| The Samoan Affairs Office is right next to the
Development Planning Office in downtown Pago Pago. John Kneubuhl says Samoan Affairs
represents the alter-ego government of American Samoa. "If you want to be effective
with your island awareness project, go see Senator A.U. Fuimaono."
I walk into the old wooden house, a twin to the Parks and Recreation
house down the street, except there is no cage. I tell the receptionist I'm there to see
Senator A.U. Fuimaono. Tufi, from the Tourism office, has come along with me, to introduce
me to the Senator. We are immediately shown into Fuimaono's office. The first thing I
notice is a hand carved wood sign on his desk, "Paramount Chief."
The Paramount Chief is sitting behind a huge wood desk covered with
papers, looking at me with a friendly, attentive gaze. He is also speaking rapid
Samoan into two phones, one held to each ear. He is a large, middle aged Samoan with a
very pleasant baratone speaking voice.
He hangs up one phone, then the other, his eyes never leaving mine. "Sorry, please, sit down, sit down." There are about forty chairs in the room,
all lined up facing the Paramount Chief's cluttered desk. Tufi sits in a chair about half
way to the desk but the Chief waves his hand and says, "No, no, come sit here," pointing to the front row. We come forward, Tufi with his head and torso bowed low. As I
shake the Chief's hand, Tufi mutters an introduction, stareing steadily at the floor.
I explain about the Island Beautification Project and how I would
like to have a group of people clean up a particularly filthy beach over by the cannery.
He is very interested in helping with the program and says he will arrange to have a work
party at the beach whenever I want. Tufi excuses himself, and leaves, but Chief Fuimaono
seems so intent, interested and friendly, I set about explaining about the island
awareness concept and how Tutuila is a living organism. "If I can get people,
especially the youth, to see themselves as part of the living island of Tutuila, I believe
they will change their behavior towards the island, and perhaps each other, in beneficial
ways. In particular, as a measure of success of the campaign, I am targeting trash. People
who love themselves and the Island life that supports them are less likely to throw trash
everywhere." I get as far as the need for a youth recreation center and he
holds up his hand.
"I have the perfect place to build it! Come on, I'll show
you." He gets up and, without further comment, quick-marches me out of his office and
into his car. We drive all the way around Tutuila, almost to Leone. On the way we chat
about the living island concept. He's a farmer at heart, a high Samoan chief by heritage,
a lawyer and politician by profession. He got his law degree in Washington D.C. and spent
years there representing American Samoa. He is a senator in the Fono and holds the
position of Paramount Chief in the Samoan government.
"Here is my home," he turns off the main road. "I
want to show you this land behind my home." He drives his low-slung Chrysler along a
dirt trail, bonking the undercarriage on an occasional rock, and stops in the narrow gap
of a high, rocky ridge. We get out and walk through the gap into a magic arena. It is a
small volcano crater with high, vertical walls, and a round, flat center. The narrow gap
is the only way in. The walls are maybe 100 meters high, lined with tall, old trees. A cow
looks up from the center pasture and goes back to munching the green grass. I sense
tremendous power in here - a peaceful, protective power. I am reminded of Nukutapu in
Wallis. Another power point of the planet.
"Are there any legends about this place?" I ask, softly,
as we stand and look out over the crater.
"Oh yes. This place is called Pago. The other place, Pago Pago,
is named after this Pago. Years ago it was a fortress. If anyone threatened Tutuila, the
women and children came in here to hide. No enemy ever found it. Everyone feels safe here.
There was a large wall of stone and wood where we drove in. I tore it down." We
wander around the crater and Fuimaono says he has, for ten years, had a dream to make this
a Youth Recreation Center. A sporting place. He shows me where the buildings will be, the
flat place for the track and football field, and the perfect spot for a basketball gym.
Three cows ignore us from the middle of the future olympic pool.
"How do you get along with Tolani Toleso?" I ask.
"Oh fine, we're good friends."
"Have you talked with him about this idea? He's also very
interested in a Youth Recreation Center."
"No, we have not spoken about it together," we walk back
towards his car.
"What about Dr. John Doss at Public Health?"
"I have never met him." We get back in the car and the
Paramount Chief drives me back into Pago Pago.
Friday, 11 August. I take a photo of some drink cans flattened on
the road and then head in to see the Senator. Chief Fuimaono's office is filled with
people and I sit in the waiting room as they mill about, everyone talking in whispers,
bowing as they enter and leave the Chief's room. Samoan Affairs is a kind of court to
settle disputes about land. In Tutuila, land is the paramount issue and there are
frequent, often violent squabbles about territorial rights. Fui, as he likes to be called
by his friends, sits as judge and jury on these cases.
Finally the horde clears out and Fui's secretary gestures for me to
go in.
"Oh, sorry you had to wait, Richard. Please, sit, would you
like some coffee?" Fui is as attentive and friendly as before. He is the first Samoan
who has treated me like a friend. For the most part, the Samoans I've met either ignore me
or are hostile. Once and awhile there have been some who treat me as an object of respect,
or someone to use.
Some Samoans like to keep 'Pet Palangis' as status symbols or
perhaps just because they might be useful in the future. The word palangi is used to
describe anyone of European descent. It means "Sky Breaker." When the Samoans
first saw white men, they thought they were Gods who had broken the sky to come down to
visit. Another version has it that the first Samoans thought the European ships had masts
that broke the sky and the sails were like clouds. In any event, palangi's are few and far
between in Samoa - unlike Hawaii - and Samoans have a definite, although unconscious,
xenophobia.
I sit down and accept a cup of coffee. "I spoke to Tolani again
and he would like to have a meeting with you, Jim Hyatt from the Department of Interior's
Park Service, and Dr. Doss from Public Health next Tuesday evening at the Rainmaker. The
main purpose of the meeting will be to talk about the foundation of a youth center. Would
you be able to come?"
"Yes, of course, that sounds excellent. You mentioned this Dr.
Doss before. He must be new on the island."
"No, actually, he's been here about two years. He's really
looking forward to the meeting. He's been feeling rather isolated and frustrated." I
understate what Dr. Doss actually told me. He said, over dinner at his house, "This
place drives me nuts. Here I am with more than half a million dollars to spend on youth
and public health programs and I can't seem to get anything to happen. Nobody will talk to
me."
"I don't understand why anyone should isolate himself like
that," Fui looks genuinely confused.
"A man can be isolated, but not often by himself. He is almost
always isolated by the people around him."
"But why?"
"Why?" I look closely at Fui to see if he is testing me as
Tolani did, but he seems totally without guile, as if he really does not understand.
"Why should a doctor with excellent credentials and an eagerness to help, a man
invited to American Samoa to develop public health and youth programs, a senior official
from the U.S. Department of Health who energetically comes up with $500,000 in aid money,
be isolated?"
"Yes, I don't understand it at all."
I understand it, or think I do. But it is difficult to believe the
Paramount Chief does not understand. Although he seems very friendly, I remind myself that
Samoans have a very real element of danger around them. I spent an afternoon with Governor
Coleman and had no doubt he understood the game plan. Coleman is a Samoan who cut his
political teeth as the head of the U.S. Trust Territory of the Pacific Islands. They
elected him as the first Samoan Governor of American Samoa and he has held the post ever
since.
Finally, I decide to evade the answer to Fui's question. "Isolating him is easy. Just ignore him. A man who is used to being sought after and
honored can rarely handle being ignored. He can't freely circulate outside his line of
command because he knows nothing of island politics and relies trustingly on whoever is
his boss - the head of Public Health, in this case."
"But why do this?" Fui could be testing me, it's
impossible to tell one way or another. But he does not want to evade the question. I have
never discussed my observations about how American Samoa works with anyone but Freddy. I
have been unable to guess how much of the group behavior pattern is an actual conspiracy
and how much is an unconscious group reaction. I might as well see how Fui receives the
observations.
"The name of the game here in American Samoa is to bring money
onto the island with as few palangi's as possible. The rules of the game are that the
money should be spent however the power people want to spend it and the palangi's should
leave at the earliest opportunity. Social and working conditions encourage them to leave
quickly. The bureaucracy is so complex and screwed up it takes forever to get anything
done. This not only agonizes efficient people, it prevents them from spending any money.
"If the money goes for Samoan salaries, the people hired are,
in essence, bought by those who dole out the cash. Jobs are political favors giving the
person handing out the cash an indestructible power base. If the money can't be spent like
that, it's best if it isn't spent at all."
"Why not spend it?" Fui is leaning forward, elbows on his
desk.
"There are three possible reasons. The first is total
incompetence and utter stupidity. This is unlikely. Samoans are anything but stupid,
things are pretty nice here. The second possibility is that someone is stealing huge
amounts of money. But, since the 'don't spend anything' pattern is so completely normal
here, that does not seem likely. The environment is well suited to stealing money, and I
assume it does happen, but probably as a by-product of the larger scheme.
"The third reason not to spend money would be if the finance people are using the money in a kind of island trust fund. Put Dr. Doss's money in the
Amerika Samoa Bank and invest it. Keep the money as long as possible, siphoning off the
interest to pay salaries to whoever Doss hires and building the principal. It's a favorite
game of banking institutions, and if whoever is the big finance man here on island is also
a banker, that's the kingpin behind the scheme." I know who it is and so does Fui. I
can see it in his eyes. But I can also see he is not, himself, involved in the plot - if
there actually is a plot. "And, as a added benefit, the palangi's with the money to
spend go slowly bananas. It's no coincidence the government liquor store sells booze for
practically nothing. Half the palangi population here are alcoholics."
Fui sits for almost a minute saying nothing. We sip our coffee
slowly. The phone rings and Fui spends a full ten minutes talking Samoan with someone.
When he hangs up, I start to leave but he says, "No, stay a minute more. I'm
wondering about what you said about not wanting to have palangi's stay here. Why is
that?"
Now I'm sure he is testing me, but what the hell, he won't expect my
answer. "The obvious answer is that those who stay too long know too much. But this
is probably not the real reason. It's like I was trying to explain the other day.
"Tutuila is a living organism. You Samoans represent the
consciousness of Tutuila. Culture is the memory of the island system - made visible in the
homes, gardens, and pathways. The island reacts through the things Samoans do. Tutuila's
life is like a giant tree, growing from the rock, taking form from the wind and the sea
and the sun. All the living creatures, plants and animals and fish, are the leaves of the
tree, providing life and strength. The people are the flowers of the tree, bearing new
thoughts and ways of behaving into the future.
"When Europeans came to Samoa, they were like strange animals -
squirrels running around in the tree of life. Pago Pago is the palangi's nest. From here,
from the American Samoan Government Buildings, they attempt to control how the tree grows.
But they will always be isolated from the life of Tutuila - unless, of course, lots and
lots of palangis come here.
"Then, like in Hawaii, the Polynesian tree will grow old and
die. The palangi's would be like the strangler fig that wraps itself around the forest
tree. The Banyon becomes so large, and its branches so abundant, that the forest tree is
hidden from the sun. Soon, the forest tree is gone, eaten by rot and bugs, and the memory
of the Polynesian tree becomes the hollow space in the middle of the huge fig tree.
Forever haunting the consciousness of Tutuila. This is what all Samoans fear deep
inside."
"Yes, that's true," Fui nods his head, looking thoughtful
and serious.
"In biological terms we would say Samoa is protecting its gene
pool from dilution. In sociological terms, Samoa is protecting its culture. In economic
terms, Samoa is protecting its land tenure. So any palangi who wants to stay in Samoa,
especially powerful or intelligent palangis, must be frustrated and badgered and ignored
until he or she gets fed up and leaves. That's why so many work contracts are set in two
year cycles. Not many palangi's renew their contracts and I've met some who are counting
the days only six months after they arrived. Lots of them survive their stay only by going
into a kind of drug hibernation, staying boozed up all day long."
The phone saves Fui from my lecture and as he talks, he looks at me
thoughtfully. When he hangs up he says, simply, "Go on, this is very interesting to
me." One should exercise caution using words like these with a crazy scientist.
"Tutuila has devised a whole array of behavior patterns to
carry out this plan. Some of the behavior is planned, and deliberate - like the
immigration department bugging Americans and giving them 30 day tourist visas to visit
what is, after all, part of their own country. But most of the behavior is not planned.
Much of it is unconscious - things people do automatically without thinking about it. Like
speaking Samoan when there is a palangi present, not keeping an appointment because of
other social obligations, facial expressions and failure to make eye-contact with
palangis, body language. Little things to the Samoan, but big to the palangi.
"Almost all American Samoans are bilingual and speak American
as well as they do Samoan. But these two language systems are really two different WAYS of
thinking. You know, of course, that the brain has two distinct halves connected with about
250,000 cross wires. Strangely, the Samoan language and English language are handled by
different sides of the brain. In each American Samoan, therefore, we have a true split
personality.
"I have found many Samoans who can speak perfectly fluently in
either language, but when it comes to translating from one language into another, they
have a very hard time. Also, the Samoan personality tends to think and say different sorts
of things than the American personality. So Samoans may act one way in an English speaking
situation and act completely differently in a Samoan speaking situation. They might say,
in English, they will do something while the Samoan half has absolutely no intention of
doing it.
"You see the exact same situation reflected in your split
government system. You have the Samoan government system, with you as Paramount Chief, and
the whole network of Matais or chiefs scattered throughout the island. This government
system exclusively uses the Samoan language.
You also have a complete Territorial Government that is totally
American, with a governor, senators, congressmen, elections, and so on. What the American
Samoan government says it will do, in English, is not always what the Samoan government
system does. True?"
Fui smiles and nods. I'm relieved to see the smile is friendly,
interested, and not feral.
"Some of Tutuila's defense mechanisms make good sense. But
others are really self defeating. That's one reason I've been working on the island
beautification project. It's kind of like psychotherapy for Tutuila. 90 percent of Tutuila
is kept very clean and neat. But Pago Pago is one of the filthiest places this side of the
Philippines. Trash is thrown everywhere. The harbor is without doubt the most polluted
place I've seen in Oceania. The stench from the canneries is ghastly and the noise from
the power plant seems engineered to rattle anyone who stays in the harbor area. The end
effect is that tourists who arrive on cruise ships or yachts or those who stay more than a
day, wind up thinking of American Samoa as a dreadful place. They can hardly wait to
leave, and they hardly ever return.
"Nobody plans this. You can think of lots of reasons why it
happens, but the end effect is an unconscious and very effective means for chasing off
casual palangi's. But, Tutuila does not HAVE to do this. Samoans don't have to live this
way. Pago Pago could be as lovely as the rest of Tutuila and the tourists could be happy
for the short time they are here. The need is for Tutuila to awaken, to become conscious,
to protect itself through other, conscious means, to move from an unconscious series of
reactions to a recognition of the real problem and ways it can be solved without degrading
your own lives."
I'm up to Evangelist Level One, and if I get any more enthusiastic
I'll be tap dancing on Fui's desk. My whole program is right there, in vivid detail, ready
to be shouted and chorused and drum-beat into poor Fui's head. I should stop but once I
get moving it's very very hard.
Fortunately, the phone rings again and breaks the spell. Fui and I
both jump. He picks up the receiver on the bounce and I can almost see his visible relief
as he gets up and running in Samoan again.
While he talks my mind races on, fast-forwarding through the whole
spiel - "When I talk with you or with a small boy fishing, I am speaking to the whole
living system...." "Communications - the network of words make people think and
move and act in certain directions..." "Controlled by symbols - an eagle with
plants in one claw and lightning bolts in the other, becomes a great agricultural nation
and harbinger of war...." Vast networks of concepts barge forward trying to have
their say. Fui goes on talking for ten minutes and I manage to get to the end of the reel
of mind-benders after about five. Then I sit, mentally panting for another five minutes.
When Fui hangs up, I excuse myself and head for the door.
"Oh, Richard, would you care to come to my village this Sunday?
There are some people from the Department of the Interior coming, too."
Sunday, 15 August, Freddy and I are out of bed before dawn. We both
dress in gleaming white and stumble through the filthy Ark Park in the early light to meet
Fuimaono and the Interior People.
There are three of them in Fui's spacious car, all in the back seat.
Freddy and I snuggle into the front seat and Fui introduces a pert redhead named Odessa
who works in the Territories Affairs Office in D.C., Sue, from the Congressional Research
Office, and Kieth who is so carefully silent the whole trip we have no idea where he is
from or what he does. Maybe a spook. He looks glum.
First stop is Fui's house where he, his wife and a cousin of his
from Western Samoa - a reverend - join the five palangi's for a royal breakfast of
scrambled eggs, pancakes, bacon, toast, french toast, small steaks, sausages, more eggs,
this time as an omelet, with canned spagetti on the side another 40 pounds of pancakes,
coffee, tea, and milo.
We stagger out to the cars, this time taking four of them. A good
thing, too, considering our vast bulk after all that food. As it is, the cars barely make
it up the side of a mountain. No wonder Samoans like big cars. The flotilla moves along an
excellent road, into a lovely mountain-top village, makes a ponderous u-turn and slides to
a stop in front of a brand new church.
"Wow, this is a truly magnificent church!" I exclaim to
Fui. It is a huge, ultra modern, well finished, church with lots of windows overlooking
the misty dawn island below us. "What a view."
Fui was the man who organized and coordinated the building of the
church. He beams proudly as he leads us through the various rooms and into the enormous
inner-sanctum. The pews are cushioned - much to my relief - with a rich fabric upholstery.
The pulpit has been carved from a great big log. Fui says it was the stump of a tree from
their old village.
For over an hour I meditate on the word 'stupor' as the Samoan
service threads into the cloudy, windy morning. When the choir sings I recover enough to
think how nice the church is and how Samoans can produce something tangible, beautiful,
even remarkable, providing they do it as a labor of love.
At last we are released and our crowd moves up to the round Samoan
meeting house a bit higher up on the hill from the church. First the European ceremony and
now, a little higher into the sunlight of Sunday, the Samoan one. This one is much more
interesting, if somewhat less comfortable. We all sit with our backs to the wood pillars
holding up the circular, peaked roof - one back one post. There are no walls to the side
of the meeting house, so the view is better. But the cold wind is worse. Someone in the
village had just gotten a title - a new Samoan name and a new authority. He demonstrates
his generosity by giving vast amounts of food, tapas, fine mats and money to everyone
present.
"Malo! Fafa Tai Lava!" (Good, Thanks very much) blossoms
from deep voices like bright flowers scattered in this jungle of intimate village
relationships. Sometimes the words appear as praise of an especially elegant statement,
sometimes for the gifts continuously being distributed and piled at the feet of those with
their backs to the posts. Lots of talking, but everybody gets to do some of it. This seems
to produce a better mood than the European service where only one guy gets to say
everything and everyone else has to sing along.
The women of the village present Samoan Fine Mats like turkeys
showing off their fabulous fanned tails, strutting around in a most peculiar head-down
attitude with their work stretched out before them. The fine mats represent hundreds,
perhaps thousands of woman-hours of labor each and are very powerful gifts, given only to
chiefs and other very important people. Today, they are given to everyone in the meeting
house, including each palangi, including Freddy and I.
The cold and drizzle and endless talking eases me into another
remote, dull state of mind. I don't feel like an honorary chief, I feel like my ass is
welded to the concrete right through the mat. This is due to a tremendous increase in
local gravity conditions. A large part of the island of Tutuila is sitting inside me,
represented as barbecued chicken, corned beef hash, roast pig, taro, chocolate cake,
coconut, breadfruit and ice cream. Not to mention the still undigested pancakes. Another
platter of cake with four scoops of ice cream arrives at my post.
I refresh myself by visualizing the Samoan people as protoplasmic
extensions of the island of Tutuila. This is easy enough to do as most of them are massive
and seem rooted to their post. I feel more and more the outside observer. There is some
custom dancing. Samoans dance sitting down, with soft upper body movements and lots of
high volume singing. It adds color and sound to the vision of the people as extensions of
the island, reaching up from the very rock to sing and tell stories with their arms and
hands.
Another image superimposes itself over the living island. A few
months ago I was at the airport when a congregation of officials arrived from Washington,
DC. There was sitting down dancing then, too. And flower leis for everyone. The team was
escorted to the Rainmaker Hotel looking very smug and pleased, each with a Samoan mentor.
Freddy, Sue and Odessa are the only females sitting in the meeting
house. I can see Sue and Odessa are really enjoying all this attention. The silent and
serious Kieth is grinning broadly and gobbling ice cream covered cake. I snicker, thinking
that all this power is going to his belly, not his head. As the ceremony progresses, the
Interior People, and Freddy and I are all made honorary chiefs of the village. No doubt
the congressional report they write will be favorable to American Samoa.
We roll out of the house between the posts (now I know why there are
no walls) and wedge ourselves through the doors into the Chryslers and Chevys and plunge
our cold, cement hardened rears into soft American foam seats. The cars groan and breaks
smoke as we head back down the mountain to Fui's for a late lunch.
I try to work out if this is Samoan Hospitality for honored guests
or if this is part of the GASP (Great American Samoan Plot) to reap monetary benefits from
USofA without tourism or the presence of palangis. In the end, another round of feeding
suppresses all remaining curiosity as the level of food moves up past my mouth, behind my
eyes, and fills my brain cavity with desert. |
