you appreciate your
own place.
But the young people, so many have totally lost their culture. Sometimes people
here [on Majuro] are more cultured that people who come from outer islands who
are cultured in the outer islands and they come here and get exposed and lose it all.
I think it also has to do with education. See all the children ofthe people who are
wealthy people? Many children are bad. They spoil them. They should be more
cultured than children of those who don't have any means. They wreck the place,
do all kinds ofthings, they have no respect. They don't think.
It's like when we go to the United States, eh? We're so overwhelmed that we don't
know what to do, we go out and get drunk ....it can be very overwhelming.
(chuckle)
JW: I know ma'!Y Marsha/lese in Hawai'i and when they ask me to go out with them I know
that I won't come home until 7 am.
274
IROO]: (Chuckle) You know with this relationship with the United Sates we're also
exposed to new idea like now the revival ofHawaiian land.
JW: Is there a'!)thingyoufind ahout American culture thatyouparticularlY dislike?
IROO]: One thing, is the discrimination. I've seen real discrimination. In fact when
we were kids. It happened to me here when I was in school. One thing I was also
discriminated against in school by some ofmy teachers because ofmy status.
School doesn't like the idea of somebody from chiefly family.
JW: Reverse discrimination.
IROOJ: They were trying to impose their values on us.
JW: How doyou balance those ideas -you had a democratic education?
IROOJ: I don't see any problem. The former government was a democratic
aristocracy, but ifit works ifit provides for the people, then it's good.
Sometimes we joke, its not democracy, it's DEMO-CRAZY. (BIG laugh!)
Well, the United States has had a democracy for two hundred years. We've had a
chiefly system for centuries based on a tolerance ofpeople, a tolerance oftheir
lifestyle.
JW: Todqy thm is a mix ufdemocratic and hierarchical institutions. The US Amhassador keeps
coming down onyou g1!Ys, but I think there has to be more understanding uflocal culture.
IROOJ: Sometimes there are misjudgments. Sometimes people think that
government can do, or should do, but what is government? Its depend on who's
holding power. There's the question ofthe distribution ofwealth, not just
economic, but social, because in capitalism, in a capitalistic society you respect
people with means, but in a society like the Marshall Islands, the tradition is that
you respect elders, your clan leaders, your uncle because he's the head ofthe
extended family, your brothers and sisters, older brothers and sisters, and there was
a mutual thing, a mutual obligation. Well the US way is interfering now, that's why
we have the breakup of families, siblings and cousins, you know, don't get along,
they don't talk.
Sometimes I see the 00, chiefly rules as a symbol ofrespect. The reason for them
to be there is to bring people together. Here [the Nitijela] is different. These guys
say, 'we're real leaders' and yet, who ate these guys? They say they are lroojbut ...
When my father [an Iroo;], he tells me something, I, 00, I have no question.
But maybe these things come because ofdemocratic development.
275
]W: Do people still come toyou to ask.for things?
IROO]: Oh yes. Every day. Day and night, more than my colleagues in the Nitijela,
and more than the other ministers. They come to me for tuition. What? Is it
because I'm an elected leader? Not only people from my constituents, but from all
over, even people from Ratak!
]W: What do they askyoufor?
IROO]: Sometimes they ask me to buy them tickets to go to the United States,
something like that.
]W: How doyou St!Y no?
IROO]: I usually only say no when I don't have it. But when I have it I give it.
]W: That's an expensilJl! responsibility.
IROO]: When you are raised like us, it's normal....My son, eh, he doesn't know the
parents ofthose boys he brings in! [to feed.] I never taught him that, he just does it
by himself...I don't know. He always feel sorry for them, when he hears about
somebody in a bad situation he likes to help. (Chuckle.) Sometimes I have to tell
him we don't have anything else to give. (Chuckle.) I think it's traditional values.
My beliefis that our custom and culture will continue. It's basically elements of
relationship -tolerance-- with everyone.
Sometimes we have to build [use?] democracy in the name of development.
I'm talking about, at one time, in the United States there was a beliefin Manifest
Destiny. Might is right. And this idea comes all the way from the Greek and
Romans. They needed the Hawaiian Island so they could pull out offor their fleet.
They wanted to taste that nuclear arsenal, things that other countries don't.
Ifyou mean by modem government, a democracy, than I think that these things
can be reconciled because even in a democracy you have a class system, right?
Elites. Class and the members ofthe class always find themselves together.
(Laughter.) And there is social mobility. In a democracy there is better chance of
moving up, but here, you know today I may chief, but tomorrow your son may be a
chiefbecause your daughter may marry...(loud laugh)
]W: Sociol mobility through marriage.
IROO]: And ifyou are educated, you can move up.
276
I don't think there are any real restrictions on people anymore. Take Robert
Reimers [the founder of one ofthe most successful local businesses], whenever I
see him on the street I bow to him, I don't treat him just like a senile old man....
As an ITYJo/, this government Minister holds sway over a larger group ofpeople than
his own constituents. He is expected and obligated to provide for people beneath him, and
he values that relationship. With a Western education and legal training, he speaks
comfortably and thoughtfully about political philosophy, and speaks critically ofother ITYJo/,
Nitijela members, and the United States -- unlike most ofthe other participants. His
experiences in Washington DC highlight his awareness ofdiscrimination, and the inferior
position ofthe Marshall Islands relative to the United States and other nations, and yet his
position as an ITYJoj enables him to describe ideal chief-commoner relations, and to use
these metaphors to describe US-RMI relations. Real chiefs havejog, they listen, and they
like to help. The US is incomprehensible, acts much like lesser chiefs who are only out for
themselves.
The lrooj uses discourses of development, democracy, culture --loss, and tradition
in ways that are actually quite uncommon in my interviews. Views only heard expressed by
a small handful ofWestem-educated commoners. The economic and intellectual freedom
afforded by education and/or traditional status enable this type ofdiscourse.
Further, the lroojhighlights the inequalities ofthe US economy and class system,
relative to Marshallese reciprocal relationships ofrespect based on age, rather than
economic wealth. He subtly denigrates the elected officials who assume titles and powers
greater than they traditionally deserve, the lesser chiefs, and the United States as he denies
any contemporary rigidity to the hierarchical structure ofMarshallese society by
emphasizing that anyone can come up, with an education, or through marriage; no real
277
restraints to social mobility exist today. He also subtly defends the value ofhis "exposure"
to both Marshallese and American customs and ways from an early age, by condemning
the lack ofindigenous cultural knowledge that the wealthy and their children have, despite
their skills in interacting with Americans. Saying, in effect, 'they may have money, but they
don't know their culture, or their language, or how to respect people.'
As the youngest brother in the family, this 1roofs views are subservient to those of
his older brothers, despite his educational achievements. He serves as more ofa figurehead
ofthe lineage than an actual spokesperson or active participant in national government
affairs. It was ouly after my fieldwork period that this 1roq/began to speak publicly and
critically against the government administration, and he participated in the opposition's
vote ofno confidence, and ultimately was re-elected in the succeeding elections serving as a
voice for the opposition's platform. His oppositional stance belies his conservative political
views that support the traditional power structure, seek to perpetuate it, and criticize those
who have wealth but lack generosity (ioif), understand America but not their own society, or
hold influential positions but lack the traditional authority with which he was born.
In the Nitije/a in 1997 nine ofthirty-three Senators were recognized as 1rooj. Only
two held authority in both Ralik and Ratak. The following participant is an elected 1roq/
with both Ratak and Ralik status.
RaIik-Ratak Irao; and Senator
The interview with this Senator took place unannounced in his office in the Capital
building during one ofthe most intense Nitije/a sessions to date. Gambling was the main
topic of debate and both the Senator and myself regularly attended meeting at Assumption
278
that were organized by a coalition ofchurches attempting to pass anti-gaming legislation.
The morning session has just adjourned and the halls ofthe Capital were unusually full of
visitors, particularly along the office hallways. Among the visitors, I dropped by the
Senator's office to discuss the status ofthe gaming bill, and some ofthe Senators views of
contemporary political developments.
The recorded conversation was interrupted many times by telephone calls and
colleagues knocking at his door so, after half an hour we scheduled another appointment
for a week later to discuss the Compact and other topics. Since the Senator represented
and lived on Majuro, he, unlike others, would be available after the Nitije/a session ended.
The Senator was of an [roojlineage, with ties to both Ralik and Ratak chains. At this
point he was in his late fifties, a veteran politician, having served in various elected and
appointment positions since his graduation from college. He served in the Congress of
Micronesia, was intimately involved in the political development ofthe RMI, and later
served various posts within the Ministry ofForeign Affairs.
The Senator reflected upon his educational background, which began at
Assumption:
I was born on Majuro and adopted by a man from one of these islands here on
Majuro and I grew up with himun~I was nine years old. I decided that I didn't
know how to write my name like the people ofmy age, they were able to write their
name, so I figured I got to go to school. I went to school at age nine. I was a
boarding student at Assumption. In those days there were about twenty students
who were boarding. Most ofthem were from the outer islands. Since am from one
of the small islands here and I had nobody to stay with in the D-U-D [Dehp-Uliga 
Darrij/ Dtita) area, I had to board until I finished school. Then I went to Xavier
High School on Chuuk.
The Senator then explained that his education continued at the University of San
Francisco where he earned a Bachelor's degree, followed by postgraduate work at the
279
University ofDenver. Returning to Majuro after his educational years abroad, he was
selected a representative to the Congress ofMicronesia, then served as a Senator in the
Nitijc/a, and then spent eleven years in an ambassadorial position before returning to an
elected position as Majuro Senator in 1995. The Senator is sophisticated, well-educated,
and highly skilled diplomat, whose reflections reveal his socialization in and to multiple
American discourses.
As both an Iro'!i and a Senator, he was well aware ofthe contradictions and
ambiguities ofdemocratic institutions and traditional systems ofpower. He described the
shifts in traditional obligations to (and of) Iroqj that result from the transformation ofthe
subsistence economy:
You respect your Iroo} with contributions of food, etc. You respect him with your
duties and obligations and money -- something foreign to us. You use it in other
ways, not necessarily that whatever money you have you give it over to the Iro'!i.
Right now in fact, there are questions about how to split the money ofproperty
rental Split half and half, or divide it the way we divide copra shares? Ifthat is the
case then the chiefs really get less than half. In some examples they get half, some
one-third for each the Iro'!i, Ahb, and workers. There's no standard throughout the
Marshalls. The more you give the Iro'!i, the better appreciated it is, the higher the
status because that is following custom.
Some people explain, 'Because I cannot ful£ll my traditional obligation to supply
local food, so I give more money than I should give.'
Iro'!i realize the power ofmoney. It's in their interest. The more money they have,
the more power they have. Ifyou think the Iro'!i are really strong now, just wait til
this country is really broke, cause who's goona have money? The Irooj, and
everybody is going to genuflect in from of them.
1'I;1e relationships and expectations ofprotection and provision from political and
business leaders are not detached from traditional expectations of Iroo;: Not only are the
obligation to offer tribute altered, but the types of support expected ofIro'!i, businessmen,
government officials -- the mtd-- are also transformed. He explains:
280
I give credit to these [business] people who are still in business! There's a lot of
demand. Especially in a country where we have respect for extended family, it's
tough to survive. You have so many people demanding so many things from you
particularly ifyou are in business. People know that you are making money and
they expect their political leaders can give them some money.
For myselfas Senator, ofcourse the people from time to time they come to me and
ask for money. Sometimes I just have to tell them I cannot afford it. I have to take
care ofmyself first before I can meet their demands. They're usually constituents,
for instance I had somebody last night who came to my place and wanted me to
buy a ticket for his daughter to go to Enewetak, that's $260, one way. He said his
daughter is going to join her husband on Enewetak. Something like you, you know,
it's just crazy. I can barely feed my family and these people are asking that much. I
simply told them that maybe I can provide half and she can provide half. I said I
can't provide the entire amount. She said she is going to reimburse me, but I know.
It's tough meeting the demands of our constituents, sometimes it's pretty unfair.
They really expect a lot ofus. They have a different perception ofus. They think
we've got the money, we've got the means to provide for their needs. And I think
that should happen. People are poor and they expect that somebody, their leaders,
will look after them. So, while I disagree with their request, when they ask for help,
I also appreciate their problem. Maybe we are part ofthe problem too.
They also of course, have a different perception ofus. They hold us to a different
standard, expect us to behave differendy, to be model citizens. Ofcourse, that's not
what you heard this morning in the Nitijela when these guys [Senators] were saying:
'You know the people from your island, they do not care what kind ofcar are you
driving, they don't care how much you are paid, they only care about when the
fieldtrip ships are corning to your island for the copra.' And I'm saying, my God,
these guys don't think that we are custodians ofpublic funds, we're accountable for
every penny that we spend. Now that's a big difference in the way the public
perceives us, and the way the other countries will perceive our leaders. Given what
these guys were saying this morning, they're expecting that ifyou are a Senator or a
Minister you are entided to this kind ofprivilege. I don't know where these guys
get this from, cause yesterday there were lots ofquestions about government
vehicles being used by family members for their own use and all that. This
morning, they were saying that there were more important questions that
government property and who's driving that car orvehicle. The people in the outer
islands are saying, 'We in the outer islands, we don't give a damn whose car you are
driving. Our concerns are others; those are minor problems. I guess what I'm
saying is that these people [other Senators] are telling us that by right they have the
right to certain privileges that none ofthe rest have."
JW: Soyou're st!Jing that there is a Muhle standard. There's extemolpresS1lTll for accountability,
but here constituents expect leaders to use theirprivileges hut to providefor them.
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Senator: Yes, exactly.
Although this individual is both an lrooj and a Senator, he is able to critique the
powers and abuses ofboth. Diplomatically, in critiquing the power of some chiefs, he
identifies himself with those who are affected by the powerful chiefs. By criticizing other
Senators' sense of entitlement, he sides with the populace, and democratic ideals that hold
elected officials as "custodians ofpublic funds," even as he acknowledges that few people
share that perspective. It is important to note that not all lrooj are equal, or have equal
access to expensive land payments or Kwajalein compensation funds. Having suffered a
tragic loss, the Senator was not one to frequent the bars and restaurants ofthe other mtcj,
and spent much time at home with his family. In this sense while he is an lrooj, his degree
ofinfluence, and his views, might be viewed as marginal.
In his reflections on the Compact of Free Association and the Marshalls'
relationship with the United States this Senator/lrooj offers a unique perspective given his
past roles in Foreign Affairs. He evaluates the strengths and weakness ofthe Compact and
its impact on the Marshall Islands:
[fhe] US has special leverage over us. That rhetoric is true. When we were reaching
out for recognition, US says to recognize them -- they're sovereign. We're
accountable for our affairs, but the fact remains, what its supposed to be is a
unique document, it's different from other nations.
The US policy was primary security interest, so everything else was secondary. Yes,
there were interests in excluding other powers from this region. We have to be
realistic, the world was really in turmoil, east and west, lot ofpeople thought the
US was doing this testing to help mankind, to stop communism from spreading all
over the world. Nobody knew someday communism would come down, walls
would come tumbling down - it wasn't a safe world then. The US did what they
thought was.... (hellol Phone interruption) The other thing was we keep blaming
the US, we should blame the [UN] Security Council who agreed to let the US to
use this area as a testing ground. Other members ofthe UN - Australia, etc. had
something to do with it.
282
JW: Atthe close ofthe Compact the US pointsfingers. What wouldyou argue are the successes?
Senator: Well, we have some things to fault ourselves on - when we came into
being the basic infrastructure wasn't there to gain progress economically. The
hospital, the power plant --we did it on our own. We made loans from other
countries. The transportation system - we inherited - they're still around, these
ships. We had no money coming in, we need to do some repairs, but at the same
time, some ofthe money we were given were not put to good use, not invested
right. We were not diligent in making sure we were doing something beneficial for
the whole country... I guess the bottom line is that we didn't do a good job with
what we're supposed to do as a sovereign nation and we're responsible for our
actions.
JW: How doyoujudge the impact ojthe Compact?
Senator: It's both good and bad. We are able to go to school in the US, to work,
etc. Yet right now, communities exist outside ofour home islands. Majuro is a city,
like it or not, with all the problems associated with getting crowded, with
overcrowding. People do many things and resources are limited. I(s too much for
the culture ofthe island to have that kind of [pressures?] So that's one example of
negative impact. Bringing so many people to a small place, creatiog Majuro and
Ebeye, where living conditions are so terrible. These are the social problems we
encounter.
JW: Doyou think the Compact has afficted a sense ojidentity or mlture?
Senator: People want show modem conveniences not traditional things...it's
unfortunate there are people with no sense of the past .... I don't' want to get
philosophical about it. People lose their sense ofidentity without appreciation of
past, and culture. At the same time, we have to face the fact that changes in our
own society have brought that about. In the old days, you asked [earlier] what clan
I'm from. That's the first thing is clan, not where you work. 'Oh, you're from
Arno...: but now I'm introduced to someone -- 'Where's he work?' -as soon as
he walks out...With changes in society, our values change. We value someone for
where he works, for example.
We value [being] Americanized - people here are caught in between. Marginal
man? Right now they don't know. They want to make a jump from their way of
living and take a western way ofliving. Caught in between two cultures here. Some
want to go all the way and forget about the culture; others like to combine them
both, and others don't know which way to go. They're lost....we have those kind
ofpeople.
JW: What doyou think is the future ofthe Compact?
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Senator: That's a hard question. We really don't have the tight to say or decide. US
will do anything that's in it's national interest. Then forget.
The Senator's remarks are echoed by others who, perhaps only to an American
anthropologist, highlight the local "failures" that accompanied the Compact. He states
explicitly that the US/RMI relationship is primarily about US security interests. He uses the
examples ofthe nuclear testing, and the Compact's future to emphasize his point. He
points fingers at other nations, even his own, for not standing up to the US, yet he also
rationalizes the US's weapons testing as a result offrightening times and fears of
communism. His most pointed ctiticism is that the basic infrastructure necessary to meet
the Compact goals ofself-sufficiency was not there. His pride is evident in the ways his
government sought to develop those things on their own. Like others, this is a very
common refrain. The "lack ofinfrastructure" is cited as one of the major drawbacks of the
Compact ofFree Association, particularly as the businessman explained, most ofthe
Compact money was invested outside the country to establish the airline, the power plant,
etc. He describes people who are caught between two cultures, and confused, as "lost."
The overcrowded conditions caused by wage labor on Majuro and Ebeye and the
subsequent decrease in cultural knowledge (e.g. clan awareness) are cause for sadness. The
self-critique ofgovernment, the looming financial concerns, the increasing power of
particular lrolj, weigh heavily in his reflections. Though these responses might easily have
been influenced by my American identity, the Senator's reflections seem extremely critical
and bleak. In my fieldnotes, I wondered how he was able to serve his nation with such
apparent hopelessness for its future.
284
He is not alone. Many others 17119 share this bleak, even negative appraisal of the
futnre of the Marshall Islands. Bombarded with criticisms from inside and out, how
challenging it must be to resist the negative, colonial discourses that prevail, as well as the
constant stream ofgossip and criticism from constituents and colleagues. While other
Pacific Islanders have begun to challenge the economic and political assumptions and
criticisms of the West in order to assert an indigenous perspective that offers hope
(Hau'ofa 1993), I rarely found that perspective among the elites who spoke with me.
Kora in dri-tel eo Do ;ultjukin her[Woman Commnnity leader)
The woman whose story follows is a leader ofvarious women's groups on Majuro.
She is represented here as Kora, the Marshallese word for woman. At the time ofthe
interview she was a housewife, and grandmother, who had just turned fifty. Through my
sponsor family I had come to know this woman and her husband, and interacted with her
frequently at picnics, social events, and change meetings at my parent's house. She came to
my office at the museum with her grandchild for the interview and we sat for about an
hour as she told me about her education and upbringing. During that time she sent her
grandchild out into the museum, and then downstairs to the coffee shop to wait for her.
She shared much personal history in that first hour, and seemed to enjoy reflecting on her
past. She was proud and grateful for all that had happened. When I asked ifshe wanted to
do the interview another time, she suggested she return after lunch without her grandson.
We spoke for another hour about her views on contemporary events and changes in the
Marshalls.
285
Kora was born on Majuro, but three days after she was born her parents took her to
be raised on another atoll by the family that had adopted and raised her mother. En route
she became very ill, and nearly died. She describes what happened:
I born here and they took me on a field boat to Amo cause that time there was no
big boat, ... so they took me, and I got really sick, and there was... [the sister] of
the wife of the man that adopted my mother... she was one of the ladies from
Amo ... who really knows Marshallese medicine and she doesn't have any children.
She's the one that makes medicine to all the wife ofthe lrooj, when the wife ofthe
Irooj deliver... So she's the one they give me to her so she can give me medicine. I
was really sick, there was really something wrong, all over my body. She took me to
a small island, that they don't see the family, to ...the island is belong to the family,
and they said when somebody really get sick they take them... And then it really
you know, took a long, long time for me to cure from my skin disease. And by that
time she was she used to... [me] and when I was really get well...from time to
time, they send somebody to see if I get well, so they [can] bring me back to them.
And when they found out that I am really happy, and she said, 'No, I won't let her
go, she's my daughter.' She got me and three other girls and two boys, all [of us]
had skin problem. And we all ended up staying with her like our mother.
KDra was raised on a very small island, by an old woman, until at age twelve she was
taken by her brother who was a ship captain, to go to school on Majuro:
I go to school here and that was the first time to sit in the classroom and hear
people speaking English. There was nothing I can do but cry everyday, I was really
sad. I grew up in the outer island, a small island, with an old woman and then come
here try to go to classroom and my teacher she was Kosraean and one Palauan and
you know they speak in English and every day I cry to them and really
embarrassed. Really, I didn't know what they were saying. I was really lost.
]W: What grade did they putyou in?
KDra : They put my in third grade, so I started in third grade!
]W: Amiwereyou the olde.rt?
Kora : Yeah. I was oldest one, but it was not that bad because I was short. That was
the thing that make me feel more comfortable because I was shortl(laughter~
After graduating form seventh grade, she attended the Protestant mission
intermediate school on Romon, Majuro, where she was often teased because ofher
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nickname. She and two other girls were named after branches ofthe US military, and their
teachers and classmates were amused by constandy grouping the three together. The
teachers selected her to attend Bethania High School in Palau.
I remember it was not really excited about that, because I didn't have any money,
and I grew up in the outer island, and all we did was make copra so I knew I
couldn't make it....my parents heard that I was selected to going out, they were
help. I didn't go with the group that they went on the plane, cause I was late, I
wasn't ready yet to go, we had to make copra so I could have money to go, so I
missed the group. And luckily there was two girls that they here for vacation and I
was able to go with them, and that was my first time to go on the plane. DC-IO.
They had flight to Guam and then Palau.
And all those years I didn't come home. No money. I stayed almost five years.
When I was there one ofthe sisters, our sisters, she's from Germany, she's like my
sponsor, she helped me out and I worked with her and she was the one who taught
me cooking and everything....Because there, you know, they have a regulation that
you're not allowed to see your report card until tuition paid, and there were two
semester that I could not pay, so those who could not pay their tuition they use to
have them work part-time, after school, you used to see them working in the
kitchen or gardening in garden work. We do the dirty jobs so we can make money
to pay our tuition, stuff like that.
Five years, including the summers I didn't come home. Almost five.
And you know when you say everybody doesn't have money to go home, and it's
really sad because at the end ofthe school everybody received their tickets or
money to go home and ouly a few on the campus, most of the Marshallese come
home for vacation. Only me and ?, we stayed until we graduated. I was lucky. All I
know is that God helped me out. And I was proud. All my life, the story since I
was born, all I heard is that God look after me.
Kora returned home and worked at the mission school at Ronron, Majuro for one
year before she had a family and had to leave. She found work as a single mom teaching at
one ofthe public elementary schools on Majuro, and later through a training program met
her husband, a Peace Corps volunteer. At the time of this interview they had been married
for twenty-six years and raised three children.
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Kora spent many years teaching small children at a private school on Majuro
founded by a group ofAmerican ex-pats who had married Marshallese. She worked there
until all ofher children graduated, and then enjoyed being a housewife.
Kora has always been an active leader in the community, particularly in women's
organizations. During the period of Compact education, Kora was among those who
traveled to the outer islands to explain the proposed Compact prior to the national
plebiscite. With her familiarity with the Compact, with the politics ofMajuro, and women's
issues, Kora offered her critique ofthe Compact era:
I'm talking about the, you know, the money that were allowed to us from the
Compact, but what I see is not like, it was misused. The most thing I can see is now
really clear to me that the reason why the people in power government and
everything in town is from the misusing ofthe funding from the US government.
Yeah, like the federal programs always, you know, when you heard that the
reason why we disconnect from here to there is from the misuse ofthe federal
money.
Where is the money that's for the old age program and adult education that was
from when? Basic adult education? That's no longer here. Like that. We used to
have a strong program for adults, you know, basic adult education. I heard that
the problem was that they just take the money and for me it was really nana
[bad].
One thing I know it's kind ofinvolved in the culture hecause, you know
Marshallese, they really know ifsomebody is doing something bad. It's really
hard to go and tell the person not to do it. Only [a] few people [would do this],
you know. For example, we knew that the development ... won't be long ,...for
here the former President say do this, do that, and then we say OK. The problem
with us rea1Iy is we cannot say no, it is our custom. Because he was both chief
and also President. People lose their jobs and lose their land, because he's both
the chiefand also the President.
JW: Do people think that it'slfJing against the custom ifYON challenge him?
Kora: Maybe both afraid and also against custom, because in custom you cannot. I
don't know, our custom, what I learn from my older people, they say the custom is
Imoj is not allowed to make decisions. The reason why they say 1moj, alab, drijerbal,
cause alab is the one is like the chief, the one telling the 1m'!iwhat is going on, and
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between the Iroo/. the mab goes to the dri-jerbal Nowadays the chief controls the
three. He controls. Looks like the chiefis the one controlling everything.
I think things change now, people are starting to speak up, I'm talking about now,
after the former president.
Knm explains the political resistance toward the women's organization by the
former President, and how sensitive the interactions between government and the
community organization became. Like the businessman who described the ways
govemment actively competed and hindered his business interests, Kom describes the ways
government opposed women's organizations. She also considers contemporary chiefs'
powers distorted.
At the time ofthis interview one women's group had collected enough donations
to purchase a mammography machine for the hospital. The group requested a
Memorandum ofUnderstanding (MOD) with the Minister ofHealth that would release
half the funds for purchase in advance and the remainder upon the arrival of the machine.
JW: Is the MOU a Wf£Y to speak up?
Knra You know what happened? Some of the club criticize us every time we bring
up something [such as the mammography machine], they say you women are
competing, jealous. You know, really this is the biggest problem. Jealousy. You
know there was one rumor that we heard about us, our project about the
mammogram, because they say the former President really didn't like [a women's
organization], because most ofus are with the opposition party. And they said that
the reason we didn't come up with the project [earlier] was because we knew that
he wouldn't support us, but we waited until this [second] President because he's
easy! Qaughter)
JW: Is the MOU is a Wf£Y to limit abuse offtmds?
Yes. This is our way, as I tell you that we can come up, we speak and really come
up with what we see now. The first thing we did with the Minister [of Health], we
told him verbally and then he said, 'Why don't you guys put in writing? Most of
you are married to lawyers. You [go] tell them everything you tell me now. No
289
problem.' He's like that. So we put that in writing and give it to him and he said,
'No problem. That's your project. You do whatever you feel is right.'
Wow. I cannot think. [shocked] Like, you know what? For example, [another
women's dub], they dissolved that. When [name] was President for [women's
group], you know they fired her at [government ministry). And then a year later
they come up with [name, a dose relative ofthe President], and herself quit because
she didn't know what to do.
That's an example ofwhat will happen to us. We will go back to our home island.
Maybe we involve our husbands. Dangerous.
Kom points out ways local politics and "jealousies" impact women's attempts to
improve their lives. She expresses shock at the difference between the response she
received at the MOD request, and contrasts it with the women's organizations experiences
in the past. She speaks about abuses and misuses of funds, and the manifestations of
cultural relationships in work environments that are difficult to challenge. She here predicts
the political alliances then being formed, and like one ofthe Senators, she both hopes for
and criticizes change.
Marshallese don't really know how to work by themselves, sometimes they are lazy,
and sometimes they are not honest, I think all people sometimes are not honest, all
people on earth, Marshallese are the same, ifthere are people with him, he's luktm
[really] good, but when people go he doesn't take care ofit. Like, we always need
someone to check on us, watch us. It's bad. Control when it comes to money.
JW:W~doyou think thatpeople know thry are crooks hut thry are re-elected over and over?
Kora: Yeah, I know. I think they are coming to one group now, as a whole. They
have something together under the table, that everybody is sharing. Mol. [True.].
And one cannot speak because ifhe speak and everybody [will] say, "Ak kwe, ok
kwe ok kwe! [And what about you, and you, and youW' Now they point fingers.
JW: The uneducatedpeople trust them. The monry goes to the wrongplaces.
Kora: Mol. [True.] You know, they take, put it there, they don't follow, but like
Marshallese, they don't fonow the rule, like they take the rule and they break the
rule. An the Nitijela, they make kien [government], and then watch who breaks the
290
kien [government] -- him. That's why we end up , nowhere, in the middle of
nowhere.
]W: Has relationship with the US changed the culture?
Kora: Litde bit. Not really ok with me. I don't know because I brought up in the
outer island and I don't know. Something I really, I miss. Some people think they
are really poor because they don't live in the big houses and dress nice and eat rice
and bacon, things like that, get job and this is the saddest thing according to my
opinion, it's really true, ifI think back about the old days, we never had rice or nice
dress or nice houses or sleep on the mattress on a bed, but we didn't complain, we
didn't go hungry at all because we had coconut trees and we didn't drink from the
Waterman[local purified water], we drink from the well and also we build our own
water catchment. They are sad, people think now that they are poor, ejjelok
[nothing], there's no poor people, the reason why they think is because they come
to here [Majuro], they come from the outer island, from the outer island they come
here and they don't have money to buy rice and flour and that's why they think
they're poor. Ifthey're back horne they eat fish, banana, taro, and drink coconut.
The values, maybe no money that's the end ofthe world, no money. And that's the
thing I really I wish I could really, break. Money is nothing, you can live without
money. Ycab, that's my belief, because me I didn't, honest I grew up in the outer
island with one old lady, no husband, and now I'm still healthy.
In this excerpt my participation in these dialogues is influential. Well aware of
gossip, the histories ofthe various women's rivalries and the common complaints about
particular government Senators and Ministers shape my questions and responses to Kora.
At times Kora responds to my statements, and provides examples and evidence. In this way,
I, like other elites, promote and participate in, pervasive discourses about corruption,
development, and culture.
The significance ofwomen in Kortls life is evident in her choices and causes she
supports. She was raised by an independent older woman, attended mission schools, was
assisted by a kind German woman in high school, and was devoted to children and
teaching. Having been a working single mother, having been raised on an outer island,
having struggled through school, she identifies and sympathizes with other women in
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similar situations. Her life choices reflect her independent spirit and her faith that God has
helped and guided her. Kora doesn't hold any elected positions, serve in the various
government ministries, or run a family business, but she leads the women ofMajuro
toward projects and causes that serve the larger Majuro community and women in the
outer islands. Her independent example is a model for the women's groups' membets, as
they learn to "speak out."
SUMMARIZING STORIES
Coming Up
The rise to power -- coming up -- in these accounts is shaped direcdy or indirectly
by colonial forces, US military support of economic endeavors, private religiously-affiliated
schools, Western-modeled education systems, government employment, knowledge of
English, perseverance, and traditional status.
Themes and shared experiences emerge in these accounts about the significance of
education, and employment, and connections to American power structures. For some,
early employment with the US military, or a long-tertn family focus on business - 
importing goods for local consumption and distribution -- led to positions ofinfluence.
For others, the entitlements oftraditional status and a desire or expectation ofleadership
ensured the role. For others, religious affiliations, and discourses ofhuman rights, social
justice, and democracy inspired service. Each holds direct or indirect transnational
connections to resources that (have) enabled their influence. These connections may be
culturally defined -- and bolstered by US funding, or a function ofemployment, and/or
educational achievement.
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Not only do these individuals maintain ties to various transnational resources, they
enact them locally, and share them with each other. Each person represented here is
connected to each ofthe others through marriage, education, employment, religious
affiliation, or elan relationships. A Catholic businessman is connected to a Protestant
community leader through marriage oftheir sibling's children. A Protestant Irooj's wife
chairs a national women's organization with her. A Catholic [rooj Senator was formerly her
boss. The businessman grew up playing with the Ralik [roo} as a child. Not only are their
ties to one another intricate and deep, but their affiliation with Amata Kabua's
development agendas and rivalries are just as complex and ambiguous. Loyalties are
shifting, fluid, and vary according to contexts. Few, if any, Marshallese could afford to
unequivocally oppose Amata Kabua's (government's) development agenda. Cooperation
with him was required in order to achieve one's own interests. The consolidation ofpower
and the lack of opposition explains that lack of"culture-talk" in the Marshalls as a
discourse to challenge American hegemony. Instead, cultural discourses emphasize national
and local hegemonies, rather than the broader American power structures.
What does emerge, and also contributes to American hegemony are dominant
discourses ofcultural loss, shock, depression, and insecurity, even defeat. Many rutq,
educated in the United States, who attempted to challenge the development agendas ofthe
first government, faced constant defeat. As the practices and policies ofearlier decades
reap their results, and the nation's schools, health, and economic systems decline, these
talented, now middle-aged idealists struggle to retain hope for their country's future. They
acknowledge that democracy doesn't work, their islands are "Americanized," their culture
293
and values have shifted with increased access to TV, and other resources. They shake their
heads, point to the cultural constraints and intense political environment ofprevious
decades, and place the blame for their current conditions on themselves. This is how
globalization works in the Marshalls. Presidents and chiefs borrow the discourses of
development and democracy to expand their traditional power sources, forge the
dependency and loyalty of clients, access greater material resources and wealth in a way that
consolidates nearly all power in the nation in the limited arena ofa culturally validated
traditional leader who heads a modern, democratic, and independent government. The
educated opposition is blackmailed and threatened into silence or complicity, which leads
to resentment and repression that, when voiced, has as its target, local actors more
frequently than transnational -- American -- forces. The lack of an indigenous term for
elites -- for a collectivity ofpowerful individuals, seems somehow linked to an absence ofa
critical voice or awareness ofAmerican hegemony in general. The Marshallese Iroof remain
central to Marshallese imaginings ofpower, authority, responsibility, and obligation.
COMMON(ER) VIEWS
In an attempt to encourage discussion about elites, and learn opinions about how
political affiliations and popularity might be connected, I wrote the name of those
individuals who emerged on the free lists on an index card and asked people to sort them
into piles, any way they chose. I generally did this at the Laundromat, or at the coffee shop
beneath the Museum, or with my former students from the college or from Assumption, or
their friends. I asked neighbors and co-workers for their views, as well. When they
finished, I asked what distinguished each pile, as I wrote down their selections.
294
The dominant qualities that emerged centered around status measured in education
or tradition; greed/generosity; and bravery/fear. The rute} were judged according to the
source of their power, and on whose behalfit was exercised. These categories are strongly
tied to the idealized qualities oftraditional chiefs -- who are expected to help people, work
on their behalf, take care of others, peacefully, lovingly. Some ofthe elites, interestingly
were almost invisible, despite their positions and influence, they remained unknown and
undistinguishable. Other participants distinguished the behavior ofthe elites in their
interactions with one another.
A retired government official who no longer actively participated in local politics
due to health considerations distinguished the elites as "ambitious -- those who will follow
anyone," "those who will stand for what is right,." "those who kiss ass," "crooks," and
"those who don't know." The "don't know" category is a salient one, as in many cases, the
card sorter acknowledged the leader was unprepared, and unable to lead, or, in other cases,
the card sorrer wasn't able to make a judgment about the individual
As interesting as the content of the piles were the categories upon which they were
based. One male in his twenties formed these five categories: "party animals," included
seven; "those who care but are crooks," consisted ofeleven; "people who speak up and are
not afraid," were twelve; "statues -- those who never speak," included four; and nine
Nitije/a members were among "those who don't know." Similarly a young woman in her
thirties separates the individuals along their level of generosity,joij, by using the categories
she described as: "taking care ofpeople, peaceful;" "greedy;" "do nothing;" and "always
helping armi} [people}.
295
Another participant grouped them alphabetically, while another young man's
categories were: nona [bad]; nana imjerbaljidik [bad and work a little]; emmantata [the best];
and ijaje [I don't know]. Emman [good] and nana [bad] (and 'don't know) were used by one
participant, while her neighbor distinguished those she liked from those she didn't. She
clearly knew which was which. A woman in her forties categorized the group in three ways,
whether the individuals were lrooj, were educated beyond high school, or her knowledge of
their status was unknown.
One ofthe youngest participants was a Catholic high school student who classified
the elites as those who: "go with the flow," "are corrupt," "follow tradition, whether good
or bad," "are stubborn, for good or bad," or "are democratic and for the people." In this
example, the ideal ofdemocracy is juxtaposed with tradition and stubbornness, where
democracy is described as being "for the people," while following "tradition" is viewed as
possibly harmful to people, as is stubbornness. Contrasted to those who take firm stands,
(for better or worse) are those who "go with the flow." This young man apparently admires
those who take a firm stand on issues, and put others' ("the people's") needs above their
own loyalties, alliances and invested interests.
In these characterizations of mtej, discourses ofdemocracy "for the people" and
the cultural ideal of "taking care ofpeople" clearly overlap. Similarly Western criticisms of
"corruption" mirror local criticisms ofgreed and the lack ofjoij or generosity/kiodness.
While the discourses of democracy and culture overlap in this example, the ideal behaviors
that accompany democracy (free speech, protests, confrontation) are opposed to the ideal
behaviors that often characterize Marshallese social relations (humility, silence, respect,
296
obedience). Gossip -- negative talk about leadership -- has been the extent of social
action/reaction to perceived injustices and abuses of power.
There is a sense ofthe inevitable, and the entidement of certain individuals,
particularly lrooj and government officials, as explicated in earlier examples. Rntej are
expected to live as they do, with the amenities that accompany their positions. They drive
govemment vehicles (with tinted windows), they work in nice air-conditioned office
buildings. The Glass Palace capital building is predominandy without visitors. At the time
ofthis research, the relatively new Outrigger Hotel, was almost exclusively frequented by
local elites, particularly elected officials who drank at the bar as ifit were a private club.""
The social distance of elites from non-elites has notably increased in the past
decade. Elite families intermarry; their resources are pooled. They are tired ofothers asking
for their financial support, and they find it easiest to avoid others than to deny them. Their
social circles grow smaller, their extended family obligations less intense. A frequent
comment ofnon-elites toward wealthy family members is that they are ignored by their
wealthy relatives. They no longer receive rides from relatives while they wait on the road
for taxis. They can't distinguish one government vehicle from another given the identical
make, model, color, and tinted windows that prevent the driver's identity from being
recognized. In less obtrusive ways, elites seek to avoid being seen. Government officials are
notorious for wearing dark sunglasses indoors. Typical ofhierarchical societies, the
powerful have litde direct relations with those beneath them. The social distance ensures
mystification, fear, and perpetuates power relations (Kertzer 1988; Marcus 1980).
46 Since Outrigger, a Hawai'i-based company, managed but did not own the hotel, massive Rl\{! government
subsidies covered losses and ensured its doors stayed open.
297
The separation between the mtej and the non-elites is acknowledged and often,
expected. Elites acknowledge the discomfort ofnon-elites citizens in the restaurants, clubs,
and bars they frequent. At parties non-elites are not excluded, but often accommodated
with food that is prepared and served in a different area ftom the mtej.
In the Ni#jeJa chambers, the audience seats are generally empty (except for the
notable example of the following chapter). I cautiously entered the chambers during
session one day, and discovered a small crowd seated, hidden from the senators' view, on
the stairs that lead up to the stadium seating." (The Senators seats are somewhat sunken in
a semi-circular arena that is surrounded by a few rows ofgraduated seats above them,
reserved-for the general public.) There is no arena or procedure for direct interaction
between the public and the officials other than an occasional public hearing on
controversial topics, which are scantily attended. Ditect interaction between elites and
nonelites is largely initiated by nonelites in need (tuition, air fare, a case ofchicken for a
kemmem).
Since such social distance has become the norm, and the nation's first President has
passed away, the question ofMarshallese resistance is examined in the following chapter, as
discourses ofculture, democracy, human rights, and social justice taken from church,
government, NGO, and indigenous sources are combined to challenge the authority of a
select few. The people are coming up.
" See Chapter 6 for more detail about Nitije1a audie,nce participation.
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CHAPTER 6
PRACfICING POWER
INTRODUCTION
Having examined the rise ofa commoner elite in the previous chapter, exploring
the ways the rutej maintain and also resist authority on Majuro ate important topics. The
use offoreign, Western, discourses ofhll1t1an rights, democracy, and equality are often
integtated with Marshallese discourses ofauthority, privilege, dependency, and obligation,
particularly in issues surrounding government.
This chapter examines contemporary events that demonstrate shared values and
understandings ofauthority and power on Majuro today and how these are undergoing a
dramatic evolution. Majuro's activities provide insight into the dominant influence of
various political, social, cultural, and economic networks and institutions. Through the
benefit oflong-term relationships and opportunities provided by my employment, I was
allowed privileged access to some of these networks and gained valuable insight into how
the examples that follow expose negotiations ofpower in obvious and subtle ways, in the
context ofshared understandings about the nature ofauthority.
While exploring these examples ofpower and practice, I pay close attention to local
models and methods ofresisting authority. Emphasis is placed on examples that
demonstrate the pervasive practice ofasserting, denying, contesting and resisting power
and authority in everyday situations. As Marshallese people explore and redefine notions
ofhierarchy and democracy -- ofpower, its acquisition, practice and resistance -. in
families, within communities, on atolls, and in their nation, they are also creating new
299
models upon which to base interpretations and understandings ofpower at a larger scale
(i.e., between nations in regional and global arenas).
Figure 88. 'The Predator and the Prey."
Editorial Cartoon. Marshall Islands ]ourna127(42);8 10/18/96.
POWER IN PRACTICE
Marshallese are quite accustomed to noting that appearances often differ
dramatically from reality, just as "yes", doesn't always mean "yes.""Chu~Chutaro notes
that the utilization ofa vocabulary ofdemocracy doesn't mean democracy exists:
It is true that many ofus have gone through higher education and have learned the
vocabulary of democracy. Itis true that the vocabularies we have learned in the
universities have inspired our hopes and aspirations for our people. On the other
hand, however, I would like to call attention to the fact that the vocabulary of
48 Hilda Heine likes to educate Americans about the three meanings of yes for Marshallese people --yes~
maybe, and no, -- whose meaning depends on the relationship between the individuals. and the inability to
say no to someone with authority.
300
democracy that a few ofus have acquired in school does not mean that we can run
a democratic society (1970: 14-15).
Within the "democratic" structures ofthe Marshall Islands Nitijela, the
reproduction of a traditional privileged discourse of manit [custom] continues to exist. 1ms
discourse is controlled by those leaders (traditional, religious, educational and political)
whose influence dominates all sectors of society and is linked to the promulgation and
reinforcement of that ideology. They also define the criteria by which they are evaluated.
The Nitijela and other western democratic institutions, such as the RMI court system,
function to validate and enhance traditional authority in the nation.
This leads to a (not entirely uncommon) phenomenon in which a small portion of
the population makes the decisions for the entire nation. 1ms is in keeping with
hierarchical discourse practices and power processes in which rules are declared, rather
than discussed, and policies are proclaimed rather than persuaded (Brenneis and Myers
1984; Firth 1975; Marcus 1984). A dominant single-party government that has no
opposition and no constituent input may easily be expected -- even by constituents -- to
serve its own interests and agendas. Because of cultural understandings of autocratic rule,
resistance takes on very clever forms.
It is the subtle and shared understandings ofpower, its representation, and its
practice that are so evasive, elusive, and even maddening for outside observers. The veiled
quality of threats, the intended or interpreted meanings of political rhetoric, the
interactions between employers and employees in the workplace all occur in ways that are
hard to pin down without a deeper appreciation oflocal models and methods ofpower and
,
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authority. The hidden, locally understood nature ofpolitical maneuverings also functions as
a fottn ofresistance to oblivious foreigners.
In the following sections, I describe examples ofwhere and how power is
practiced/enacted/and resisted on Majuro within modem political institutions during
elections, Nitijela debates, and the infamous passage, and unprecedented repeal ofgambling
legislation.
Political Institutions
In the thirty-three member Nitijela, each of twenty-four electoral districts is
represented by one member, except for five atolls with additional Senators: Majuro elects
five, Kwajalein three, and Ailinglaplap, Arno, andJaluit elect two members, respectively.
The President, elected from among the Senators, appoints his Cabinet from among them.
While portfolios and cabinet seats have changed in number and description over the years,
the average number ofministries has been eight. The shuffling ofMinisters' portfolios
mid-term was a consistent tactic used by the first President, with the effect ofreducing a
Minister's control over a particular sphere ofinfluence, as well as preventing any effective
consistency in policy and implementation. It also had the effect ofensuring political loyalty,
and making sure the President's objectives were never challenged or constrained by his
Ministers, whose positions were never completely secure.
In 1996 President Amata Kabua created two 'non-portfolio' ministerial posts that
represented the two island chains and traditional power divisions ofRalik and Ratak . lrooj
were appointed to these positions as Minister of Ra!ik and Minister of Rotak. They were
controversially justified as training posts for a future President. The Nitije!a debate over
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these positions higWights the difficulties ofdissent and serves as an introduction to
patterns ofauthority maintenance and resistance in public institutions.
A senator who had been only recently been demoted from his ministerial post
critiqued the creation of the two new ministerial posts, in light of an Asian Development
Bank's (ADB) promoted Reduction in Force (RIF) that sought to drastically reduce the
number ofgovernment employees over the course ofone year. The ousted Minister called
the creation ofnew posts during this time ofgovernment cutbacks "illogical and a waste of
money" (MIJ 27:3:41/19/96). The Senator further noted that using these positions to train
a presidential successor ignored the fact that the Nitijela selects the nation's President by
vote, not appointment. The Minister who succeeded this senator to his former ministerial
position, and who was likely to be appointed to one of the controversial positions ifthe
resolution approving the two new posts passed, responded to the points raised by
completely ignoring them. Instead, the Minister replied that he had never spoken up to
complain or criticize the former Minister during alI the time the criticizing Senator held his
position. He added that since the former Minister had served for six years in the Cabinet,
the government's current situation (that is, the necessity for a Reduction in Force) was his
responsibility, implying that the former Minister must take responsibility for any criticism
or complaints put forth, even his own (MIJ 27:3:41/19/96).
The response to the Senator's critique completely avoids the content of his
criticisms, and rather highlights the perceived insult of public criticism. The new Minister's
response implicitly emphasizes manit and local understandings of authority by asserting that
since the new Minister never publicly attacked the former Minister, he was better behaved
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and thus better qualified to hold the new position, despite any financial or procedural
constraints. The mention ofthe Senator's past government involvement calls attentions to
the association between the Senator and those making the current arrangements as well.
The new Minister spreads guilt by association to discredit the apparent righteousness ofthe
Senator's claims.
In a sitnilar example (J'v1IJ 23:5:10 1/31/1992), after the elections of 1991, in which
the "opposition," which had organized as the Ralik/Ratak Democratic Party (RRNP) and
publicly criticized the practices ofthe "government" party, discussion and refutations of
various accusations dominated the Nitijela. In one noteworthy session, various Senators
spoke to record their opposition to the tactics ofthe RRDP, and show support for the
recently re-elected President, Amata Kabua, while others defended themselves from the
election finger-pointing. In response to a campaign advertisement that revealed
controversial loans given to government officials, one responded that only certain
individuals' names were revealed, and not others, exclaiming, "How do I work with liars?"
As in the previous example, pointing out the bias of the criticizer - and then labeling
him/her a liar .. is considered a more effective strategy of defense than refutation ofthe
accusation. In both cases the sense ofentitlement to various privileges is not questioned by
those in authority, but the ability/right (the appropriate status) to question authority
becomes the very issue.
Distinctions between Marshallese and American style politicking are highlighted by
one long-term statesman in this same Nitijela session and function to discredit those who
follow the "American style." In his address, one Senator praised the President who didn't
304
participate in the back and forth negative campaign rhetoric and then cautioned his fellow
legislators to abandon the American (fbi-bel/e) style in favor ofMarshallese custom when
they come to speak in a public forum. He teminded them that the people of the Marshall
Islands hear everything that is said in Nitijela (via public radio broadcasts), and that it
should be admitted that IroO); Alab, and the government were improperly criticized and that
a responsible leader should admit this was a mistake and apologize (MI] 23:5:10
1/31/1992).
The Senator stressed, and thus defined, the criteria for, "acceptable" political
practice when he stated that public criticism ofnot only traditional leaders such as lrooj and
AIab, but also "the government," is inappropriate. His opinion is validated by reference to
the behavior ofIroOJlaplap President Amata Kabua who neither engages in public criticism,
nor responds to it. He implicitly acknowledged the positionality ofKabua as Irooj,
reinforcing the idealized model of a chief as above politics and business, and affirming the
value of respect displayed through silence and obedience.
The Nitfjela is an arena where shared understandings ofpower and authority are
defined as well as contested, as in the examples above. It is also the site in which political
and economic powers intersect. Legislation, as well as rhetoric, that reinforces those
powers and ideologies of traditional power are promoted. The authority of the modem
governing body is used to influence, ifnot determine, the practices of other sectors of
Marshallese life, including health and cultural spheres. For example, the Nitijela passed two
resolutions in 1996 that would have amended the list ofradiation-related illnesses eligible
for compensation from the Nuclear Claims Tribunal (NCT) fund to include diabetes,
305
cataracts, and strokes (MI] 27(40):3). While the resolution passed, the NCT's medical
experts ultimately declined to add those conditions to the list for lack of evidence showing
any correlation between heart disease and radiation exposure.
Similarly Amata Kabua was recognized, through legislation, as the traditional Irooj
ofBikini. While Bikinians have disputed the claims of the Kabua line since the bomb
testings on the gtounds that they were not "looked after" or "cared for" by the Kabuas, the
Nittiefa was able to ovetstep their protests --even their physical presence during the vote
on this bill-- and recognize Amata Kabua. As mentioned in Chapter 4, this recognition
overstepped the authority of the traditional tights court, and paved the way for Kabua to
receive a portion ofBikinian compensation payments as well as a share ofprofits from the
newly established dive resort.
Getting Elected and Staying in Power
The strategies used within the NitiJela are also used to earn a seat in it. Asserting
genealogical heritage, discrediting opponents, subdy intimidating voters and publicly
redistributing material resources are among the tactics that typify the most explicit and
public negotiations of power and position in the RMI -- the national elections.
Gaining a seat in the Nitijela is like winning the lottery. Besides having an
opportunity to influence national policy, and represent constituents' needs, an elected
official is entided to many benefits, such as free housing, electricity, and travel
opportunities, as well as the prestige and status associated with a government position.
Senatorial positions are highly sought after, and the campaigning intense, resulting in
lasting divisions among families.
306
Despite the desirability of these positions ofpower, influence, and access, serving
as Senator or Minister also has its well-recognized drawbacks. The relationship between
elected officials and their constituents consists of a series ofmutual obligations and
expectations, which are demanding, difficult to deny, and most significantly,per.ronaL In this
section I wish to highlight the ways in which average Marshallese citizens are empowered
through their offers and denials of support for elected officials at election times. I also
point to some strategies previously used by powerful incumbents to ensure constituents'
votes/compliance in elections.
As noted in Chapter 3, the Japanese colonial government held chiefs responsible to
financially provide transportation, and health care expenses for their people. This
functioned to level native economic inequalities from copra tax shares, diminish the
arbitrary narure ofchiefly support/care taking, removed chiefly powers from a spiritual to a
secular realm. Where previously chiefs' support was dependent on kajur labor and loyalty,
the Japanese government obligated chiefly responsibility through legal measures. This
history informs the narure of the requests received today by both chiefs, and those who
hold positions ofauthority and wealth (as explored in Chapter 5).
The power of the constituents to pressure and even threaten elected officials is
acknowledge by the Senators: "It's tough meeting the demands of our constituents, it's
pretty unfair," and "It's always difficult to turn them away," especially when the local
understanding is, "I put you on that seat and ifyou don't look to my needs I won't support
you again."
307
The Marshall Islands Journal notes that elected officials are besieged by those who
claim to have supported a candidate in the hopes of garnering a favor: "By one report,
even before the recent elections results were official, one apparent victor was deluged with
requests for money from people who claimed they voted for him" (MIJ27(2): 6 1996).
Not only does this occur after an election, (even before the results are final), but it
also occurs as soon as a candidate announces his or her candidacy. As one participant who
ran for a Nity<1a seat claimed, "It was 'open season!' The day I announced my candidacy I
came home to find people wairing for me by the backdoor, asking for money, food -- you
name it!"
The expectation that candidates, and thus elected officials must provide personal
support for their constituents emerged in the consolidation ofpower in the dual roles of
Iroojlaplap and President Amata Kabua. Many traditional chiefly responsibilities were shifted
to "government" following cultural logic. Even prior to Kabua's term in office, foreign
institutions such as schools, courts, hospitals replaced traditional community
responsibilities. During the stable reign ofAmata Kabua, government became a near
seamless integration of cultural, political, and economic authority and responsibility. Only
religious authority was outside government, but close family ties between religious
leadership and government, through traditional leaders, connected the two spheres.
One means ofstrengthening the ideal ofgovernment as supreme provider, and
asserting the perceived commitment to look after its people is evident in the practice of
pre-election rallies. These rallies involved tremendous displays offood/wealth, and the
sharing of that food to strengthen relations of families to their traditional leaders, land, and
308
one another. Since food is sacred (J. Walsh, fiddnotes, interview with JK) sharing food
reinforces collective sustaining links to land, clan, history, ancestry and mutual familial
obligations. It is not only rude but potentially dangerous to refuse any offer of food: Jab
pejwak pcin ak [Don't twist the wing ofthe frigate bird; Don't look a gift-horse in the
mouth].
Rallying and Feasting
Political rallies and feasts serve to unite people with particular candidates and
'parties' in much the same way as traditional family celebrations do. Political rallies enlarge
family and community support at the broadest political levels to the larger community of
the Marshallese "nation.
n
Candidates hold rallies on their home atoll, as well as on Majuro, during the many
weeks and months of campaigning. Field trip ships, loaded with food, head to outer islands
where candidates, their families, and supporters sponsor tremendous feasts for their
present, and potential, constituents.
Family support is critical. Ifouter island relatives do not support the candidate,
who may actually reside on Majuro, then neither will any other island residents. The
assumption of the primacy of family bonds means that it is nearly impossible to gain non 
rdatives' votes if the candidate is not fully backed by family members. This requires much
extended family negotiation, especially with the multiple ties to several families and
candidates in any given election.
When the Rolik Ratak Democratic Party (RRDP) "opposition" party organized for
the 1991 elections, I witnessed these rallies on Majuro. As noted in Chapter 2, political
309
authority on Majuro is divided and shared between two historically recognized landholders'
descendents, Langlan's family (then headed by Amata Kabua) and a corporate landholding
group, formerly Jitiam's group known collectively as Twenty-Twenty, strongly affiliated
with the 'opposition.' The "government" rallies took place at the weather station, across
from the Capital building and Gibson's on Amara's land, and the RRDP rallies were set up
in the large parking lot of Robert Reimers Enterprises. Pickups with balloons and banners,
music and horns, and waving people traveled back and forth the mile or two between these
sites. The prepared food, freely distributed, could and probably did, feed an army since the
population ofMajuro at that time was approximately 20,000.
These rallies were frequent. They occurred nearly every weekend, and sometimes
on weekday evenings. Not only was food provided for a single meal, but as is the custom,
attendees covered piled-high plates with foil to take home."
In the election of 1999, a candidate for the seat ofLikiep Atoll brought goats,
cows, pigs, and tremendous resources to the people ofLikiep, in the hopes of securing
their votes and ousting Likiep's long-term incumbent. In addition to bringing supplies, and
excitement to outer islands, elections function to temporarily balance power relations, by
redistributing wealth throughout the often ignored outer islands, and MarshaIIese
communities on the US mainIand.
It is significant to note that one does not have to be a resident ofan atoll to be a
registered voter ofthat atoll. In most cases, people recognize multiple "home atolls" where
they have land rights, and choose one, depending on the closeness ofthe race, and the
49 I often wonder if economists' models ever take election years and finances into account in their
projections.
310
candidates they choose to support. Marshallese living in the United States do the same and
vote with absentee ballots. In numerous negotiations, potential constituents and entire
families can sway elections with their registration choices and candidate support. One
elderly friend described her frustration at her husband who wanted her to change her island
affiliation for the last election: "I was so mad at him. I had already registered onJaluit and
then he made me switch back to Likiep so I could vote for his relative!" For this reason,
candidates announce their candidacy early, since voting registration ends more than six
months prior to the elections. Selecting which atoll and candidate to support involves
numerous clan negotiations. Family meetings encourage clan block votes. It would be
extremely difficult if not impossible not to support a relative running for office, despite
political or personal disagreements since Botoktok ej leur [Blood calls; Blood is thicker than
water]. The obvious advantages ofvoting a relative into office supercede political
differences.
Some ofthe candidates' strategies, as mentioned above, include the display and
distribution ofwealth and resources as well as genealogical assertions. In the 1999 Likiep
election, the candidate was unsuccessful at winning a seat, since the incumbent was
supported by a very large extended family. The young man, whose father is an American,
printed an ad in the local newspaper that displayed his Marshallese mother's genealogy
along side his campaign slogans.
Although this candidate's efforts to assert his Marshallese identity, his rights and
connections to the land and people ofLikiep ultimately failed in landing him an elected
position, in the case ofcombined traditional authority, the ability to influence others
311
through genealogical assertions is increased. One strategy used successfully on Majuro was
the division ofvoting districts into wato~andholdingfamily units] so small that it was
relatively easy to determine how a family and even individuals voted. In cases where votes
were known to be cast against authority, some families were evicted post-election. On
Majuro where the majority ofresidents do not have land rights, subtle threats, rumors, and
accounts ofevictions intimidate voters and impact elections. Family, and particularly
tenants, living on a chief's land are quite dramatically swayed. Other means of subtle
intimidation include the recognition of dependence on governrnent jobs, and the ability of
an angered official to deny access to jobs, resources, and land.
The practices surrounding elections in the RMI, emphasize the negotiation and
shifting ofpower that occurs at least every four years. Historically, since independence, the
membership in the Nitijela has been fairly steady with some incumbents maintaining their
positions, like the late President, for five terms. Approximately twenty percentage ofseats
change in each election, and "opposition" party members typically held only four or five
seats. In the 1991 election with its organized opposition, only four RRDP candidates won
seats representing atolls with notorious anti-Kabua factions: Jaluit (Heine family horne);
Bikini; and Majuro (the Twenty-Twenty contingent).
Only in the first post-Amata Kabua election of 1999 were long-term incumbents
ousted from power; only two of the former governing party's leaders maintained their
positions. That election marked a complete overthrow ofthe traditional power and familiar
political parties and players -- if not the structure and popular expectations ofgovernment.
312
To understand that election, this chapter looks at the political maneuverings that
preceded it during the transition period the followed upon the death ofthe late President
in December of 1996 and considers the following questions: Was the "overthrow" of
government "resistance?" Was it a structural shift, or merely a change in players? Does the
election ofnew players alter the system? My tentative response is a positive one. In small
face-to-face societies with deeply rooted expectations of authority, the election ofa
commoner as President does provide new models ofpower in a system that must alter to
subject the dictates of custom to the laws ofthe nation and its constitution. As the
populace wonders ifa commoner can govern effectively in a Parliament full of IroO); if the
President will be treated with the respect offered to earlier leaders, new practices and
relationships emerge.
Gambling Debate
Casino Resorts
Since 1972, Amata Kabua had dreamed ofestablishing a gambling casino as a
tourist attraction (Micronesian Reporter1972:4, 7). As this dream began to take shape in 1996,
the Nitijela took steps to legalize it.
In 1996, an agreement was signed between President Amata Kabua and a
SouthKorean businessman, "Mr. Big" Mo Haeng Yong
50
to develop resorts on Mili and
Majuro atolls. The Mili resort, a $500 million project, was to have "hotels, condominiums,
shops, casinos, a golf course, and a power plant" Qohnson 1996). The inhabitants ofMili
were to be resettled to the smaller islets ofthe atoll as the project proceeded. Majuro was
50 Mo was named the Korean Consul to the RMI by Imata Kabua in 1997 (MIJ 10-10-97 28(41):1) He was
later arrested in Korea for swindling $88 million from followers ofhis doomsday cult (MIJ 6-23-2000).
313
to have a 1,000 room hotel, and a casino complex estimated at $300 million. According to
news reports, the greatest attraction for the South Koreans was the passage oflegislation
that legalized gambling in the Marshall Islands Oohnson 1996). The government hotel, later
managed by Outrigger Hotels ofHawai'i, that opened in 1996 for the South Pacific Forum
meeting on Majuro was also originally designed to offer casino gambling.
Bill 8, the proposed legislation to legalize gambling in the Marshall Islands passed
in February of 1996, despite the organized opposition oflocal churches led by Assumption,
the Catholic mission on Majuro. The first mention ofpossible legalized gambling was
presented in a Marshall Islands Journal article about the two new hotel developments planned
for Majuro, one ofwhich would contain a casino Oanuary 19, 1996). No public debate or
discussion had yet occurred. Assumption's Peace and Justice Committee met to discuss
issues surrounding gambling and decided to oppose the proposition. The committee
contacted the Marshall Islands National Council of Churches (NCC) for their support by
first speaking with the Protestant minister, Rev. Enja Enos onJanuary 26, 1996, only a
week after the article had appeared in the Journal.
Surprisingly, three days later, the Nit!iela held an unpublicized public heating on
Bills 7 and 8. Local businessmen in favor of the legislation were the only attendees until an
alerted Assumption representative arrived.
The following evening, onJanuary 30, a gathering consisting oftwo Senators, the
Protestant minister, Rev. Enos, and three Catholic religious met to strategize opposition.
Since the first (of the necessary three) reading ofthe bills was predicted to occur the
following day, the attendees suggested a march on Parliament, and requested Rev. Enos
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ask President Kabua to meet with the group to hear their concerns. According to meeting
minutes, Rev. Enos reluctantly agreed to speak with the President.
Enos was unable to contact the President and the bill passed its first reading. A
public hearing was scheduled for Ebeye before the second reading, giving the opposition
time to organize. The summary report provided by Assumption notes: ''This is the last
time anything was attempted with the NCe. Because most churches were afraid to speak
out or do anything publicly, the Catholic Church proceeded onits own from this point on"
(Assumption 1996).
The strategy ofthe Catholic Church shifted to encouraging Catholic Senators and
parishioners to voice their concerns. The church sent letters with the text ofrelevant
guidelines from the "Catechism of the Catholic Church" to the Senators. Students were
instructed about the moral and ethical issues associated with gambling and the High
School's Junior class wrote letters to the editor ofthe Marshall Islands Journa/.S! Church
leaders also sought assistance from within the Catholic hierarchy to give extra authority to
the voice ofits representatives in the Marshalls. Letters opposing gambling were requested
from the Bishops ofthe Dioceses ofLas Vegas and NewJersey (Atlantic City), and parish
priests in Saipan as well. These supportive documents were translated into Marshallese and
circulated.
Four of eight invited senators met with the Assumption Peace andJustice
Committee to discuss the gambling issue prior to the second and third readings ofthe two
51 This tactic of using students to express parish sentiments or to vocalize opposition is worth exploring since
the children and their parents are not really held accountable for their opposing views, since they are
obviously influenced by their teachers. Their letters do serve as a safe vehicle for the expression ofdiscontent
though the degree ofpressure placed on students is also questionable.
315
bills. One ofthem called a week later, to advise the group of another unpublicized second
reading, to be held on Friday, February 16: Assumption records explain:
We sent the entire Assumption High School and faculty and staff to a 'civics
lesson' at the Nitijela. The Senators were surprised to see them all. With the
students there, someone called for a secret ballot on the second reading ofBills 7
and 8. By a vote of21 to 8, the Nitijeh voted to delay passing the bills until theit
August session, so that they might have more time to study the issue. The Finance
Minister called for a hand vote, claiming the secret ballot was unclear. In a hand
vote, the Nitijela voted 20 to 9 to delay voting on the bills until the August session,
so they have more time to study the issue. A break was called, then lunch recess. In
the afternoon, with the students gone, one of the ministers asked for another vote,
and the Nitijela passed the 2
nd
reading by a vote of 17 to 12.
The following Monday, a petition of six hundred signatures petitioning for a
delayed vote was given to the Speaker, Kessai Note. Tuesday, the high school students
were sent for another 'civics lesson' at the Nitijela.
The local newspaper reported that Tuesday's session began with a statement by
President Kabua offering support for the gambling bill that would "enable the national
government to provide conditions whereby gambling will be permitted within the Marshall
Islands" (MI] 27(8):42/23/96). The President diffused criticism ofthe bill by diluting it's
intention. He added that as the law then stood, local jurisdictions could do as they pleased
in regard to gambling but this new bill would allow for national control. He acknowledged
public fear about the problems gambling might cause, and pointed out that the nation
already had serious problems that are unrelated to gambling. He further acknowledged that
the gambling machines permitted in clubs in the past caused suffering to families, and
claimed that this would not be the case under 'controlled gambling: His plan to prevent
gambling from 'having a bad influence on people' was to 'require a substantial permit fee
that could range from $250 to $2000 annually" (MI] 27(8):4 2/23/96). While not altering
316
the proposed legislation in any way, Kabua attempted to diffuse criticism by emphasizing
national enforcement and licensing fees that preclude local participation. He responded
subdy to the opposition's arguments and concerns to decrease their intensity at the
opening ofthe session. Assumption documents describe the later significant events of that
day:
At the morning Nittjela session, Speaker Note introduced the petitions and
announced another public hearing, because it was obvious that many people did
not like the idea of casino gambling. The President asked on radio to see the
petitions. As he looked at them he said he noticed that the signatures of some
government workers were on the petition and, according to one eye witness, he
then raised his eyes to the ceiling and said aloud, for all to hear on the radio, "I
wonder ifany of these people live on my property?" The President then said that
rather than one large public hearing, there should be many small public hearings, so
that they could explain it better to a few people at a time. Speaker Note informed
the President that it was too late for that because the invitations had already gone
out. It was agreed that the public hearing will take the form ofa Committee of the
Whole (COW).
The President's use ofthe public radio broadcast ofthe Nitijela session was
obviously strategic. Not only were the references to government employees, and residents
on Kabua's land quite specific, but so too was mention ofthe intention to hold small
hearings, in which attendees might more easily be intimidated.
Assumption students returning to campus that day were told by certain Senators to
be sure they were present at the COW. That same day, the elementary faculty voted to
cancel school for Thursday the twenty-second so all faculty and staff could attend the
COW. But on Wednesday fear from the President's "veiled threats" (Assumption 1996)
had begun to discourage the groups. After the "Ash Wednesday" evening mass, only thirty
parishioners stayed to discuss and rehearse questions for the next day's COW.
317
On the morning ofthe COW, the pastor ofAssumption received two phone calls
warning him not to attend the COW since it might be interpreted as "foreign interference"
in government, which is punishable by deportation. The pastor decided to remain outside
of the Nitij,1a building and chamber, but to be available for "clarification for questions
about the Catholic Church position on gambling" (Assumption 1996). The NitijeJa sent a
messenger to invite the pastor inside to sit in the area reserved for church leaders. The
Assumption spokesperson began to make her prepared statement, but then decided she
would defer to the dri-be/Ie pastor, ifallowed. Surprised and unprepared, the pastor offered
a statement.
In the Nitijela chambers, the five seats prepared for those with questions are
situated at the lowest rung of a series ofsemi-circular graduated seats. After the pastor's
and spokesperson's statements were made, the Senators bombarded them with questions.
Three other vocal parishioners came to join the two in the "hot seats" where they
answered, rather than posed, questions for an hour and a half. During the discussions,
President Kabua noted that the bills only authorized the cabinet to make regulations
concerning gambling, which will have public hearings as they are developed. Abruptly, the
Minister seated next to the President signaled the end ofthe hearing to the chair ofthe
committee (Assumption 1996).
The third and final reading on the bills was held the following day. While a Senator
repeated what was discussed in the COW for the general public to hear via the NitijeJa
broadcast, the President interrupted him, told him to "stop lying to the people," and called
for an inunediate roll call vote. The method ofvoting was another means of extending
318
Presidential influence and pressure on Senators. A single Minister attempted to avoid
voting by claiming a conflict ofinterest since bis church told him to vote "no" on the bills.
He did vote against the bills, but in the final recount switched his vote to aet [yes). The bills
passed with a final vote of 21 to 5.
Following the passage of the gambling legislation, the Journals front page headline
read: "Casino gambling gets the nod: Craps 'R Us!" (MIJ27(9):1996 March 1, 1996) despite
local sentiment that was "overwhelmingly against the measure." With the legislation
passed, the Cabinet was authorized to establish regulations and to implement gambling in
the country.
The ptimary source for the account given above are documents from the Catholic
Church on Majuro, briefinterviews with involved opposition members, and articles from
the Journal. This is a limited perspective that does not take into account any internal Nitijela
dissent or negotiation, personal opinions, nor explicit threats that mayor may not have
influenced the outcome ofthe vote. I note here that the Catholic Church frequently
assumes their parishioners, or the alumni ofits schools will remain faithful to the doctrines
or beliefs promoted by the mission. This presumption ignores other cross-cutting
relationships and pressures, such as family ties, economic/business arrangements, and
political debts that impact these powerful individuals' decisions.
Maintaining and Resisting Authority
The strategies used by both powerful government leaders and their opponents are
examined here briefly. These tactics were the most familiar patterns ofpolitical
maneuverings against known opposition through the Amata Kabua era, and beyond, until
319
the successful anti-gambling campaign two years later, after Amata Kabua's death. These
models are the dominant methods used by those in positions of authority to maintain and
support their political power.
Strategies used by the Nitijell1 to deny opposition include short public notice for
significant controversial bill hearings; the call for breaks often followed by a recess ofan
afternoon, a day, or many days; the calculated use ofparliamentary rules of order to force
or delay a vote; public recognition ofthe traditional authority within the Nitijela chambers;
labeling opposition leaders "liars," ignoring/interrupring/silencing direct criticism;
scrutinizing and discrediting the critic, rather than responding to criticism; personalizing
issues by recalling previous interactions between political opponents; voting by roll call,
rather than secret ballot to ensure/pressure political loyalty; using messengers to deliver
preventative threats to ensure compliance and prevent public confrontation and
humiliation; assuming a benevolent display toward one's opponents (e.g. inviting the pastor
inside, despite prior warnings that he would not be welcomed) in order to enhance popular
and personal support that strengthens reputations and political power"; avoiding personal
responsibility for voting or support on issues through claims to larger collective
organization which claim one's loyalty, e.g. family, church affiliation.
Many ofthe strategies named above may be classified as indirect, yet they are by no
means ineffective methods ofmaintaining authority. Most are means to prevent the
embarrassing direct confrontations common in Western political practice. Messengers,
52 President Amata Kabua was celebrated for his public presence, characterized by humility and gende,
gracious interactions with his people. Long-term successful politicians learned the benefits ofimitating
Kabua's public persona (that of the idealized strong but gende Iroo;) and garnered political support through
broad popularity.
320
avoidance, time delays, third-party excuses, polite relations, all emphasize the significance
ofmaintaining (at least) the appearance ofharmonious relationships, and the ends to which
leaders will go to ensure these appearances are maintained. The strict adherence to
Parliamentary rules offers a legal western (and thus authoritative) validation oflegislation.
Following "proper" procedure avoids the appearance ofimpropriety and political pressure
at one level, despite the subde pressures occurring at other levels oftalk and interaction.
Each of the strategies and methods described above are successful in that their ambiguity
allows for multiple interpretations that may just as easily exonerate as condemn those
involved.
Oppositional tactics are less ambiguous, and I attribure some ofthis to the
leadership role ofthe Catholic Church and its reliance on familiar American
confrontational political practices. Opposition leaders sought to dialogue with potential
(mainly Catholic-educated) government allies, and assert a sort ofprimary (primary
school?) authority, ofadherence to the Church's ethical/moral values as well an indirect
claim on the political "debt" due to the church and school that educated and thus
empowered particular Senators." The opposition appealed to "recognized" external
authority - Bishops, priests, scholars, etc - to reinforce its position and to oblige alumni
and current leaders into compliance. The opposition publicly condemned gambling in
church sermons, and distributed documents. They circulated a petition. They emphasized
written texts and documents, rather than personal persuasion until it was suggested that
they ask a pastor with close ties to the President to speak to him on their behalf. They
5:} There is an unstated assumption, at Assumption, that Catholic educated leaders -- who hold approximately
forty percent ofthe seats in the Nitijelo -- will remain loyal or "faithful" to the views ofthe Catholic Chnrch,
its pastor, and its politics.
321
encouraged students to write letters to the newspaper editor. None of these tactics was
particularly successful because they were issue-centered, not relation-centered. Only the
pressure and cooperation of committed church-going Senators was successful, even so,
those Senators then had to find ways to encourage other affiliations for broader support.
What did impact the vote on the bill, evidenced in both delay tactics and rushed
procedures, was the physical presence ofcitizens in the Nitijefa chamber. Accustomed to an
empty Parliament, direct observation, as opposed to radio broadcasts, by constituents was
unprecedented. The radio broadcast was also turned offwithout explanation as discussions
became heated. Those present could hear discussion that was too controversial to be aired
live over the radio." The presence of the students, many the "children" (classificatory) of
the Senators, was inrended to pressure not only the "Catholic" Senators to vote in line with
the Church, but also to humiliate the other senators by reminding them oftheir obligations
to look after their people, particularly the young. The students' presence forced legislators
to prioritize political, family, religious, and other loyalties. Their choices were made all the
more immediate and challenging when embodied in students and other community
observers.
55
The (Slot) "Machines"
With the death ofAmata Kabua in late December of1996, the push for casino
hotels slowed to a halt. Gradually over the next six months, coin-operated slot machines,
locally-referred to as "machines," began to appear on Majuro. By the time I arrived for
fieldwork in August of 1997, concern over the economic impact ofthe machines on
" Cutting off the radio was employed more frequently in the 1998 gambling legislation vote.
55 One way government leaders respond to this type ofpressure is to wear dark sunglasses within the
chambers. They thus have the means of avoiding eye contact that may signal their internal struggles.
322
families was voiced frequendy. The overall economic picture ofthe nation had turned
ominous as well. With an Asian Development Bank (ADB) demand for a reduction in
force (RIF), the final cut in Compact funds, the increase ofChinese immigrants wirh stores
and an ever-increasing share of the retail market (whose profits no longer circulated
locally), the average Marshallese felt an economic squeeze unknown for decades.
On paydays, the machine rooms were crowded and families struggled to pay for
food. Church pastors grew concerned and attempted to organize a repeal ofthe 1996
gambling legislation, this time to eliminate the existing machines rather than the far-off
threat ofresort casinos.
On September 12, 1997, the Cabinet's gaming regulation committee held a public
meeting in the newly constructedJapanese Cultural Center, a gymnasium/auditorium, to
discuss the proposed regulations. Besides the gaming commission, the attendees of that
meeting, including myself, were all affiliated with Assumption, except for theJournal
reporter. Four teachers, four volunteers, 15 high school students, four alum and parish
leaders were the only audience members.
The meeting was recognized as an attempt to appease the gambling opposition by
providing them an opportunity to voice their concerns or objections to the regulations
approved by the Cabinet three months earlier. The regulations stated that: a gaming license
to own or operate machines would cost approximately $2,000; any MarshaIlese citizen over
21 yeas of age could buy the required $10 gambling permit; the national and local police
were tasked with enforcement ofthese regulations; the three-person gaming commission
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was directly responsible to the Cabinet; and, no public official could obtain a gaming
license to operate a gambling house while in office.
Figure 89. Signage for the 2F Casino.
Figure 90. Royal Flush slot machine room.
324
The meeting, which was conducted for the most part in Marshallese, began with a
brief overview ofthe regulations, and proceeded to direct public challenges to the
regulations. First, the audience noted that legislation allowing gambling was passed before
any regulations had been drafted. Although the former President had promoted gambling
as a means ofattracting foreign visitors and assured the opposition that the impact on the
local community would be negligible since an expensive permit would be required, the
regulations as passed only required a $10, rather than a $250, permit. The Chairperson of
the gaming commission himself noted that four gambling houses were in operation on
Ebeye and Majuro without licenses, and that he was powerless to enforce the regulations
since that was the joint responsibility ofthe national and local police working in
conjunction with the Attorney General's office.
A significant juncture occurred when the composition and character ofthe
commission were challenged (in Marshallese) by one audience member who pointed to
certain "conflicts 0 f interest" of at least one of the three members of the commission: Jiba
Kabua, Neil Milne, and Francis Horiuchi. At that accusation the commission's chairperson
abruptly responded in English, saying, "¥ou can always accuse me of something. Ifwe are
criminals, dishonest, immoral, whatever, then we're in violation ofthese things [written in
the paper]." The dialogue with the accuser continued in English: "Yes, and who is
responsible for cross-checking?" According to the regulations, the committee was selected
"by the government." The spokesperson was questioned about whether that meant the
President, or the Cabinet. One audience member asked why there were no women on the
committee. The response was that the commission had just been formed, and was not
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exclusive. The "code-switching" into English here is more than just a linguistic preference.
The type ofaccusation -- personal, and direct -- might have been understood as 'non-
Marshallese,' as was the chairperson's response, also direct personal defense. Itmay also
have been a means of excluding others, assuming they did not understand English, from
hearing shameful or humiliating accusations and debate.
56
Another regulation in question was that which denied licenses to public officials
while in office. It was noted that any government official's relative could get the license and
operate it on his [there were no women in parliament at that time] behalf. Finally, the
commission was asked ifit would represent the meeting attendees' views to the Cabinet.
The chairperson responded with, "1 can," to which the audience member pointedly asked,
"Will you?" Another audience member stated his view ofthe gambling situation and its
dangerous potential: "We are like little children, playing big people's games." When asked if
the existing gambling establishments were legal, the commission acknowledged that there
were "lots ofloopholes and gambling places are 'not in violation ofthe law''' (MIJ
9/29/97). The meeting concluded with an inquiry that might have well been made at the
opening. When a high school student asked whether the regulations were laws, the gaming
commission chair replied that he didn't know and that the lawyer in the audience should be
asked. No one could answer the question that ultimately concerned the strength and
significance ofall they'd been debating for two hours.
The significance ofthis public hearing was the manner in which the audience
persisted and pressured the chairperson ofthe gaming commission,Jiba Kabua, the son of
56 The assumption that the audience had limited English ability would have been incorrect since
Assumption's faculty, staff, and students are required to teach, and learn in English from grades 4-12.
326
the late President. The audience pointed out the limitation ofevery regulation, and the
circular logic presented by the gaming commission -- in a word, they hounded the three
men. The debate, while argued reasonably, had the edge ofpersonal confrontation and the
frustration of futility for the Assumption audience. Perhaps the disappointment of having
been defeated by the passage ofthe gaming legislation in 1996 still stung, ot perhaps it was
the implicit understanding that no matter what was said at the meeting, nothing would
change. As stated in the Marshall Islands Journal, even though local sentiment was
overwhelmingly opposed to the gambling legislation, the opposition was quite powerless to
impact policy or its enforcement, despite its best efforts to communicate its concerns and
reactions. This apparent powerlessness ofthe community, in contrast to the strength and
influence ofa very few men, is even more greatly emphasized in the anti-gambling
legislation proposed in first Nitijela session of 1998. But in the meantime, a greater threat.
emerged for opposition efforts.
Importing Nuclear Waste?
In the Fall of 1997, the gambling issue took second seat to the struggle to oppose a
government plan to import nuclear waste into the Marshalls. The threat ofradioactive
waste storage focused the energies ofthe opposition, again led by Assumption.
What is striking about both the gambling and nuclear waste issues is the ability of a
small handful ofmen to design and implement policies rejected and opposed by the
majority of the Marshallese population. While the power ofparticular government officials
to push their agendas is nothing new, the extent to which this power is manifest and only
rarely publicly challenged is made evident in this example. For a nation that suffers with a
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legacy of nuclear testing, the proposal to import additional radioactive waste is difficult to
fathom, even when promoted by a chiefly President. In years of discussing this proposal
formally and informally with participants, friends, family and community members, not a
single person supported the plan, and most thought it offensive, even ludicrous.
While notions of opposition may have been imagined, never in the nation's history
had any opposition been successful at defeating the plans ofthe most powerful members
ofthe Nitijcla. Ahnost by definition, the opposition party were outcasts, and their family
members nearly 'blacklisted,' or ar least not eligible for government jobs or lucrative
contracts. Thus, their followers were dedicated, but few, and tended to be those who
through education, private enterprise, external resources or family ties, had limited
dependence on government positions, contracts, or favor. With government sector
employment providing over two-thirds ofall jobs until 1997, economic prosperity, ifnot
survival, required cooperation with government.
Gambling Part II
Once the nuclear waste issue was "frozen," due to powerful external opposition
from the US and the South Pacific Forum rather than internal Marshallese dissent, anti 
gambling forces began to organize for the 1998 first session of the Nitijeh. Assumption's
Peace andJustice Committee held weekly meetings in the Assumption library, located
beneath the Elementary school. This location is private, closed, air-conditioned, and very
intimate. Attendees sat around long cafeteria style tables to discuss and strategi2e their
opposition. Beginning on February 5, with only wenty-four days left in the Nitjjcla session,
the group realized that the support of all local churches would be necessary to gain the
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government's attention. Within two weeks the committee decided to seek support for the
ptoposal oftwo bills. One (Bill 113) would repeal the previous law and a second (Bill 114)
would outlaw all gambling in the Marshall Islands. Senator Ataji Balas from Kwajalein,
who had been a strong supporter duting the last legislative battles concerning gambling,
volunteered to write the resolution and introduce the legislation.
The rationale behind proposing two bills was explained to a larger gatheting of
church representatives and the Assumption committee on February 25. Ifthe first bill
passed, gambling policy would be left to individual atolls to detennine and Majuro's mayor
had offered her support, even if other atolls, such as Kwajalein, highly influenced by
President Imata Kabua and his family, might be harder to persuade. The second bill, if
passed, would prohibit all gambling in the nation.
The committee suggested drafting a petition, as it had in 1996, yet this time
stressing the negative impact ofthe gambling on women, offeting public support to
women, and using women to debate the issue, since women hold a culturally recognized
role, /ejmanjuri [peace makers] that demands obedience. Someone suggested publicizing the
impact of the machines on Ebeye, where they had been around longer, and asking
questions about the level of funding received by the government there and what it was
used for. Itwas noted that two ofthe gambling house/machine owners were Catholic
senators. Another wondered how free the senators actually were to vote their minds, given
their debts to others. It was also suggested that someone follow up the issuing of permits,
to learn if they were being checked upon entering, ifbusiness owners had obtained
licenses, ifincome was bcing reported to government and how much revenue was received
329
by the government. Members of the committee volunteered to follow up with the various
suggestions and assignments. Two older respected men in the community volunteered to
talk to ministers ofthe other churches; the daughter of the late President offered to look
into government issues with permits; and an American lawyer offered to draft an official
request for information from the government on behalfof the group.
On Tuesday, March 3, the evening before the introduction ofBill 113, the largest
gathering of nearly twenty-five people occurred at the Assumption Library. Five Senators
and four churches were represented, including the usual Assumption committee members
and myself. The Senators asked questions: "What do you really want? Tojoiok [throw out]
gambling, or allow for local option?" The Senators pointed out that the Catholic Church
was known for its raffles and bingo. The pastor responded that since 1996 when the
gambling bill passed, the church parish and schools prohibited bingo. The groups debated
the efficacy ofhaving two bills, but the Senators recognized this as an effective strategy,
assuming that the previous law would be repealed and then they could work on eliminating
the machines through local rather than national means. A Jaluit Senator stressed that
making the proposed law too strict might defeat it. A Majuro Senator acknowledged the
need to compromise, thus have the two bills, to enable broader support, and to work
toward prohibiting the machines "step by step."
The Jaluit Senator discussed the ways gambling was impacting manit [custom] since
the AiabJ and 1ro'!i gamble. One Ebeye 1ro'!i was acknowledged as responsible for re 
introducing the slot machines after they had been prohibited in the 1980s. He
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acknowledged that it would be difficult to fight against these Iroo}, but with the support of
the churches, and the strength ofthe popular support it might happen.
At the close ofthe meeting on Tuesday, it was noted that the bill would be
introduced the following day, followed by a public hearing, and then a second and third
reading, and then the final reading/vote. Only five days remained in the mandated twenty 
five day session. Only the Speaker could extend the session, but probably would not since
there was no supplementary budget to provide for an extension. The group committed
themselves to appearing at the public hearing, and being physically present during the votes
on the bill.
The public hearing had bcen postponed until Friday March 6. The evening before
the groups met again to decide focus points for the public discussion and comments.
Sixteen people attended the meeting and this titne Seven churches were represented. They
decided to focus on the gaming commission's conflicts-of-interest, since one member was
hosting a gambling house on his land.
The public heating was held at 2 pm the same day as the International Women's
Day parade and rally ditecdy across the street from the Nitijeh at the weather station. Like
many others, I spent the morning listening to speeches and browsing the handful of
handicraft and food booths. Many crossed the street at 2 pm to get seats for the hearing.
For many ofus, it was our first experience in one of the larger meeting rooms in the
Capitol complex. Chairs had been set up at the back of the room which had a stage area
elevated two-feet. As people filtered into the room, few chose to sit in the chairs initially,
and many sat immediately on the stage at the back, out of sight. The Nitijeh committee
331
selected for the public hearing included six Senators accompanied by the assistant Attorney
General. Church representatives positioned themselves in the front few rows. An elderly
Fr. Leonard Hacker, the founder ofAssumption Parish and schools, who had influenced
many ofthe Senators as students years ago, was brought to a seat direcdy in front of the
committee.
A long table with empty chairs was situated in front of the committee, and
microphones were placed there for the public who wished to speak. A well-known citizen
spoke first to ask the committee to address the gambling regulations and lack of
enforcement since this was harming the community. While he spoke, the late President's
widow caused a stir as she entered the room at the door located to the right of the first
row. She is a petite elegant woman in her mid sixties, and the room buzzed as she was led
to a seat at the microphone table. The Senators glanced at her and smiled while listening to
the testimony. As soon as the first speaker finished, the chair of the committee recognized
the former First Lady, and offered her a microphone. Her speech, and all the others, were
aired live over the national radio. She argued that children were gambling, that these days
life was hard, and people were killing each other, and doing bad things. She noted that
although the late President had signed the bill, "we're just not ready for this, I can't sleep in
peace." The crowd gazed at the floor or offto the side as she spoke quite emotionally, her
voice quivering at times. I peered around the room but found no Marshallese looking
direcdy at her as she spoke. She continued by pointing out the example of Saipan, where it
took many years for a foundation to be established and everything had still turned out
badly. She reemphasized, "we're not ready for it here. There must be a foundation first."
332
She was almost crying, as she begged, "PLEASE,JOIJ," and then asked for forgiveness for
any mistaken/harmful words. When she finished she stood up, walked over to the wall on
the left side ofthe room, and sat down on the floor. She refused the chair that was brought
to her.
The presence of the former First Lady who has rarely ifever taken a public stand
on issues, was historic and impressive. As the widow of Amata Kabua who had initiated
the gambling legislation now being opposed, her words carried more weight than anything
anyone else could contribute. Her justification was "not now" rather than a total
condemnation ofthe practice. She offered a face-saving rationale for those involved who
might be swayed by forceful opposition. Her presence was historic -- her words decisive.
Prior to her testimony, it was unclear ifshe supported or opposed the gambling since her
husband had initiated the proposal. Her rejection ofgambling, her emotional pleas, and her
humility deeply affected the mood of the room.
While the next testimony began, the former First Lady, stood and walked barefoot
as discreetly as possible across the room, to greet a friend (a Lero'!i [chieftess)), offer her the
wot [£lower headle~from her head, and then return to her seat on the floor. All ofthis
functioned to increase respect for her, her testimony, and to reinforce her role as a
representative oftraditional power and authority that appealed to idealized models of
humble, generous, leadership that looks after, and cares for her people.
While the testimony continued, the committee members one by one would
disappear for a few minutes at a time, and sometimes return with coffee or water. Two of
the six members wore dark glasses. 1interpreted their seemingly bored glances around the
333
room to see who was there and their getting out oftheir seats every 20 minutes or so as
discomfort.
Other testimony questioned the benefits received by the government from the
machines and asked the Minister ofFinance who sat on the committee to tell the audience
how much revenue the machines had brought to the country. He also insisted, "You need
to listen to us since we're the ones who put you in your seats."S? A Lerorybegan her
testimony with a comparison between the gambling issues and the sale ofpassports that
brought laughter from the crowd. She reminded them of the result ofignoring the people's
opposition to passport sales, saying, "and now look what has happened." A government
should listen to the will of the people, or else.
A local jokester got up to tease the committee, counting: ''juon, ruo,jiJu. emmen, lalim,
jigmo ... (one, two, ...six)," as he pointed at each member. He introduced himself and spelt
out his name -- "B-O-T-T-A, 3 Ratak, 1 Ralik"58 -- pointing out the committee's
membership before being interrupted and asked to stick to the bill. He asked how many
people were employed by the gambling houses, and then asked the committee, "please help
us, these are the thoughts of the people."
The leading Minister of the largest church in the nation, the United Church of
Christ (protestant) finally spoke. He said, "Church is community; government is
community." I believe he was trying to emphasize that either the government, like the
57 Later discussions about this hearing with those who had listened to the radio broadcast frequently repeated
this man's comments and ooe person laughed as he described how this mao, <talked to them like they were
children!' (fieldnores 3/6/98)
58 By spelling out his name (as if they couldn't understand), pointing at mernbers ofthe committee, and
identifying them by their home atoll the man was being more direct than is normally considered appropriate
and might be intetpreted as insulting.
334
church, is a community in which people must cooperate, or that the community consists of
church and government and they must support each other.
Finally the committee members had a chance to ask questions, the most pointed
one being, "If the regulations were enforced we wouldn't need to repeal the gambling law,
right?" The respected statesman who had begun the testimony responded: "It's not about
regulations. They're not enough. It's about moral responsibility. Kejbarok ainemmon in Majo!,
manit in Majo! [Hold tight to Marshallese peace and Marshallese custom]."
Discussion for Bill 113 concluded with his remarks and the committee then began
discussions for Bill 114, which were shorter and less intense as most ofthe arguments had
already been discussed. Significantly, not a single person at either public hearing spoke in
favor ofthe machines.
This public hearing was significant in many ways. Firsr, the number ofrecognized
community leaders present was unprecedented. N early every church on the island was
represented and addressed the committee. There had never been an organized church
opposition to this extent. Second, traditional leaders, Lerooj expressed their opinions. Third,
the former First Lady's appeal was momentous and successful in multiple ways since her
presence alone showed support for the cause, but her testimony, and actions further
enhanced the mood, the tone ofmoral righteousness, and the overall volume of the
opposition.
One advantage oflong-term fieldwork is a deeper appreciation ofthe histories and
personalities ofa place; one disadvantage is the challenge ofwriting about them. In this
detailed account, the organization ofthe churches and the support they garnered from the
335
Irooj/Lerooj, Chamber ofCommerce, and former First Lady seemed to make a difference
that other opposition movements had not. The issue was about more than slot machines
and the community's welfare, I believe. It was about defeating the new President, who
many opposed and who even at that time was being ridiculed in the foreign press (Chapter
8). The fact that the late President's widow spoke out on this issue, speaks to me oflong 
term family rivalries. One ofAmata's daughters was greatly involved behind the scenes
with the Assumption opposition movement. Amata's son was supporting gambling on his
property. The family was able to show support for a popular cause, while also benefiting
from the humiliation of the President. It was a prime opportunity for the widow to speak
out.
Following the public hearing, the Nitijela delayed its session by nearly a week,
though the number of days remaining was still five. I went to the Nitijela office building to
interview some Senators on March 12, and leatned the session was in progress. It was mid 
morning and I decided to enter the Chamber to observe the session. The chamber seating
is laid out in semi-circular graduated seats, with the Ministers in the innermost and lowest
rung, the Senators above and around them, and the audience slightly above and
surrounding the entire arena. The Chamber consists of nine Ministers' seats on each side in
a semi circle surrounded by an elevated semi-circle of sixteen senators' seats. At the head
ofthe chamber on the same level as the senators is the Speaker's seat behind a massive
desk. The clerk's seat is ditectly beneath the Speaker's seat, on the same level as the
ministers' seats. The lowest level of audience seats is in line with the senators' seats and
there are three graduated rows ofaudience seats.
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As I opened the front door, I saw people huddled on the lower stairs that led to the
graduated seas. To sit in the seats one must step up about three steps, but the only
audience that day was seated in the hidden areas near the three entrances, on the stairs, out
of sight. Views ofthe members and the audience were blocked by the wall beneath the aisle
railing, along the seating in the circular chamber. I sat on the third step so I could see
without being conspicuous. It was obvious when anyone would enter or leave the chamber,
even if they were never seen, since the doors were constantly opening and closing. Noone
was seated in the seats. N a one wanted to be seen.
A week later, on March 19, Bill 113 was finally presented to the Nitijela. The entire
Assumption High school body was present and, with the representatives of the other
churches, the Chamber was overflowing. Citizens swelled into the aisles and the stairwells
and out the doors into the entrance hall. The Bill passed its first and second readings in the
morning before being postponed for further discussion in the afternoon. The session was
later cut short in the afternoon; more discussion was called for the following day's session.
The next morning, one Minister wbo was operating gambling machines, proposed a
compromise bill that would combine both gambling bills (113 and 114) after the President,
who also operated gsmbling machines on his property in Ebeye, left the room. Discussion
continued and the audience clapped, cheered, and laughed as the opposition speakers
spoke out agsinst the gambling machines. When one senator borrowing the words of
Abraham Lincoln, reminded the Nilijela, that government was "of the people, by the
people, and for the people," the audience response was particularly loud. More than once
the Speaker had to instruct the audience to be quiet. The morning dragged on followed by
337
the lunch break. Once the session resumed it was immediately interrupted by another
break, and finally someone proposed a vote on whether or not a vote should be taken right
then for the third reading of the bill-- the vote to proceed with a vote was tied. Delayed
over the weekend, the next session began Tuesday March 24.
Tuesday, after a morning discussion about gambling revenue on Ebeye, in which
the President stated that a portion ofEbeye's $150,000 budget came from the slot
machines, the vote to proceed with a final third reading vote succeeded. A last ditch
motion attempting to delay the vote until the August session failed. Discussion was halted
and the Speaker called for a short break befote the vote. The radio broadcast was turned
off as was the practice during breaks. The Speaker addressed the Chamber to notify three
members, Tony deBrom, Phillip Muller, and President lmata Kabua, that they would not
be permitted to vote due to their conflicts ofinterest. The Speaker cautioned others to
consider their interests carefully before voting because punitive action would be taken
toward those with conflicts.
While the three men were obviously surprised and angry, they laughed as they
recused themselves from voting as their tum came around. Two others, the gaming
commission chait and another Irvoj also recused themselves. The final vote was seventeen
to seven, with five members withholding votes. Public Law 1996-4 was repealed.
Discussion for Bill 114 outlawing gambling began immediately after the vote but a
movement was made to postpone discussion until the following day, the final day ofthe
session. That delay tactic was expected to succeed in killing the bill, even by the church-led
opposition that was still in shock over its victory in getting Bill 113 passed.
338
In the late afternoon ofthat same day, the last day of the session, as I was passing
by the College of the Marshall Islands, a friend who had been listerung to the radio ran out
her office to announce excitedly to the students that the vote was being taken on Bill 114.
We all went in to listen. She pointed out to the students that this had never happened in
their nation's history, that yesterday and today were so significant that documents would
someday end up in Alcle's national archive. The mood was tense, and expectant.
The broadcast resumed. Again, a Senator had proposed a vote to postpone the final
reading until the August session. The results were a tie: thirteen to thirteen. The Speaker, as
per his duty, cast the tie-breaking vote to deny the delay and force the final vote on Bill
114. President Kabua was angry. He said, "It seems like you, Mr. Speaker, and Senator
Balos are running the Nitijcla." A break was called. When the broadcast resumed the roll
call votes were cast twelve to eleven in favor of the legislation. The Marshall Islands Nityela
had, in effect, cast its first vote ofno-confidence.
I made my way home to Assumption and waited for the crowd who had been at
the Chamber to return and shate their stories. At Assumption, there was a feeling that the
impossible had just occurred. The pastor was elated; the committee exhilarated. I listened
to their stories, and learned what had happened during the break that eliminated three of
the votes.
As he did for Bill 113, the Speaker rerrunded the Senators with conflicts to
withhold their votes. These Senators' supporters angrily addressed the Speaker. One of
these men was noticeably intoxicated. When an opposition leader suggested to the Speaker
that the drunk Senator be denied a vote, the Senator and his colleague stormed out of the
339
Chamber. Two others had already departed for the airport to check in for the Friday
evening Continental flight to Hawai'i, assuming that the vote would be postponed until
August. When the final vote was tallied, the opposition had won by • single vote.
Repercussions
Within two months, the Nitijefa Speaker, Kessai Note, and its Clerk, Joe Riklon,
were sued for unconstitutionally denying votes to lmata Kabua, Tony deBtum, and Phillip
Muller. In late July at the end ofthe highly publicized case, Note and Riklon were
acquitted, and the gambling establishments were closed.
With over half of the annual allotted Nitijefa session days used in January, the
August session had much work to complete in a short time. The antagonisms of the
gambling issues resulted in the forced resignation ofthe President's Cabinet. Three
Ministers who had broken ranks on the gambling issue were removed, while others'
positions were shuffled.
One of the ousted Ministers introduced a motion for an historic vote ofno 
confidence against President Imata Kabua, on September 2,1998. After the constitutionally
mandatory five-day waiting period, while the ousted Minister read the list of fourteen
complaints against the President and called for a vote by secret ballot, a Minister
interrupted with a point of order to request a roll call vote. This procedural note is
significant because the Speaker's decision to ignore the point of order was hotly contested
later. The Speaker announced that the request for a roll call vote was denied, noting that
the original speaker had been interrupted, and allowed him to proceed and follow the
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discussion with a vote by secret ballot. At this, the President invited his supporters to join
him as he left the Chamber. Without the necessary quorum, the vote was delayed.
The walk-out lasted six weeks. The vote finally occurred on October 16, only after
a High Court judge ruled the walk-out unconstitutional. The vote failed to temoved the
President from office, by a two vote margin, sixteen to fourteen.
CONCLUSION
The degree ofunchallenged authority held by certain lro,!! in the Marshalls, and the
level ofpower held by elected officials affiliated with traditional leaders but without
traditional status of their own has been demonstrated throughout the first decades of
independence. The fact that [rooj, and by association, government authorities were
understood or expected to exercise unchallenged, and unchallengeable power/authority
reveals the degree to which the Marshallese hierarchical order was strengthened during the
regime of the nation's first President. An oppressive ideology was both cause and
consequence ofhis regime. It was an ideology reinforced by some in powerful positions
through culture, deception, intimidation, and secrecy. Amata's era reinforced traditional
powers, expanded them to include the modem political realm, and reinforced the ideology
that justified them, so that these 'rights' came to be seen as inherent and unchallengeable
on one level, and yet contested, ifpassively and indirectly, at other levels.
The debate over gambling in the Marshall Islands marked the beginning ofthe
most significant national political event in the history of this new nation. The defeat of
ttaditionalleaders and their political allies in the Nitije/a on this issue, and the aftermath of
the decision has had an impact on the political consciousness ofthe Marshallese
341
population, and is a sign ofa changing understanding of traditional authority. This event
was empowering for the kajur in ways that are only currently beginning to be seen.
The development of the gambling debate and the ultimate consequences, shows
how patterns ofauthotity are being challenged in unprecedented ways and with
unprecedented results and consequences -- confusing and ambiguous, but empowering all
the same. The defeat ofthe dti-utiej[elites; high people] in this example led to further public
expressions of discontent: the nation's first strike (at the Majuro hospital), numerous
lawsuits, a shuffling ofpolitical posts, an first-time vote ofno confidence, a NitijcJa walkout
by the dominant part, another legal battle declaring the walkout illegal, and a national
election that ousted the key political figures who dominated RMI politics for the last
twenty-five years. Even more significant was the election ofthe first commoner President,
the former Speaker, Kessai Note, in 2000. Since 1998, the Marshallese people have been
bravely charting new waters.
As these alternative methods ofresistance multiply and achieve their goals, the
range ofmodels ofresistance to traditional leaders and contemporary elites increases.
Successful local practices may ultimately influence resistance to international authorities, as
well as strengthening locally applied methods..
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CHAPTER?
MONEYINEWOTLOKJENLAN
[THE MONEY WILL FALL LIKE RAIN FROM HEAVEN}
Cultural metaphors are powerful. Like metaphors of time and money are prevalent
in America (Lakoff andJohnson 1980), metaphors ofpower, height, hierarchy dominate
Marshallese discursive practices. Models ofchiefs as "warrior, priest, and feast-maker"
(Keesing 1985, see chapter 4) that expressjoif [generosity/grace], offer protection and
guidance, in short are 'dependable' Marshallese cultural ideals. In Chapter 4 models and
mutations/transformation of chiefly models and responsibilities revealed the gradual
increase of chiefly dominance through the TI period, and into the Compact era. Chapter 5
examined the expansion of the models ofrelations between chiefs and commoners,
through the emergence of Marshallese commoner elites in the newly (American)
legitimized tealms of commerce and government. Chapter 6 pointed out the ways elites
and those in power, use democratic discourses and access to US funds to sustain their
positions, and validate their authority -- as well as challenge others'.
Since the negotiations ofpower that are central to Marshallese social life occur
within the context ofWestem legitimized institutions, and make use ofparticular Western
discourses, it is important to consider how the relationship with America which is so
integral to Marshallese authority and power today, is constructed and viewed. The
'normalization' ofAmerica points to the integration/assirnihtion/MarshaIIization of
American authority, into Marshallese cultural frameworks. Not only did this occur in the
World War II era, through first encounters with American might, wealth, protection, and
generosity, but the incorporation ofAmerica continues today. Metaphors used to describe
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the relationship between the RMJ and the US convey the application oflocal
understandings ofauthority and reciprocity to international relations.
The power of cultural models, our primary interpretive frames, to shape our
understandings ofthe world is difficult to deny. Human beings understand the foreign in
terms ofthe familiar. This chapter demonstrates this process as Marshallese examine and
reflect upon US relations while the following chapter will emphasize the ways Americans
view relations with the Marshalls according to American metaphors and understandings. It
points to disjunctures in apparently identical discourses, as cultural meanings shape
interpretations. The ambiguities, and inevitable "negotiations" of obligations,
responsibilities -- of Compact agreements, democracy and hierarchy -- make for messy
negotiations that are deeply culturally influenced.
This chapter explores the relationship between the United States and the Republic
ofthe Marshall Islands through Marshallese evaluations of the Compact ofFree
Association. I will examine the use of cultural models of authority, with its inherent
obligations, through analysis ofpolitical discourses that criticize Marshallese national and
local leadership for "swallowing money," while critiquing the US for not properly
"watching over" Marshallese leadership, in particular, and the Marshall Islands, in general.
Representations ofthe United States as parent, chief, coach, and adoptive parent by
Marshall Islanders point to an understanding of the US-RMI relationship that is strongly
rooted in hierarchical cultural models ofchief/commoner, parent/child, and elder/younger
-- that is, one that is central to the lived experience ofMarshall Islanders who view
themselves as dependent upon the generosity and concern ofsuperiors, and responsible for
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subordinates and juniors. This analysis shows the ways in which Marshallese view
themselves as part of a reciprocal relationship in which they are dependent upon the
United States for their well-being while offering loyalty and obedience in return for security
and prosperity.
Figure 91. Cartoon from the Marshall Islands Journal, 1996
in reference to the popular pro-Compact slogan:
"The Money will Fall like Rain from Heaven." (27(48):811/29/96)
As presented in Chapter 4, which highlighted the transformation of salient cultural
models of Irooj through the American administration and the political development ofthe
Republic ofthe Marshall Islands, the Compact ofFree Association plays a significant role
in local understandings ofmodernity, democracy, development, and chiefly authority.
When Amata Kahua secured US perpetual support of the Marshalls by leading a
separation of the Marshalls from the rest of the former Trust Territory, many Marshallese
345
saw the agreement between the RMI and US as a legitimizing document. The Compact
between the two independent nations provided evidence of their new position on the
global stage, ofthe political acumen of their leader who secured independence after a
century offoreign rule, and as opportunity for democratic reforms in a Parliamentary
system at home as well as eligibility for participation in American democracy in the United
States.
The Compact was as much about opportunity and access -- for all, not only a select
few with traditional status -- as it was about self-detennination and sovereignty, and it
certainly was contentious.
COMPACT CONTEXT
I begin with a review ofthe evolution ofthe Compact and how the Compact was
presented to the people of the Marshalls before the 1983 plebiscite in which it was
approved in the Marshall Islands. This period ofdebate is remembered as one of the most
tense, politically charged times in modem memory, and the views and membership of
opposing sides deserve note, as their interactions resulted in the entrenchment of
traditional power/leadership --strongly affiliated with the United States (which contributed
to the normalization ofAmerica) -- and an awareness ofthe potential results ofchallenging
authority.
The participants represented later in this chapter include the original Compact
negotiators, a former ambassador to the United States, members ofthe compact education
task force and political education commission, government agency heads, local Majuro
businessmen, numerous senators and ministers, and former members ofthe coalition who
346
were opposed to the Compact ofFree Association. Their views are represented and
examined in light oflocal understandings of traditional authority, national leadership, and
cultural ideals ofreciprocal social interaction that idea/i5{! dependence, reliability,
commitment, and clan/chiefly allegiance.
Marshallese approval ofthe Compact was largely about local loyalties, obligations,
and culturally-framed interpretations of authority applied to international relations rather
than a wholesale endorsement ofthe proposed relationship with the US. When the 1983
plebiscite approved the Compact, it passed with a simple majority of 1,706 votes. Of the
eight atolls with extended historical interaction with Americans, six voted against the
Compact.
Review ofCompact Negotiations
Both sides of the agreement like to point out that it took seventeen years for
approval and implementation ofthe Compact ofFree Association. The Compact proposal
began in 1969, after the Congress of Micronesia rejected the US offer of Commonwealth
status. While alternative political status talks began officially at that time, it wasn't until
1978 when then Congress ofMicronesia Senator Amara Kabua, Jed the movement to break
away from the other IT districts to begin separate negotiations with the US. Besides an
understanding ofnationalistic sentimen.t and an appreciation ofthe difficulties of
governing a united Micronesian nation, Senator Kabua knew the Marshalls would benefit
from separate negotiations because the Marshalls had more to bargain with -- its strategic
location and the US Army base on Kwajalein Atoll. Further, at that time the Marshall
Islands contributed the largest share to the IT coffers through its copra income and the
347
taxes on American workers at Kwajalein. After a 1978 Micronesia-wide referendum
rejected the concept ofMicronesian unity the Marshalls established its own political status
comrrusslon.
A year later, in 1979, the Marshall Islands Constitution, and the election of the
members of the Marshalls first self-governing body, a two house bi-camerallegislature,
based on the parliamentary model ofa House ofLords (Council oflroo/) and a House of
Commons (Nitijela) officially marked the beginning of self-rule, with Amata Kabua elected
the nation's first President.
Figure 92. Jab signifies a vote for Marshalls separation
and a rejection of the proposed Micronesian Compact, 1978.
#2839-08 Trust Territory Archives.
348
Figure 93. Daisy Alik Momotaro, my adopted mother, in th 1978 rally
showing Am atoll's support atl [yesl for Micronesian unity.
#2839-09 Trust Territory Archives.
Figure 94. Political parades on Majuro in 1978.
Trust Territory Archives #2893-11.
349
Figure 95. Indecision.
#2893-13 Trust Territory Archives.
~~"",,",...,~~~~~~,~'t:;..,...,.;r~.,.•",,-,~,;.,~......);:.,
Figure 96. Marshalls mokta [ftrst). Vote Jab.
Trust Territory Archives #2839-17.
350
In April of 1982, Marshalls chief negotiator, Tony deBrum, ofMajuro, agreed to
schedule a referendum for August on the newly negotiated Compact. In the Memorandum
of Understanding with US negotiator Fred Zeder the referendum was to be a vote between
Free Association and Independence. A month later, Kwajalein landowners protested the
rental payments allotted for Kwajalein with a "sail in" on the Kwajalein Atoll Army Base.
The startled Americans quickly cancelled the scheduled referendum and its option for
independence, fearing greater rental payments might be demanded by an independent
Marshall Islands. The next month, Amata Kabua responded to the US position by
replacing Tony deBrum with Oscar deBrum as chief negotiator. As the Marshalls adopted a
more conciliatory stance under Oscar deBrum's leadership, Tony deBrum's effective tactic
ofthreatening independence was pushed aside. A new Compact was negotiated with
increased rental payments for Kwajalein (approximately $9 million per year with $7 million
for the landowners), an increase in compensation for the victims ofthe US nuclear testing
(a $150 million trust fund that would earn $270 million over 15 years), increased annual
allotments for the national government ($40 million), and approximately $16 million in
federal programs that included postal service, aviation assistance, a US weather station,
Federal Emergency Management Association (FEMA) funding, and possible access to
other US federal social programs such as Head Start, Upward Bound, Job Corps, etc.
A major concession ofthe Marshalls team was the agreement to allow for
extension ofthe Kwajalein lease for a second fifteen year period without a corresponding
second Compact. In return, a larger portion oflandowners' share ofthe rental payments, as
well as atoll development funds were allocated through the national government's general
351
fund, which is adjusted for annual inflation. After the first fifteen years, the funds
apportioned to the Kwajalein Atoll Development Authority (KADA) were scheduled to be
reduced from an inflation-adjusted $2.84 million annually to fixed $1.9 million annually.
Simultaneously, the landowners' payments would increase from $6.16 million to an inflation-
adjusted $7.1 million annually. The first year of a renewed agreement (the sixteenth year)
would provide an additional $2.5 million solely to the landowners.
Another significant concession of the Compact was section "177," the espousal
clause concerning the victims ofnuclear testing, known as the "Four Atolls" (Bikini,
Enewetak, Utirik, Rongelap). With the signing ofthe Compact, the victims espoused their
rights to pursue economic compensation for their losses in US courts. Their compensation
was limited to a $150 million trust fund that would yield $270 million over the course of
the Compact. The only option for further compensation was a "changed circumstances"
clause, that allowed for further negotiations if future information became available that
showed the basis ofthe current arrangement inadequate and inaccurate."
The referendum to vote on the newly negotiated Compact was set for September 7,
1983. The ballot on that day read in two parts. The first was in reference to the Compact,
requiring a vote ofaet [Yes] in favor, orjab [no] against. In the event ofajab majority, the
Trust Territory would continue. The second part of the ballot was non-binding. It asked
what type ofpolitical affiliation the people would seek ifthe Compact were not passed.
Their choices were: 1) independence; or 2) a relationship with America other than Free
59 Under President Clinton's administration, declassified materials related to the nuclear testing ha.ve justified
a Marshallese petition for "changed circumstances" recognition. Its plea to the US Congress for further
compensation bas to yet received a response. (See further the work ofHolly Barker and BarbaraJohnson
with the Rongelap community.)
352
Association. A blank was left for the voter to write his or her preference. US and
Marshallese negotiators decided that the word 'commonwealth' did not appear on the
ballot (Schwalbenburg 1983). The mutual exclusivity of free association and independence
has been debated by island leaders, United Nations members, and anthropologists alike
(petersen 1995). In 1983 independence was considered an alternative to free association, but,
since the Marshall Islands UN membership in 1991, most islanders and US officials
persistently refer to the Republic ofthe Marshall Islands as an independent nation in free
association with the United States. The emphatic rhetoric ofindependence diminishes the
dominance ofthe United States and works to normalize US hegemony, in favor of
international recognition that remains ambivalent. (e.g. What does sovereignty mean in
dependentecononUes~.
In preparation for the plebiscite a campaign was organized to educate the populace
about their options. Using $300,000 provided by the United States, the Marshalls' Nitijo/a
established a Political Education Commission. Carmen Milne Bigler, a Marshallese who
was the first woman elected to the Congress ofMicronesia, and also a graduate ofthe
University of Hawai'I,60 had been the Director ofPublic Affairs during TT times. Under
self-government, she became the Secretary ofInterior and Outer Island Affairs,
responsible for organizing the first referenda and elections held in the Marshalls. She was
selected by President Kabua to chair the Political Education Commission, a task that she
initialIy refused. She says:
You don't know, it's so hard. I didn't want to make nUstakes and let the whole
thing fall and it would be my fault. It was a huge thing and if you don't do it right
you'll be blamed for it. It was more tense than anything ever before that. People
60 Cannen Milne Bigler earned her BA in Anthropology in 1967.
353
drove back and forth all day long, all week long, campaigning, no one worked, they
campaigned all day long. And I was in the middle ofthis whole thing and I cannot
say or do anything because I would be suspected to be part 0 f one [side]. I had to
be in the middle and I really wanted to say something.
She ultimately accepted the position after the leadership conceded to her request
for free reign, her own budget, and no interference.
Compact Education
The Commission consisted offive members, with two representatives from each of
two opposing groups. One was the pro-Compact group, or President Kabua's party, the
other was a coalition ofthree groups: the Ainikein dri-Majol [Voice ofthe Marshalls] led by
members of the Heine family, who were in favor of Micronesian unity, the Bikinians, and a
sub-group ofKwajalein landowners. A Jesuit brother was hired to analyze the Compact
and prepare an educational agenda similar to that used in Pohnpei for its referendum. Br.
Henry Schwalbenburg prepared educational materials in short and long form covering the
main points of the Compact. He also went through the agreement, line-by-line, with the
hundred or so educational task force members selected by Mrs. Bigler. These people were
tested on their knowledge of the Compact, required to write reports after every public
meeting, and attend continuing education sessions on how to answer questions raised by
the public. If a member were to be found expressing a personal opinion or presenting a
biased interpretation of the Compact, he or she would be removed from the position.
The task force was divided into five teams that visited each of the atolls with major
populations. These visits lasted approximately one week each. Tumout at the public education
sessions conducted by the task force varied from thirty to sixty percent ofresident adults in
attendance, except on Kwajalein, where turnout was surprisingly low, about six percent.
354
Schwalbenburg expbined this as Ebeye residents' acknowledgement of their lroojs
opposition to the Compact, despite increased rental payments in the newly negotiated
agteement.
In addition to public meetings, radio progtams were produced by the commission.
Many progtams responded to direct questions asked of task force members with topics
such as the section 177 nuclear compensation and Kwajalein payments. Equal radio time
for members of opposing sides allowed Marshallese citizens across the islands to hear
representatives from both sides of the Compact debate. Rallies held all around Majuro
energized citizens and divided families even more than the earlier 1978 referendum. One
participant remembered how people camped out at President Kabua's house, twenty-four
hours a day, rallying around their chief and President in support. "People were closer to
their political affiliates than to their family members," commented one woman. This time is
remembered by all those who spoke ofit to me, as the most exciting time in Marshall
Islands histoty. The momentum that built from the breakaway from Micronesia, through
the establishment ofthe Constitution in 1979, to the vote on the Compact in 1983 is
carved into national memory.
It was not until the final day permitted for radio campaigns, the day before the
vote, that Tony deBrurn, fonner Compact negotiator, publicly expressed his influential
views. The silence ofthe person most familiar with the Compact was cause for reservation
among many Marshallese people. Senator deBrurn's experience in dealing with foreigners,
his educational achievements, and his political acumen all contributed to an elevation ofhis
authority in the eyes ofthe people. His decision to publicly support the Compact was
355
significant in validating the Compact and ultimately approving it. Not surprisingly, Senator
deBrum was soon after awarded the position ofMinister ofHealth and Foreign Affairs.
The following day, in long lines in the sun and rain, Marshallese waited their turn to
vote on the Compact. AET [YES] was their choice. UN observers noted that the
referendum was conducted in accordance with the regulations set forth in the Marshall
Islands' Constitution. After observing the final two weeks of Compact education, they
concluded that Marshall Islanders had adequate opportunity to learn about the proposed
Compact ofFree Association and could thus make an educated vote.
. ..
Figure 97. Plebiscite vote on Majuro.
Trost Territory Archives #1862-06.
How that vote was understood by outer islanders, how Marshallese made sense of
this relationship to be forged with the United States is another question. Kevin Hart, a
former Peace Corps volunteer and permanent resident of the Marshall Islands notes a local
understanding of the Compact in the 1980s. In the Marshallese cultural logic, he claims, the
US was paying tribute to President Kabua for allowing the Americans use ofKwajalein for
356
their own military security. He claims that Kabua's status soared as a result of his successes
at acquiring US "tribute."
In contrast, my research supports the view while Kabua's status and power did
ascend as a result ofthe Compact agreement, the agreement further reinforced existing
understandings ofthe United States as a powerful protector and generous provider with
unlimited resoutces that functions as an Irooj for the Marshall Islands (See Chapter 4). I
believe that further research will support the view that President Kabua, like other
Marshallese Irooj, served as an intermediary/priest between the source ofall resources (be it
God, or the United States --"IroqfUncie Sam" [Kabua 1972]) and his people. Resources
passed through his government and through his hands, to be redistributed to the people
via government jobs. President Kabua's strength was enhanced by affiliation with the
United States, the ultimate provider of Marshallese needs and desires in an era ofpolitically
motivated US economic largess.
Referendum Results
A close look at the outcome of the Compact referendum is interesting. The
Marshalls' constitution allowed for a simple majority ofall votes to approve the Compact.
Seven oftwenty-four atolls populations voted against the Compact. These included two of
the "177" atolls, Bikini/Kili/Ejit and Rongelap, and the atolls ofEbon, Kwajalein,Jaluit,
Mill, and Wotje. Each of these atolls had direct experiences with Americans, and histories
ofopposition to Amata Kabua. Both Bikini and Kwajalein resisted the Compact as it
restricted their ability to negotiate with the US independently. Ebon (and Jaluit) were sites
of historic oppositions between missionaries and chiefs, Heines and Kabuas. In addition,
357
Kwajalein,Jaluit, Mili, and Wotje each served as Japanese strongholds during World War II
and experienced American methods ofinteraction at a deep level, unlike the other atolls
isolated from the destruction and interference ofAmericans. Long-term antagonisms
between Ratak J1Oo} at Wotje and Mili and forceful Ralik chiefs may have informed their
opposition to the Compact proposed by Kabua. Not surprisingly, President Kabua's island
ofMajuro had one of the highest Compact approval ratings, seventy-eight percent.
The Compact was not finalized for three more agonizing years. Oscar deBrutn
noted in a May 1998 interview that there were over twenty Congressional hearings
regarding the Compact in the nine months that he lived in Washington D.C. representing
the Marshall Islands. On the day it was signed, October 21, 1986, Oscar deBrum drank
champagne with President Reagan and vice President George Bush at Fred Zeder's home.
Meanwhile back on Majuro, Amata Kabua delivered his speech to the people ofthe
Marshall Islands, prepared in both Marshallese and English. He declared the Marshalls no
longer a ward ofany other nation, a sovereign and self-governing country to be recognized
by the international community. He celebrated that this independence was achieved
through peaceful settlement after seventeen years ofserious negotiation. He closed with
these words: ''VIe are a very special people and the Marshall Islands is a very special
country. I know that ifwe work together we can build a nation all of us can be proud of.
God bless the Marshall Islands."
The Compact that passed through Congress in 1986 significantly differed from the
one passed by referendum in the Marshalls in 1983. The Compact that went into effect
added the numerous federal programs originally removed by negotiators to encourage
358
increased self-reliance. Also, rhe US Congress decreased trade incentives for Marshallese
products. The resulting document encouraged a greater dependency on the US by
removing the hard-fought incentives for self-reliance negotiated by Marshallese.
COMPACT EVALUATIONS
Evaluations of the Compact of Free Association are inevitably evaluations of
Marshallese and American leadership and relations. The Compact makes an excellent
starting point in getting at local concepts of appropriate authority, administration, and
accountability. Political discourse in this hierarchical society centers on who is responsible,
not how political concerns might be addressed. As demonstrated in Chapters 5 and 6,
politics are personal, bureaucracy inconceivable. Those in power are judged harshly for
their abuses as well as their mistakes, yet they are also frequently forgiven in a populace
with memories that reach deep down to their bellies. As one Marshallese political activist
explained: "When their bellies are full, their memories fail." Bad times, mistakes, and
deliberate sins may be forgiven when personal needs are met.
Unfortunately, as a popular local band sings, Rankein eben mour [These days life is
hard] and needs are indeed great. Criticism ofMarshall Islands leaders is more vocal on
Majuro than in past years. No longer afraid of the potential retribution of offending the
first President, Majuro residents speak openly about their Senators and government
leaders. During Imata Kabua's presidency, a vocal opposition emerged. Majuro, being the
seat ofgovernment, was a difficult place for this Kwajalein Irooj to gain respect.
Imata Kabua was not the only Irooj about whom people complain. The numerous
complaints against Irooj (Carucci 1997) are strikingly similar to complaints formed about
359
government leadership: "They take too much without giving in return. Our leaders get rich
and then don't share, they waste our money." These complaints are intimately linked to
Marshallese evaluations of the Compact since almost every interview about the Compact
began as an indictment of Marshallese leadership's use/perceived misuse of Compact
funds, and a lack ofappropriate US oversight.
Interview Contexts
As described in Chapter 5, I approached Marshallese leaders in the community and
government, as well as everyday citizens to ask their views on the successes and failures of
the Compact, as it was coming to a close. I suggested that their views might help improve
future Compact negotiations and relations with the United States. In each interview, I
began with biographical inquiries about the individual's early life, education, employment
history, and other affiliations. I asked for this information to better learn how particular
variables/characteristics, such as public or private employment; religious affiliation; home
atolls; and educational achievement impact political views; I also found the sharing of
personal histories to contribute to building rapport, and discovering mutual friends, family,
and community connections between us. Much ofthat biographical information appears
in Chapter 5, and conveys the primacy of historical and traditional affiliations -- ofchiefs,
home atolls, ancient oppositions -- even as they are cross-cut by shared educational and
employment histories. This chapter represents these same participants' (and others') views
of the Compact.
When I asked each participant about the successes and failures of the Compact, I
was surprised by the form ofctitical refrain concerning both Marshallese and American
360
leadership, coming evenfrom Marshallese leaders. I noticed that the ways average
Marshallese citizens critiqued their national leaders' irresponsible leadership (i.e., that
leaders no longer looked after them adequately) mirrored the criticisms voiced by educated
political elites about American neglect ofits oversight responsibilities. The explicit
metaphors used to describe the failure ofthe RMI/US relationship all were described in
terms ofrelationships between chiefs, parents, coaches, and other forms of authority that
are depended upon.
General Evaluations ofthe Compact Era
In broad terms, interviewees positively described the infrastructure developments
on Majuro and Kwajalein, in light oftheir shared view that the US had left the Marshalls at
the close ofthe TT with inadequate infrastructure. The critique justified the large loans for
the regionally recognized electric and telecommunications agencies, while it fended off
criticisms ofwhat some considered excessive expenses.
Other positive evaluations of the Compact include specific mention ofMarshallese
immigrant accessibility to the perceived advantages ofAmerican education and health care
systems, and the development of a thriving private business sector, which grew to be one
ofthe strongest in Micronesia.
The Marshall Islands' private sector felt the full impact ofCompact funds. Local
businesses benefited from government contracts to provide food for schools and social
services that received US federal funding. The private sector expanded to meet the
demands ofthe growing government sector as well. Where two-thirds of all employed
people work for the government, their reliable paychecks had a great impact on the
361
economy and material existence ofMarshall Islands society, As one CEO explained, "The
majority of Compact funds went to payroll, It was disposable income," Marshallese
demanded imported American goods, While businesses profited from the disposable
income ofgovernment employees and US federal contracts, they experienced little official
government support for private sector development.
In regard to education, Marshallese students continue to be eligible for US Pell
grants, In addition, a scholarship fund established by a US block grant, allows Marshallese
students to attend international colleges and universities in return for government service
upon completion of the degree program, Unfortunately, atrrition rates for students abroad
remain high, Although the average number of scholarship recipients is approximately 150
per year, only seventy-four Marshallese students have received Bachelors degrees since
1988 (RMI Scholarship Board),
Similarly, medical referrals to Honolulu are the expectation of many ill Marshallese,
Because of criticisms of the Majuro and Ebeye hospitals, and complaints ofrats, lack of
medicine, and foreign Filipino or Chinese doctors, Marshallese prefer to receive medical
treatment in Hawaili.
The positive assessment of the Compact as an opportunity to access what are
viewed as hetter educational and health facilities, as well as employment opportunities,
reflects an implicit understanding ofmost government leaders with whom I spoke, The
Compact was not looked upon as funding support for Marshallese institutions of education
and health care. Health and education statistics support this view, The Ministry of
Education enrollment reports for 1997-1998 reveal the number of Marshallese students in
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public and private elementary and secondary schools to total, approximately, 14,500. Given
the Republic's current population and considering that forty-two percent of that number
are children under the age of fifteen, approximately one quarter of school-aged children are
not enrolled in school. This is evident on any weekday walk through downtown Majuro.
Figure 98. Marshall Islands Joumal cartoon
illustrates the sexy attractiveness of an American lifestyle to Marshallese youth.
With respect to health care, in 1996 one-third of the entire budget for the Ministry
ofHealth was spent on 258 off-island referrals totaling $2.4 million. Clearly, the Compact
was viewed positively for allowing access to American institutions, but for whatever
reasons, these critical institutions have not enjoyed substantial government support within
the Marshall Islands.
363
The Compact was viewed in terms ofaccess to some resources perceived as
inherently superior, instead ofan opportunity to support equally effective and appropriate
local institutions. These attitudes convey an implicit denigration ofMarshallese ways, skills,
knowledge, and capabilities that few, if any, participants explicitly noted. In almost every
interview before concluding our discussion, I asked if the Compact had impacted
Marshallese culture. I intentionally waited to broach the topic, wondering ifcultural change
would emerge in the evaluations ofthe Compact. Only once was the topic initiated by one
ofthe participants prior to my mentioning it. Complaints focus directly on Marshallese
leadership, and indirectly at American authority. My identity as an American likely
influenced the avoidance of an anti-American discourse.
Compact Critiques
This brings me to the criticisms of the Compact, and Marshallese and American
leadership. First are the complaints of citizens today that the schools and hospital are
falling apart. In fact many of the infrastructure investments are requiring more capital
today. One government Minister identified health, education, and transportation as
complete failures. He added, "It's easy to buy and build. Human resource development is
the challenge."
Criticism ofgovernment priorities in retrospect is easy. Neglect of outer islands in
favor ofinfrastructural developments on Majuro and Ebeye is a common complaint.
Government spending on the Airline of the Marshall Islands, the capital building, and the
Outrigger Hotel is generally considered excessive. Many people point to the guaranteed US
funding that is directly programmed for Marshall Islands' scholarships, and the
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compensation payments for the Four Atolls as ideal. More than one person has suggested
designated funds that go directly to outer island local governments, or health care, or the
school system, in one person's words, "so those guy couldn't touch it." Plainly,
government leaders' priorities and spending are suspect.
Because Marshallese people find it culturally impossible to confront their leaders,
they look to the US to interfere. This is the only criticism ofthe Compact that is directly
related to the United States. The discursive technique used in the following portrayals of
the United States as a coach, parent, or chief is directly linked to Marshallese views of
authority as residing in those who watch over, protect, and provide for others in their care.
The logical extension ofthis local hierarchy into the international realm is critical to
Marshallese understandings of their relationship with the United States. In the metaphor of
the Marshallese, the US is guilty of "poor parenting."
The analogy describing the Marshall Islands as a child and the United States as a
parent has its precedents in Marshallese hierarchical social relationships. In reference to
political and traditional leaders, Marshallese frequently use the phrases, "He takes care of
us, he watches us, he gives us what we need, ifwe need anything we can go to him." These
reflect the ideal leader who has joif, and is a dependable and generous provider and
protector. A poor leader is one who takes all the time and gives nothing in retum. One who
asks for monthly payments, who sends people around to collect ttibute, and then doesn't
reciprocate at appropriate times is generally spoken about with scorn. Leaders are expected
to "help out" in times ofneed by providing airfare to Honolulu, donations offood for
family celebrations, and sometimes tuition for children ofneedy families. Leaders speak at
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community gatherings to offer public acknowledgement of affiliation and concern. They
are also expected to reciprocate the loyalties of their followers.
Similarly, the US is viewed as a contemporary provider of Marshallese needs,
particularly those ofhealth, education, and even food and shelter, in emergencies, through
the FEMA program. The US continues annually to contribute to the national budget, to
education, health care, and various social needs ofthe Marshallese people through
Compact agreement and the Federal programs for which Marshallese remain eligible.
Among Marshallese citizens who are not 177 compensation recipients, nor
Kwajalein landowners, there are few complaints. Recipients of nuclear compensation enjoy
a high status, similar to Ebeye residents who have access to American goods on Kwajalein.
There is surprisingly little criticism ofthe United States except for that coming from
government leaders today facing a budget crisis and US criticism. The failure oflocal
institutions is not generally blamed on the United States, but on local leadership.
The one critique repeatedly voiced about the United States is this: "The US should
have made our leaders more accountable for the funding it provided. Because the US
didn't get involved, the money was wasted, poorly invested, or mortgaged, and now we are
all suffering. Rank,in eben mour [These days life is hard].
The discursive style in which this complaint is voiced will be examined in the seven
excerpted examples that follow. Because these critiques are politically sensitive, and
potentially dangerous, I have chosen to represent these views devoid ofpersonal
information in order to provide as much anonymity as possible to the participants.
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ONE
I blame the local leadership because under the Compact it says, tbis is you, you take
care of your internal affairs, we'll take care ofyour military. Here's your money.
Use it wisely as it's spelled out in the Compact while we watch you. We'll take care
and if someone comes to rob you we'll come in. It's like a baby, you tell a baby, a
htde kid, not a baby, someone who can think., you say ok, here's your dollar, don't
buy anything sweet, go buy a pencil or something. Instead, they run to the store
and get an ice cream and enjoy it while they have it. It was all written in the
Compact, you take care ofyour internal and we'll watch you.
In tbis quotation, the participant repeatedly uses the phrases, "take care of," and
"watch." The person sees the US as an adult responsible to watch a growing child who
makes poor choices, choosing something fleeting and appealing (ice cream) rather than
something useful, and long lasting, (a pencil). The US is also represented as a protector
who will step inifsomeone comes to rob or steal from the child. In the end, tbis speaker
seems to place the responsibility for a poor choice on the child, though, rather than the
adult, the one who watches passively unless the child is in danger.
TWO
We're independent now but still we can ask help from States. We're independent
not that we can be alone and stand with our own feet, cause we're still crawling.
Yeah, we're still crawling and we're now learning how to one step, two step, but
once we fall we'll grab to the United States.
This person places the United States in the role ofadult, who also stands passively
near the child learning to walk. The emphasis is on the child walk.ing and having someone
to grab to, rather than the adult figure leading the child. The assumption ofassistance and
cooperation is clear.
THREE
US should have made them [Marshallese leaders) more accountable, I think that's
what made others to misuse the funds. One person gets away with it. I think they
should have made fixed allotments, like this much for health care. Certain
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percentages. I think the US should interfere, I feel that in this stage it's very early
for Marshallese leaders to take full control, that's what I think, we're still in early
stage, like we're not ready yet to manage that much money.
While this example doesn't make reference to a child/parent relationship, it does
describe the Marshall Islands as beginning, unprepared to be fully responsible for all that
the US gives, "that much money."
Mention of an "early stage" implies that more development is required before the
US should leave the islands alone as a sovereign nation. This participant recommends US
active involvement, at least through specifically designated funds or funding percentages
allocated for crucial services, such as health care.
FOUR
A monitoring process [is needed] to keep an eye on how the money is used Don't
just let it go and [say] 'here is the money, be on your own.' But you know, keep
checking, coaching. Once something wrong happens, you stop right there, make
the correction, but what is happening now is (has) been built up and up for this
many years, now we're complaining, we're saying what's happening, it's already late,
no money, no nothing.'
From day one, things should have been geared toward what's happening in the
Marshall Islands. You can't just give the money and then close your eyes. That's US
money. [Not] just to fool around with.
I would say that the monitoring is what we need. Like I said, some leaders they
don't even care. They got their freedom to spend the money the way they want.
But ifthere was monitoring all the way from the beginning, once our little mistakes
happening, stop it right there. Don't let it go. I think in the future maybe there will
be a day that Marshall Islands will be on its own without any (help]. Itdoesn't mean
that the US should continue to spoon feed the Marshall Islands, you know just
keep eye as a little baby, but in the meantime I think there is a need [for
monitoring]. The US really trust Marshall Islands that they can really take good care
of the money and make good use ofit which didn't really turn out right and I think
it's from the leaders, our leaders' problem.
The Senator who expressed this view criticizes the US for handing over funds
without concern for how they are spent. The US should continue to "check", and "coach"
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and step in to "make corrections" when people make mistakes. But he criticizes the US for
not doing this for the past eleven years. "Monitoring" is what he suggests and he is angry
that is didn't occur all along and today, Marshallese people are left with "no money, no
nothin.'"
The analogy of parentichild is used differently by this leader. He suggests that the
US might ultimately stop "spoon feeding" the Marshall Islands, and "just keep an eye
open" as one would for a baby. Again the idea of''watching over." In the meantime, at this
stage, monitoring is necessary. Despite this criticism ofUS neglect and irresponsible
leadership, this man tempers his remarks by giving the US and Marshallese leaders the
benefit ofhis doubt: the US "trusted" the Marshalls to use its money wisely, and
Marshallese leaders had "problems."
FIVE
I don't blame the US. They give money. They did something [wrong, referring to
the nuclear testing), but, so, who on earth is perfect? They pay for it. They helped
us really good. [Acting out:] 'We help you, cause, you know, we're like your Irooj
who knows what is bad or good for this.' US is the 1rooj, and [acting again:] 'I give
you this.' It's like your father, it's like parents, eh? 'I'm your father and you take $1
bill and use it wisely, 'cause ifyou don't I'll think about it. Next time when you
come to ask for money from me, I'll think about whether I give you $1, or seventy 
five cents, or fifty cents, so ifyou use the money right, $1, then if you ask for help
again, I'm still gonna give you as much. It's like US giving us but [saying), 'you use
it correctly and I'm not going to punish you.'
This participant compares the US to an 1rooj (or chief), a father, and parents in this
example. Perhaps because she is not a 177 recipient, she is forgiving about the US nuclear
testing, and perceives compensation as adequate. She also considers that the US "helps us
really good." The US knows what is "good or bad" for the Marshallese people, like those
people in Marshallese society responsible for watching after others -- 1rooj and parents. Her
369
comments echo the idiom, lrooj injela, [A chief knows]. She portrays the US as a strict
parent trying to teach a child to use money wisely. But this parent, instead ofwatching
passively, as in example one, responds to the child's action by suggesting rewards or
punishment for the child's behavior.
SIX
It's like we were asking the US if they could adopt us and like [they] have a baby
and saying, 'ok, here's your milk, here's your botde, now you take care ofit.' And
then not following up with it. "Is it getting spoiled? Come and I'll correct you with
that.' Maybe ifthe US was doing that, like come back and [say] 'nuh-uhm what
have you done to.. who did that? You're in jail, you're gonna be in jail.' They should
have [checked] every quarter. "Quarter one, ok what is your balance?' Like it was a
ttick, eh? The US knows we're like a hennit crab coming out of a shell, don't know
what to do, see the money and go crazy about it. Like we were a baby and under
the UN. Once a baby and started crawling and now coming. Don't wait [for us] to
fall offa cliff, say, 'That's the wrong way.' We didn't know... But really, they knew
[the leaders knew] otherwise, why did they hide it? Like you playa ttick on us. We
use it and now when come to the end, 'See, you didn't listen. You see your
mistake.'
Another respondent makes numerous analogies in this example. Again the US is
viewed as a parent, though an adoptive one, who doesn't really know how to care for a
child. The adoptive parent gives the baby its needs, a botde, but expects the child to care
for itself. Presumably, this is an unrealistic expectation. What would have happened if the
US had come to see ifit's child was "getting spoiled" or needed correction? This individual
familiar with the quarter system ofgovernment payments, notes that the US should have
checked more frequently. The lack ofconcern is considered to be duplicitous, a deliberate
strategy so, "at the end" the US can, like a parent, punish, the Marshall Islands, possibly by
decreasing funding in a future Compact of Free Association.
The comparison to a crawling child reappears here, though the parent in this case is
the United Nations. The UN is criticized for waiting too late to interfere. TheM~rshallsis
370
also compared to a hennit crab, isolated in its shell, not knowing how to handle the outside
world, and "going crazy about the money."
An interesting point is that as this participant expresses anger at being tricked, and
neglected, the speaker starts to explain, 'We didn't know,' or 'we didn't know [better).' And
then the participant pauses and refers to Marshallese government leaders, realizing they did
know, they knew how to use the,money, confirming this observation with the fact that
their mistakes were hidden and are just now coming out into public view. Again the
participant blames the US for allowing this to happen, for tricking the people, so that later
they might be scolded,"
SEVEN
Like any developing country, we are learning it. We are going through a period of
growing pain, And beginning to learn the responsibilities, the discipline, the control
that I knew about because I used to work for the Trust Territory government and
before that I worked with the Navy.
As the elderly generation are passing out, and the new emerging generation many
of them do not really know or appreciate the Marshallese values and traditions.
Many, I'm sorry to say, but it's true.
[It comes from the) school system, way oflife and having to be relocated to a
centralized place, having to live on their own without paternal guidance, all this are
influencing factors. 'Course the American concept of freedom of choice. Before,
we had freedom too, but that freedom was subject to freedom of others. And
subject to the freedom of the elders, who would always observe you, coach you,
help you, We don't see that any more.
References to growing pains, and the learning process are important here. The
work ofthe elders, those with authority, was to observe, guide, and help those in their care,
This "paternal guidance" isn't seen anymore, and is described in contrast to the American
61 This interviewee identifies my identity as an American, and my affiliation, even collusion with the United
States very subtly at the end of the quote. As she expresses her frustration she switches from referring to the
United States as the US to the direct, "you [America/Americans] playa trick on us."
371
concept of freedom of choice, presumably one that lacks the necessary respect for the
elders' commands. This participant continues:
But one value that I see is a value of discipline that is being built up now. The
Compact that was first implemented that built-in discipline wasn't there. The US
could have done a better job of saying, 'Look, annually you do this things, progtam
it so that you just don't spend the money without program.' Well, I think the US
could have done a better job, but I guess the world was pressuring the UN, [and
the] United States to give them their freedom, give them self-determination, give
them the right to do things as they see fit to do things for themselves. Yes, they
forgot to build in progtams that would make them more responsible. They could
have done a better job of coaching.
He compares the United States to a coach who should give specific directions in
how to progtam and spend the money. His criticism is gentle: "The US could have done a
better job," and "they forgot" under the pressure from the UN. Perhaps this is partly due
to personal history ofworking with the military and his many dealings with Americans
throughout Marshall Islands history. His experience has earned him gteat respect
throughout the nation. He further excuses US negligence in the following dialogue:
That was the clear purpose ofthe Compact, to develop self-sufficiency but what
that means was not spelled out. The US just said OK, you develop it yourself, the
way you see fit. I mean they could have said, 'Alright, let's go. So this year you
spend this money, this way, that way, and there will be an annual audit, to make
sure that you spent it right,' but we had a very strong personality in President
Kabua. He would not let anybody tell him what to do. He was a chief also, yes, and
so I think US might have tried, but he wouldn't budge.
He points to the "very strong personality" ofhis former classmate, President
Amata Kabua, as the reason US interference was rejected. While he is critical that the US
didn't spell out self-sufficiency or pay closer attention to annual audits, he acknowledges
the former President's power to "not let anybody tell him what to do."
Mention ofAmata Kabua brings about a discussion of the responsibilities of an
[roof
372
Well you see our traditional system, there is what is called marin ko, means the
bush of refuge where people run to that bush in t time of need, and in time of fear
and in time of happiness as well as sadness, the Irooj system is named marin ko.
Ths is where people go for help, but have they lived up to that expectation is
another thing. It's one thing to become an Irooj and another thing to do the
functions of the Irooj so that you can be recognized as Irooj, I think most of these
young Iroo/'have sort of drifted away from the model, the traditional model of an
Irooj.
It is important that the Irooj is described here a source ofrefuge, assistance, help in
a time ofneed. And equally important that the participant notes that "young Iro'!!' don't
live up to those expectations. He makes a distinction between being an Irooj and
functioning or acting as one to earn people's recognition and respect. Reciprocity,
guidance, protection are integral to chiefly respect.
This case is also made against the United States. While the US may be recognized
as an authority that is responsible for those in its care, it has not been adequately
performing its duties to assist, watch over, and guide.
Conclusions
Evaluations of the Compact ofFree Association that portray a Marshallese
expectation that the US is responsible for Marshallese people are inherent in the negative
judgments ofthe US as an ineffective coach, an inattentive chief, and a lazy and indulgent
parent. These evaluations also convey the expectation that there is nothing to be done
about this perceived negligence.
The attitudes shared here about the US, correspond to those shared in earlier
chapters about the methods ofresistance, and the recourse available when chiefs, or other
authorities do not live up to their responsibilities. The methods ofchallenging chiefs
frequently involve use of a third party, and! or a shifting ofloyalties to a more promising
373
provider. Demands for greater US involvement and accountability over Matshallese chiefs
invoke historic precedents, as well as contemporary strategies, Using churches to challenge
political and traditional authority in the gambling debates ofChapter 6 illustrates this
precedent. Some have suggested the stronger ties between the Marshall Islands and Asian
nations such as Taiwan and China, are attempts to shift loyalties in this historic manner,
seeking a more promising source of desired goods and wealth, Further, seeking a more
promising provider is always risky, since accepting others' favors obliges reciprocity,
In the case ofUS/Marshallese relationships, the US is more than an ideal chief, in
the sense that it provides for Marshallese needs, and interests, with no expectation of
return. 'The only thing ofinterest to the US in the Marshall Islands, as history has shown, is
the size and location, ofa single atoll." Perhaps this is the meaning of "freedom"
Marshallese so often use to characterize this American period -- freedom frorn hunger,
frorn the tyranny of sorne chiefs, through direct economic relationships in which the US
provides and Marshallese receive. The arnbiguities ofMarshallese-Arnerican relations
emerges here, since for many Americans any representation of the Marshalls as "free"
under American authority is offensive; yet the most important questions concern how
Marshallese have experienced authority, and how they judge the United States.
While some Marshallese may see US authority as a means of challenging their
powerful lroo/; certainly other Marshallese, particularly political elites, view any American
influence as an insult to the nation's sovereignty, As shown in earlier chapters, Americans
have struggled with their desires for democracy in the Marshalls hierarchical society. What
62 I consider this fact significMlt to those who charted the direction of the nation) and significant in
influencing the progressive agenda of the first President. Nicholas Thomas's article "The Inversion of
Tradition" (1982) speaks directly ro this poinr,
374
is sovereignty in the Marshalls' dependent economy? In what ways can sovereignty be
.supported? According to western notions, US interference infringes upon Marshallese
sovereignty; by Marshallese standards, not interfering only further empowers their local and
national leaders' hegemony. Like the pair of ZfJnies (See Figure 95) that convey the
uncertainly ofjab and act votes, the ambiguities abound around issues of sovereignty,
dependency, appropriate authority, and strategies ofresistance.
While the Marshallese I represent here described their nation's relationship with
America in cultural metaphors of parenting, and authority, it must also be noted that this
discourse does not occur in a vacuum. American leaders have used it too. In his "farewell"
speech at the signing ofthe Compact, Ronald Reagan addressed the people ofthe Marshall
Islands as children who have grown up and are leaving their homes:
Greetings on this historic occasion to OUt friends in Micronesia. For many years a
very special relationship has existed between the United States and the people of
the Trust Territory. Under the Trusteeship we've come to know and respect you as
members of OUt American family, and now, as happens in all family, members
grow up and leave home. I want you to know that we wish you all the best as you
assume full responsibility for yOUt domestic affairs and foreign relations.
As you chart yOUt own coUtse for economic development and as you take up yoUt
new status in the world as a sovereign nation, we look forward to continuing oUt
close relationship with you in yoUt new status. But you'll always be family to us.
Over the years, perhaps the most lasting and valuable things we've built together
are not the roads, the airports, the schools and hospitals, but rather an
understanding ofthe meaning of democracy and freedom and the djgnjty of self 
determination. You've built a strong foundation for your future, together in Free
Association we can and will build a better life for all. Thank you and
congratulations (president Ronald Reagan's Address to the Trust Territory of the
Pacific Islands 1986).
375
Culture frames, but does not limit, the ways each side understands this relationship.
US representations, and Marshallese counter-representations are examined in the following
chaprer.
376
CHAPTERS
IMAGINING THE MARSHALLS
Tragic are the people ofthe lovely Marshall Islands. When America exploded the
A-bomb it took their homes, and when it gave comfort it took their ambition, and
when it offered only craven solutions it took their hope. Now the Marshallese look
to America once more, and the natives are growing restless (Friend 1997).
INTRODUCTION: DISCOURSE ON DISCOURSE
This chapter will explore various images of the Marshall Islands put forth by
Marshallese and outsiders, namely Americans. I will distinguish between dominant and
alternative Marshallese representations and their promoters, linking individual biographies
and their historical associations in order to explore the power of elites, the process of
nation-making, the influence of collective memories and experiences on identities at
multiple levels: national, cultural, and individual. I will show how predominant cultural
models ofaffiliation with authority, combined with political elites' collective experience of
a foreign administration, and internalized negative foreign discourses contribute to
apparently contrasting sets ofpredominant national representations ofthe Marshalls as
progressive and modern or dependent and victimized. I will also identify alternative
representations that emphasize "tradition" and how they are promoted by and linked to
historic oppositions (as well as foreign funding sources). The intersection ofbiographies,
social memory, national identity, as well as the modem emergence ofclass combines with
historic national political oppositions to inform the production ofimages ofthe Marshall
Islands and its people.
While I choose to limit the Marshallese representations in this chapter around
themes of progress, dependency, and "tradition," I acknowledge that there are multiple
377
classifications and possibilities for analysis. I have chosen to represent these three as they
seem most strongly tied to political histories (represented in earlier chapters) of those who
have the authority, power, and responsibility to represent the Marshalls to foreign
audiences. I believe the dominant representations also reflect understandings of hierarchy
and self-representations at its opposite extremes. Chiefs portray their wealth and ability to
provide for their followers (and to attract others), while commoners depict their
dependency to impress upon chiefs and those ofhigher status their obligations to assist.
Marshallese self-representations vary from images of progress andmodernity, to assertions
ofdependency and obligation.
The invocation ofMarshallese "tradition" most frequendy comes into play to
justify both chiefs' and commoners' roles and responsibilities, rather than to represent
material culture, art, skills, or knowledge. Evidence of chiefs' enduring power and
contemporary influence is seen in the repeated selection ofimages that represent social
obligations and power relationships focused on models of commoner/chief relations,
expanded into class and other social relationships on Majuro today. As Majuro serves as a
microcosm ofthe multiple interactions with various authorities -- traditional, economic,
political and religious -- these social behavioral understandings and images are 'exported,'
shaping foreign relations and local understandings and interpretations ofthem as well.
In contrast with other Pacific nations, who emphasize their indigenous arts,
knowledge, skills, technology, folktales, communal relations and values in images of nation
and culture, Marshallese self-representations rarely call upon explicit 'traditionalist' rhetoric.
Whereas some nations highlight cultural differences that elevate their own status in
378
opposition to their fonner colonial power, Marshallese acknowledgments of difference
tend to denigrate their own culture rather than American ways." This cultural denigration
may simply reflect a cultural value ofhumility, or an avoidance of direct confrontation,
though evaluations ofAmerica and Americans as authority figures may also be involved.
Marshallese are quick to contrast their ways, lifestyles, values, and oppositions to other
ethnic groups judged inferior, such as Filipinos, Chinese, and Koreans (Aine, Albert,
Alfred, Capelle, et al1996).
The absence ofany defensive culture rhetoric may be an offshoot ofthe same
cultural models that demand respect for authority. Wealth, specialized knowledge, and gifts
are requisites of respect. Chiefs, missionaries, government officials, teachers, doctors,
business owners, soldiers assume roles ofrespect, and Americans have served in all these
roles, as sources to provide highly valued resources, practices, institutions, and skills.
An exehange of discourses occurs as foreign journalists who visit the islands and
interview community leaders repeat local talk. Foreign media speaking with Marshallese
elites perpetuate dominant understandings ofinappropriate development, corruption, and
contentious concerns when reptesenting the islands to a foreign audience. These writings
only further strengthen the prevailing local rhetoric in an era ofinternet access and a
dispersed Marshallese community, as foreign press can not only validate but also reinforce
dominant representations, sometimes even by challenging them." Given the limitations of
63 One exception concerns the ways Americans (do not) care for family. MatshaUese people are appalled at
the concept of nursing homes, and homeless people and take pride in how they care for one another in
contrast to their perceptions ofAmerican family relations.
" A New York Times (3/30/91) article that included excerpts from an interview with fonner President lmata
Kabua that occurred in a bar while the President was drunk. caused a strong reaction on Majuro ("Marshall
Islands in Uproar Over New York Times Piece," Agence France Presse 3/13/97.
379
this analysis, I will not include discussion ofthe role ofintemational media, its practices, or
power in defining or denying these discourses."
I will closely examine historical and contemporary representations of the Marshalls
in foreign media and US govemment documents and the ways these representations
interact with RMI national representations. The repetition and interplay ofpredominant
themes strengthens certain tropes of cultural and national identity. Discourses of
development and dependency are perpetually re-represented by multiple sources in ways
that normalize them.
Dominant (Westem) discourses are difficult to reject, particularly by those educated
in Westem educational systems. Hau'ofa stresses the difficulties of rejecting Western
models, particularly for those who are products ofWestem educational systems (1993). In
an effort to empower his indigenous islander students, Hau'ofa consciously rejects Westem
perspectives that view islands as small, marginal, and isolated. Instead he supports his
students whom he sees as agents of change, power, and meaning in their communities. The
means and ease of transmitting debasing and depressing characterizations ofPacific Islands
to Pacific Islanders is made clear in Hau'ofa's work, as well as the importance of
challenging foreign representations and discourses that degrade indigenous peoples and
their lived experience.
65 See UH Professor Beverly Cleaver for PhD dissertation about the NYTimeI lack of coverage ofthe nuclear
testing events in the Marshall Islands. See also my own writings about the non-identification ofRMI in
missile-defense media coverage (Public Anthropology joumal2001:
http://www.publicantluopology.org/Joumals/Grad-J/(2)HawaiilWalsh.htm).
380
Globalization
As Hau'ofa suggests, the global circulation ofparticular discourses is difficult to
deny. Repetition ofterms, rhetoric, discourse (whatever you wish to call free-floating
international vocabulary) normalizes and naturalizes. With certain terms come strings of
associations and judgments. For example, the term "globalization" itselfis nearly universal.
It usually carries with it opposing, even ambivalent images. One perspective views
globalization as benign, beneficial, and inevitable, while an alternative view portrays
materialistic, capitalistic economic and social systems that trample third world peoples and
environments in their search for broader markets, more resources, and cheap labor.
In some circles, globalization is cause for alarm; in others, it is cause for
excitement. In my view the alarmists tend to be those who romanticize third world living
and do not give local cultures the credit they deserve for their creativity in "indigenizing"
the foreign into local frames ofreference and meaning. Also, as has been well noted,
(Dominguez 1992;)01ly 1992) Westerners have a double standard in regard to cultural
preservation or loss and development. Americans often overlook the fact that American
popular culture is constandy absorbing/assimilating elements of other cultures as well, and
regard that process with pride, as growth. When other cultures similarly embrace material
goods, or styles ofother places, Americans bemoan their cultural loss, viewing Western
materialism as synonymous with Western meanings. Notions such as "Westernization" and
"Americanization" need to be unpacked, and closely examined from an insider's
perspective, rather than outsider perceptions. Locally contextualized meanings and
interpretations can neither be completely ignored nor imposed.
381
In reference to the Marshall Islands, "globalization" in both foreign and local
representations underscores the common rhetoric ofMarshallese as victims. A cover story
for the Honolulu Weekly notes in its headline, "Sea Change: The Marshall Islands are
running aground on globalization" (11(9): 6-82001). Portraying the islands and islanders as
exploited victims of foreign fisheries vessels, the article focuses on interviews with
knowledgeable locals who shake their heads, powerless to prevent the waste ofMarshallese
resources considered expendable to foreign fishermen casting non-discriminating nets in
search of a single profitable species. Juxtaposed on the opening page of the story are two
photos, the first ofa solitary palm-covered islet, surrounded by lagoon. Its caption reads:
"Hawaii's closest neighbor, rich in fish and idyllic islets, is seeking its place in the 21st
century." The caption and photo show the islands as isolated and timeless. A second photo
placed above, shows an iced heap of fresh-caught reef fish. Its bold caption reads, "The
Marshall Islands tread water while foreign fleets exploit their fisheries."
Both of these images portray the Marshalls not only as unaware, out-of-touch,
isolated, and barely able to sustain themselves (e.g. stay afloat, tread water) as other worlds
invade and exploit them, but also as passive and motionless. The images and their captions
reinforce the frequent stereotyping ofthe islands/islanders as victims offoreigners, foreign
markets, and globalization. This example serves to illustrate how global discourses such as
"globalization" can strengthen and support existing stereotypes. They are also incorporated
into local contexts and discourses. One Marshallese businessman uses "Globalization" as
an explanation for his company's economic decline:
What Majuro has been hit with... is the reality ofglobalization. It's unfair to blame
the Asian businesses that have proliferated in Majuro in the last several years for all
382
the woes oflocal companies. It's a new business environment, one that neither
local businesses nor the government has successfully adapted to.
For local companies to survive in Majuro's 'globalized' economy, it's going to take
active support from the government (Pacific Isfonds fupon, 7 January 2003).
REPRESENTATIONS
Representations ofthe Marshall Islands and Marshallese people by foreigners share
several dominant themes. In order to emphasize my assertion that Marshallese
representations are tied to colonial experiences, negative evaluations ofindigenous ways,
and foreign discourses of development, culture, history, and nation, I present foreign
representations that first idealize Marshallese islands, people, and culture as: shy, generous,
humble, passive, kind, and victimized.
Tristes Tropes&': Paradise Lost
This discourse highlights aspects of the Marshalls judged favorably by foreigners,
while bemoaning the islands and islanders' fate, culture, traditions, environment, education,
health -- and nearly any other social institution -- at the hands ofother foreigners. It is a
backhanded compliment that looks to what was, and praises Marshallese ingenuity, but
simultaneously points to its rapid disappearance or loss. Another common trope of this
type includes emphasizing the "strange mix" ofWestern material goods in island contexts,
startling readers with images that challenge dichotomies ofus/them, islanders/Westerners,
tradition/modernity.
" Sah1ins (1994).
383
Cultural Loss and Inauthenticity
In a reflective piece in Cultural Resource Management a fonner ethnographer at Alele
Museum, Donna Stone, contributes to the tfist, trop, ofcultural loss and Westernization
(Stone 2001):
What is evident in the RMI is the gradual 'westernization' ofyouth. Children watch
'western' television and movies, play video and computer games. Those living in
the urban centers might be taught more about western ways and ideas than
traditional Marshallese culture. Many young people have never been to one ofthe
rural, more traditional, outer islands and have little knowledge ofMarshallese
history. But, they are exposed to readily available 'western' ideas and knowledge.
Similarly, a retired US Anny commander at Kwajalein, Col. Richard Chapman
notes: "The entire situation of the Marshallese is quite unfortunate. They embraced a good
deal ofwhat's wrong with our culture, and lost a great deal ofwhat was good in theirs"
(Roylance 1997).
Even in an effort to praise the Marshallese for their renewed interest in their
"legendary legacy" of navigation (Salkever 1998), the author's account highlights voices of
Marshallese who represent local preferences for Western, modern goods and conveniences
over traditional Marshallese cultural knowledge and materials:
Despite the sea worthiness of the korkor [small outrigger canoes], Alessio
[American founder of Wann A,lon Kein, Canoes ofthese Islands] says, he saw the
canoe-sailing tradition was quickly - and expensively - being replaced by aluminum
skiffs and outboard motors. Canoes lay rotting on the beach, ignored by a younger
generation. 'Their attitude,' he recalls, 'was that this is an old thing, and anything
old is no good.'
In the more urban surroundings ofMajuro, the korkors [small outrigger canoes] are
important for a different but equally valuable reason: retention of a ricb cultural
heritage that is under constant bombardment by outside influences. 'Many ofthe
youth here don't know anything about their culture,' says WAK manager Alson
Kelen. 'They know about Michael Jordan, Budweiser and Nike. But this canoe 
building project helps to bring them back in and teach them about the ways of their
people' (Salkever 1998: 25,26).
384
The leaders ofthe canoe project are endorsed as progressive for their pro-tradition
stance, in the way their views are highlighted by the author. Kelen defines himselfin
opposition to those he must "bring back" to teach about their shared culture.
Marshallese themselves at times subscribe to the representations ofnegative
cultural loss discussed above. The Marshalls delegation to the 1992 South Pacific Festival
ofArts held in Rarotonga, Cook Islands joined other delegations in the opening festivities
and while other islanders wore their national or customary dress in the opening parade, the
Marshallese representatives wore black jeans and new, white, high top athletic shoes.
When discussing this with Marshallese people they credit/blame the group's leader with
this decision. Since the Marshall Islands do not have a national dress, nor wear traditional
dress for occasions in their own islands, any representation of their native dress would have
been contentious. Choosing contemporary styles more accurately represents a unified
theme, though many Marshallese see this, too, as an embarrassing representation of their
nation and culture.
A double irony, and yet the same dichotomy exists around the South Pacific
Festival ofArts where "tradition" is the primary focus ofrepresentations. Some might
argue that the desire for "modernity" is "traditional" and historically rooted, perhaps more
so than the "progressive" neo-traditionalist movements in other Pacific nations.
Shy, Gentle, and Pro-American
The characterization ofMarshallese people as shy, humble, quiet, gende is
widespread. In 1950, the US Navy referred to the Marshallese on Majuro as a "very polite"
385
and "gentle people" (US Navy 1950:13, 16). In their handbook for new military assigned to
Majuro, the introduction claims:
The average Marshallese is shy and retiring but a brief acquaintance brings out their
congenial and friendly traits. They have a 'happy-go-lucky' attitude because they do
not live by the clock but take things as they come, never worrying about what
tomorrow or the next day will bring (US Navy 1950:15).
Interestingly, the happy-go-lucky attitude fortuitously corresponds to a very
positive attitude toward Uncle Sam:
Prestige is an important factor among the Marshallese. They have little desire to
amass wealth but instead prefer to gain prestige by association with Americans and
acting in an official capacity. Marshallese have enjoyed their association with
Americans and like them very much. They have learned to drive trucks, repair
mechanical devices and largely maintain the opetational status of our Base.
However, it will probably be many years before the Marshallese are ready to take
over the management ofgovernment affairs in accordance with Western ideas (US
Navy 1950:16).
The Marshallese are presented as having a pro-American stance, and henefiring
through higher prestige and new skills, from their new association with Americans. This
representation is in line with that ofearly National Grograpbic articles that emphasize the
benefits ofassociation with the US over the 'disappearance' oflocal culture.
"Americanization ofEden"
The images accompanying the National Geographi!' article, "Micronesia: The
Americanization ofEden" (Boyer 1967) are noteworthy for their deliberately striking
oppositions. A wreathed Yapese couple wearing only their customary tM and kwalalJt1, are
shown being photographed in front of a bright new motorbike, by another topless young
woman. Another photo reveals the remains of a World War II bomber rusted upon a
67 Catherine Lutz and Jane Collins provide a deeper analysis of NatiotJtJ1 Geogp:rphits role in representing
others, particularly the Pacific and the various poses/themes that dominate their representations. (Lutz and
Collins 1993).
386
lagoon beach. Yet another photos portrays shirtless male students in a chemistry lab
supervised by their American teacher, as opposite, topless teenage female students peer
into microscopes and write the names ofthe parts of a cell on a blackboard. With
subheadings such as: "New Era Dawns for Island Wards;" "In Eden's simple garb;" and
"Living masterpieces of a dying art," the dominant theme of this piece is ofa paradise lost
then replaced by attractive American novelties and knowledge.
This representations links the common refrain of "Paradise Lost" with more
dominant Marshallese portrayals ofsocio-cultural change as "Paradise Gained." This is a
very challenging perspective for both liberal and conservative Americans. In contrast to
the bemoaning ofthe Americanization process frequently expressed (unlike the example
above), the efforts of President Amata Kabua, as demonstrated by his focus on grandiose
development projects and the symbolic incorporation of things American, disclose a
positive perspective on modernization.
SYMBOLS OF MARSHALLESE MODERNITY
Marshallese representations of national identity avoid explicit "cultural" depictions.
Instead, they emphasize modernity by using Western symb,?ls ofpower and wealth. They
accentuate development and progress away from the "traditional" past. 1be nation is
defined in opposition to humiliating experiences of powerlessness and poverty, internalized
judgments ofthree colonial administrations. I mention here only three national symbols
because they are so dominant and deliberately impressive. Expressions ofidentity such as
these are critiqued by the West, according to that double standard of cultural loss/growth,
387
as well as other Western tropes about non-Western cultures, as will be shown in a later
ecuon.
The Gla s Palace
Figure 99. The Marshall Islands Capitol.
The landscape ofMajuro's DUD (as described in Chapter 2) provides an
opportunity to explore representations ofmodernity, progress, and development. The RMI
government Capitol and Nitijela (parliament) buildings were constructed during the Amata
Kabua administration and completed in 1993. The four-story capitol office building literally
sparkles as it reflects tropical sunlight and lagoon light in its mirrored glass windows. If
national capitols (Hereniko 1994) serve as symbols of cultural identity, the Marshallese
ideal image of nationhood is embodied in its capitol. The materials of construction, the
architecture, and the conspicuous nature of the structure's enormous size are impossible to
ignore, as is its significant location, situated at the curve of the main road so all traffic
coming into town faces it directly. Further, its intense reflectivity mirrors the intent ofits
388
architects to represent the nation as bright, dominant, and powerful. The building borrows
from Western notions ofwealth (shiny metallic surfaces glitter like silver and gold). Its
height, breadth, and size are expressions ofpower and influence. It is by far, the largest,
most domineering structure in the nation. It is so large that even one of the widest islets of
Majuro atoll (Delap), had difficulty supporting its sheer size and weight. During
construction in the early 1990s, the building sank in spots on more than one occasion, and
many ofthe original windows were replaced in the first few months as the occupied
building settled and shook.
In addition to the symbolism ofpower, wealth, and strength, in the building's
location, size, and architecture, the building represented a large sum ofthe nation's income.
According to US government accounting office documents, the structure cost
approximately $8.3 million (GA 2000: 11). Perhaps even more significant than the image of
power, strength, and wealth, are the imposition and adoption ofWestern protocol
requiring a particular social etiquette.
The government created a dress code for admittance that required men to wear ties
and closed-toe shoes, and women to wear dresses that covered their shoulders, upper arms,
and mid-calves. Sandals were unacceptable. These regulations, in effect, prohibited all but
government employees with funds to purchase such clothes, from entering the building.
Since the public had to drop offor receive payments or other information at offices inside,
the average person would borrow the proper items from others or be turned away by
security guards at the door. The result was cause for local humor and as well as disgust.
Men and women wore ill-fitting clothes and shoes to meet the requirement. The "take-out"
389
stores across the street rented clip-on ties. American lawyers would keep a loosely tied tie
hanging on their wall and slip it over their Aloha shirts. One Marshallese quipped, "You
can't tell thejanitors from the Senators in there," adding additional humor to the content
with the emphasis on Marshallese identical pronunciations of "s" and "j."
The Marshall Islands Journal notes that the Capital Building, particularly its dress
code, denies the reality oflife for most Marshallese people:
We admit it. Appearances are important... More important than appearances is
reality. And the reality ofMajuro, ofcommon people, ofthe real social status of
most ofus, is being lied about just about every time a citizen is forced to put on a
necktie, struggle into a long pair ofpants, and squirm into (what appears to be the
latest wrinkle) a pair ofhigh quality leather shoes just to walk into the government's
tax office.
Down at the government office, depending on which day ofthe week it is, you
either must or must not wear a tie and other clothing requirements. Just to gain
entry. On Thursday, it's optional. On Mondays it's required.
'You wouldn't go into the White House without a tie,' explains one of the security
guys as you try to enter the Capital building.
Yeah, he's right. But you also would not go to the White House to pay a tax bill.
The capital building ofthe RMI is not a white house. Itis a multi-purpose building.
And while there has been some accommodation made for casualness Qike two days
a week neckties are not needed), the accommodation smacks ofschizophrenia
(Marshall Islands Journal1999).
The comparison of the RMI Capital building and the US White House, while made
light of, is taken for granted. The prevalence ofAmerican symbols ofpower at a local level
is so common as to be unnoticed, naturalized and ignored in favor ofpoinring out the
discrepancy between this accepted representation ofthe nation as wealthy and powerful,
and the reality of the lives of common Majuro citizens who are neither.
As will be further discussed, American criticism ofthis structure might be
interpreted as a teaction to Marshallese modernity; Marshallese criticisms of the structure
390
not only convey the contested nature ofthis particular national symbol but also the
dominant traditional authority behind it and other prevailing development discourses.
A recent US Government Accounting Office (GAO) report documents the RMI
Capitol building as one example ofpoor planning and maintenance that accounts for the
failures ofmany Compact-funded projects. The report notes:
'We also identified instances ofpoor construction and maintenance. For example,
the capitol building in the RMI, built during the 1990s using $8.3 million in
Compact funds, has visible signs ofdeterioration. Metal stairs are rusting, elevators
are inoperable, and roof leaks are evident throughout the building (GAO 2000: 11).
Outrigger Hotel
Figure 100. Outrigger Hotel, Majuro :\roU.
http://www.outrigger.com/hotels_detail.aspx?hotel=35
Like the government buildings, symbols and structures of«development" were
central to Amata Kabua's view ofhis newly formed Republic. Kabua dreamed ofMajuro
hosting the South Pacific Forum meeting. It wasn't until the island could accommodate
such a gathering that his dream became a reality. The rapid construction ofthe Outrigger
Marshall Islands hotel doubled the islands tourist capacity, by offering 150 more hotel
rooms. Built by the government of the Marshall Islands and managed by Outrigger hotels
of Hawai'i, in its first international management contract, the hotel boasts the nation's
91
"first full-service hotel, first ballroom, and first man-made swimming pool on Majuro"
(Business Wire 8/8/96).
The Outrigger Hotel was part of a larger plan agreed upon by Amata Kabua and a
South Korean businessman, Haeng Yong MO,68 in 1996, to develop large tourist resorts on
both Mill and Majuro atolls. The Mill resort, a $500 million project, was to have "hotels,
condominiums, shops, casinos, a golf course, and a power plant" aohnson 1996). The
inhabitants ofMill were to be resettled to the smaller islets ofthe atoll as the project
proceeded. Majuro was to have a 1,OOO-room hotel, and a casino complex estimated at
$300 million.
69
Air Marshall Islands
68 In 2000, "Mr Big" Mo Haeng Yong, the Republic ofthe Marshall Islands' Korean consul, was arrested for
swindling $88 million from followers of his doomsday cult (Marshall Islands Journal, 4 Feb 2000,1). Yong's
resort on Mill was never constructed.
69~eechapters four and six for the long history of this development agenda.
392
Like Nauru, a nation with which the RMI has close familial and other connections,
the RMI considers a national airline, while expensive, well worth its cost. For many
reasons, one may see that a new nation ofwidespread atolls may consider a national airline
a necessity rather than a luxury. It also distinguishes the Marshalls from other Freely
Associated States, and puts the RMI among the ranks of other 'developed' Pacific Island
countries such as Fiji, American Samoa, Tonga, Nauru, and the Cook Islands, among
others with government-run national airlines. Distinguishing itself from other Micronesian
nations through its embrace of 'development' is a regionally recognized characteristic of
the Marshalls and Amata Kabua is recognized for his role in this.
"AMI," as the national airline is known, is so important to the nation that despite
operating at incredible losses annually since its inception, the government continually
subsidizes its operation expenses. In 1997, despite a government subsidy of$785,000, the
airline recorded a loss of$1.6 million.
AMI has been a hotbed ofpolitical controversy as its board ofdirectors' battles and
dismisses its ex-patriot managers with the result being accusations ofpolitical interference.
The airline provides a great service to outer island communities who otherwise might not
receive goods for many months depending on "field trip ship" schedules. Yet, like the field
trip ships, or lima (a holdover from the first shipping companies that used steamers) the
flights are frequendy re-directed by powerful government Ministers, or out of service, in
need ofparts and repair. AMI's early routes included Honolulu, but that was later
eliminated due to the burden of the expense.
393
MEDIA (MIS)REPRESENTATION
Americans have strong reactions to "development" discourses and symbols of
modernity on small islands they prefer to romanticize. A visiting journalist noted to me that
everywhere he went on Majuro, the community sought to impress him with the latest
innovations - cell phones, internet access, the Outrigger Hotel, nightclubs, and bars -
while he was there seeking images ofremote, idyllic vacation spots (Fieldnotes May 1998).
Faced with the realities oflife in the contemporary Pacific, journalists and others often
express their frustrated hopes and ideals by reacting with criticism. Marshallese leaders who
promote development frequendy emerge as corrupt, inept, and greedy in foreign accounts.
Their complaints about the United States, the inequalities ofits relations with the
Marshalls, and requests for funding are viewed with cynicism and criticism.
"Yankee, Go Home. Send Cash."
An American journalist representing the New York Times wrote an infamous article
in March of1997, which caused a strong reaction on Majuro." It begins:
The President is in his customary place in the hotel bar, apparendy inebriated and
enjoying yer another pre-dinner drink, when he is asked about the United States.
He frowns.
''You know, I was arrested by the United States," the President, Imara Kabua, slurs
proudly, and he starts to tell the story ofhow he was detained in 1982 for
protesting the American military presence at a base here. His drinking buddy, a
local senator who is also more than a lilde unsteady, is repeating over and over: "I
don't like America, I don't like America."
Thus the paradox of foreign aid: There is almost no place in the world where
America, as America sees it, has been so generous as the Marshall Islands, a
collection ofcoral atolls betweenJapan and Hawaii. Yet the local economy remains
a shambles and the United States is broadly resented. Something went badly wrong,
for usually it is possible to be resented without paying $1 billion for the privilege.
70 ''Marshall Islands in Uproar Over New York Times Piece"~'"Frana Press. 3/13/97).
394
An arrestingly beautiful collection ofislets with a relaxed, friendly feeling and about
56,000 people, the Marshall Islands are about as American as a non-American place
can be. The currency is American dollars, and although there is a local language, the
newspaper is mosdy published in English. The loose atmosphere is evident in the
way President Kabua simply dines in the hotel with his buddies each evening,
chatting with anyone who drops by. (To be sure, although Mr. Kabua was as
cordial as he was tipsy, not everybody was pleased. Although the meeting had been
approved ahead oftime with Mr. Kabua's office and with the Foreign Minister, the
Health Minister later called to threaten bodily harm and demand that any tape of
the interview be destroyed) (Kristof 1997).
After reading the first four paragraphs ofKristofs article, the impression ofthe
Marshall Islands is of a nation full of corrupt, drunk -- even violent -- ingrates who run
their government and economy poorly, blame and yet imitate America, and barely speak
their own language. Despite Kristofs appreciation of the natural environment, and the
friendliness ofthe atmosphere, his perceptions and representation ofthe islands echoes the
former US Ambassador to the RMI, Bill Bodde (see "victimization" discussion below).
Kristof unfairly misrepresents the relationship between the RMI and US when he
refers to the "paradox of foreign aid," and makes light of Kabua's protest by not
acknowledging Kabua's ownership ofthe land upon which that unnamed military base is
located -- on Kwajalein Atoll. Further, the lack ofacknowledgement of "a base here" and
its significance to US strategic defense is duplicitous. Itacknowledges that the US has
military interests, then diminishes their significance with the indefinite descriptor -- "a
base" -- as if there were, or could be, any other place in the world that meets US missile
defense designs so successfully." Kristof diminishes Kwajalein's importance by not naming
" '''Kwajalein is the only place where you can do exoattnospheric tests oflong-range missiles... We've been
testing out there for 40 years, and its been a very successful facility,' says Bill Congo, ofthe Anny's Space and
Missile Defense Command in Huntsville, Alabama, which operates the KwajaIein Range; Interceptor missiles
- the Exoattnospheric Kill Vehicles -are launched from Kwajalein to destroy incoming missiles. 'Without
Kwajalein they'd never get the proper trajectory and altitude to test this kind of system,' says Dan Smith of
the Washington-based Center for Defense Information" (Woodard 1999).
395
it and by portraying it as just another base. He also denies the atoll's significance to it's
landowners by diminishing Kabua's arrest -- calling it "detainment" -- and describing
Kabua's motivation as "US military presence," rather than a perceived unfair compensation
for use of Kabua's own land.
Kristof also misrepresents local sentiments about resenting the United States since
he only offers the perspectives of top ranking government officials, particularly these
individuals who were at odds with the US officials, who were then pressuring them about
use/misuse/abuse of funds at the time. Kristof represents the views of an administration
that was viewed as corrupt and exploitative by the larger populace -- a populace that later
broke with all election customs to vote in an "opposition party" government in 1999.
"Bombing Bikini Again (This Time with Money)"
.......
~ac.,
0>\1bR"
--
ed_
-..
)wi
Oo.on'oc
ON"'"
396
A New York Times Sunday magazine in May of1994 featured the tide above on its
cover page. While the author does not present an idealized portrait ofthe Marshall Islands,
he does share the familiar theme of"sympathetic" paternalism. The "lost" more than the
"paradise" is portrayed as the history ofthe US nuclear testing program is examined, along
with the impact ofthe US funds provided as compensation. While not so dire as the
"paradise lost" discourse, the emphasis is on the historic victimization ofthe Marshallese,
theit contemporary challenges, and then wacky ideas to address then future. Davis
attempts to show Marshallese agency in theit desne to: 1) import international nuclear
waste for income on an already contaminated island; and 2) to create an underwater theme
park that commemorates US victory in World War II, as well as a sense ofthe power of a
nation that could sink such a tremendous fleet in seconds. The author ultimately ridicules
both options as unrealistic or absurd, but emphasizes that few options exist given the
islanders' contemporary situation. He higWights the causes ofcontemporary issues for the
Marshalls, by emphasizing how the Marshallese from Bikini have been abused by outsiders
as well as theit national leadership (Davis 1994).
"An Atomic Age Eden (but don't eat the Coconuts)"
Another New York Times piece by Kristof offers a brief history ofthe US nuclear
testing program to higWight the newly opened -- and quite successful -- dive resort
established at Bikini In interviews with exiled Bikinians living on E jit island in Majuro
Atoll, Kristofmakes light ofthe Bikinians perspective on US obligations:
A few other Bikinians, sitting on the broken white coral outside a home, and
listening to Mr. Gason] Aitap [Mayor ofE~t]agreed and nodded then heads. One
after another, the Bikinians onE~trepeated the mantra: the United States has a
responsibility, after poisoning theit soil, to declare it is safe for them to return....
397
The United States seems a bit flununoxed, though, by the way President Clinton
has been effectively made the king ofBilcinians. There is a long tradition of
Marshall Islanders having an outside king, or iroij, and these days many Bikinians
say Mr. Clinton is the man.
Traditionally, the king received fealty from his people but also has a responsibility
for them. The Bikinians insist that by moving them off their island and promising
to care for them, the United States entered that relationship so that the American
President is their king and is responsible for their welfare.
"That's exacdy what he is, Mr. Aitap said after being asked ifMr. Clinton was their
king. "And we expect him to act like an iroij and look after his people."
One reason the Bilcinians want Mr. Clinton as their king is that they are worned by
the efforts ofImata Kabua, the President ofthe Marshall Islands, to declare himself
their king - and claim one-third oftheir revenues.... Asked about the Bikinians'
attitudes President Kabua responded with an expletive. His tongue was loosened
and he appeared to be drunk (he was interviewed in the hotel bar that he
frequents)....
Kristof portrays Marshallese people as childish, naive, drunk, and victims subject to
higher authorities ofchiefs, kings, and foreign presidents. His article emphasizes to me, the
ways some foreign visitors, authors, tourists, and others judge Marshallese people. In trying
to make sense ofMarshallese perspectives, such as conferring Iroij status on Bill Clinton,
they are made light of, and dismissed, rather than further explored.
Crippled and Corrupt
Another common trope refers to the nation as "crippled", and in need ofexternal
help (Roylance 1997): "Struggle: US Nuclear Tests and Westernization have crippled the
Marshall Islands, which has contracted the University ofMaryland at Baltimore to
recommend reforms." The text bombards the reader with a series ofextraordinary statistics
and very lime context for interpretation. In short, the Marshalls are condemned as a
disaster area:
398
On overcrowded Ebeye, failing water, electric and sewer systems have led to
outbreaks ofgastrointestinal illness that killed four children over four months...
The pursuits of cash and consumer goods, and disruption of traditional family and
community life, are also blamed for crime, spousal abuse, drug abuse, truancy, teen
pregnancy and suicide.
The traditional diet offish and tropical fruits and vegetables has been largely
supplanted by the worst of the West's culinary exports. Spam and frozen turkey
tails are favorites, as are other convenience foods high in fat, salt and sugar, and
low in nutrition.
Among the consequences: Twenty percent ofpreschoolers are malnourished and
38 percent are anemic. Half ofthe adult women are overweight. Thirty percent of
the people over the age of 15 suffer from non-insulin-dependent diabetes, resulting
in high rates of hypertension, cardiovascular disease, kidney and eye disease.
'It really is a disaster,' said Dr. Paul Z. Zimmet, ofthe International Diabetes
Institute in Caulfield, Australia who has studied diabetes in the Pacific Islands.
There's more. Forty years ofUS administration aspart ofthe former US Trust
Territory ofthe Pacific, and nearly a billion dollars in US aid since independence in
1986, have left the Marshallese with an American style health-care system they have
not been able to maintain, and which does not keep them healthy....
Inadequate preventive care has contributed to appalling health statistics. Life
expectancy for men is 61 years, third worst among 15 Pacific Island populations.
Infants die at rates five times that in American Samoa in the South Pacific. Women
die ofcervical cancer at 75 times the US rate. Liver cancer kills men at 30 times the
US rate.
The Marshallese believe their suffering and sacrifice for US nuclear weapons testing
and America's continuing military presence at the strategic US Army missile range
at Kwajalein Atoll, entitle them to more US help.... But US officials express no
interest in expanding the taxpayers' largess for what is now an independent country
with a diminished strategic importance and a history ofmismanaging previous aid.
Us auditors have for years fOWld evidence ofwaste and corruption in the islands.
A Marshallese inquiry last year revealed millions of dollars in misappropriations by
top 0 fficials 0 f the Marshallese Social Security Administration, who oversee the
health care system.
'The corruption here is so widespread that it is depressing,' said Alan E.
Hutchinson, administrator for the 177 Program, a US-funded health care plan for
residents ofnuclear-contaminated atolls and their descendants. 'It is no wonder
399
that, as you look around you see so Iitde tangible evidence ofthe massive US aid
we hear about.'...
Birth rates are high, and half the population is under age 15. The children laugh
easily. Their parents are shy and modest, but friendly when approached by
strangers.
In the Marshall Islands, [Nuclear Claims Tribunal) awards range from 12,500 to
125,000. In a country with a per capita income of $1,600, the prospect ofsuch
sums can have a powerful effect. Health care workers say they have watched
patients weep in despair or anger when told they did not have cancer, or had the
wrong sort of cancer to qualify for the money.
We sympathize with them,' said Mary Note [president Kessai Note's wife), an
associate public advocate with the Tribunal. Many Marshallese think any cancer is
caused by radiation, and that they are entided to compensation. 'They feel cheated.'
In fact, medical experts say far more Marshallese are dying from an unhealthy diet,
lifestyle and inadequate medical care.
While I will not attempt to refute the RMI's national health statistics, nor defend its
leadership from charges of corruption or waste, I will refute the representation of the
generous US "largess," and it's "massive aid" package as yet another repetition of the
familiar portrayal of the islanders as recipients ofUS aid.
72
This familiar discourse makes
Marshallese out to be ungrateful, corrupt, ignorant, or incompetent, at best. The portrait of
the Marshalls presented here is that ofa tragic disaster area. While the author does
acknowledge and describe the nuclear testing and its impact, the real message ofthe article
is that the Marshal1ese are more to blame for the state ofaffairs than the US. According to
Roylance, after all, the US has made an effort to compensate the islanders, and generously
given aid as well-- aid that was wasted, or stolen, or misused. Additionally, he presents
Marshallese health issues as the consequences ofpoor choices, poor leadership, and
72 As noted in earlier chapters and repeated elsewhere, this is inaccurate and unfair. The Compact funding is
part of an international treaty that enables an exchange ofresources and accessibility between the US and the
Marshall Islands.
400
ignorance with only a phrase ofreference to the initial TIPI health system and the larger
US context. He does try to spread some ofthe blame for the 'disaster' onto the US by
acknowledging the nuclear testing program and its health consequences for Marshallese, as
well as the presence ofUS Spam and other unhealthy foods to the islands.
The article is based on interviews with Americans (thus the repetition of familiar
American ex-pat discourses that bash RMI leadership), and only quotes Marshallese who
support the observations being presented, for example Mary Note's mention of
Marshallese who cry at not having a cancer diagnosis." While a paragraph descnbes
'Marshallese beliefs that the US owes them,' it implies Marshallese ingratitnde and perhaps
an exaggerated sense ofentitlement, rather than a just expectation. He makes light oftheir
understanding ofthe relationship rather than exploring it further.
Someone who knows much more about US/Marshallese relations is former US
Ambassador, William Bodde, who is considered persona non grata in the Marshall Islands.
He served as Ambassador to the RMI from 1990-1992. His authoritative representations of
the RMI only exacerbate the dominant rhetoric, while asserting US authority to comment
on and condemn the activities ofother nations and their use ofUS funds. Bodde's implicit
assertion that it is his (American) obligation to be sure the money is used "wisely" (i.e.,
accotding to US values and interests) is an insult to the sovereignty ofthe RMI, particularly
in light ofUS decisions, abuses, and exploitation ofthe islands. Whether his statements and
accusations are factna! or not, the fact that he feels it is his right to comment on such
things is deeply offensive. In reference to the CFA, Bodde asks, "Where did we go wrong?
73 Majuro health care workers have described similar examples to me in the past.
401
· . We know that money, per se, isn't the solution" (pIR 7/19/99). He presumes it is the
US government's responsibility to make the RMI 'work', to solve its US-defined problems.
He has deemed the CFA a failure (pIR 8/17/98 "Freely Associated States
Compacts Generally Failure: Ambassador Bodde) pointing out that if continued support
means "the money just goes to the bloated bureaucracy and pays some ofthe elites
underhand, it's just not going to do the trick" (Stayman appointed...PIR 7/19/99). In an
attempt to be complimentary, he adds an alternative option: "The Marshalls and FSM, they
have a lot ofsmart people, and they can export brainpower, and send money home"
(Stayman PIR 7/19/99). In other words, intelligent Marshallese would be better off
moving to the United States to help economic development in their nation. The
frustrations experienced by Marshallese leadership in working with ambassadors such as
Bodde who show such insensitivity to Marshallese love ofland, and communal
relationships, not to mention national and ethnic identity, is made obvious in this
statement. The dismissal ofRMI sovereignty to assert "successful" US economic models
highlights the ignorance and arrogance of some US representatives in these islands.
Bodde, has a negative view ofthe impact ofthe CFA on Marshallese lives:
Bodde says the nearly $1 billion the Marshalls has received from the US over the
past 15 years, 'has produced a few millionaires, but most ofthe population
continues to live under deplorable conditions' (Woodard 1999).
Further, he describes economic dependency in negative terms:
"The money spent since 1986 has resulted in 'very little economic development'.
'A fatal flaw', was that the financial assistance was not used to create a market
economy and economic wealth... It's a legitimate question whether these islands
can become self-sufficient,'...''Foreign aid can be a trap. You've got to get off
foreign aid, and need to create wealth. ''The US must not be that generous
anymore. There should be no money for government operational expenses, with
funding only for projects that have a development component" (Hulsen1998).
402
Bodde's comments portray the Marshalls as suffering from dependency, living
under deplorable conditions, in poverty. He considers the US as generous, and the
Marshallese as corrupt and wasteful, since "all that money" resulted in little development.
He does not point to a history of US lack of oversight or support after providing nearly all
public services for forty years.
The Marshallese government recently has embraced the US political rhetoric of
"accountability" and "transparency" in RMI national discourse. The political use of these
terms locally is significant because President Kessai Note was elected on campaign
platform ofreform. He and his cabinet demanded accountability for the wrongdoings of
previous Marshallese, not American administrations. The power ofthese terms lies subtly
in their one-sidedness. Accountability and transparency are demanded in an attempt to
assert a righteous moral cause. They imply the secrecy and dishonesty ofanother party.
They higWight others' responsibilities while subtly and simultaneously masking their own.
As the US government demands transparency and accountability from the RMI, President
Note's government makes identical demands on former political rivals, with similarly veiled
threats. Significantly, and unfortunately, this rhetoric isn't deflected on the US to ask how
transparent and accountable are its relations with the RMI.
Dependenl;y
Both Marshallese and others have expressed representations ofthe Marshallese as
unequal with, and dependent on, the US for some time. During the Trust Territory
government, one Marshallese politician quipped: ''We have the Trust; the United States has
the Territory" (Balos in Gale 1979).
403
Another central theme concerns dependency and victimization, critically linked by
notions of passivity and responsibility. Both Marshallese and foreign portrayals share the
discourses ofdependency and victimization for different ends. For Marshallese, the
representation follows cultural lines that oblige authority to provide for those beneath
them, and it is primarily expressed to assert claims for compensation. For outsiders, this
depiction is a sub theme ofthe "corrupt, lazy, and greedy" trope that emerges in
government criticisms.
As both Bodde and Kristof highlight Marshallese economic dependence on the US,
so does the US Government Accounting Office in its report, "Foreign Assistance: US
Funds to Two Micronesian Nations had little Impact on Economic Development and
Accountability over Funds was limited" (GAO 2000). The reports states that both the
RMIandFSM:
remain highly dependent on US assistance, which has maintained artificially high
standards ofliving... The RMI ...reduced its reliance on US funding somewhat,
from 78 percent in 1987 to 68 percent in 1998... For fiscal years 1987-1998, ...
the RMI spent about $507 million in funding provided by the Compact. .. In the
RMI, the largest amount oftotal expenditures, 45 percent or $230 million, went to
support capital fund activities such as building infrastructure, supporting economic
activities, and servicing debt... For the RMI, 46 percent ($65 million) ofthe total
capital fund expenditures are classified as 'other' expenditures. Most ofthis amount
($54 million) was listed as unidentified capital expenditures in the RMI financial
statements (GAO 2000: 2,4,5).
In addition, the RMI issued millions of dollars in Compact revenue-backed bonds
to finance projects in the early years of the Compact. According to the GAO report, the
Marshalls has used forty-rwo percent ofits compact funding to repay bond debt. In 1998,
the RMI spent $25 of $38 million ofCompact funding to service its debts (GAO 2000:6).
Deducting $8 million in land payments to owners ofKwajalein atoll, left only $6 million
404
(15 percent ofCompact funds) to support government operations, new investment, and
sector support (GAO 2000:6).
The GAO report concludes with the following observation:
The FSM and RMI are among the largest recipients ofUS assistance worldwide on
a per capita basis. In 1998, total US assistance ...was about $1,095 per person in
the RMI.. .. This high level ofper capita funding has maintained artificially high
standards ofliving in both countries that would, according to the Asian
Development Bank, collapse in the absence ofUS assistance (GAO 2000:7).
Many ofthe problems associated with Compact-funded projects were described as
resulting from poor management, planning, consttuction, maintenance, and or misuse. The
US Department of Interior, which oversees Compact funding, explained that "neither the
FSM nor the RMI governments had staff that possessed the skills necessary to plan and
manage expenditures under the Compact" (GAO 2000:11).
The portrayal is at the heart of the report. According to the GAO perspective, the
islanders don't know how to manage their money -- their government buildings are
collapsing, large portions of their budgets are unaccounted for as 'other,' and without US
funding 'assistance' the nations would fall apart. The GAO report of2000 emphasizes
mismanagement and poor planning over corruption. In sections not quoted here, it also
acknowledges lack ofUS oversight, departmental disputes between State and Interior,
intentional US 1eniency' toward accountability in the early Compact years in favor of
friendly relations, and the inability ofthe Department ofInterior to put strings on
Congressionally guaranteed funds (GAO 2000).
This representation ofeconomic dependency resonates with ones emphasized by
the Marshallese, although the blame is shifted. The RMI contends that this dependency
was deliberately encouraged, while the US insists that Compact ofFree Association was
405
designed to promote economic development and self-sufficiency through direct financial
payments to the Federated States ofMicronesia (FSM) and RMI as a continuation ofUS
rights and obligations ofthe Trust Territory (GAO 2001: 8). While dependency is viewed
by the US government as a lack of economic development and a sign ofa failed Compact,
the RMI government continues to assert its economic dependency on the US. Both the US
and some in the RMI perpetuated a dominant discourse of development (Hanlon 1998)
until recent years. Environrnentallimitations on economic development are starting to be
acknowledged, causing some US representatives to join the RMI in questioning the
possibility of self-sufficiency (Bodde in Hulsen 8-17-01 PIR).
"Becoming a Professional Victim"
Fran Hezel, a Catholic priest and scholar, wrote the twenty-ninth issue ofthe
Micronesi(/1/ Counselor to discourage the government of the Marshall Islands from presenting
itself as a victim. The particular foci ofthis publication are the RMI's Case against-the US
tobacco industry and the RMI's pursuit of the Compact's "changed circumstances" clause.
The "changed circumstances" petition wishes to extend recognition and compensation to a
much broader Marshallese population than those previously acknowledged as affected by
the US nuclear testing program, since newly declassified documents shed light on the intent
and extent ofthe program (see Appendices C, D, E, and F).
Hezel acknowledges the Marshallese people's suffering and applauds their
"indomitable spirit" (2000:3). Yet, he notes:
As pleas for compensation multiply and the road to claims court becomes more
clogged, I fear for this spirit. When people begin to regard themselves as victims,
their fate is fixed. They may be found sitting by the side of the road with their tin
cup, waiting for others - the villains of the past- to fill it with coins. The danger is
406
not that they derive profit from what they have suffered (which they may well
deserve), but that they may come to see themselves as helpless in the face ofthe
firestorms unleashed on them by the fates and their enemies. It would be a shame
ifthe Marshallese, ... excused themselves from the responsibility ofimproving
their economy, their homes, their health on the grounds that they were merely
victims.
Is there anything wrong with this [changed circumstances petition for expanded
compensation for nuclear damages]? Perhaps not, unless it feeds the tendency of
people in the Marshalls to find a seat in the shade, rattle the change in their tin cup,
and ignote their responsibility for making the government work, comfortable that
they are once again victims who can do no more than rue the past and make claims
on those responsible for their past misfortunes to create a future for them.
We don't have to be fans of the tobacco industry to pick up an off-key note in this
querulous argument. The tune is one we've heard before: 'We bear none ofthe
responsibility for what has happened to us. We are the victims ofone disaster after
another. Ifit isn't the Atomic Energy Commission or the Department ofDefense
that's to blame, then it's the American tobacco companies.' The chord is a familiar
one: victimization....
I am doing everything I can to ensure that the Marshalls does not find a
comfortable spot at the side of the road from which it can jingle the change inits
cup while shrugging offresponsibility for its future (Hezel2000: 3,5,6).
Hezel writes daringly in an age ofpolitical correctness to critique the Marshalls'
representation ofthemselves and their nation as victims. This term, this label, is a loaded
one, though, and I think also misrepresents the way Marshallese people understand those
experiences. Hezel suggests that looking to others for help means not taking responsibility.
But for many Marshallese, seeking redress, using the language and cultural concepts of
obligation, loyalty, and looking after, is an example ofresponsible behavior, particularly
when MarshaI1ese are stereotyped as, and expected to be, passive and non-confrontational.
The discourse of'victimhood' is as close to Western notions ofresistance as
Marshallese get. Calling attention to their situation at the hands ofpowerful others, is
equivalent to a demand for justice and for others to take their responsibility to look after the
407
weaker (less powerful) more seriously, as chiefs provide for their people, mothers protect
their children, and coaches guide their teams. It is obvious to Marshallese that they have
been wronged. By pointing it out to the world they are insisting on justice.
Fr. Hezel's article stimulated much discussion on the Micronesian Seminar website
discussion group. One ofhis supporters wrote: "I wanted to say, 'Bravo!' I thought I was
the only one who was thinking this way, and fdt a little bad to be fighting against the
government" r /25/2000). I appreciated the irony ofthe use of the word "Bravo" in
reference to Marshallese victimization, given the name of the atomic blast that destroyed
parts ofBikini atoll.
In refutation ofHezd's evaluation of Marshallese agency, Thomas Kijiner, Jr., (son
ofthe five term Marshallese Senator), wrote:
Contrary to the contention that the 'changed circumstances' petition and tobacco
lawsuit demonstrate that Marshallese are becoming professional victims, I would
argue that the indomitable spirit ofthe Marshallese people is alive and well. Indeed,
the tobacco lawsuit and the 'changed circumstances' petition prove, contrary to the
beliefs that Marshallese are the 'quiet' Micronesians, that like anybody dse,
Marshallese do have their own opiuions and will defend them, even against such
formidable adversaries as the US government and the tobacco industry... the fact
remains that these nuclear-affected communities are not just sitting around and
'jingling the change in its cup while shrugging offresponsibility for its future.'
Indeed, the nuclear-affected atolls also have their own community devdopment
projects in their respective islands that are targeted at improving the standard of
living oftheir people.. .I know that there are some Marshallese who are currently
receiving nuclear compensation, that would rather sit comfortably in the shade and
'jingle the change in their tin cans' instead oftrying to help themsdves. But, I also
know that there are many more who would much prefer to do for themselves..
Marshallese people are saying, 'enough is enough.' The Marshallese people are
standing up tall and telling the world that they will not sit back and let fate and
others write their history for them. Instead ofbeing merdy victims, the Marshallese
are saying, 'our fate is in our hands' (B/2/2002).
When Marshallese representatives express their frustrations with the United States
(e.g. Imata Kabua in the Outrigger Hotel bar), they are declaring their dependence on the
408
US, and their rights and entidements. While "victimhood" and dependency are not the
same thing, a perceived lack of agency links them. As Tommy Kijiner demonstrated in his
response to Hezel, seeking justice (i.e. asserting one's victimization at another's hands)
requires agency. Kijiner, Jr. stresses that seeking compensation is not waiting around for
handouts. It requires planning, cooperation, and focus. Further, fighting Goliath-like
opponents is daunting and brave, not fearful and weak.
Nuclear Victims' Remembrance Day: March 1, 1998
With Western representations so hard to refute, reinforced stereotypes become
Goliaths, and every act ofdefiance requires greater and greater determination. "177"
communities affected by nuclear testing have long and tiring histories of seeking just
compensation. The following example conveys the process of organizing the events for
the annual Nuclear Victims' Day in 1998, while showing how different meanings of the
experience of "victimization" are constructed on Majuro and represented for various
audiences.
The situation of the 177 communities within the RMI reveals the complexities of
hierarchy and victimization, as the example ofthe national Nuclear Victim's Remembrance
Day ceremonies will show. Americans and non-government institutions (eMI, Alele)
organized the event, the US Ambassador declined her invitation, and no RMI government
official participated. The example highlights the ways 177 people represent their situation,
the ways they are not only inadequately compensated by the US, but are also marginalized
within their own country.
409
Figure 103.
A national holiday on March 1 acknowledges the nuclear legacy and the suffering
that resulted from the single ''Bravo'' shot, a 15-megaton hydrogen bomb exploded at
Bikini Atoll on March 1, 1954. In recent years, a concerted effort has been made by the
RMI government, Nuclear Claims Tribunal, Four Atolls, and others to increase awareness
of these events to a larger audience, and to educate Marshallese citizens about information
obtained from the declassified documents obtained during the Clinton Administration.
In 1998, Holly Barker, a former Peace Corps volunteer turned anthropologist, and
RMI US embassy staff, continued her research gathering data throughout communities in
the Marshalls that experienced illnesses similar to those acknowledged as "exposed." Her
efforts provided documentation to assist the RMI's petition to pursue the changed
circumstances clause of the Compact. Barker worked with local counterparts to collect
data, as well as to teach a course about the nuclear testing program and its consequence at
the College of the Marshall Islands. During that spring semester, a "nuclear institute" was
410
established at CMI that included a computer with a database of all the documents relating
to the nuclear testing. Copies ofthat database were also deposited with the Ministry of
Foreign Affairs, and the US Embassy in Washington I).e. Further, under Barker's
direction, CMI students formed a "nuclear club" to educate their peers about the nuclear
testing.
As public service announcements produced by students reached the airwaves, local
leadership decided to take advantage ofthe increased interest, and Holly's presence, to
expand upon the annual holiday commemorative event. Representatives ofthe Four Atolls,
the Nuclear Claims Tribunal, the Marshall Islands Radiological Victims Association, the
Ministry ofForeign Affairs, CMI, and Alele Museum formed a committee to organize the
event. I was selected to represent Alele, a favorite Majuro site for public ceremonies such
as this.
The committee decided to invite speakers for the program, and requested that
Youth to Youth in Health perform for the crowd. The US Ambassador, Joan M. Plaisted,
was invited to speak, but declined in a note to committee member Alfred Capelle ofCMI:
Regrettably, I am unable to accept your kind invitation to speak at the public
ceremony being held to celebrate your countty's holiday on March 2.
Thank you for the words in your letter acknowledging the considerable efforts my
countty has made in friendship to the Republic ofthe Marshall Islands to address
the effects ofthe US testing program in the northern atolls. Please accept my best
wishes for a successful ceremony (personal communication, Alfred Capelle
2/23/98).
Working with the committee, coordinating the schedule, tracking down speakers,
became my task as the host coordinator. The irony ofmy orchestrating Nuclear Victim's
Day, was lost on nearly everyone but Biram Stege, the emcee and last-minute co-organizer,
411
and myself. Somehow the two ofus managed to pull it off, despite the delayed start, and a
last minute shuffling of speakers." The ceremony began with an opening prayer, followed
by the National Anthem, and a welcome from the Council of Iro'!!. Representatives from
the Rongelap community stood to sing a song:
Nant inqj ello 10k jen intan kein ke ijqje kio?
When will I overcome this suffering that I never knew before?
Komaron kejuon ao drijinet im ao marin kef'
Could you be my guide and my refuge?
Chorus:
Ne ijped ilo ao radiation en bwe im'!!no ko tl!Jroid im aojoj~1air
If the radiation stays with me, it will make me (my thyroid) weak, and abandoned,
Konan oa in bwe in wiwa wot ionjuon aojikin aeneman imjab na wot ak ro i/o numba in 177.
Here's what I want, (my only wish) to overcome (radiation), on a peaceful place,
not only for me but for all the 177 people.
Aolepen /omnak e ao ij lewoj~.nan kem kio kin wewin ke ij/0 ilo an manjab kein ad.
AIl my thoughts, I give them to you now because it's the way I see things today.
(franscript from fieldnotes. March 2, 1998.)
While the remainder ofthe day focused on speeches that described the nuclear
testing program, and the struggles and status of the changed circumstances petition, the
most moving part by far was the performance ofthe song above. In it, the Rongelapese
express their profound suffering, and deep desire to be free on a peaceful place. They ask
only for support and guidance.
In the context ofnumerous representations including photos, students' reports and
drawings, documentary broadcasts, and radio coverage about the testing and its
74 Lessons learned about the negotiations of power in everyday practice through the coordination of this
event have informed preceding chapters.
75 The term marin ko literally means tree ofrefuge, and is used to describe the 11'0'1 system, as noted in
interview number 7 of Chapter 7.
412
consequences, the 'expression ofthe Rongelapese almost disappear. They are tired, and
weary ofthe pain of struggling with cancer, death, and isolation. They have no place to call
their own each day, since they cannot live on Rongelap. They depend on others for land,
for medical care, for support. Rongelapese are not only victims of the US, but also ofrheir
own nation's leadership. Marginalized by the assumption that they can care for themselves
since they have compensation money, their needs are often dismissed, their claims ignored.
Rongelapese and the other 177 communities are considered tich and lucky among
Marshallese, despite their suffering.
Senator Tony de Brum ofMajuro has worked with and for the 177 people for
many years. He has appeared before numerous US congressional committee hearings on
their behalf and represented their needs and interests to others faithfully. His presence at
the event was a strong sign of support. On the Nitijela floor the following day, he chastised
the other senators and ministers who did not attend. One participant described the
interaction at the Nitijda:
One senator was talking about getting money for Likiep and all the changed
circumstances stuff, and then Tony said, "I don't want to hear you talk about
radiation. All you're interested in is money. Where's your proof that your islands
were affected? Ifyou're so interested in radiation where were you on Monday.
Monday was Nuclear Victim's Day, to commemorate those who were affected and
I didn't see any ofyour faces there (Fieldnotes 3/5/98)1
Despite invitations, there was no official government representation in the
ceremony. Over nationally broadcast public radio various official made excuses, while
deBrum publicly humiliated them by representing the gove=ent officials' primary
interest in changed circumstances as financial. Collective, national support for the victims
and the communities is lacking.
413
The experience of "victimization" does not only occur at the hands offoreigners,
or the United States, but also in what Westerners would identify as the cultural hegemony
of a hierarchical society. This discourse ofpowerlessness, extends beyond the radiation 
affected groups, and is a much larger part of everyday discourse in the islands. It serves as
an act ofresistance, a declaration ofothers' responsibilities to fulfill their share of the
perceived mutual obligations that are integral to any relationship in the Marshall Islands.
CONCLUSION
Marshallese representations ofnation, culture, and identity are multiple and varied.
Both the dominant and subordinate portrayals are linked to cultural frameworks and
understandings ofauthority, as well as the positionality ofthose who proffer the overriding
or alternative representations. The persistent use ofthese two models ofMarshallese
modernity and dependency reveals an ideology ofauthority that is only recendy being
questioned as new models and representation are explored.
Alternative representations of the Marshall Islands are put forth by non 
governmental organizations that often find their funding and support through foreign
sources, including American and international organizations. Non-governmental
organizations were often considered anti-governmcntal organizations by the RMI national
government as they competed for recognition. In the past, since knowledge of manit is
considered an [roofs domain, discourses ofculture were left to a government that was led
by a chief. Assuming the authority to represent Marshallese culture to others was viewed as
a challenge to a chiefs authority. Consequendy, organizations like AIcIc received very litde
government support, and even less popular support.
414
Today, things are different. Many non-governmental organizations have taken on
the task oflearning about and educating the general public about elements of the
Marshallese past, and specialized knowledge and skills. The Waan Aelon in Majo! [Canoes of
the Marshalls) (WAM) trains young people in the science of canoe building, and the
practice ofpublic education. Jodrikdrik nan Jodrikdrik i/o Ejmour GNJIE) [Youth to Youth in
Health) engages young Marshallese in comses about culture and health to provide creative
public performances of public health issues in culturally based skits and songs. The newly
organized -- and government supported -- Marshall Islands Visitors Authority (MIVA)
provides cultural, historical, and contemporary statistical information about the Marshall
Islands to prospective tourists and businesses.
Government support ofMIVA shows continuity with the "development" agenda
ofpast administrations and a transformation that acknowledges tourism as a practical
development strategy. Many ofthe choices ofsymbols used by the national government
that present the Marshall Islands as "modem" and "progressive" (rather than "traditional"
or "backward''), I would argue, result from historic -- even "traditional" -- understandings
of authority, power, and powerlessness. Through various colonial administrations,
Marshallese chiefs have opted for cooperation and affiliation with foreigners in order to
obtain the resources they desired -- be they Western goods, services, or conveniences.
Marshallese are historically highly skilled adaptors. The representation ofa "modem"
Republic ofthe Marshall Islands reflects the continuity of these values and skills.
Another example ofthe perpetuation ofMarshallese values lies in the other
dominant theme ofrepresentation I have selected to explore -- the discomse of
415
dependency. Again, I argue that the framing ofrelationships in terms ofpower and
powerlessness mirrors Marshallese relationships that bridge that gap through reciprocity
and mutual obligation. The act ofasserting dependency, at least within Marshallese society,
functions as a demand for expected entitlements, and it calls upon the highest cultural
values of sharing, and caring for each other. Unfortunately, in international relationships
the response is less generous.
The predominant models ofmodernity and dependency are expressions oflong 
standing cultural values, and practices, that reflect historical Marshallese experiences with
Marshallese authority, and with foreign authority. The alternative models ofculture and
tradition beginning to be explored and presented by non governmental organizations
demonstrate the development of a different sort ofprogressivism within the Marshall
Islands - one that looks to the past to find value, rather than to the future.
Western depictions ofthe Marshall Islands seem, in many cases, reaction to the
realities of the Marshallese present. The positive portrayals are limited to those elements of
Marshallese culture that are holdovers from an imagined past -- sailing and navigational
skills, Marshallese naivete and innocence, glorious remote atolls. The majority ofthe
representations of the Marshall Islands is quite negative, and plays off the central themes of
Marshallese representations -- modernity and dependency. The negative accounts highlight
contemporary Marshallese society in ethnocentric comparisons and contrasts: Western-like
institutions are condemned, leaders promoting development are corrupt, greedy, and
jealous, and Marshallese citizens are passive in their oppression, begging for handouts
instead ofwotking toward solutions to their "disastrous" situations.
416
In each case, the representations and reactions to others' representations interplay
and touch upon long-standing cultural models and expectations ofpower, authority,
government, and "other." Marshallese projections ofmodernity frustrate Western romantic
notions ofPacific islands, as US journalists' depictions of"victimization" deny Marshallese
agency.
As has been shown repeatedly throughout this dissertation, culture shapes
understandings and interpretations and is not bound by global forces or discourses. In the
following summary chapter, lessons from the Marshallese case are expanded for broader
audiences interested in the ways global and local models interact and influence each other.
417
CHAPTER 9
RE-TURNINGS
Symbiosis: n. BioL The relationship oftwo or more different o'l!,anisms in a close association that
may be but is not necessarily ofben¢t to each. (The American Heritage Dictionary.)
BAR ITO-ITAK
In form and content this narrative conveys the tensions inherent in foreign
accounts ofindigenous peoples. It reflects the comings, goings, and returnings of a long-
term researcher who struggles to meet multiple conflicting goals -- to participate and
observe, to specify and to generalize, to selectively assert her personal and professional
identities and theoretical affiliations while deliberately privileging the various perspectives
ofmany participants.
The MarshaIIese expression ito-itak [back and forth) is my chosen metaphor for the
process of doing anthropology roday in our merged global/local world, as well as a device
for expressing in form the complicated and messy perspectives ofmultiple participants and
various levels ofanalysis. I value the back and forth process as a middle ground where
meaningful discussion and action occur. It is not the end result, but the process that
enables understanding.
I explore the history ofsome ofmy own relationships and interactions in the
Marshall Islllnds hoping to shed light onyet another example ofAmerican relations in tbe
Marshalls -- the deeply personal connections that are formed in the midst ofthose 'other'
endeavors and interests. This is not intended merely as an examination ofmy personal ties,
but as an illustration ofthe ways local familiarities and researcher associations with
institutions ofpower (church, government, educational institutions) impact the formation
418
ofanthropological knowledge. These examples illustrate how researchers and communities
ofresearch come to know each other not only as "American" or Marshallese," but also as
individuals with personal histories and shared experiences. I am an inside-outsider, a
member ofthe Marshallese "elite" through association. I have my own journey of
rransformation as the Marshall Islands has "indigenized" me, as they do other transnational
linkages and resources. Being "Marshallized" has altered my understandings of
relationships, reciprocity, generosity, and even time (e.g. this dissertation's completion). I
consider the inclusion ofpersonal affiliations and experience critical to this process of
understanding.
A researcher's own lived experience informs interpretations and understandings,
particularly as a representative ofpowerful western/foreign institutions (funding agencies,
universities, church or other affiliations) and must be taken into consideration in the
representation of any culture. The strength of these personal relationships developed and
sustained through local employment offers a context for rea! relationships with local
meaning to be formed There is no substitute for this type ofrelationship, in which
interdependency and reciprocity emerge. Similarly, work with elites denies the
ethnographer the "upper hand" in power relations and puts the ethnographer's project in
the hands ofthe participants, rather than being imposed upon them.
This project also contnbutes significantly to contemporary ethnographic
methodological issues through explorations ofissues surrounding fieldwork, particularly
long-term fieldwork, in communities where one is a participant as well as an observer.
Access to indigenous elites, their histories, perspectives, and goals is critical in
understanding national development and international relations, and long-term fieldwork
419
strengthens personal relationships of trust and respect that enable vital access and self 
understandings of elites' roles.
Long-term research necessarily enables the researcher to become a participating
member of the community ofresearch, to personally invest in issues and lives and thus,
more easily be understood and known by the community. Long-term fieldwork is one of
the few ways that anthropologists contribute to communities ofresearch, through a deeper
commitment to advocacy and a greater appreciation oflocal interests. Yet, despite the
advantages, long-term research hinders the researcher's ability to "distance" the community
in order to gain new perspectives. Some consider this an advantage, yet indigenous scholars
are quick to note the exploitative nature ofmany research methods that make native views
and experiences unrecognizable (Smith 1999).
Long-term non-indigenous researchers share many ofthe experiences and
challenges ofindigenous researchers. Complex negotiations ofinsider/outsider -- notions
of home and belonging -- are personal as well as professional and too complex to be solely
defined by ethnicity. Maintaining long-term transcultural relationships in communities that
have become "home" necessarily fashions a useful tension that itselfis a methodology of
transcultural learning. The increased frequency ofshifting perspectives required in
transcultural encounters informs understandings in ways that solitary jaunts cannot. Long 
term research forms long-term inter/transcultural relationships that, like any other
relationships, constandy shift and transform.
I have constructed a narrative that is an apt manifestation ofa reality that defies
neat categorizations and generalizations, is open for discussion and interpretation, and will
420
never be fully complete. The untidiness serves as a starting point for future opportunities
to return home, to question, listen, reflect, write, ask, listen, reflect and write again.
The grounded and personal nature of this narrative (I hope) bridges a gap between
academic discourse and indigenous perspectives that are often considered exclusive. The
attempt to privilege the voices and views ofMarshallese, while still conveying the
theoretical and analytical interests ofanthropology is challenging -- particularly where
relationships are primarily personal, with ties that reach beyond professional activities and
research interests. As a result, I am committed to advocacy and empowerment ofMarshall
Islanders and their nation. In this dissertation I have tried to represent them as the active
agents that I know, rather than passive recipients or victims ofother portrayals.
Long-term fieldwork has its "disadvantages" as well. It creates an increased
awareness ofcomplexities, and a desire to constantly contextualize. It makes it
uncomfortable to draw sweeping generalizations and conclusions. As (retired)
anthropologist Alan Howard noted, the longer he works in Rotuma, the greater his sense
ofhistoricity, ofhaving to contextualize everything, and having to avoid the previously
comfortable generalizations in favor ofgreater and greater detail (ASAO 2003). He speaks
of this apologetically, but I consider this an advancement in ethnographic methods -- a sign
ofa mature disciplinary humility that can acknowledge the limits ofits knowledge.
My commitment to empower Marshallese and to express their agency necessitates a
descriptive and context-filled dissertation. This, then, raises issues for me ofthe limits of
academic representations (transcribed, theoretical, static) to express knowledge. I have
found myself drawn to express my understandings in more active forms, particu1arly
421
through applied activities that sustain the process of asking, listening, and reflecting that
always leave me ready to re-turn to my questions and to the Marshalls.
COLLUSIONS AND COLLISIONS
From the earliest explorers' accounts to the most recent US government reports,
the Marshall Islands and its people have been continuously imagined according to
competing foreign interests that seek to discover noble savages, save souIs, exploit
resources, claim imperial territory, defend sea lanes and national interests, test destructive
weapons, and establish permanent strategic alliances. Lost in the numerous, repetitive,
foreign representations are the voices ofMarshallese people. How do the Marshallese make
sense of these relationships? How do foreign representations and relations impact
Marshallese identities? How do Marshallese then define and represent themselves in light
of these transnational relationships? Using insights gained from an examination ofUS 
Marshall Is.lands relations, this study investigates the complexities ofinterwoven
transnational relationships and highlights the ways cuIture mediates globalization and how
global processes influence cuItural production.
"CuIture" is shown here to be a joint production as discourses of tradition,
modernity, chiefs, and nationhood produced by various players (in transnational contexts)
interact and merge. Like the processes of cuItural production, which involve numerous
sources and influences, the processes ofglobalization"too, necessitate cuItural complicities
and collaboration, which then also mediate and limit their influence. CuItural notions of
authority and leadership, cuIturally defined relationships ofpower and dependency, rivalry
and resistance, as well as shared values and beliefs impact transnational networks and
422
colonial relations and agendas. They do this by defining and framing many aspects of
transnational interactions such as: who leaders are, who may serve as links to foreign,
external institutions and networks, what is expected ofleaders and foreigners, how they
should interact, and how localized rivalties and histories inform the motivations, methods,
and outcomes ofal1iance-building.
This dissertation foregrounds the power of cultural models and metaphors,
particularly those ofpower and authority, and the importance ofindividual agency in the
integrative process ofcultural production, representation, and identity formation that
necessarily involve multiple transnational and cultural influences.
The Marshall Islands is a nation defined by its relationship to the United States, as
well as the global networks enabled or created through that relationship. To paraphrase
Stuart Hall (1996) in reference to sub-altern British identities, to understand Marshallese
identities requires more than an account ofMarshallese voices and views about themselves;
it requires an awareness ofMarshallese views ofthe United States, and American views of
the Marshall Islands.
The gnal ofconveying the interconnectedness, and the mutuality of
constructions/imaginings ofthe Marshall Islands and its people frames the focus and
methods ofmy study. To adequately explore constructions oftradition and authority
requires an intense local focus on social relations and histories that are negotiated in daily
interactions. Simultaneously, it also requires focusing on the multiple transnational linkages
to American institutions and interests.
The central agents in these negotiations of culture and globalization are "elites,"
both traditional (i.e. chiefs) and modem. As such, their understandings oftheir roles,
423
networks, alliances, and influences are as significant as their translations ofglobal
discourses into meaningful cultural frameworks. Elites are important sites ofglobal
intersections since they connect cultural status, networks, and alliances with various foreign
institutions that may complement, supplement, or challenge local authority. Examining
how these negotiations occur through and in elites is critical to a grounded understanding
ofthe generally abstract notion of "globalization." By focusing on individuals as sites of
global exchange, and on the discourses they share, globalization may be viewed as an
interaction -- an exchange -- rather than a one-way process.
Discourses serve various agendas, which may collide or collude to sustain
hegemonic ideologies and practices. Where discourses intersect, new definitions emerge as
old understandings transform. The example ofMarshallese chiefs, buttressed by discourses
ofdemocracy and manit [custom] produced jointly by American administrators and
Marshallese serves to illustrate this point. Where discourses collude, transformations result.
TARGETS
Using the metaphors ofmissile testing to imagine the processes ofglobalization
seelns apt to me. Globalization is often imagined as the bombardment ofWestern
products, values, and economic practices into other nations' bounded economic,
geographic, and national political systems. Globalization is represented as a unidirectional
force, in which dominant powers invade the economies and lives ofless powerful others,
and thus conquer them. The assumption is that rhe presence and meanings ofWestern
goods, practices, and discourses are identical in any conrext. Too often we ignore the
424
"interceptors" that are blasted in response - and often hit their mark, infringing upon the
ability ofthe missile to distribute or deliver its intended iropact.
Collisions
Cultural models and metaphors mediate our interactions. They shape our lives,
influence ourperceptions, our thinking, our beliefs about ourselves and others. The
concepts with which we organize our thoughts govern our everyday functions, perceptions,
relations, as well as define our daily realities (Lakoff and Johnson 1980). We use mental
cultural models because they come naturally -- they are pre-existing, enduring, complex,
and adaptable and they may be modified to suit our needs. Our models are so strong they
influence our perceptions and judgments because it is much easier to borrow and modify
existing frames than to invent them for that which we have no prior experience (Fernandez
1991). Their potency results from their natural and unquestioned use.
We interpret the foreign in terms ofthe familiar by creating metaphors to connect
the unconnected, to bridge gaps. Because metaphors enable us to apply the features ofone
domain to another based on judgments of similarities, they are useful. They are able to
shift, transform, and stretch to include new contexts and lead to new meanings and new
models.
Cultural models and metaphors playa tremendous role in transnational relations
and exchanges, as they unavoidably mediate expectations, interactions, and evaluations.
Where conflicting discourses and understandings collide, major misinterpretations occur.
The result includes ambiguous, ambivalent attitudes toward the other, and perpetual
negotiations ofmeaning and understanding. While Americans may borrow the vocabulary
425
ofMarshallese hierarchy by offering "tribute" to "chiefs," and Marshallese use the
discourse of"democracy," each is defined in opposition (or relation) to the other.
American notions of equality conflict with Marshallese perceptions ofauthority and power.
The conflicting representations ofvictimization and dependency carry vastly difference
implications. For example, dependency may be considered a Marshallese ideal-- a fact of
life -- in families, communities, with chiefs, with government, and with America.
Conversely, dependency is an American nightmare -- the opposite of freedom, personal
choice, and individualism. It is impossible to understand transnational processes without an
awareness of the attitudes and the agency oflocal actors.
Collusions
Ethnographies frequently explore power relationships in one-sided ways, from the
perspective ofthe subaltern, the exploited, and the victimized (Marcus et al). This work
contributes to discussions ofpower through its close analysis ofthe ways power is
discursively created, and economically reinforced by indigenous elites.
The findings of this dissertation reveal the complexity ofpower and the agency of
local actors in (post) colonial and transnational contexts. While elites' roles in larger
systems ofpower are frequently studied, their interactions and rivalries, their views of their
socialization and acculturation are not. Elites serve as the "interceptors" whose dual
positionaliiy as transnational linkages and translators ofglobal events and discourses
heavily influences local understandings. They, like cultural metaphors, bridge gaps through
their personal experiences, their knowledge, and the skills that enable them to lead, and
426
hold positions ofinfluence. They access foreign and local resources and acquire status
through their redistribution.
Not only are elites mediators ofthe global, they serve as agents oftransnational
forces. Through their socialization processes, they are collaborators in globalizing agendas,
yet they serve in positions that enable their mediation of this influence. Reflective
interviews about contemporary political relationships (preceded by contextualizing
biographical data) help to place elite identities and histories in a historical context. Their
attitudes, beliefs, and understandings ofglobalization direcdy influence their effectiveness
in collaborating or challenging foreign agendas.
Indigenous/traditional leaders, as culturally defined authorities, are also key players
with transnational influence. While shared cultural values and beliefs define their authority,
local rivalries and prior foreign relations have altered chiefs' authority. These histories
inform the ways chiefs mediate the global, and form alliances with foreign institutions,
nations, and others. The alliance ofAmata Kabua with US interests is critically informed by
local rivalries, collective war experiences, and historic relationships between Marshallese
chiefs and foreign administrations. Transnational relationships may as easily be predicated
on local agendas as they are on foreign ones.
Further, the interactions between chiefs and elites internally, are shaped by cultural
models and transformed by globalizing relationships and competitions. Culture creates
elites by defining authority -- traditional chiefs, and those with ascnbed status are
acknowledged as leaders, yet historical experience of foreign others, and their discourses of
democracy and equality, and educational institutions also mold elites. Cultural frameworks
define how non-traditional elites compete, interact with, and relate to chiefs, and use
427
external sources and resources for local cultural politics. Even so, local relationships are
also influenced, and even dictated by foreign agendas (e.g. American institutionalizatiori of
chiefly authority in democratic representative bodies at close ofWW II legitimized the
representative bodies and transformed the meaning and powers of Marshallese 11'00;).
One target ofthis research has been to shed light on the ways the US presence
consistendy distorts and transforms Marshallese structures ofpower ("culture'') in specific
even contradictory ways (for example, Kwajalein chiefs). Traditional owners ofwhat is now
US strategic real estate -- Kwajalein Atoll -- hold an economic power that exceeds the
bounds oftradirionally recognized authority and denies relationships ofmutuality and
dependence between 11'00/ and kajlff. Chiefs use the rhetoric ofmanit or custom/tradition to
validate a power derived from US-providedgreen peba [money].
Discourse is a significant focus for examining the symbiosis ofglobal and cultural
productions. For example, Marshallese and American models ofleadership share a
discourse on leaders' obligations to subordinates (Marshallese)/constituents (American).
Yet, Marshallese methods offulfilling those obligations and constituents/'subordinates'
expectations ofleaders drastically differ from American models. Thus, the charges of
corruption and abuse raised by Americans in Majuro and by the US government
representatives, merges with Marshallese dissatisfaction into a discourse that is mutually
beneficial in discrediting and disempowering elites yet calls for vastly different results
(Chapter 6). The US condemns corruption in a desire to see Compact funds (which it
considers as US federal rather than RMI monies) used for the benefit ofall (Bodde 1996).
Marshallese condemn corruption in a desire to alter current political leadership, perhaps for
better access to resources through a more direct source (i.e. different individual; clan
428
member). Alternatively, Marshallese may be critical ofa leader who is relucrant to assist his
constituents by complying with their personal requests, when they view him or her as
perfectly entitled to the resources under his control. Elected officials are held to two
conflicting standards whose proponents collaborate in a unified critical chorus. Despite
numerous shared and intersecting discourses, deep-rooted differences remain. Apparent
collusions may in fact mask ideological collisions and transformations.
Borrowing discourses of democracy or modernity, invoking the foreign, must be
understood in specific cultural contexts, and evaluated according to both foreign and
cultural frameworks and understandings (metaphors and models). What may seem to be
the dominance ofglobal practices and forces may be understood and have local meaning as
an act ofresistance, or a well-conceived and executed strategy to access foreign resources
and wealth. Local actors and foreign ones may view these actions and forces quite
differently. I call the creative process ofintegrating foreign and local models and discourses
"indigenization.
H
Conclusions
US and Marshallese models ofauthority and power are renegotiated and reinforced
in each another through shared discourses, symbols, and images. So much focus has been
on US hegemony (Americanization) that not enough attention has been paid to how that
power is conceived ofand constrained by local actors, cultural politics, and cultural
histories ofresistance. Anthropology is uniquely situated to explore this critical aspect of
globalization. Indigenizing and claiming foreign power is a successful strategy for showing
cooperation. Successful adaptation in a changing world requires familiarity with global
429
discourses, symbols, images, rhetoric selectively incorporated into local frameworks that
often twist or invert foreign meanings to suit culturally informed ones.
The Marshall Islands does this by seizing US discourses ofdevelopment, tradition,
accountability, democracy but enacting culturally framed interpretations ofthese terms, in
their own ways. As individual lives are influenced by American education, travel, and the
perpetual ito-itak --and transnational migration -- the influence ofbroad American concepts
infiltrates local discourses that then reinforce the foreign in new transnational, global
discourses. American imaginings ofits role in and relationship to the Marshall Islands then
share vocabulary, concepts, and rhetoric, if not meanings, with Marshallese imaginings of
their nation, its relationship to the United States, and its role in the global arena.
Like the "interceptor" missiles fired from Kwajalein at dummy warheads launched
from California, the understandings ofAmericans and Marshallese about each other are
not always "on target." Cultural metaphors and models have powerful trajectories. This
work demonstrates how Marshallese and Americans share a discursive "space," in which
they alternately send, receive, and intercept discourses and symbols in the creation ofthe
various images of ''The Marshall Islands."
430
APPENDIX A
GEOGRAPHY OF THE RATAK AND RALIK ISLAND CHAINS
Approx.
Number Area (square Latitude (Deg. Longitude (Deg.
Nallle TyP" ofIslands miles) Dry Land Min.) Min.)
Marshall Islands 1,225 4,506.87 70.05 4 34' -14 42' 160 47' - 172 10'
Ratak Chain 641 1,672.52 34.02 553' -14 42' 169 53' - 172 10'
1 Bokak Atoll 10 30.13 1.25 1432' - 1442' 16853' - 169 l'
2 Biker Atoll 7 14.44 0.19 1211' - 12 18' 1704' - 1709'
3 Utrok Atoll 10 22.29 0.94 11 12' - 11 12' 16945' - 16951'
4 Toke Atoll 6 35.96 0.22 11 5' -11 30' 16933' -169 40'
5 Mejit Island 1 0.72 1016' -10 18' 170 52' - 70 53'
6 Ailuk Atoll 55 68.47 2.07 10 12' - 10 27' 16952' - 16959'
7 Jemo Island 1 0.06 10 7' 16933'
8 Likiep Atoll 65 163.71 3.96 948' -10 4' 16858' - 16920'
9Wo*
Atoll 75 241.06 3.16 921'-932' 16948' - 170 15'
10 Erkub Atoll 16 88.92 0.59 98' 170 0'
11 Maloelap Atoll 75 375.57 3.79 829' - 8 55' 170 50' -171 15'
12Aur Atoll 43 92.58 2.17 87'-822' 1711' -17112'
13 Majuro Atoll 64 113.92 3.75 73' - 7 13' 1712' -17158'
14Amo Atoll 103 130.77 5 658'-718' 171 33' - 171 57'
15 Mili Atoll 92 294.7 6.15 5 53' - 6 16' 17142' - 172 10'
16 Nadikdik Atoll 18
431
Approx.
Number Area (square Latitude
Name Type oflslands miles) Dry Land (Deg.Min.) Longitude (Deg. Min.)
RalikChain 584 2834.35 38.03 434' -1142' 160 47' -169 44'
17 Enewetak Atoll 44 387.99 2.26 1120' -1141' 16217' -162 24'
18 Vjelang Atoll 30 25.47 0.67 946' - 9 53' 16047' - 161 0'
19 Bikini Atoll 36 229.4 2.32 11 29' - 11 42' 16512' - 165 34'
20 Rongdrik Atoll 14 55.38 0.65 11 15' - 11 25' 16722' -167 32'
21 Ronglap Atoll 61 387.77 3.07 11 9' - 11 29' 166 38' - 167 4'
22 Ailinginae Atoll 25 40.91 1.08 118'"1111' 16617' - 166 2'
23 Wotho Atoll 18 36:65 1.67 101'-1011' 165 54' - 165 46'
24 Vjae Atoll 15 71.79 0.72 855' - 9 12' 16530' - 166 16'
25 Lae Atoll 20 6.82 0.56 854' - 9 2' 16611' - 167 46'
26 Kwajalein Atoll 93 839.3 6.33 848' - 922 16649' - 167 25'
27 Lib Island 1 0.36 820'-822' 16723' - 168 18'
28Namu Atoll 54 153.53 2.42 745' - 8 12' 16758' -168 59'
29 Jabat Island 1 0.22 7 44' - 7 5' 16858' -168 59'
30 Ailinglaplap Atoll 56 289.69 5.67 7 16' - 7 36' 16833' - 16944'
31 Jaluit Atoll 91 266.31 4.38 547'-618' 16924' - 169 44'
32 Kill Island 1 0.36 537' - 5 38' 1697' -1698'
33 Namdrik Atoll 2 3.25 1.07 535' - 5 38' 1685' - 168 9'
34 Ebon Atoll 22 40.09 2.22 434' - 4 42' 16838' - 16847'
432
APPENDIXB
MARSHALLESE ORTHOGRAPHY
The excerpts below are taken from the Peace Corps, Marshall Islands, "Marshallese
Language Training Manual" (Cook, 1992) and describe some ofthe challenges ofreading
and writing in Marshallese:
NOTE: The difficulties which will plague the student ofMarshallese come
about in large part because the language remained unwritten until recent times.
Thorugh their attempts to translate portions ofthe Bible, Christian missionaries
were the first to introduce literature to this area ofthe Pacific, transcribing the
sounds ofMarshallese with the Roman alphabet. These first translations ofthe
Bible, done in the dialect ofthe Riilik chain, brought about the eventual
predominance ofthis dialect.
The spellings which these missionaries introduced were erratic and the
Roman alphabet was not well suited to represent the sounds ofthe language. It was
not until recent times that a new system was developed to more accurately and
consistently depict the sounds ofMarshallese. The beginning of this new system is
the "phonemic transcription" as it appears in Spoke Marshallese. This sarne system
ofphonemic transcription was later used in the M.E.D.[Marshallese English
Dictionat:¥J with only minor modifications, as mentioned above.
The main entry spellings ofthe M.E.D. were devised based upon the
analysis ofthe phonemes ofMarshallese to more consistently represent the sounds
peculiar to Marshallese. These spellings are intended to be the standard for all
writing in the Republic.
The differences between the common spellings and the M.E.D. standard
spellings are many, and until the spelling reforms are enforced throughout the
country the student will find reading the ''Marshall Islands Journal" (''M.L].''), the
Marshallese Bible, or just about anything written in Marshallese to be somewhat
difficult. Because it has been common for writers ofMarshallese to spell words
according to their individual whims, it is difficult to enumerate all the differences
between the "traditional" and "standardi2ed" spellings. To illustrate some ofthese
differences, you will see below passages excerpted from the Marshallese Bible and
the "M.IJ"
433
TRADITIONAL SPELLING
Psalm 23
1 Iroij ej ao shepherd,
Ijamin aikwij.
2 Ej kakkijeik io ilo melaj in ujoj ko remmaroro,
1m ej tel io non unin dren ko relae.
3 Ej kakajur io.
Ej tel io ilo ia1 eo ejimwe
Einwot an kar kallimur.
4 Iroij, mene ij eta! ilo juon ia1 eo eninjik,
Ijamin rnijak jabdrewot nana,
Bwe kwoj bed ibba,
1m kwoj tel io im kejbarok io kin jokon eo jokonam.
5 Kwoj keboj juon ien mona non io
Iman mejen ro rej kijdrate io;
Ilo am wonmaik io kwoj kabit bora kin oil,
1m kwoj kalon mejidjid cup eo limo.
6 Emol, am joij im yokwe renaj bed ibba toan wot ao mour;
1m inaj jokwe imweo imom non indrio.
434
NEW STANDARD SPELLING
Psalm 23
1 Irooj ej ao jabot,
Ijamin aikuj.
2 Ej kakkijeik eo ilo melaajin wiijooj ko rommaroro,
1m ej tal eo fian wiinin dan ko ro!ae.
3 Ej kakajoor eo.
Ej tal eo ilo iia) eo ejim..we
Ainwot an kar kallim ur.
4 Irooj, mefie ij etal ilo juon iia) eo eninjek,
Ijamin mijak jabdewot nana,
Bwe kwoj pad ippa,
1m kwoj tal eo im kojparok eo kon jokon eo jokon...am .
5 Kwoj kopooj juon iien mafia fian eo
1m aan mejiin ro rej kojdate eo;
Ilo am wonm aik eo kwoj kapit bora kon weil,
1m kwoj kalofi majidjid kab eo limo.
6 Em 001, am jouj im iQkwe ronaaj pad ippa toun wot ao mour;
1m inaaj jokwe im weo im om...fian indeeo.
435
APPENDIXC
COMPENSATION SCHEDULE/AWARDS FOR NUCLEARAFFECTED
MARSHALLESE
Pursuant to §23(13) of the Marshall Islands Nuclear Claims Tribunal Act 1987, as
amended, the Tribunal adopted regulations in August 1991 establishing a list of25 medical
conditions which are irrefutably presumed to be the result ofthe Nuclear Testing Program.
Those regulations were amended by the Tribunal and approved by the Cabinet ofthe
Republic of the Marshall Islands in January 1994 to add two additional conditions
(numbers 26 and 27 below) to the presumed list. Effective October 1,1996, the regulations
were again amended by the Tribunal and approved by the Cabinet to include seven
additional conditions (numbs 28-34 below).
For eligible claimants, the administratively presumed medical conditions and the
amounts ofcompensation for each that will be paid in pro rata annual payments are
as follows:
1. Leukemia (other than chronic lymphocytic leukemia) $125,000
2. Cancer of the thyroid
a. if recurrent or requires multiple surgical and/or ablation $75,000
b. if non-recurrent or does not require multiple treatment $50,000
3. Cancer of the breast.
a. if reeutrent or requires mastectomy $100,000
b. ifnot recurrent or requires lumpectomy $75,000
4. Cancer ofthe pharynx $100,000
5. Cancer ofthe esophagus $125,000
6. Cancer ofthe stomach $125,000
7. Cancer ofthe small intestine $125,000
8. Cancer ofthe pancreas $125,000
9. Multiple myeloma $125,000
10. Lymphomas (except Hodgkin's disease) $100,000
11. Cancer ofthe bile ducts $125,000
12. Cancer ofthe gall bladder $125,000
13. Cancer ofthe liver (except ifcirrhosis or hepatitis B is indicated) $125,000
14. Cancer ofthe colon , $75,000
15. Cancer ofthe urinary bladder $75,000
16. Tumors ofthe salivary gland
a. if malignant , ,'" $50,000
b. if benign and requiting surgery $37,500
c. ifbenign and not requiting surgery $12,500
17. Non-malignant thyroid nodular disease
(unless limited to occult nodules)
a. if requiting total thyroidectomy $50,000
436
b. ifrequiring partial thyroidectomy ...................•............................. $37,500
c. if not requiring thyroidectomy $12,500
18. Cancer ofthe ovary $125,000
19. Unexplained hypothyroidism (unless thyroiditis indicated) $37,500
20. Severe growth retardation due to thyroid damage $100,000
21. Unexplained bone marrow failure $125,000
22. Meningioma $100,000
23. R..diation sickness diagnosed between June 30,1946 and August 18,1958, inclusive
.......................................................................................................................... $12,500
24. Beta burns diagnosed between June 30,1946
and August 18,1958, inclusive : $12,500
25. Severe mental retardation (provided born between May and
September 1954, inclusive, and mother was present on
Rongelap or UtirikAtolls at any time in March 1954) $100,000
26. Unexplained hyperparathyroidism $12,500
27. Tumors ofthe parathyroid gland
a. if malignant $50,000
b. if benign and requiring surgery $37,500
c. if benign and not requiring surgery $12,500
28. Bronchial cancer (including cancer ofthe lung
and pulmonary system) $37,500
29. Cancer ofthe brain $125,000
30. Cancer ofthe central nervous system $125,000
31. Cancer ofthe kidney $75,000
32. Cancer ofthe rectum $75,000
33. Cancer ofthe cecum $75,000
34. Non-melanoma skin cancer in individuals who were diagnosed as
having suffered beta burns under number 24 above $37,500
The regulations adopted by the Tribunal also provide a mechanism and set out
applicable standards for (1) the consideration ofnon-presumed conditions for
compensation in individual cases; (2) the periodic evaluation ofpossible modifications to
the list ofpresumed conditions; (3) the assignment ofcompensation levels to non 
presumed orfuture presumed medical conditions; and (4) adjustments to the amounts of
compensation based on a clairnant's age and prognosis.
To review or obtain copies of the regulations, contact Cathlina J. deBrum, Clerk ofthe
Tribunal, P. O. Box 702, Majuro, MH 96960; telephone (692) 625-3396; facsimile (692)
625-3389; e-mail nctmaj@ntamar.com.
437
COMPENSATION AWARDED
CONDITION COMPENSATION NO.
TOTAL DEDUCTIONS NET
COMPENSATION # COMPENSATION
!Acute radiation
$12,500 72 $900,000 0 $900,000
sickness
[Benign
!parathyroid gland
$37,500 2 $75,000 0 $75,000
tumor requiring
surgery
lBenign salivary
$56,250
~lan~~mor
$37,500 17 $637,500 $581,250
equmng surgery
lBenign salivary
gland tuffior $12,500 2 $25,000 0 $25,000
~thoutsurgery
lBeta bums $12,500 71 $887,500 0 $887,500
!Breast cancer -
lumpectomy or $75,000 10 $750,000 0 $750,000
no surgery
iBreast cancer -
mastectomy or $100,000 24 $2,400,000 $25,000 $2,375,000
recurrent
iBreast cancer -
end stage or cause $125,000 22 $2,750,000 $309,500 $2,440,500
of death
[Bronchial cancer
(lung or $37,500 51 $1,912,500 0 $1,912,500
bulmonarv)
Cancer of the bile
$100,000 1 $100,000 0 $100,000
duct
Cancer ofthe
$125,000 11 $1,375,000 $349,500 $1,025,500
brain
Cancer ofthe
$75,OOC 2 $150,000 0 $150,000
cecum
Cancer of the
$75,000 12 $900,000 $25,000 $875,000
colon
Cancer ofthe
colon - end stage $125,000 4 $500,000 $111,500 $388,500
or cause ofdeath
438
COMPENSATION AWARDED (cont.)
CONDITION COMPENSATION~O.
~OTALDEDUCTIONS NET
k;OMPENSATION # COMPENSATION
Cancer of the
$125,000 5 $625,000 $60,000 $565,000
esophagus
Cancer of the
$75,000 5 $375,000 $37,500 $337,500
kidney, .
Cancer ofthe
$125,000 27 $3,375,000 $374,500 $3,000,500
liver
Cancer ofthe
$125,000 40 $5,000,00C $640,000 $4,360,000
ovarv
Cancer ofthe
$125,000 10 $1,250,000 $160,000 $1,090,000
oancreas
Cancer of the
$100,000 7 $700,000 0 .$700,000
pharynx
Cancer of
Ipharynx - end
$125,000 9 $1,125,000 $144,500 $980,500
stage or cause of
death
Cancer of the
$75,000 8 $600,000 $37,500 $562,500
rectum
Cancer of the
$125,000 I $125,00C $62,500 $62,500
small intestine
Cancer of the
$125,000 26 $3,250,00C $393,000 $2,857,000
stomach
Cancer of the
$75,000 4 $300,000 0 $300,000
urinary bladder.
Cancer ofthe
1'rinary bladder,
$125,000 2 $250,000 $49,000 $201,000
end stage or cause
ofdeath
Hyperpara-
$12,500 I $12,500 0 $12,500
thyroidism
Hypothyroidism. $37,500 16 $600,000 $193,750 $406,250
Leukemia $125,000 37 $4,625,000 $1,458,000 $3,167,000
Lymphoma $100,000 18 $1,800,000 $150,000 $1,650,000
[Lymphoma - end
tage or cause of $125,000 11 $1,375,000 $175,000 $1,200,000
~eath
!Malignaot salivary
$50,000 4 $200,000 0 $200,000
land tumor
lMeningioma $100,000 8 $800,00C $100,000 $700,000
lMeningioma - end
$125,000 I $125,00C $8,000 $117,000
stage
439
COMPENSATION AWARDED (cont.)
CONDITION COMPENSATION NO.
TOTAL DEDUCTIONS NET
COMPENSATION# COMPENSATION
~ultiplemyeloma $125,000 3 $375,000 $38,000 $337,000
Severe growth
$100,000 2 $200,000 $75,000 $125,000
~tardation
IThyroid cancer $50,000 75 $3,750,000 $675,000 $3,075,000
'Thyroid cancer -
$75,000 25 $1,875,000 $212,500 $1,662,500
multiple surgeries
Thyroid nodule -
partial $37,500 213 $7,987,500 $1,318,750 $6,668,750
thyroidectomy
ifhyroid nodule -
tolll1 $50,000 13 $650,000 $125,000 $525,000
thyroidectomy :
lThyroid nodule
$12,500 617 $7,712,500 $343,750 $7,368,750
~thoutsurgery
Unexplained bone
$125,000 3 $375,000 $187,500 $187,500
",arrow failure
~OTALS1,492* $62,800,000 $7,895,500 $54,904,500
# Deductions include both prior compensation for the Sallle medical condition and
adjustments in the amount of compensation due to age. .
*The 1,4902 admitted claims involved 1,368 individuals, many ofwhom had more than
one admitted contition.
440
APPENDIXD
US NUCLEAR TESTS IN THE MARSHALL ISLANDS
No. Date Name Atoll T}'I)e Yield (kilotons)
Operation Crossroads:
1 6/30/46 Able Bikini B-29 Airdrop (520 ft.) 23
2 7/24/46 Baker Bikini Underwater (-90 ft.) 23
Operation Sandstone:
3 4/14/48 X-Ray Enewetak Tower (200 ft.) 37
4 4/30/48 Yoke Enewetak Tower (200 ft.) 49
5 5/14/48 Zebra Enewetak Tower (200 ft.) 18
Operation Greenhouse:
6 4/7/51 Dog Enewetak Towet (300 ft.) 81
7 4/20/51 Easy Enewetak Tower (300 ft.) 47
8 5/8/51 George Enewetak Tower (200 ft.) 225
9 5/24/51 Item Enewetak Tower (200 ft.) 45.5
Operation It!)':
10 10/31/52 Mike" Enewetak Surface 10,400
11 11/15/52 King Enewetak
Airdrop 500
Operation Castle:
12 2/28/54 Bravo
77
Bikini Surface 15,000
13 3/26/54 Romeo Bikini Barge 11,000
14 4/6/54 Koon Bikini Surface
110
15 4/25/54 Union Bikini Barge 6,900
16 5/4/54 Yankee Bikini Barge
13,500
17 5/13/54 Nectar Bikini Barge 1,690
Operation fudwing:
18 5/4/56 Lacrosse Enewetak Surface
40
19 5/20/56 Cherokee Bikini Airdrop 3,800
20 5/27/56 Zuni Bikini Surface 3,500
21 5/27/56 Yuma Enewetak Tower (205 ft.)
0.19
22 5/30/56 Erie Enewetak Tower (300 ft.)
14.9
23 6/6/56 Setninole Enewetak Surface 13.7
24 6/11/56 Flarhead Bikini
Barge 365
76 Experimental thennonuclear device, produced a crater 6240 feet in diameter and 164 feet deep. Device
itself weighted 164,000 1b,.
77 Largest nuclear test explosion conducted by the United States, produced a crater 6000 feet in diameter aod
240 feet deep. Expected yield 6 megatons (presumed range 4 to 8 megatons). Cloud top 114,000 feet.
441
25 6/11/56 Blackfoot Enewetak Tower (200 ft.) 8
26 6/13/56 Kickapoo Enewetak Tower (300 ft.) 1.49
27 6/16/56 Osage Enewetak Airdrop (600-700 ft.) 1.7
28 6/21/56 Inca Enewetak Tower (200 ft.) 15.2
29 6/25/56 Dakota Bikini Barge 1,100
. 30
7/2/56
Mohawk Enewetak Tower (300 ft.) 360
31 7/8/56 Apache Enewetak Barge 1,850
32 7/10/56 Navajo Bikini Barge 4,500
33 7/20/56 Tewa Bikini Barge 5,000
34 7/21/56 Huron Enewetak Barge 250
Operation Hardtack I:
35 4/28/58 Yucca Nr. Enewetak
78
Balloon (86,000 ft.) 1.7
36 5/5/58 Cactus Enewetak Surface 18
37 5/11/58 Fir Bikini Barge 1,360
38 5/11/58 Butternut Enewetak Barge 81
39 5/12/58 Koa
'I'"
'.
Enewetak Surface 1,370
40 5/16/58 Wahoo Enewetak Underwater (-500 ft.) 9
41 5/20/58 Holly Enewetak Barge 5.9
42 5/21/58 Nutmeg Bikini Barge 25.1
43 5/26/58 Yellowwood Enewetak Barge 330
44 5/26/58 Magnolia Enewetak Barge 57
45 5/30/58 Tobacco Enewetak Barge 11.6
46 5/31/58 Sycamore Bikini Barge 92
47 6/2/58 Rose Enewetak Barge 15
48 6,/8/58 Umbrella Enewetak Underwater (-150 ft.) 8
49 6/10/58 Maple Bikini Barge 213
50 6/14/58 Aspen Bikini Barge 319
51 6/14/58 Walnut Enewetak Barge 1,450
52 6/18/58 linden Enewetak Barge 11
53 6/27/58 Redwood Bikini Barge 412
54 6/27/58 Elder Enewetak Barge 880
55 6/28/58 Oak Enewetak Barge 8,900
56 6/29/58 Hickory Bikini Barge 14
57 7/1/58 Sequoia Enewetak Barge 5.2
58 7/2/58 Cedar Bikini Barge 220
59 7/5/58 Dogwood Enewetak Barge 397
60 7/12/58 Poplar Bikini Barge 9,300
61 7/14/58 Scaevola
79
Enewetak Barge O. ("low")
62 7/17/58 Pisonia Enewetak Barge 255
63 7/22/58 Juniper Bikini Barge 65
64 7/22/58 Olive Enewetak Barge 202
78 Balloon detonation at 12"37'N, 169"01'E, approximately 85 miles northeast of Enewetak.
79 "Safety Experiment."
442
65
66
67
7/26/58
8/6/58
8/18/58
Pine
Quince
Fig
Enewetak.
Enewetak
Enewetak
Barge
Surface
Surface
2,000
O. ("fizzle")
O. ("low")
Sources:
TOTALYIELD 108,496.18
Addendum to "Compilation ofLocal Fallout Data From Test Detonations 1945-1962
Extracted From DASA 1251" Volume II - Oceanic U.S. Tests, 1 May 1979, prepared by
General Electric Company-TEMPO under contract to the Defense Nuclear Agency
(publication number DNA 1251-2-EX).
"Nuclear Weapons Databook Working Papers - Known U.S. Nuclear Test" January 1989,
published by Natural Resources Defense Council.
U.S. Department ofEnergy "List ofDeclassified Yields ofTests Conducted in the Pacific
Prior to 1958 -1961 Moratorium," December 1993.
443
APPENDIXE
US ATMOSPHERIC NUCLEAR TESTS AT NEVADA TEST SITE
[NOTE: Tests listed are those conducted during the periods from January 21, 1951, to
October 31, 1958, and from June 30 to July 31, 1962, the designated periods ofexposure in
the U.S. Radiation Exposure Compensation Act of 1990. Tests detonated in a shaft or
tunnel have been excluded]
No. Date Name Site Yield (kilotons)
Operation Ranger:
1 1/27/51
2 1/28/51
3 2/1/51
4 2/2/51
5 2/6/51
Able
Baker
Easy
Baker-2
Fox
NTS (FF)
NTS (FF)
NTS (FF)
NTS (FF)
NTS (FF)
Airdrop (1060 ft.)
Airdrop (1080 ft.)
Airdrop (1080 ft.)
Airdrop (11 00 ft.)
Airdrop (1435 ft.)
1
8
1
8
22
Operation Buster Jangle:
6 10/22/51 Able
7 10/28/51 Baker
8. 10/30/51 Charlie
9 11/1/51 Dog
10 11/5/51 Easy
11 11/19/51 Sugar
12 11/29/51 Uncle
Operation Tumbler-Snapper:
13 4/1/52 Able
14 4/15/52 Baker
15 4/22/52 Charlie
16 5/1/52 Dog
17 5/1/52 Easy
18 5/25/52 Fox
19 6/1/52 George
20 6/5/52 How
Operation Upshot-Kltothole:
21 3/17/53 Annie
22 3/24/53 Nancy
23 3/31/53 Ruth
24 4/6/53 Dixie
25 4/11/53 Ray
26 4/18/53 Badger
NTS (Area 7) Tower (100 ft.)
NTS (Area 7) Airdrop (1118 ft.)
NTS (Area 7) Airdrop (1132 ft.)
NTS (Area 7) Airdrop (1417 ft.)
NTS (Area 7) Airdrop (1314 ft.)
NTS (Area 9) Surface
NTS (Area 10) Crater (-17 ft.)
NTS (Area 5) Airdrop (793 ft.)
NTS (Area 7) -Airdrop (11 09 ft.)
NTS (Area 7) Airdrop (3447 ft.)
NTS (Area 7) Airdrop (1040 ft.)
NTS (Area 1) Tower (300 ft.)
NTS (Area 4) Tower (300 ft.)
NTS (Area 3) Tower (300 ft.)
NTS (Area 2) Tower (300 ft.)
NTS (Area 3) Tower (300 ft.)
NTS (Area 4) Tower (300 ft.)
NTS (Area 7) Tower (300 ft.)
NTS (Area 7) Airdrop (6022 ft.)
NTS (Area 4) Tower (100 ft.)
NTS (Area 2) Tower (300 ft.)
444
<0.1
3.5
14
21
31
1.2
1.2
1
1
31
19
12
11
15
14
16
24
0.2
11
0.2
23
27 4/25/53 Simon NTS (Area 1) Tower (300 ft.) 43
28 5/8/53 Encore NTS (Area 5) Airdrop (2423 ft.) 27
29 5/19/53 Harry NTS (Area 3) Tower (300 ft.) 32
30 5/25/53 Grable NTS (Area 5) Gun (airburst, 524 ft.) 15
31 6/4/53 Climax NTS (Area 7) Airdrop (1334 ft.) 61
Operation Teapot:
32 2/18/55 Wasp NTS (Area 7) Airdrop (762 ft.) 1
33 2122/55 Moth NTS (Area 3) Tower (300 ft.) 2
34 3/1/55 Tesla NTS (Area 9b) Tower (300 ft.) 7
35 3/1/55 Turk NTS (Area 2) Tower (500 ft.) 43
36 3/12155 Hornet NTS (Area 3a) Tower (300 ft.) 4
37 3/22/55 Bee NTS (Area 7) Tower (500 ft.) 8
38 3/23/55 Ess NTS (Area 10) Crater (-67 ft.) 1
39 3/29/55 Apple-l NTS (Area 4) Tower (500 ft.) 14
40 3/29/55 Wasp Prime NTS (Area 7) Airdrop (737 ft.) 3
41 4/6/55 HA (high alt.) .NIS (Area 1) Airdrop (36,620 ft.)
42 4/9/55 Post NTS (Area 9c) Tower (300 ft.) 2
43 4/15/55 MET (Mil. Eff.) NTS (FF) Tower (400 ft.) 22
44 5/5/55 Apple-2 NTS (Area 1) Tower (500 ft.) 29
45 5/15/55 Zucchini NTS (Area 7) Tower (500 ft.) 28
Operation P!umbbob:
46 5/28/57 Boltzman NTS Tower 12
47 6/2/57 Franklin NTS Tower 0.14
48 6/5/57 Lassen NTS Balloon 0.0005
49
6/18/57 Wilson NTS Balloon 10
50 6/24/57 Priscilla NTS Balloon 37
51 7/5/57 Hood NTS Balloon 74
52 7/15/57 Diablo NTS Tower 17
53 7/19/57 John NTS Rocket About 2
54 7/24/57 Kepler NTS Tower 10
55 7/25/57 Owens NTS Balloon 9.7
56 8/7/57 Stokes NTS Balloon 19
57 8/18/57 Shasta NTS Tower 17
58 8/23/57 Doppler NTS Balloon 11
59 8/30/57 Franklin Prime NTS Balloon 4.7
60 8/31/57 Smoky .NTS Tower 44
61 9/2/57 Galileo NTS Tower
11
62 9/6/57 Wheeler NTS Balloon .197
63 9/8/57 Laplace NTS Balloon 1
64 9/14/57 Fizeau NTS (Area 3b) Tower (500 ft.) 11
65 9/16/57 Newton NTS (Area 7b) Balloon (1500 ft.) 12
66 9/23/57 Whitney NTS (Area 2) Tower (500 ft.) 19
445
67 9/28/57 Charleston NTS (Atea 9) Balloon (1500 ft.) 12
68 10/7/57 Morgan NTS (Area 9) Balloon (500 ft.) 8
Operation Hardtack II:
69 9/19/58 Eddy NTS Balloon .083
70 9/29/58 Mora NTS Balloon 2
.71 10/10/58 Quay NTS Tower .079
72 10/13/58 Lea NTS Balloon 1.4
73 10/15/58 Hamilton NTS Tower .0012
74 10/16/58 Dona Ana NTS Balloon .037
75 10/18/58 Rio Arriba NTS Tower .090
76 10/22/58 Soccoro NTS Balloon 6
77 10122/58 Wrangell NTS Balloon .115
78 10/22/58 Rushmore NTS Balloon .188
79 10/26/58 Sanford NTS Balloon 4.9
80 10/26/58 De Baca NTS Balloon 2.2
81 10/29/58 Humboldt NTS Tower .0078
82 10/30/58 Santa Fe NTS Balloon 1.3
Operation Storax:
83 7/6/62 Sedan NTS Crater (-320 ft.) 100
84 7/1/62 little Feller II NTS Surface "Low"
85 7/11/62 Johnny Boy NTS Surface 0.5
86 7/14/62 Small Boy NTS Surface "Low"
87 7/17/62 little Feller I NTS Surface "Low"
TOTAL YIELD (EXCLUDING TESTS INDICATED AS "LOW") 1,096.0385
Source:
Addendum to "Compilation ofLocal Fallout Data From Test Detonations 1945-1962.
Extracted From DASA 1251" Volume II - Oceanic U.S. Tests, 1 May 1979, prepared by
General Electric Company-TEMPO under contract to the Defense Nuclear Agency
(publication number DNA 1251-2-EX).
446
APPENDIXF
MAP OF "DOWNWINDERS"
. ,
Maloelap
..
Erikub
"
Ailinglaplap
• Jab"
Namu •
•'H
.......
-.
Lib .
I • •••••• Aur
....
". 308 miles
Majur ". "Amo
Bika .. 360 miles
.'
•••••• Utrik
Rongerik .'
}'aka
••' iluk 443 miles
.
.•..
~..-.....
... .-
• ..' Likiep Jentd····· Mer
• K • 1- . ..-
~ptem •••••••••• Wotje
.......
.....
Rongelap
Ailingn~
·
·
·
~Wotho
369 miles~
.
·
·
·
·
·
·
·
·
ikini~
.-~
.
.
Ujelang
Enewetak
".
N
-¢-
Jaluit
-.
.'.
Mili
. .
..., ..;
.
Namorik
,
Kili
o Nevada Test Site
II US Downwlnders affected area '. Ebon
447
APPENDIXG
"HOW THE SAIL CAME TO THE OUTRIGGER"
Once long ago on the island ofWoja, Ailinglaplap, there was a family often
brothers living together. Each brother wanted to rule of the others. The desire to
be the leader got worse. Once day these brothers agreed they would have a canoe
race. They decided to race their canoes far away from Woja Island, across the wide
lagoon, to Jeh Island. It lay a great distance to the east. They felt sure that the best
man would win the race. On the day ofthe race, all the brothers lined up their
canoes along the shore of a place which is still now called Jebro. They started out
on the big race. They agreed that whoever first landed at Jeh would become lro'!i.
The canoes ofthe ten brothers were built for speed. Each man had made his own.
Each one had carved a special paddle for the great race.
At last came the day. 'The first and best starring place belongs to me,' said Timur,
the eldest.
The other brothers arranged their canoes along the shore according to their ages.
The boy, Jebro, had the last place, for he was the youngest. The other canoes were
between the places held by Timur andJebro.
In those days, sails had not yet been invented. A man used a pole with which to
push his canoe along in shallow water. He used a paddle in deeper water. So, all of
the brothers were paddling in the open sea. The oldest brother, Timur, got the lead,
and Jebro, the youngest, was the last one in the race. While these brothers were
racing toward Jeh, their mother Liktanur was standing on the beach of one small
island in Aineu Village, the island is shaped like a sail.
The mother ofthose ten brothers was a wise, beautiful woman who lived high
above them, in the sky. She came down to earth from time to time to be with her
family. Her name was Liktanur. She knew about the race that her sons had planned.
She came down to the beach, just as they were about to start. She had brought
along some large bundles, but she did not explain what was in them.
She went to Timur, her eldest son, who was first in line with his fast racing canoe.
He thought to himself, 'My mother and her bundles will load my canoe too much.
IfI take her along, I might lose the race.' Timur told her to wait for his next
brother because he was in a hurry....
And so it was with the other brothers. None was willing to take her along in the
race. Finally her youngest son Jebro was approaching the island. 'Son, please give
me a ride,' she called. Jebro heard his mother. He pulled over to the shore. When
she asked Jebro, he said, 'Ofcourse, Mother. Come with me and welcome.'
448
That day, the wind was blowing strongly from the east. The brother knew that they
would have to paddle hard all the way. But even so, Jebro was willing to take along
his mother and her bundles.
The canoes ofnine of the brothers leaped over the water. Each man paddled with
great strength and skill. Soon they were far apart on the horizon, but Liktanur kept
Jebro on the beach for a while.
'Don't worry because you are late in the race,' she said. 'You'll catch up with your
brothers.'
Then she asked him to loosen the strong ofher large bundles, and Jebro did so.
There was strange looking gear, such as he never had seen before. Among such
things as poles, hardwood blocks, ropes, and twine, he saw a large piece of strong
woven material.
'What's this?' he asked.
'Something new, Jebro,' replied his mother.
'Who made it?'
'I did, my son. I wove strips ofpandanus leaves, then I sewed the strips together
into this three-cornered shape.'
'What is this thing to be called?'
'It's a sail. We'll hang it on a mast and put it on the canoe. Itwill fill up with wind
and push your canoe along fast.'
'Faster than I can paddle?'
'You won't need to paddle at all, my son. The sail will do all the hardest work for
you. But you must learn how to put it up and to handle it, and how to steer the
canoe with a paddle.'....
Jebro was delighted when the sail filled with air and the breeze carried them fast
over the high waves. He looked for his brother, but by that time, they were a long
way ahead. They had paddled far apart from each other and were out of sight,
among the swells and the waves.
Liktanur showed Jebro how to get speed by tacking, first to starboard, the right
side, and then to port, the left side. The canoe flew over the water like a great bird,
and he was happy and excited. He and his mother passed the other canoes, one by
one, without being seen by his brothers.
449
At last, they were ahead ofall except Timur. Then they came to him. He was
surprised to see the sailing canoe. 'Give me the boatl Exchange with me at once!'
he shouted.
'I'll have to give Timur my canoe,' said Jebro.
'Very well,' said Liktanur. 'We'll get into his canoe and let him have this one. But
take along with you the repakak and thejurikli [boom socket] from one end of the
canoe. Leave him only those at the other end.'
So Timur got into the sailing canoe. Jebro and his mother paddled ahead in Timur's
canoe and were soon hidden from him by high wave. Timur sailed very fast, but
when he tried to tack, he had trouble, because ofthe missing gear. The canoe
would go only one way. Jebro reached the shore ofJeh long before the others.
His mother smiled at him. 'Hide Timur's canoe in the brush and come with me,'
she said.
She led Jebro to the ocean side ofthe island, where they would not be seen from
the lagoon side. Near the shore, there was a pool ofclear water. She bather her son,
then she rubbed him with perfumed oil. She gave him a new skirt of the inner bark
ofthe 100 [hibiscus] tree and some beautiful necklaces ofcolored seashells. She put
sweet-smelling white £lowers around his head.
Then she stood in front ofhim and spoke. 'I give you the kingly name ofJeleilon,'
she said.
The other brothers thought thatJebro and their mother had been left far behind.
Even Timur though so, for he did not see them, when he landed. He was the first
ofJebro's brothers to come to Jeh Island. He was sute that he had won the race....
He thought that he was the first one to set foot on the island and he began to shout
and call people. He said that he was lro'!i.
Then the other brothers arrived at the beach and saw Timur there. They all
shouted.
'ItrJOj Timur - ooo! Timutis lmoj'
Then Liktanur said to Jebro, 'Now is the time to go over and show yourself to your
brothers.'
Jebro, bathed and oiled and decorated, walked over to his brothers and stood
before them. They looked at him in surprise. Then came Liktanur, their mother,
and the people ofJ eh Island, shouting:
450
'IrotjJeleilon...oo! Jeleilon is 1ro'!J. When Jebro reached the south, the seas became
calm, and he loved mankindl'
As so Jebro became 1rotj. Timur was angry. He turned his face away from Jebro
and looked back toward the south. He toldJebro that they would not see each
other again. To this day, Timur faces to the south in the sky. When their life on
earth was over, the ten brothers went to live in heaven with their mother. They are
the bright stars by which men steer their boars on lone voyages. From their places
in heave, Timur and Jebro can never see each other. The only star which is close to
Jebro is his mother, Liktanur.
451
1816
May 21
APPENDIXH
OTTO VON KOTZEBUE INTHE MARSHALL ISLANDS
Utirik (KutusofJ) and Taka (SuwarofJ) sighted and named.
1817
January 1
January 5
January 15
February 7
February 10
Feb. 12
February 16
February 19
February 20
February 22
February 23
February 24
February 26
February 28
March 1
March 2
March 4
March 13
Mejit sighted and designated New Year's Island
Landing at Wotje, "Goat Island"
Other islands ofWotje visited. Meeting with Rarik on Ormed/Wodmej;
Meeting with Lagediak on Otdia/Wotje; Meeting with Langin on Edmedio;
Meeting with Labugar on island south ofEdmedio; Wotje Atoll named
Romanzoff Islands
Eregup/Erekub named Tschitschagof. Sighted only.
Kawen/ Maloelap islander interaction
Tamon (IroOJ) Labadeny ofTarua/Taroa; Kawen described as more lush
than Otdia/Wotje; Meeting with Langedju ofOlot, near Taroa.
Taroa, Kawen/Maloelap until February 19th.
Airik, Kawen/Maloelap
Meeting with Irooj Labeloa 0 f Kawen island
Visit Langedju at Olot, near Taroa Kawen/Maloelap
Departed. Kawen named Araktschejef Islands (after a general); Sighted
Pigen, Aur. Meet Kadu and Eddock from Ulle /Woleai. Meet lrao;
Tigedien, 'Tamon' ofAur.
Stobual Island, Aur. Meet three chiefs: Tiuraur, chief ofWotje, father of
Rank, Lebeuliet, chief ofKawen, and Tigedien. Learned ofLamary who
controlled Ratak from Aur to Bikar, who was assembling a force to move
South to attack Majuro, since Majuro islanders pillage Wotje because
Majuro'S population is so large.
Aur named Traversey, after the Russian Minister ofMarine.
Sighted Wotje again, then Ailu// Ailuk
Contact islanders at Ailuk.
Went ashore on Ailuk. Met Langemui, Irooj ofAiluk who resides at
Capeniur.
Visit Capeuiur to meet with Langemui for geography lesson about Ralik
chain and the chiefs there, Lagadack-nanait and Labondugin. Odja
/ Ailinglaplap, is considered the most populous and largest of the Ralik
group.
Leave Ailuk, names it Ktusenstem after the man with whom Kotzebue first
traveled
Viewed Utirik (recoguizes it as Kutusoff from May 1816 records). Viewed
Taka/Togai. Four canoes appeared, about to repeat previous year's
ceremony when islanders recognized Kadu. Meet Lamary on sea.
452
March 14-1S Tried to reach Bigar/Bikar, but current too strong and pushed them too far
West.
Goumey to Alaska and back to Radack)
October 30
October 31
November 4
NovemberS
1824
April 28
May 6
Sighted Wotmej, Wotje
Wodmej, Wotje -- Kadu greets friends.
Departed from Wotje; pass Erikub
Sighted Likiep, greeted islanders, named atoll Count Hayden (after
Commodore)
Sighted Wotje, reunion with friends
Leave Wotje, pass Aur. Charted Likiep, without landing.
453
Name
APPENDIX I
AMERICAN MISSIONARIES TO THE MARSHALL ISLANDS
Years ofService
Edward and Sarah Doane
Luther and Louise Gulick
Jessie Hoppin
Edmund and Harriet Pease
George and Naney Pierson
Clinton and Isadore Rife
Benjamin and Lydia Snow
Alfred and Lavinia Walkup
Joel and Louisa Whitney
1857-1859
1859-1860
1890
18??-1894
1857-1859
1894
1862-1869
1880-1888
1871-1881
Name
Hawaiian Missionaries to the Marshall Islands
Years of Service/Location
Hezekiah Aea
David Kapali and wife
JA. Kaelemakule and wife
Simeon Kahelemauna
Mary J:(aaiialii*
S.P.K. Nawaa
Samuel Kaaia
Samuel W. Kekuewa
1860-1869 Ebon
1869 -1871 Majuro
1862 Ebon
1864 Namodrik
1866 Jaluit
1862- Ebon
1864 Namodrik
1870 -1876 (died at Mill)
1870 -1876 Mill (with Simeon)
1877-1881 Mill (with Nawaa)
1877-1881 Mill
1871-1874 Namodrik
1874-1882 Arno
1873-1883 Majuro
*After Simeon Kohelemauna's death Mary KaoiiaIii married his brother S.P.K Nawaa.
Source: Sam, Harry 1988: 30-31
454
APPENDIX]
ADMIRAL NIMITZ PROCLAMATION
. .
m_.., ...... ,...~ID....-...._w,.__
UiIt l:ahIl4taata tI»iwm, .... 1:IM1...".,".""1_ ,.1 I ;,fM.U."J'. U'*~II! •
.. .ImJn1;.lJalw.d.atate. 1tP7.. 0 "MOl lbe: 1btUd,·.....'Clll'CM of I 1.,
ud -.u,taT Oonmor• .... wU1 lie ...·a)- U&Jaop~, • ...,.. .,
_.
m
w. _ W1U _ )lIaiIIpQJ all ...-. 11-lIT _ or 1lIIdoo" .......it.tJ
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_lI01pflll~"-"I__~_ at~lIlY oat _ ....
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At . .
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...........~-"""or dOo1llaIIla· _--....,,__, _
~............._ 0,
Jl
....1ciiiJ,-,. ........i, ' ·a.i u.. .........-Qf,:tIiiiI ..WatitU'
-"'.."~,..W1U' :IOA lIItrl. _til_
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m
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. .
..._-~----
455
456
-
--
FIRST
To 'l'IlS :.wlSIlALL PTsOPLll
,-
W1 A"'U';\.08i1· 1011l18rs are t;l.gbt;l.ng the lepanele 1011l;\..,ra. l.e
Amer;\.oana mdat OCme to thele~IhallISlan49 ln order to right the
soldler. ot Japan.
lu:1erican tlghting tor"... do not wBnt; to Wllte war on tho IIarshall
people.~'ieAt28rlcBD.8 want the lfIU'uaues8 not to su1"rer wherever mt
40 Dot Un to lIlllke ohang.. beoaUBe ot war. And we Ame..l_ WlUlt
the uarlhalleae~obe trlendly to ".. .
In o1'ller to protsot tho Marshalle..e and the Amerlo8ns. lt 1. Deo 
. Glaary to make the o_ller. ot the erJllBll toroes rule in tbe Marshall
.~/Islands.
Theroto..e I. C. 'Ii.NIl4I?~.ol;;h oOlllUlaDiier at American ......hipB
and tighting "",n ln the Paoitlc Oc.an an4 Goyernor or thOGe llaraball
Islandl deolere these ,,",!'d. to you now'
III these islands all )lower bel_til to 1M. 111gb OOJ:llllaDd.r or
Amarloan waraJ11ps and ar""'d torGeS which are he..e enll Getnrnol' ot
these islsnda. And IB7 cttloers wUl rule by IllY laws.
~.
'rll.e Japanese autllO..lt1e.. will Deli !lbe 1&.... to tbe llarshalleae
..nen Amel'loan aoldle... are ber••
1·
All lIIi1'8h1lle.e wlU ob.., aU rrr 1...... P"OIllPtly and theY 11111
ob.., my ott10&.1's. /olIl1'Bhelleae Illall not be hostIle t;o Amerloan t ..oopa
and shall not belp tbe Japenas. tl.'oopa. TOll ahall not den:l'Ot allT.
thing 01' dO ilJl7tillng 1>ad to any p....OD.
I 118&11'. thali tbe t.:&rBllallase keep thelr lIOu88a. thBlr ];Il'Qperty.
their ou.toms. It thB AIllarloBDs do not bave to Ilpaet tIlOJll.
Good JllDl:l., >lOW in thaee i.l8rshall Is1Snd. 18 Amer10an _y only.
oal1ed dollar. Y.,.. sllall not llU7 or .ell wlth Japanese "",ne7.
457
r
U 70U qe 1'rl';nclly to lU end Dbe)' "" 1"'8 01' \lie AbJ8rloan
1'oree., "" w1U Illlt d1.tllrb 70U IIlO1'e tllall we have to beo_. Dr the
_r.
2·
I en4 rqottle~"w1U write new 1"". l"ter 011. The8e 1.......
wtU UU Jtl1l *", 18 3004 ror Toa tio 40 en4 1Ibat 18 1'orl>ldden. You
w1l1 88e thus 1.... til tile town and 10 the polloe .ta.UOll.
:t, C. W. llDiITZ, lI1cA Co!IIoander
01' AlrlerlO8l11.a1"8hl~.lUld J'1sJ1Un3 Yoroe8
10 the Pao11'10 uoe&!t
and GoT....".,r or tihe8e Jfilz8h8U IslaJ:ld.
Year
458
• •
KENNAII !lOKi'A
Ilo 011'1 tariDae ail 111 Aa6l'll1:a raj 1rra 1'0 drl tU1l>a8 11> NIppon,
Drl AIIler1ll:a 1I:1lIw1jaliuj Itoll: Ion ..uti ....11> lIa1'a/lBll ...... 1.1'1'8 1'0
clrl tarinaa in Rippon.
1ar 111 ta1'1naa jan Aaer1ll:a "... jab kllnan tar1na1ll: 41'1 Iianllall.
Kim drl AlMr1ll:akim l<llnaJI ...... 41'1 Ma1'lIllu,l ..Jalo1< lilt.... 110 j11<111
oteJlljaJla kla Jab a1l<l1j ulI:ota kin tar1Dae. III c1ri Ame1'ik.. r .. Jdlnan
_ 41'1 lfa1'ahaU·:Nn jo1j lIll11 lI:1t4.
:awe k,.JlHi1'Ok 41'i .raltal1 1m drl AIIle1'lka, .. aik"J 1n ka11'OiJ
ro. dri tien 1D Jar taruae 10J1 ..u1ll h1ll Marllll.u.
hen Aa. c. w. .NIJaTZ D.l'! Klal!llJ.ap in I!an..... Juin 1a Drl 'I'....lnae
lbAme1'lka Uo Pa.,ll'io LorDeto, 1m Ba KIlII1...... 1la allill kein Jlarllllall.
iJ ba nEln kEl1n lI11n koJll kill: .
Ro d1'1 beba 1n Nippon ran jab JUoIl klan 1I:0 nlln drl 1oIa1'a/lfl1l ke
Jar tartlle.. til Amer1l<8 .... bel' ij1ll•
.1.
Ml.eI1 drl X/u'8JlaJ.1 _~a.JbOkBl<eiIlln k1.." otemJej ..0 1m. ran
boll:ake drl l<1en 1'0 Elll. 1>1'1 lIIltahall ran Jab kiJerate IIlln dr1 tu1nae
in ilmarlka. 1Ja JabJi"1Jolf c1ri t .....ina.. in Ninon. KOIIl1n Jab Jtoklture ak
Jab kWA...n lI""a MIl al'lItJ otemJ..J.
i·
lkllnlln bWll ro drl~ahllUreJ1~.b1J1mtl1;rJ ...... ko e11')kab III8J11t
to ail', If.. 1'0 dri """"1'1lI:a lie Jaba1lalJ utota man biD,
l.,f.··....·-d.·
i· .,'
EIlOl1 lIlIn1kl~110au1l1 kjI;!D Wiitahiill • ml;A11Jl W1'1Iu. ..ot,
lIllln1 .tall 481... KOOlln Jab ..la a.k ..1al<ek,1n ml5n1 iD NlppOR.
459
1·
ia 111 drl. k1e eO. khIIUIl&.1 3"j. k.1. ·.ko t'tj. kaal ",Ulllt. lUa..
kiln.~lla3klnUOJr, _ ko ea& aai .I<&allu 111 ..... 1<0 :re .lab _11... KOIII
na.l 10 11:1811 kan 110 .I111:in _loll: 1m 1l0blin cb'1 kallwljroll:•
~.
lIla.ile\tOlll 3013 ii&D Ida1Jll le<lll1Jl OOkake le1,,11 !co aU" ill 31U'
tBl'iQIla1D Amer1k&, le1mld3 jab 1Ia3lIli~.Iala 81a,1011: .I_ .-13 a1ku.l
k1l1 l;81'l.lIaa.
•
•
.
. ' .'
460
GLOSSARY
Aelon: island
Alab: lineage head who setves as liaison between the chief and the lineages on the land.
Bwij: Matrilineage
Bwebwenato: a story or the act oftelling stories.
Bwirak: the child of an Irooj father and commoner mother. Neither royalty (Irooj) or
commoner (kajur). A lower-tiered Irooj.
On: people of, or people who
Dn-Amerika: Americans.
On-bene: People with clothes, possessions, wealth. Foreigner.
Dn-jerbal: workers
Dn-kaki: a chirch leader, teacher, or a schoolteacher.
Dn-kien: government people
Dn-mweie: the wealthy
On-Nippon or On Japan: Japanese people
On-tel: leaders
Ito-itak: Coming and going, moving back and forth
Iar.lagoon
Irooj/Lerooj: Chief,/Chieftess also, Lord.
loij: Generosity, goodness, grace
Jook: ashamed, shy
Jowi: Clan, a cluster ofmatrinlineages that descend from a common ancestress.
Kajur. strength, or commoner
Kautiej: to respect; or noun: respect
Lik: Ocean
Kite: to recognize
Mantin Majol: Marshallese customs, ways, knowledge, behaviors, abbreviated form of
manit in Majo\.
Utiej: High
Rutej: Dri-utiej, the high status people, the authorities.
Wato: smallest definied unit ofland, usually a strip running from lagoon to oceanside.
461
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