15. Dispute Management in Rotuma
Alan Howard
[Published in Journal of Anthropological Research 46:263-292,
1990]
Introduction
In many of the world's developing countries, both the genesis of
disputes and the dynamics of their management remain firmly embedded
in traditional cultural contexts, despite dramatic economic and political
change. Such is the case on the island of Rotuma, which is located
some 300 miles north of Fiji in the South Pacific. [1] The
Rotuman people form a cultural enclave in the newly declared Republic
of Fiji. They resemble their Samoan and Tongan cousins to the east,
both physically and culturally, more than than they do their Fijian
countrymates. In contrast to all three cultural groups Rotumans are
remarkable for their gentleness--physical violence is a great rarity
on the island. [2] Yet
disputes are not infrequent and, in rhetoric at least, can be quite
bitter. This paper examines the cultural mechanisms Rotumans employ
in constraining physical violence and containing, if not always resolving,
disagreements. Background information concerning the Rotuman social
system, particularly insofar as it relates to claims to land and
chiefly titles, provides a context for understanding the nature of
disputes and the processes they set in motion.
Kinship, Land and Chiefly Titles
The Rotuman social system is based on the concept of kainaga,
which in its broadest sense refers to beings, or things, that are
categorically the same. The question, "Ka kainag
'ai tese ta'a?" translates as, "What kind of plant is that?" Applied
to human beings the term, in its most general sense, signifies relatedness,
as in the statement, "Ia 'otou kainaga" "He/she
is my relative." The term is used in more restricted ways, however,
in order specify certain types of relationship. Most important for
our concern is the reference individuals make to common ancestry
as signified by interest in a specific piece of land. Thus, to say "Gou
kainag 'e 'Utmarae," "I am genealogically derivative from
an ascendent who lived at 'Utmarae," is to claim rights in the land
at 'Utmarae and any associated chiefly titles. Invariably the land
referred to is a house site (fuag ri),
although most house sites have several affiliated blocks of garden
land attached to them. All individuals with a claim to rights in
a particular piece of land constitute a group (kainaga)
responsible for transactions involving the land or for dispensing
privileges associated with it. Since Rotumans inherit privileges
equally from both parents, each person theoretically can make claims
in the land of all their known ancestors. The ideal model, regularly
referred to by Rotumans, is that each person has eight kainaga,
corresponding to the home territory of a great-grandparent. In practice,
most people remain actively involved in the affairs of only three
or four such groups.
Politically Rotuma is divided into seven districts, each headed
by a titled chief (gagaj 'es itu'u).
Each district contains a number of house sites with titles attached
to them, and members of the appropriate kainaga are
eligible to assume those titles when vacant; collectively they have
a responsibility to decide who should succeed to a vacant title.
Titles are ranked, so that some are considered more desirable than
others. Competition is keenest for those titles eligible for paramountcy.
In most districts three or four kainaga claim
rights to a title suitable for the district chief. Collectively these
groups are referred to as mosega (literally, "a
bed," the implication being that the claimants are descendant from
the same original source). The eligible kainaga are
thus related to each other as siblings. Ideally the gagaj
'es itu'u should be chosen successively from each branch of
the mosega in turn, but in practice,
as we shall see, the process of selection is highly politicized.
The second ranking title in each district is that of faufisi,
who serves as the district chief's "right hand." He customarily acts
as head of the district when the gagaj 'es
itu'u is absent. Lesser titles belong to village chiefs, and
to those occupying special roles (such as head fisherman and messenger),
while some titleholders play no functional role in district administration.
Titles are bestowed in special rites during which a ceremonial bowl
('umefe) is turned up, ready to receive
food that is ritually presented to chiefs at special events, including
weddings, funerals, and a variety of church and governmental functions.
Titles are bestowed for life, but they may be abandoned by reversing
the initial ritual act. Thus a man gives up his title, and reverts
to common status, by ritually turning his 'umefe face
down in a public ceremony. If a man is particularly remiss in his
role or otherwise earns the enmity of his fellow kainaga members,
he may be put under great pressure to yield his title. Whether the kainaga has
the right to take back a title once it has been given is currently
under dispute.
An Overview of Disputes
Ironically, despite Rotuma's history of nonviolence, two of my visits
to the island, nearly three decades apart, occurred when the rhetoric
of violence was rampant. In 1959, when I headed for Rotuma to do
dissertation research, I was almost prevented from going there by
a colonial administration (British) which was trying to pick up the
pieces of an ill-fated land commission. The colonial government,
in consultation with a few Rotumans resident in Fiji, decided that
it would be desirable to legally codify the Rotuman system of land
tenure and to survey boundaries. In order to simplify what they considered
to be a confused situation, an ordinance was passed (Ordinance No.
13 of 1959) restricting the registration of each individual to one kainaga,
normally his or her father's. In their rationale, the authors of
the ordinance pointed to a large number of outstanding disputes and
the difficulty of arbitrating them when individuals were able to
make claims in so many parcels through so many routes. In effect,
they were proposing to transform a system of bilineal inheritance
to a unilineal (patrilineal) one. The ordinance authorized a commission
to be sent to Rotuma to register owners of land and to to survey
land holdings.
The response of the Rotuman people was dramatic: they refused to
cooperate with the commissioners. Threats of violence were made,
and in short order the commission was withdrawn. In order to obtain
permission to do research on Rotuma in the wake of this fiasco, I
had to convince the Governor of the Colony that my work would not
exacerbate an already delicate situation. After providing such assurances,
I was permitted to go to Rotuma "provided that I did not inquire
into land or related matters." What I found, of course, was that
what Rotumans wanted to talk about most was precisely land and related
matters. There was no way I could avoid it. After I had been there
a few months, however, and had obviously established reasonable rapport,
I was asked by the commissioner eastern, under whose jurisdiction
Rotuma fell, [3] to
please include land matters in my researches. Counter to my original
plans, I ended up doing my dissertation on land tenure.
There are several reasons why disputes over land were particularly
intense during that period. For one thing, the population of the
island at that time had surpassed 3,000 people, and the people-to-land
ratio was creating increasing pressure on resources. Since the main
source of money (indeed virtually the only source for most people)
was copra--the dried meat of coconuts--control of land was vital.
Problems were also created by the fact that Rotumans had begun to
emigrate in substantial numbers to Fiji, where wage employment, educational
opportunities, and other advantages of urban living were available.
Most of these émigrés wished to retain land rights
in Rotuma, so issues of genealogical precedence versus occupancy
came to the fore. When persons who had been away for some time returned
to claim their rights they were often met with stern opposition by
those who had stayed behind and had occupied, and often improved,
the land. In addition to these pragmatic issues is the symbolic significance
land has for Rotumans, as it does for all Polynesians. Being associated
with one's ancestors, land is at the very heart of one's sense of
identity. To deny people's claims to land is to threaten the very
core of their social essence and, by implication, their social worth.
Given this mix of practical and symbolic factors, it was no wonder
that disputes over land become passionate. One of the two murders
that have occurred on Rotuma since cession to Great Britain in 1881
was over a land dispute; the other was a murder/suicide triggered
by romantic jealousy.
Complicating the picture still further is the ambiguity of boundaries.
Rotumans have traditionally used natural features such as trees and
rocks to mark boundaries, and this vital information is transmitted
orally. Given normal propensities to interpret ambiguous information
in one's favor, it is not surprising that disagreements over boundaries
occur with some frequency. At times when land is plentiful vis-a-vis
human needs, potential disputes may be sidestepped, but when land
pressure intensifies, boundaries are of critical concern. Such was
the case in 1959, and surveying the lands and fixing the boundaries
was a major priority of the ill-fated commission. [4]
I did not return to Rotuma until 1987, when my wife and I stopped
there for two weeks on a sabbatical leave. Many things had changed.
A wharf had been built in the late 1970s and an airstrip was inaugurated
as part of the 100th anniversary of Cession in 1981. This made the
island much more accessible than it had been previously. Hurricane
Bebe in 1973 had destroyed most of the Rotuman-style thatched houses,
and they were mostly replaced by cement and corrugated iron structures.
An underground fresh-water lens had been tapped, and most houses
now have running water; many have flush toilets. There had been significant
social and economic changes as well, but far from being disillusioned,
I found that life on the island retained much of the charm and allure
that made my first experience such a marvelous adventure. I decided
to resume my research, focusing on the history of changes over the
past three decades. I returned in 1988 for three months and again
in 1989 for six months. a two-month stay in 1990 is the basis for
the epilogue.
As my wife and I prepared to leave for Rotuma in the spring of 1988,
we were startled to find, just a few days before departure, that
this remote little island was the subject of the front-page story
in the Honolulu Star-Bulletin. The headline read, "Fiji 'King'
Vows to Secede." The story focused on a part-Rotuman man by the name
of Henry Gibson, a resident of New Zealand, who claimed to be "King
of Rotuma." Following the second coup in Fiji, and the declaration
of Fiji as a republic, Gibson declared Rotuma independent and petitioned
the English Crown (to whom Rotuma had originally been ceded) for
recognition. A karate expert with some charisma, Gibson has a small
but dedicated following on Rotuma, including many of his kinsmen
and a variety of dissidents. Following his lead, they disputed the
legitimacy of the Rotuma Council's decision to stay with Fiji following
the coup. [5] Tempers
flared and there was talk of violence. In response a gunboat was
sent to the island from Fiji with a contingent of armed soldiers
to quell the "rebellion." My friends in Hawaii feared for my safety
and assumed I would cancel my trip. Anyone who knew Rotuma (and had
a healthy skepticism regarding journalistic sensationalism) would
have realized how ludicrous the situation was. When I arrived a week
later the gunboat was still anchored offshore, but the soldiers were
enjoying a pleasant holiday. No violence had occurred and none seemed
likely.
Yet the story did signify a shift in the nature of disputes--from
land to political issues. During my first visit to Rotuma, in 1959-60,
Fiji was still a colony. As part of the Colony of Fiji, Rotuma was
governed by a district officer appointed by the governor of Fiji.
The district officer was very much in charge. He had the authority
of the Crown behind him, and his decisions had the force of law.
He was assisted by the Rotuma Council, composed of the chiefs of
the seven districts, a representative from each district nominated
by the district officer (but in fact usually chosen by the chief),
the headmaster of the high school, and the resident assistant medical
officer. The council served strictly in an advisory capacity; it
had neither policy making nor legislative authority.
For the most part, the chiefs and representatives served as communicative
conduits between the district officer and the people in the districts.
They would relay the DO's orders and were responsible for seeing
to it that the orders were carried out; then they would report back
to the DO, often explaining why his orders were not complied with
(Rotumans learned to cope with this system by becoming masters of
passive resistance--the chiefs would agree to anything the DO wanted
in order to avoid offending him, but the people would generally ignore
unpopular demands on their time or resources). The point I wish to
make here is that during the colonial period, Rotuma was essentially
an apolitical society. Most individuals were extremely cautious about
expressing their opinions, especially if they were in opposition
to the DO's. Being a chief, or a representative held very few privileges,
aside from ceremonial ones, and often involved incumbents in awkward
positions vis-à-vis both their district constituents and the
all-powerful district officer. Given the burdens of office, competition
for chiefly titles was not particularly keen. However, following
Fiji's independence in 1970, the situation changed dramatically.
During my return visits in the 1980s, I was struck by the degree
to which Rotuma has become politicalized. The roles of the Rotuma
Council and the district officer had been reversed; today the DO
is advisor to the chiefs and representatives (now elected by popular
vote), who hold policy-making and legislative authority. Now that
the chiefs control resources and have political power, competition
for titles has dramatically increased and has become the focus of
disputing. Relieved of the burden of a supreme decision-maker with
extraordinary status, people are less reluctant to voice their opinions
in public. Passive resistance has been replaced by vigorous and sometimes
quite bitter debating.
Although disputes involving land still occur, they have definitely
receded into the background. The passion is still there, but the
occasions for disputing have been diminished as the result of several
factors. For one, despite a very high rate of natural increase, the
population of the island has actually fallen by approximately 10
percent to around 2,700, reducing the pressure on terrestrial resources.
Furthermore, a substantial portion of the population now earn money
from wages or receive remittances on a regular basis from relatives
overseas. Income from copra now accounts for less than a third of
the money obtained by Rotumans. The economic importance of land has
therefore been greatly reduced. A new form of disputing--over money--is
just beginning to emerge, as the issue involving a village generator,
cited below, illustrates.
Control Factors
Before analyzing specific disputes, it will be instructive to examine
some of the central factors that keep disputes from escalating into
violent confrontations. These include a pattern of socialization
that minimizes aggressive dispositions, a set of culturally sanctioned
beliefs that promises immanent justice for wrongdoing, the social
provision for mediation when impasses occur, and perhaps most importantly,
the custom of faksoro--a ritual of apology
that, under most circumstances, must be accepted by the aggrieved
party. In addition to these customary beliefs and practices are the
sanctions imposed by the political-legal system of the State of Fiji.
Socialization for Nonviolence
In contrast to their Polynesian counterparts in Samoa and Tonga,
as well as to their Fijian countrymates, Rotumans are noticeably
gentle in their treatment of children. Whereas all Polynesian peoples
are noted for indulging infants, in Rotuma older children are honored
as well see howard 1970 for a discussion of Rotuman childrearing).
They are generally fed first, before adults, and are given
the choice foods. In Methodist churches, children sit in special
pews in front, as do the chiefs and dignitaries, and services include
special sermons specifically to the children. While parents will
physically punish their children when exasperated, the blows are
almost always restrained. They are more on the order of a light slap
or two on the legs, a flick of the finger on the top of the head,
or a pinch of the ear. Only a couple of times in the nearly three
years I have spent in the company of Rotumans have I witnessed a
child being struck with force that seemed meant to hurt. Children
are discouraged from fighting with each other, and a child who acts
the role of bully is likely to pay a heavy price in ridicule from
adults and ostracism from peers. There are specific injunctions against
potential violence as well, as in the expression, "Ha'
'e 'ap ser het," ("It is forbidden to raise a knife" toward
another person, even in play).
The most effective mechanism for teaching children to behave properly
is shaming through ridicule--a technique that is adopted by peer
groups early on. Children are also warned to behave in order to avoid
the wrath of strangers, and authority figures (doctors, chiefs, ministers,
etc.). I was puzzled why small children were so restrained in my
company until I discovered that parents were telling their children
to behave properly or the white man would get angry with them. The
overall effect is to produce individuals who are avoidant of strangers,
overtly respectful of authority figures, and strongly drawn to those
with whom they are familiar.
In dealings with people, the great concern is not making others
angry. This derives from the extreme social sensitivity such a child-rearing
pattern produces. One is constantly on the alert for signs of anger
or incipient displeasure that might lead to anger. Depending on circumstances,
people either take steps to alleviate the conditions or to avoid
those who are perceived as angry or likely to become angry. In describing
their own emotional responses to frustration and mistreatment Rotumans
almost never use the term feke "angry;" since feke implies
being out of control, hence prone to violence. Rather they describe
their feelings as "disappointment" or "sadness." People also generally
precede utterances that might conceivably give offense by saying, "se
fek" "don't be angry."
Although socialization proceeds more by rewarding proper behavior
than by punishing misbehavior, the power of shaming is such that fear
of failure seems to become a dominating motivational force. Thus
Rotumans are reluctant to engage in activities, including disputes,
where they do not feel reasonably assured of success. Avoidance of
vulnerability, both socially and emotionally, is the rule.
By Western standards, Rotuman children are granted an astonishing
degree of autonomy. Parents rarely force children to do things they
do not want to do. I have witnessed innumerable instances in which
children who were asked to do something by their parents have simply
ignored the request, without apparent consequence. The overriding
principle is that it is undesirable to force people, children included,
to do things against their will. One expression of this emphasis
on autonomy is the frequently heard phrase, Puer
se aea/irisa "It's up to you/them," when people are asked
about expected behavior, contributions, etc. As we shall see, this
principle can be a source of disputes as well as a mechanism for
avoiding them.
The principle of autonomy operates throughout the social structure.
Not only do individuals exercise autonomy within their households
and communities, but villages are autonomous vis-a-vis one another,
and districts are essentially independent political units. Rotuma's
relationship with the Government of Fiji is likewise colored by this
principle. For example, following a cyclone in the 1970s, in which
Rotuman crops were badly damaged, the government sent a relief ship
with supplies to the island. Before the ship could unload, the Rotuma
Council met and decided to send the vessel back, with the message
that Rotuma could take care of itself. They suggested that the supplies
be sent elsewhere.
The results of this socialization pattern are a people who are socially
sensitive, ready to react defensively when their sense of autonomy
is threatened, but definitely nonviolent in disposition. In defense
of their autonomy, people are prepared to stand up for what they
perceive to be their rights, even against their own chiefs. [6] They
may even talk a good fight on occasion--verbal skills are encouraged
and rewarded--but talk rarely translates into violent action.
Immanent Justice: the Spirits' Revenge
Rotumans, including many with advanced education, express a belief
in immanent justice. Just about everyone can tell a story about someone
who had committed, from the teller's standpoint, some kind of egregious
act, only to receive their just desserts soon thereafter. The cultural
roots of this belief precede Christianity; it is based on ancestral
spirits who, when offended or otherwise angered, make their wrath
felt. Prototypical are the presumed consequences of land disputes
between close relatives. The underlying assumption is that the spirits
of one or more common ancestors of the disputants will be upset and
punish the person in the wrong, or perhaps both parties if they share
the blame. Justice is distributed in the form of luck--those in the
right prosper while those in the wrong suffer ill-fortune. The consequences
of wrongdoing may simply follow from the acts, recognized retrospectively,
but they are often called for by an aggrieved party. Curses of immanent
justice are generally made without overt rancor, in the form of, "the
land has eyes," or "we shall see who is right," publicly stated by
the party who has been forced to yield.
The most powerful curses are from the lips of chiefs, who traditionally
were perceived as intermediaries with the spirit world. When a chief
calls for immanent justice, it is usually because someone unknown
has committed a serious offense within his district and refuses to
confess and put things right. A number of classic cases are known
by almost all Rotumans. For example, there is the case of Chief Fer's
son, who presumably killed a cow with his cane knife without his
father's knowledge. When his father called a meeting to seek out
the culprit, he did not confess. Shortly thereafter (I do not know
the actual time lapse involved, but it is usually spoken of as short)
the son threw his knife up into a tree, it rebounded and hit him
just below his shoulder, blade first, and killed him. Storytellers
invariably point out that he was struck in precisely the same place
the cow was struck. The chief was extremely grief-stricken, and reportedly
vowed never again to use a curse for justice.
This belief in immanent justice affects the dynamics of disputing
in several ways. For one, it tends to restrain individuals from making
spurious claims, claims that might backfire. But for those who are
more sure of themselves (especially those whose claims are based
on information from deceased grandparents), immanent justice provides
a backup position. One may lose initially, but if truly justified,
will at least be vindicated. There are numerous instances in which
the victors in a dispute have apologized, and abandoned their claim,
after a period of horrendous ill-fortune. The important point is
that hovering over any dispute, or potential dispute, are supernatural
sanctions that can compensate for secular social impotence. More
at stake in most disputes than the immediate spoils of victory.
Avoidance: Out of Harm's Way
As pointed out above, Rotuman socialization practices tend to produce
individuals who avoid strangers and authority figures. When forced
into interaction with such individuals, their behavior is restricted
to formalities and guided by polite etiquette. Aside from serving
the purposes of social decorum, such behavior insulates individuals
emotionally; it serves to diminish vulnerability.
In similar fashion, a typical way of dealing with individuals with
whom one has quarreled is to avoid them. This serves the same purpose;
it reduces emotionally vulnerability. I have come across many examples
of individuals changing their allegiance from one sub-chief to another
following a quarrel. Even more drastic are instances of families
moving to another district or leaving the island altogether. The
value placed on autonomy, exemplified in the child-rearing pattern,
allows disgruntled individuals to dissociate themselves from others
for as long as they like, without any formal penalties being imposed.
They simply do not reap the rewards of mutual exchange that mark
positive relationships. But most Rotuman families are self-sufficient,
at least with regard to subsistence, so economic penalties are likely
to be minor.
In those instances in which disputants remain within the same community,
avoidance seems to allow emotions to cool and ruptures are likely
to heal over time; but it may take a long time--years in fact. By
its very nature avoidance removes individuals from the mechanisms,
such as apologetic discourse, that may be utilized to bring about
reconciliation. It often takes some kind of dramatic event, such
as a death, wedding, or community celebration to get disputing parties
back into contact.
Mediation: Chiefs as Problem-Solvers
One of the most important functions of chiefs is to act as mediators
between disputants within their domains. For lesser issues, those
confined to a couple of households within the same ho'aga (work
unit composed of neighboring households under the direction of a
subchief, or fa 'esho'aga),
the subchief may talk to the individuals involved, try to calm irate
tempers, and suggest an equitable solution. If he appears to be partisan,
however, he may exacerbate the problem and prompt the unsupported
disputant to switch his allegiance to another group. This has the
effect of weakening the ho'aga, to the
subchief's disadvantage. He is therefore likely to be motivated to
seek equitable solutions whenever possible (unless, of course, one
party has been a constant troublemaker and a disruptive influence,
in which case the loss might be welcomed).
In more pervasive disputes, those involving land matters and families
from more than one ho'aga, district
chiefs are mediators. A district chief's reputation is based significantly
upon the success of his mediations. If he is seen as favoring his
own parochial interests in disputes, the district is likely to factionalize
and his authority diminish accordingly; if he is seen as impartial
and balanced in his judgments, his stature is enhanced. But in matters
of land, the main source of disputes in the past, impartiality was
neither easily attained nor readily recognized. Disputes over land
therefore often went unresolved or, more accurately ,were only temporarily
resolved, despite a chief's mediation and/or decision. The installation
of a new chief was often the occasion for grievances to be resurrected,
with parties who felt shortchanged on prior occasions hoping for
a more favorable decision. If an individual was dissatisfied with
justice at this level, he could make a final appeal to the resident
colonial administrator, who served as magistrate (see below).
The Christian churches also play an important role in providing
mediation. Each Methodist congregation has a catechist attached,
and one of his or her foremost responsibilities is to calm troubled
waters, within as well as between families. A deaconess also resides
on the island; her main job is to meet with troubled individuals
and to help them solve problems and disputes amicably. The Priest
and lay brothers play similar roles on the Catholic side of the island.
The point I wish to make here is that mediation of disputes is institutionalized
in Rotuma and is readily available as a mechanism for conflict resolution.
Furthermore, not only chiefs and church personnel act as intermediaries.
Any interested party, particularly respected elders related to both
sets of disputants, may intercede. They appeal to common sense and
common interests, to community and kinship loyalties. Their goal
is more often to disentangle the knots of anger and hostility than
to bring about any particular solution. Prolonged and bitter disputes,
it seems, are as disturbing to live elders as they are to spiritual
ancestors.
Faksoro: Apologies with Weights Attached
Without question, the most powerful conflict resolution mechanism
available to Rotumans is faksoro, which
is translated by Churchward (1940:193) as "to entreat, beseech; to
apologize; to beg to be excused." But it means much more than this
because of the weight of custom that it carries. Although the term
is used in reference to a verbal apology following an inadvertent
accident, this is only one end of a spectrum that includes more formal
entreaties. At the other end of the spectrum are symbolic offers
of one's life to atone for a grave injury or insult. At least five
gradations can be distinguished, as follows:
1. A verbal apology in private (i.e., on the spot) following
an accidental occurrence in which one individual was in the wrong.
In general, for most Rotumans, the inconveniences caused by such
an occurrence are of less significance than the expectation of an
apology. An (apparently) sincere apology following an accident usually
offsets damages. For example, if someone accidently injures another
or damages his/her property, monetary or material compensation is
not expected; a proper apology sets things right.
A negative example may be instructive. When a ship arrives (quite
irregularly), traffic at the wharf is rather chaotic since there
is so little room for vehicles to maneuver. On one recent occasion,
the driver of a truck, rather than yielding to permit another driver
to pass, forced his way through, scraping some paint off the other
fellow's new, as yet unblemished, truck. When the victim called
the offending driver's attention to the damage, the latter simply
protested, "I couldn't help it." It so happened, however, that
a policeman on duty witnessed the incident and suggested to the
victim that he file a complaint. The victim said he would not have
done so if an apology had been offered; but since none had been
forthcoming, he decided to formalize the complaint. After being
called to the police station, the offending driver came to apologize
and asked how he could compensate. The victim settled for a can
of white paint to repair the damage. When telling the story, he
stressed the failure of the driver to apologize as the main reason
he filed the formal complaint and demanded compensation (which
was really symbolic; in fact, the paint was not the right type
or color for the truck, and was used for other purposes).
2. A verbal apology made in public. This, of course, lends greater
weight to an apology since it constitutes a public admission of
culpability. Typically, such an apology would be made at a village
or district meeting. Public apologies of this type are appropriate
for various forms of verbal insults. In the heat of an argument,
someone might say something demeaning another's character or contributions
to the community. Such offenses threaten community solidarity,
and pressure is likely to be generated by mediators for the offender
to faksoro. If the insults were not
too grave, a public verbal apology is usually sufficient to restore
relationships to normal.
3. A formal presentation of a koua "pig
cooked whole in an earthen oven." Prepared this way a pig is a
sacrifice to the gods. Furthermore, a pig is a substitute for a
human being (Rotuman myth is specific on this point; see Churchward
1939:462-469). Under such circumstance, the koua is brought to
the aggrieved party's home and is formally presented, with appropriate
speeches admitting culpability and beseeching forgiveness. To lend
weight to such an occasion a chief, or other respected elder, might
be asked to make the plea on the offender's behalf.
4. A formal presentation of a koua plus a presentation of kava
and/or the giving of a fine white mat (apei).
Both kava and fine white mats are of central significance for Rotuman
ceremonies. As elsewhere in Polynesia (especially Samoa), fine
white mats are the traditional form of wealth. They are mandatory
prestations at weddings, funerals, and other life-crisis events
and lend great weight to any ceremonial presentation. Kava, prepared
from the root of the Piper mythisticum plant, is drunk ceremonially
on special occasions. In the past, its consumption was confined
to chiefs, although today it is drunk more generally as a social
beverage. Ceremonially presented, however, kava signifies "life
fluid," and is symbolically associated with blood. A gift of kava,
therefore, is comparable to a blood sacrifice. Likewise, a white
mat is symbolically comparable to a life insofar as the manufacture
of an apei must be preceded by the
making of a koua. Thus, by adding
kava and/or a white mat to a faksoro presentation,
much additional weight of custom is added. Again, if the presentation
is made by a chief or respected elders on behalf of the offender,
weight is added to the plea.
5. The strongest faksoro an individual
can make is called hen rau'ifi "to
hang leaves," referring to a garland of leaves that the person
who comes to faksoro wears around
his neck. The person coming hen rau'ifi is
essentially offering his life in a plea for forgiveness. Here,
too, it may not be the offender who pleads, but a chief or distinguished
elder who comes in his place.
Hen rau'ifi are only performed in the
gravest circumstances, usually when a life has been taken. A koua,
fine white mat, and presentation of kava are expected to accompany
the plea. Theoretically, the offended party is entitled to take the
life of the presenter, whether he is the offender or a stand-in,
or he can offer forgiveness by undoing the knot by which the garland
is tied around the presenter's neck.
My informants could only recall one instance in recent times when
someone went hen rau'ifi to another.
In this case a man struck and killed a child while driving his car
through a village. Even though everyone acknowledged that the accident
was unavoidable, the man was so distressed that he went in this dramatic
fashion to ask forgiveness from the child's family.
What makes faksoro such a powerful
custom is that when done properly, acceptance is virtually mandatory.
Furthermore, even while the person soliciting forgiveness admits
culpability and accepts blame, and is thus humbled, he gains compensatory
status, for to go faksoro, particularly
in formal fashion, is an honorable act. Should the aggrieved party
refuse a proper apology, he may be subjected to severe criticism,
while the offender might be socially exonerated. [7] As
far as disputes go, faksoro thus provides
a means by which someone who finds himself in a weak or untenable
position can escape the social effects of losing a confrontation
and perhaps even gain a degree of status in the bargain.
The Apparatus of Government: Law and Enforcement
Following Cession in 1881, a resident commissioner was sent to govern
Rotuma and, with some allowance for customary practice, to administer
British justice. In addition to the Rotuma Council, which advised
the commissioner, another body, the Rotuma Regulation Board, composed
of the commissioner and five to ten appointed Rotumans, was charged
with constituting (and periodically reconstituting) a set of regulations
governing land matters, public health, marriage and divorce, road
maintenance, and criminal violations, among others. A system of fines
was imposed and a small jail constructed to punish wrongdoers. The
resident commissioner was also appointed magistrate, with the power
to pass judgment on all but the most serious crimes (Eason 1951).
Resident commissioners and the district officers who succeeded them
following an administrative reorganization in the 1930s provided
recourse to individuals who were dissatisfied with resolutions to
disputes arrived at by customary procedures. They could bring their
case to the commissioner, who would hold a hearing and make his own
judgment. Since commissioners usually held the post for only a few
years, a disputant who was dissatisfied with the judgment of one
man could wait until another took office and try again. This was
particularly the case with long-standing disputes over land (Howard
1963a, 1964). Resident commissioners and district officers also intruded
into processes for selecting district chiefs and, at times, contrary
to custom, deposed those whom they considered unsuitable.
This situation prevailed until 1970, when Fiji gained Independence.
At that point, the Rotuma Council pledged their loyalty to the new
nation and its laws. The governance of Rotuma continued to be in
the hands of the council and a district officer, but with the reversal
of roles described above. The council now has decision-making authority
and the district officer is an advisor. Although he retains the power
of a regional magistrate, the district officer is less able to directly
intervene in disputes than before; individual Rotumans can now take
their grievances directly to government agencies in Fiji if they
are dissatisfied with judgments rendered on Rotuma.
There is a police station on the island with a two-cell jail. Few
serious crimes occur, however, and one cell was being used for storage
when I last saw it (in December 1989). Usually only two or three
police officers are on active duty. They are responsible to their
superiors in Fiji but are supposed to be responsive to the orders
of the district officer in his role as magistrate. The police officers
hold the ultimate responsibility for keeping the peace on the island.
Case Studies
1. A Case of Immanent Justice
During my 1960 field trip I encountered a number of instances in
which land disputes had resulted in curses of immanent justice, and
stories abounded of injustices that resulted in sorry misfortune
for those in the wrong. In some instances, as in the case reported
below, faksoro was used to lift the
curse and restore harmonious relations.
I was told that approximately ten years prior to my presence on
the island, a question arose as to how a certain parcel of bushland
should be allocated. The land did not belong to a fuag
ri, so was not attached to a particular household. A man named
Jotama [8] insisted
that the right of allocation belonged to his branch of the kainaga,
of which he was the senior representative. He was supported in his
claim by the district chief, with whom he was good friends.
Jotama called a meeting of the kainaga and
acted as chairman. One of the first steps he took was to discredit
the claims of several groups who asserted that they had rights in
this land, This effectively excluded them from making requests to
cut copra, and excluded their offspring from access to the land.
Jotama finally allotted the land to Sakimi, a close relative, even
though other kainaga members, whose
claims Jotama could not deny, should have been given priority by
virtue of their genealogical seniority. The dispossessed members
of the kainaga invoked a curse of immanent
justice by proclaiming that in time "the truth would be known."
After several years, one of Jotama's sons went insane and was committed
to a mental institution. Other things also went awry, and his family
was troubled. This convinced Jotama that he had acted wrongly and
was being punished by ill fortune, so he made a koua and
invited all branches of the kainaga,
including the ones he had previously expelled. He made a faksoro to
the people and confessed that he knew now that he had done wrong.
The previously wronged members of the kainaga accepted
his apology, but they decided to allow Sakimi to continue to exercise
stewardship over the land, since he had improved it by planting coconut
trees. The expelled sections of the kainaga were
readmitted, however, and their rights restored. [9]
2. Dissension among Chiefs: Avoidance and Reconciliation, Case
1
Over a decade ago a man was given the title Toaniu in one of the
districts, putting him in charge of a village. Toaniu, a highly political
individual, was elected to the Rotuma Council as district representative
and in 1981, was elected chairman of the council. At first the district
chief was pleased with Toaniu's successes and supported him. But
not long afterwards, at a district meeting, the two men reputedly
had harsh words with one another. Toaniu, along with a some other
subchiefs and their followers, walked out of the meeting.
Following the clash, Toaniu and the families who were aligned with
him refused to cooperate in district activities. They also did not
connect their houses to the village generator for electricity; Toaniu
bought his own generator. Several prominent individuals, including
some from other districts, tried to patch things up but failed. Neither
man would faksoro the other. One highly
placed woman even offered to provide a fine mat and pig--but both
men stubbornly refused to make a move toward reconciliation. The
two men avoided each other for several years, thus minimizing overt
conflict, but district cooperation suffered.
This situation prevailed until July 1988 when Toaniu's mother died.
The district chief came to the funeral and directed the proceedings.
He gave a moving speech, full of compassion, and expressed regret
over the past dissension. Although he did not apologize, his gesture
of good will was accepted by Toaniu. Since then the two men have
been cordial to one another, and most of Toaniu's followers have
resumed cooperating in district events presided over by the district
chief.
3. The Generator Dispute: Avoidance and Reconciliation, Case
2
A few years ago one of the villages installed a generator to serve
its approximately thirty households. The equipment cost approximately
$F18,000, [10] but
the costs were met in part by a district club in Fiji; [11] the
remainder was provided through a grant from a Fiji self-help program.
Problems began almost at once. To install the reticulated system
required digging ditches and laying lines for more than a kilometer.
Since there was no money to pay for this work, installation depended
on donated labor. As often happens when there is communal work to
be done, some people put in a great deal of work, others put in less,
which was the source of some grumbling. Also, electricity meters
were not supplied, and since they cost $15 each (a considerable amount
of money for some families), none were installed. This raised the
issue of how fuel and maintenance costs were to be distributed among
the households. The grant provided each household with two light
fixtures and a power point, but some of the more affluent families
installed additional fixtures and power points at their own expense.
The initial agreement within the village was that each household
would pay in proportion to the number of fixtures and power points
installed.
The plan called for the generator to be turned on for three hours
per day, from 6 to 9 P.M. It uses approximately 7 1/2 liters of fuel
for each session, which, at roughly F$0.50¢ per liter, would
cost the village in the vicinity of F$120 per month. Even though
the cost per household was only about F$4 per month, some complained
that it was too much for them, that they could not come up with the
cash every month. As a result, a village meeting was held at which
it was decided to leave it up to each household to pay what they
could afford each month. For a very brief time this scheme worked;
during the first month there was even a surplus. But thereafter,
shortfalls were the rule. In order to keep the generator working
a few individuals with both the resources and the inclination contributed
the bulk of the fuel.
The issue resulted in two factions developing. One faction, supported
by the district chief (who lives in the village), advocated a flat
rate be paid by each household, regardless of use. The other faction,
led by a man named Eliesa, advocated payment according to the number
of light fixtures and power points. Interestingly this individual
had installed seven additional light fixtures and would have had
to pay disproportionately more, so his self-interest was not at issue.
His support came mainly from the poorer segment of the village.
At a village meeting during which the issue was discussed, the debate
became heated, and angry words were exchanged. The district chief
was absent, and the meeting was chaired by a designated subchief
who supported the district chief's position. As the debate heated
up, he allegedly accused Eliesa (who also held a title) of not carrying
his weight in village affairs and insulted his title. The incident
was extremely distressing to Eliesa, and as a result he renounced
his title and isolated himself from village affairs for more than
two years. One of his supporters did likewise. Both men disconnected
their houses from the reticulated village electrical system and bought
their own generators. They steadfastly refused to participate in
village events and kept to themselves, despite numerous attempts
by friends, relatives and neighbors to institute social repairs.
About the same time that the flap over the generator took place,
a more pervasive issue emerged which added fuel to the fire. Up to
the present, no tourist facilities exist on Rotuma. A few visitors
come from time to time, but they must arrange accommodations with
families. However, in 1986 a brother of the district chief, who had
had a successful career as a government official, arranged with an
Australian shipping line to have a tourist vessel visit Rotuma. The
ship, the Fairstar, carries approximately 1,000 tourists and
was to discharge them for a day at a beach bordering the village.
The substantial docking fees (approximately F$4,000) were to be divided
among kainaga owning beachfront property,
with a portion reserved for expenses. A proposal was made that some
of the money be set aside for repairing and maintaining the generator,
but following the dispute over the generator, and the shattering
of village unity, the villagers decided to use this portion of the
fees to pay (invited) groups who would provide entertainment for
the tourists.
The reaction to the plan to have such a large tourist vessel visit
the island on a regular basis stirred a spirited debate within the
Rotuman community, both on Rotuma and amongst Rotumans in Fiji. Those
opposed, led by the Methodist clergy, argued that Rotuman morals
would be threatened by tourists who could be expected to dress immodestly,
drink and perhaps introduce illegal drugs, and seduce young women.
Several individuals who had been abroad brought up examples from
places like Bali and Hawaii, whose cultures had been devastated by
tourism. Those supporting the idea pointed to the economic benefits
to be gained and argued that this form of tourism was preferable
to hotel development. Within the village, the majority supported
the plan, but Eliesa and some of his supporters did not. Again, they
refused to cooperate in community efforts to prepare the beach area
and the village for the prospective tourists.
The tourism issue created a split between this village and a neighboring
village within in the district. In the neighboring village most people
opposed the arrival of a tourist vessel, many bitterly. As a result,
district solidarity suffered, and cooperation was seriously impaired
on district projects. [12] For
example, about this time a water pipeline was being laid in the district
using local labor, but the men from the neighboring village reportedly
refused to work beyond their community's limits. This put a heavy
burden on the men from the first village, since they had to lay pipe
through a long stretch of uninhabited land. The recalcitrant men
cited the tourism dispute as their reason for not cooperating.
The Fairstar made its first visit during 1986, without incident.
In addition to the $F4,000 docking fee, the tourists reportedly spent
an additional $F6,000 on food and souvenirs. None of this money was
set aside for the generator, however (much of the income from food
and souvenirs went to people from other villages). The village failed
to pay the $F100 annual maintenance fee, so when the generator broke
down early in 1987, it was not covered by a maintenance contract,
and the village was stuck with a $F1,400 repair bill. For the discontents,
this had the flavor of immanent justice, and they related the sequence
of events with some satisfaction. If raising $F120 per month to pay
for fuel was a problem, raising $F1,400 within the village was simply
out of the question. The generator was shipped to Suva, to the Public
Works Department (PWD), for repairs, where it languished for nearly
two years. Several high-ranking Rotumans in Fiji attempted to intervene,
unsuccessfully at first, but eventually the PWD agreed to drop the
charges to $F300. This was paid by a villager from earnings as my
research assistant; but after a subsequent visit of the Fairstar he
was reimbursed from the docking fees.
When my wife and I visited Rotuma in 1987, the generator was down
and feelings were still tender. Eliesa and some of his supporters
remained aloof during village activities, but no direct expressions
of antagonism were evident. The following year we were able to witness
the healing process take place. Eliesa had taken the initiative forming
a group that would seek funds to sponsor entrepreneurial enterprises
on the island. He invited some of his key supporters and some neutral
individuals to join the "board." Meetings were held in his home.
After a few meetings, when it looked like the project might succeed,
several members of the group persuaded him that it would be advantageous
to invite the district chief to join them. Eliesa subsequently asked
the chief's son-in-law, who was a member of the newly formed board
and neutral vis-a-vis the previous disputes, to accompany him and
the other main dissident to the chief's house. The son-in-law agreed,
and reportedly opened their visit to the chief by announcing that
the two men had come to seek reconciliation. Eliesa said that he
had not come to justify himself or to claim he was right and the
chief wrong. He said he just wanted to start again and forget the
past. The son-in-law then told the chief about the board meetings
and asked if he would like to join the group. Belatedly Eliesa chimed
in, seconding the invitation. According to witnesses, the chief did
not respond immediately, but his wife said, "He'll come" (thus assuming
the role of an intermediary in her own right). The chief then accepted
the invitation.
This invitation provided a basis for reconciliation and reintegrating
the discontents back into village life. The next Board meeting (which
we attended) was interesting insofar as everyone was aware that it
was a momentous occasion, and talk was guarded. There were some differences
in viewpoint expressed, but the tone was exaggeratedly conciliatory.
It no doubt helped that Eliesa was in the position of chairman; he
was in control of the meeting rather than being subordinated. The
chief accepted the chairman's authority in this context, although
he expressed his own viewpoints without undue restraint. After this,
Eliesa attended more and more village functions, and even began to
assume increased responsibility when called for. By the time we concluded
our research at the end of 1989, the village split was, to all appearances,
completely healed. Even the relationship between Eliesa and the subchief
who had publicly insulted him was healed to the point that they were
seen sitting together, engaged in conversation, at several recent
events. Time and avoidance had healed the wounds.
The hard feelings that erupted over the tourism issue also eased
with time. Reconciliation occurred in somewhat more dramatic fashion,
as the result of a grand-scale wedding between a village man and
a woman from the neighboring community. Significantly, the guardian
of the bride had been one of the most outspoken critics of tourism,
while the groom's father had been an active supporter. During the
wedding, both sides gave a number of emotional speeches acknowledging
past conflicts but glorifying the cooperation that had taken place
to produce such a gala affair. As festivities drew to a conclusion,
a spokesman for the bride's side declared the formal rules of protocol
(which act to keep the bride's and groom's parties separated from
one another) inoperative, since "we are all one family." The final
meal was served without the normal formalities.
Toward the end of 1989 district solidarity reached a crescendo with
the celebration of the 150th anniversary of Methodist missionization
on Rotuma. [13] Since
the district was the location of the first missionary landing, it
was the center of celebration. Numerous important visitors were expected
from Fiji and overseas, and much effort went into planting vast quantities
of food, sprucing up the villages, and making other preparations.
Spirits were high throughout, and the level of cooperation was remarkable.
No overt signs of prior antagonisms could be seen.
The above two cases demonstrate the healing effects of long-term
avoidance followed by an event, or set of events, that provide opportunities
for parties to a dispute to interact without losing face. Under such
circumstances apologies are rarely offered, although mention of previous
differences is likely to be made during speeches. It should also
be pointed out that with time, new contingencies may emerge that
make it increasingly advantageous for disputants to cooperate, thus
lending impetus to the forces of reconciliation. Furthermore, reconciliation
generally has advantages for individuals who enjoy cordial relations
with both parties to a dispute; as in the case of the chief's son-in-law,
they can make excellent mediators.
4. The Battle for the Maraf Title: The Power of External Mediation
The title of Maraf is the most highly prized in all of Rotuma. It
belongs to the head chief of Noatau, the highest ranking district.
The holder of the Maraf name is entitled to deference from all Rotumans,
including the other chiefs. When, in 1981, the man holding the title
died, a dispute arose concerning the choice of a successor.
It appears that the mosega having the
right to choose a successor was split into two main segments, one
centered in Noatau, the other in another district. Mosega members
from the other district allege that the faufisi of
Noatau called a meeting with the idea of excluding them. They say
that the faufisi told their district
chief (himself a member of the mosega),
that a meeting was planned, "but you don't have to come." They say
they were told that only people from Noatau would attend, but in
fact members from two other districts came. The meeting was held
without the excluded contingent, and much to their consternation,
the man chosen to assume the Maraf name was not living in Noatau,
but elsewhere.
Members of the excluded faction insisted that if the process had
been carried out properly, they would not have objected. But upset
by what they saw as deception, they called a meeting of their own, "to
show that we have rights, too." They decided to choose someone else
to hold the tile of Maraf and to install him. Agreeing upon a candidate
was not easy, but after several additional meetings a woman who had
married a Chinese man in Fiji offered to ask her son, Jale Yee, if
he would come to Rotuma to take the position.
Jale Yee was described to me as "a man in Fiji who works as a computer
specialist." His mother is from Noatau, although when she comes to
Rotuma she stays with relatives in another district. Her father was
a previous Maraf. Jale Yee has lived most of his life in Fiji, but
speaks Rotuman fluently. He has an M.A. degree in mathematics from
an American university. Although as Maraf he would have received
only F$35 per month, he was apparently willing to give up his high
paying job in Fiji to assume the title.
The disaffected group selected Jale and, following his arrival in
Rotuma, installed him. This act of defiance, unprecedented in modern
Rotuma, led to angry words and threats of violence. As a result,
the brother of the previously installed Maraf, who worked for the
police at the time, radioed Fiji to send reinforcements because "there
would be a fight." A contingent of nine policemen came by plane and
camped at the government station, ready to quell eruptions of violent
behavior. Soon thereafter, two of the most prominent living Rotumans,
Josefa Rigamoto and Paul Manueli, arrived in Rotuma to act as mediators,
along with the commissioner eastern.
Josefa Rigamoto is the son of a previous district chief and has
only recently, at the age of eighty, concluded a distinguished career
with the Native Lands Trust Board. His retirement was delayed several
times because of his indispensability to that agency. Rigamoto was
a close friend of Ratu Sir Lala Sukuna, the revered Fijian paramount
chief, who led Fiji during World War II. At Sukuna's request, he
commanded a group of Rotuman volunteers in the Solomons campaign.
Following the war, in 1947, Rigamoto was the first Rotuman appointed
to the post of district officer. He served in that capacity for four
years and is widely respected among all ethnic groups in Fiji as
a fair and just man.
Paul Manueli, whose roots are in Noatau, is a graduate of Sandhurst
Military Academy in England. He had a distinguished career with the
Fijian military, and while still a lieutenant, was appointed to the
post of district officer on Rotuma for an interim period (this was
in 1960, while I was doing my initial research there). He went on
to become a Colonel and head of the Fiji Military Forces. Following
his retirement, he has enjoyed considerable success as a business
leader and has served on the boards of numerous corporations.
Although both of these men are from chiefly families, neither has
ever held a title. Rather, their prestige is based upon their accomplishments
and their worldly experience. They made it clear that they were not
going to Rotuma to choose the chief, but simply to help the disputants
find a resolution. They met first with each group independently to
hear their side of the story, then met with both sides jointly. They
guided the discussion and appealed to both sides to be reasonable,
to consider the good of the whole island. Finally, the head chief
of the excluded district relented, and asked Jale Yee to step down
in the interests of harmony. Yee returned to Fiji where he resumed
his career as a computer specialist.
Had there been no mediation by individuals of such stature, it is
unlikely that the dispute would have been successfully resolved,
at least not without bitter feelings and lingering resentment. While
relations between the two districts involved remains competitive,
the reigning Maraf is now accorded the formal deference and privileges
due to the title, and whatever ill-feelings remain are thoroughly
subdued.
5. The Dispute over the Tokaniua Title: The Power of Faksoro
During my 1988 visit to Rotuma, the man holding the title of Tokaniua
died. He had been absent from the island for several years, residing
in the Rotuman community at Vatukoula, the site of the Emperor Gold
Mines, in Fiji. Traditionally the Tokaniua title belonged to the faufisi of
the district, but it was given additional prestige by the fact that
the previous district chief had once held it as faufisi and
had elected to retain it after his elevation to district chief. For
several months, people within the district waited expectantly for
the current district chief to hold a meeting of the kainaga in
order to choose a successor. Two men from the chief's village, both
of whom were hard workers and generous in their contributions to
community efforts, were singled out by gossipers as likely candidates.
But no meeting was called.
When I returned to Rotuma in July 1989, a Rotuman man who had been
living in Fiji for many years had been installed as Tokaniua. I had
met him the year before on one of his visits to Rotuma. He was a
friend of the chief and had stayed with him. The chief made the appointment
without holding a kainaga meeting. [14] Significantly,
the title was bestowed when one of the prime contenders was away
in Fiji. This man insisted that he would have accepted the appointment
without rancor but for the fact that the new appointee attempted
to justify his eligibility by claiming the title actually belonged
to a fuag ri (house site) with he was
associated, rather than to the fuag ri of
the other contenders.
When he returned from Fiji, the disgruntled contender called a meeting
of the kainaga and confronted the chief
and the newly appointed Tokaniua. I was told that strong words were
used and accusations of impropriety made. Apparently enough of the kainaga members
were upset by the lack of consultation to have forced a resignation,
but both the district chief and a tearful Tokaniua offered their
apologies (faksoro). They begged forgiveness
from those present and pleaded with them to give the new appointee
a chance. By thus humbling themselves, instead of attempting to justify
a dubious procedure, they disarmed the opposition. The apology was
accepted, although a threat was make that if Tokaniua did anything
wrong, or got out of line, he would be ousted.
During my presence on the island it was indeed clear that Tokaniua
was being cautious in the way he fulfilled his role. He seemed overly
anxious to please, and was especially diligent in fulfilling his
responsibilities. Nevertheless, support from the disgruntled faction
was slow in coming, and when the district chief left on a brief trip
to Fiji, a delegation, led by the incensed contender, urged him not
to appoint Tokaniua, who now held the position of faufisi,
as his stand-in. Instead, they implored him to appoint the subchief
who had filled that role in the absence of the previous titleholder.
The chief complied, contrary to prevailing custom. Despite the underlying
tension, however, Tokaniua is accorded the deference owed his title,
and there are few signs of hostility towards him.
6. The Case of the Defiant Chief: Government as Arbiter
In 1960, the aged head chief of the district in which I lived, Itumuta,
died, and a new chief was installed. When I returned in 1987 I learned
that this man had also died earlier in the year and was replaced
by a subchief who took the title of Manav. The selection process
did not go smoothly, however. Disagreement arose over which kainaga's
turn it was to select the new chief. A man named Akerio claimed it
was his kainaga's turn to select the
chief, but he was unable to muster sufficient support within the
district to support his case.
It was reported to me that a subchief by the name of Fagmaniua was
senior within the kainaga whose turn
it was and should have been chosen, but the man who became Manav,
himself a subchief, pleaded, "Figalelei ma
na la gou 'a 'ase faroa he ta" ("Please give me a chance to
taste your bread"), and Fagmaniua yielded. This created a special
bond of obligation between Manav and Fagmaniua.
Following Manav's installation, Akerio refused to attend district
meetings or participate in community activities led by Manav. During
my 1988 visit, I learned that some moves toward reconciliation had
taken place and that Akerio was again attending district meetings.
When I arrived on Rotuma in July 1989, however, a new dispute had
split the district and Manav's leadership was being seriously threatened.
It seems that sometime during my absence Manav took a trip to Fiji
and appointed Fagmaniua to stand in for him. This was considered
to be a serious breach of protocol by the faufisi,
a man who holds the title of Ti'u. [15] At
a district meeting at which the issue was discussed, Manav argued
that the faufisi should be from a chiefly mosega,
as was true of Fagmaniua, but not of Ti'u. Therefore he was justified
in choosing Fagmaniua; besides, he argued, Fagmaniua is traditionally
supposed to be faufisi in the district.
Ti'u responded by pointing out that during a past war (prior to cession),
the man holding the Fagmaniua title, who was faufisi at
the time, had proved to be a coward; he had refused to lead the district's
army, a responsibility of the faufisi.
The district chief at the time appointed Ti'u in his stead, and since
that time Ti'u had been faufisi of the
district.
Manav allegedly then demeaned Ti'u's title, saying it was from the
bush. This was equivalent to accusing Ti'u (and his kainaga)
of being "uncultured," and was taken as a grave insult. Ti'u then
wrote a letter of complaint to the prime minister of Fiji, who asked
the district officer to intervene. The district officer called a
meeting and, acting as mediator, persuaded Manav to verbally apologize
to Ti'u. After the meeting they reportedly shook hands. I was told
that Ti'u said that while he himself was satisfied with the apology,
Manav had in fact insulted his entire kainaga,
and that he owed them a formal faksoro;
but Manav refused and the dispute continued. The district factionalized
into supporters of Ti'u and supporters of Manav. Ti'u's supporters
signed a petition urging that Manav be deposed and sent it to the
prime minister. Ti'u left Rotuma and went to Fiji to press his case.
I met him in Fiji in June 1989, and he vowed not to return until
a new chief was installed.
Dissatisfaction with Manav's leadership continued to grow, even
among members of his own mosega. At
a district meeting in July, Manav was urged to step down, but he
refused to consider the possibility, saying he would rather go to
jail. He said he would wait for the prime minister to make the decision.
In August, Manav called a meeting of his mosega.
He invited people from all over the island, even those whose membership
in the group was extremely doubtful. Such a strategy often used by
individuals when they are unsure of support among the core members
of a kinship unit. In fact, because of the bilateral nature of Rotuman
kinship, membership boundaries in any mosega are
blurred. Even the flimsiest of possible relationships can be the
basis for claims, opening the door for a good deal of manipulation.
By recruiting people from outside his district, Manav evidently hoped
to defuse the complaints from within the district.
The meeting was attended by a number of people from outside the
district, including the head chiefs of two other districts and several
subchiefs. These titled men had expressed serious concern about the
petition to the Fijian prime minister and especially about allowing
decisions concerning chieftainship to be decided by officials from
Fiji. They hoped to mediate a solution that would leave matters in
the hands of Rotumans in Rotuma. They also were concerned about the
very possibility of deposing a chief, which they claimed was contrary
to Rotuman custom. Titles are given for life, they argued, and cannot
be taken away against the titleholder's will; likewise, a chief cannot
be deposed against his will.
According to informants, [16] the
visiting chiefs urged Manav to faksoro in
the strongest possible way--to go hen rau'ifi,
symbolically offering his life. The majority of the mosega,
however, did not agree. They argued that the petition should stand
and that the prime minister should make the final decision. The general
feeling (throughout the island) seemed to be that Manav had had plenty
of time to faksoro, but that now it
was too late. A faksoro is only credible,
and honorable, if it is deemed to be sincere. For Manav to formally
apologize at this juncture (more than five months after the insult)
would be seen as crass political manipulation, a cynical attempt
to retain his position.
In fact Manav and the few families that still supported him prepared
a koua a few weeks later, in mid-September.
They informed Ti'u's supporters that they would bring the offering
to the community hall. I was told that not only did none of Ti'u's
group arrive to receive the faksoro, [17] but
that the owners of the hall refused to let Manav use it for that
purpose and sent him home. He took the offering back to his own home,
where he and his few supporters ate it themselves. The whole affair
seemed rather haphazard, which further impaired its credibility as
an apology. The district officer was not informed until just before
it was to take place, and a representative from the prime minister's
office who had come to mediate the case was not told at all.
The man who had been sent by the prime minister to mediate the dispute
was a prominent Rotuman from Fiji. He was instructed to encourage
the disputants to reach their own solution so a judgment would not
have to be imposed. He met with the dissidents and with Manav separately.
It was suggested that Manav call a meeting of his mosega and
to return the title to them. This would allow Manav to step down
gracefully. In that case the mosega would
then go to the district officer, formally yielding the position of
district chief, and the district officer would instruct the kainaga next
in line to choose a new chief. The district officer told me at this
point that the prime minister preferred to keep the matter a Rotuman
affair, but was prepared to take action if it was not soon resolved.
Nothing happened until early November when the appointed arbiter
returned. He held another series of meetings with the concerned parties
and finally persuaded Manav to agree to abide by a vote of the whole
district. A meeting was called, and those attending voted for Manav
to step down by a margin of two to one. Ti'u arrived back in Rotuma
a few days later and filled in as acting chief during the celebration
of the 150th anniversary of Christianity in Rotuma. His obvious pleasure
with the turn of events was counterbalanced by the sadness, if not
distress, of many other Rotumans. The concern of these people had
nothing to do with Manav's fate as an individual but for the implications
his being deposed had for Rotuman chieftainship. They worried that
if a chief could be put out of office simply because people did not
like him, then the very foundations of chiefly authority would be
undermined. [18]
There was a curious aftermath to the resolution of this dispute.
Approximately a week later the eligible mosega met
and chose a new chief. He happened to be the son of Fagmaniua, the
subchief Manav had appointed to stand in for him in Ti'u's stead.
I learned that the installation was to take place on Friday, November
24th, so went early in the morning to ask if I could attend. I was
told that the ceremony would not take place that day, that the elders
had met the previous evening and decided to postpone it. When I asked
why, I received one of those vague "don't know" answers that alerts
an ethnographer that something interesting is going on. I later discovered
that the elders were concerned that Manav still held his title, even
though he had stepped down as chief. They were evidently afraid it
might cause bad luck for the new chief and for the district to have
two men with paramount titles alive at the same time. The district
officer finally persuaded them that this was not a problem, and cited
a precedent in which the chief of another district, who had been
forced out of office for committing adultery, retained his title
without ill effects. The installation of Fagmaniua's son took place
a few days later, presided over by a triumphant Ti'u, acting in the
role of faufisi.
Summary
Rotuma is a good example of a society that is disputatious but non-violent.
Socialization is low-key with regard to physical punishment, and
aggressive models are essentially absent. However, even children's
autonomy is respected, and they learn to assert themselves in defense
of their own interests. As a result, people stand up for their rights;
while gentle in comportment, they are not necessarily docile in disposition.
Disputes are therefore endemic in Rotuma. What is remarkable is that
they so rarely escalate to violent encounters.
One mechanism that acts to contain disputes is a widespread belief
in immanent justice. This belief--that wrongdoers will get their
just desserts in the form of ill-fortune--restrains individuals from
making claims they know to be spurious. It helps keep people from
being overly aggressive in their pursuit of self-interest.
A second mechanism for dealing with conflict is avoidance. Unlike
many other island peoples who have institutionalized procedures for
getting disputants to discuss their grievances in controlled circumstances
(Watson-Gegeo & White, 1990), Rotumans evade such confrontations.
They therefore rely less on resolving disputes than on containing them.
Avoidance is a workable strategy because of the degree of economic
self-sufficiency and mobility enjoyed by most Rotumans. It allows
time for tempers to cool, for hurts to be forgotten, and for vulnerability
to be minimized. Relationships are sometimes, but not always, renewed
under more favorable circumstances. Avoidance has costs, however,
in the form of diminished possibilities for social and economic support.
A third mechanism for managing disputes is mediation, which is institutionalized
in the form of chiefly and church-related roles. Ideally, mediators
are trusted elders who have an important stake in maintaining harmony
between adversaries and are free of parochial interests. Their job
is to soothe ruffled feathers and to promote compromise in the interest
of community solidarity. Chiefs are also arbitrators. They have the
right to make judgments in disputes that cannot be otherwise settled
by the antagonists. If a disputant is sufficiently dissatisfied with
a chief's judgment, he can appeal to the district officer or other
government officials. The most passionate disputes are over land
and chiefly prerogatives--essentially long-term issues. Therefor,
current setbacks may be reversed when new chiefs or government officials
are in place. This encourages patience, as does the belief in immanent
justice.
Perhaps the most effective mechanism available to Rotumans is the
custom of faksoro. By construing apologies
as honorable, persons who have offended others can gain compensatory
status for admission of wrongdoing. That acceptance of such apologies,
given under proper circumstances, is virtually mandatory makes them
especially effective as strategies for ending disputes.
Finally, one must not lose sight of the important role played by
the Fiji government as final arbitrator in Rotuman disputes. While
sending gunboats to quell political protests may be somewhat overzealous,
the point was not entirely lost on Rotumans. They were made acutely
aware that what happens on Rotuma is watched abroad and that they
will pay a price if matters get out of hand. When Henry Gibson's
followers eventually were brought to trial for sedition (on Rotuma)
before Fiji's chief magistrate, even the chiefs were made to feel
the power of the law to intimidate. They were shown no more respect
by the lawyers and magistrate than were the defendants. Therefore,
the process of the trial itself conveyed the most powerful message--that
even the threat of violence on Rotuma puts everyone's dignity
at risk. The magistrate, upon finding the defendants guilty of sedition,
wisely imposed an extremely light sentence. He fined them F$30 each
(F$20 less than the fine for riding a motorcycle without a helmet)
and placed them on two years' probation. Many observers thought this
was too light and would like to have seen them sent to jail. The
defendants vowed to keep up their struggle for Rotuma's independence,
but talk of violence had passed. When we left the island at the end
of 1989, it appeared, that the mechanisms for managing disputes were
as effective as ever, despite all the economic, social and cultural
changes that have affected Rotuma over the past thirty years.
EPILOGUE
The situation seven months later upon our return in 1990 for two
months of additional fieldwork has raised doubts, however. A new
set of disputes had erupted which fed off previous grievances and
threatened to undermine the very foundations of traditional dispute
management strategies.
The first clue we had that things were amiss was that the village
generator that had been the source of the second dispute was once
again not running on a regular basis, because, we were told, there
was no money to pay for fuel. It only operated when individuals or
groups provided fuel for a special occasion. We discovered that the
villagers were refusing to contribute because they suspected the
district chief, Kausiriaf, of misappropriating funds from a recent
visit of the Fairstar that had been
set aside to pay for fuel. Relations between the chief, along with
a few of his supporters, and the rest of the village were clearly
strained.
Tensions within the district exploded a few weeks after our arrival.
The specific event that triggered the dispute was the publication
in the Fiji Times of an article describing a petition to the
prime minister, signed by five district chiefs and one subchief,
demanding the ouster of the district officer and the government arbiter
who had mediated the Itumuta chieftainship dispute (the Manav case)
the year before. The petition also included complaints about the
treatment given the chairman of the Rotuma Council by two Rotuman
bank officials in Fiji when he went to seek a loan for new buses.
All of the men accused in the petition were from the district in
which the dispute erupted. Furthermore, they were closely related
to members of the chiefly mosega and
to the chief himself.
Members of the mosega were extremely
disturbed by the newspaper report and called a meeting to demand
an explanation and apology from Kausiriaf, who not only signed the
petition but had taken it around to other chiefs to obtain their
signatures. Instead of apologizing, however, Kausiriaf told the mosega members
that it was none of their business and walked out. In response, those
present voted to strip Kausiriaf, who has been in office for over
twenty years, of his title and to select a new chief. They followed
through with this course of action and a few weeks later installed
as the new chief a man who has lived in Fiji for most of his adult
life . As a result, the district factionalized between supporters
of the old and new chiefs.
Kausiriaf went to Fiji to consult his kin there. He hired a lawyer
and brought suit against those mosega members
who called for his ouster. He also placed an announcement in the Fiji
Times claiming he was still chief and harshly denouncing his
opponents by name. His opponents felt that by taking this course,
he had forsaken any possibility of reconciliation. When he subsequently
went to some of the most respected elders in Fiji who are members
of the mosega, allegedly to faksoro for
the trouble he was causing, he was told it was too late to apologize.
This case highlights several recent trends that bode ill for conflict
management on the island. First of all, it is apparent that the institution
of chieftainship is under strain and that confidence in the chiefs
has significantly eroded over the past few years. In large part this
is a consequence of the fact that although chiefs dominate the main
policy-making and fiscal management body on the island, the Rotuma
Council, they are with one exception uneducated and untrained for
the job. They are perceived by the large majority of the population
to be ineffective and concerned with lining their own pockets rather
than with the welfare of the island. [19] Chiefs
are correspondingly seen as untrustworthy mediators, both because
their wisdom is in doubt and because they are suspected of having
their own interests, rather than the interests of their people, at
heart.
The shift to a money economy has also put pressure on the custom
of faksoro. Traditionally a faksoro was
sufficient to compensate for any offense, including offenses that
cost the victims money or property. A number of years ago, Kausiriaf
was caught embezzling funds from the Rotuma Co-operative Society
and from the Methodist Church. By law he should have been prosecuted,
but his formal faksoro was accepted
by the members of both organizations. Today people are less and less
willing to accept apologies for offenses that cost them money, in
part because much more money is at stake today than in the past.
They are more willing to refuse to accept apologies, to say "It's
too late to make amends." When the obligatory nature of accepting
apologies erodes, faksoro will lose
its power as a control mechanism, since the personal and social risks
to the supplicant will increase accordingly.
Another trend which appears ominous is the increased use of printed
matter to bolster one's position in a dispute. Kausiriaf's placement
of an announcement in the Fiji Times stating his case and
attacking his opponents lent an air of permanence to the dispute
that is absent when disagreements are oral. One can deny that something
was said, claim to have been misunderstood, or conspire to forget
words spoken in anger. But a written, public record, is another matter. [20] Whether
relationships can survive such a strategy is doubtful.
Finally, Rotumans appear to be more and more inclined to hire lawyers
and rely on the courts, to settle their disputes. By doing so, they
circumvent the very mechanisms that have been most effective in containing
conflicts in the past.
Given these strains in the system I would not be surprised to see
more frequent expressions of overt anger, as well as more aggressive
behavior in pursuit of self-interest. Whether Rotumans can remain
nonviolent in the face of these trends is problematic.
NOTES
[1] The research on which this paper
is based was supported by the National Institute of Mental Health,
the Wenner-Gren Foundation, the University of Hawaii Office of Research
Administration, and the University of Hawaii Program on Conflict
Resolution (UHPCR). An earlier version of this paper by the same
name was circulated as Working Paper 1990-1 by UHPCR. The 1990 field
session was supported by a Matsuda scholarship from the University
of Hawaii. My wife, Jan Rensel, has done ethnographic research on
Rotuma as a Fulbright scholar and was a co-worker in collecting data
used in this essay. Her encouragement and critical comments have
been invaluable. Vilsoni Hereniko, Jack Bilmes, and Neal Milner read
an earlier draft of this paper and made valuable suggestions, many
of which have been incorporated into the current version. Finally
I am extremely grateful to all the Rotumans who showed such infinite
patience with my questions and intrusions. To them I say "Noa'ia
ma hanisi." [back to text]
[2] That nonviolence is not a postmissionary
phenomenon is attested to by the remarks of visitors in the first
half of the nineteenth century, prior to missionization. Many comment
on the gentle disposition of the Rotumans (see, for examples, Mariner [cited
in Gardiner 1898:404] and Lesson [1838-9:430]). [back
to text]
[3] Fiji is administratively divided
into four sections based on the compass, east, west, north and south.
Although Rotuma lies to the north of Fiji, it was included in the
eastern division, along with the Lau islands, by the British during
colonial times. Apparently, that Rotuma's remoteness made it more
comparable to the Lau islands than to the islands of northern Fiji
proper. [back to text]
[4] As a result of the collapse of the
Land Commission in 1959, lands in Rotuma have gone unsurveyed and
unregistered until the present day. There is now talk of establishing
a new Land Commission that would be charged with formalizing customary
principles of ownership and succession, as well as surveying present
boundaries. [back to text]
[5] Rotuma became part of the Colony
of Fiji by historical accident. In 1879, following a skirmish between
Wesleyans, ministered to by an English missionary, and Catholics,
ministered to by a French priest, the chiefs of Rotuma petitioned
Great Britain for cession. In 1881 cession formally took place, and
the Crown decided to administer the island from Fiji for convenience.
Gibson argued that Rotuma had been ceded to Great Britain, not to
Fiji, and that only the Crown could negate that association. [back
to text]
[6] This makes chieftainship in Rotuma
a somewhat different phenomenon than in societies such as Fiji, where
chiefs have real power over their subjects. In Rotuma chiefs are
honored on special occasions, when they are "in role," but most of
the time they are "out of role" and are treated respectfully but
without reverence. In turn, chiefs, like parents, respect their subjects'
autonomy. They are generally unable to force people to do things
against their will (for more information on the nature of chieftainship
in Rotuma, see Howard 1963b, 1966). [back
to text]
[7] Custom requires a person coming to faksoro to
display humility, and to beg forgiveness. A common expression used
in such entreaties is, "'Ase ma 'on te se 'a'a." [back
to text]
"I beg of you to eat what you would never eat [implying feces]." This
is an acknowledgment that forgiveness may not be easy.
[8] The names of some persons used in
these case studies are fictitious, and details have been left out
to protect their anonymity. But I have otherwise attempted to remain
as faithful to the information available to me as possible. [back
to text]
[9] Sometimes a single incident is sufficient
to convince a wrongdoer to faksoro.
I was recently told of an instance in which a woman was accidentally
struck in the eye by a tika dart (used
in a game of throwing for distance) and blinded while in her house
weaving mats. Her husband had recently extended their house so that
it encroached on the land of an absent neighbor, who invoked a curse
of immanent justice. The family went to apologize formally soon afterwards. [back
to text]
[10] Fijian currency was devalued after
the coup in 1987. Prior to devaluation, a Fiji dollar was worth approximately
$0.95 in United States currency; following devaluation it dropped
to approximately $0.67 U.S. [back to text]
[11] The Rotuman population in Fiji is
organized into clubs based on home districts in Rotuma. These clubs
occasionally raise funds to support specific projects in their home
districts. [back to text]
[12] Interestingly, at no time was the
question of differential economic benefits derived from tourism brought
to the fore. It seems obvious to me that most of the resistance to
tourism was from people who did not anticipate receiving any economic
benefits, while the people from this village, and especially certain
landowners, were clearly going to benefit. The rhetoric of resistance
was almost entirely in terms of moral corruption. In fact, as it
became clear that people from all over the island could benefit economically
by providing souvenirs and services, resistance substantially diminished
(despite some of the same outrageous behavior on the part of tourists
that had been predicted by critics). [back to
text]
[13] John Williams stopped at Rotuma
on November 12, 1839, on his ill-fated voyage to Erromanga. He left
two Samoan missionaries to carry out the work of converting the Rotumans
to Christianity. [back to text]
[14] Technically it is the prerogative
of the ranking member of a kainaga,
in this case the district chief, to make the final decision concerning
such an appointment. However, custom requires a discussion by the
assembled members of the group prior to such a decision. In this
instance no such discussion took place. [back
to text]
[15] There is an ongoing debate in Rotuma
with regard to the respective rights of the district chief and the faufisi.
Some people argue that proper Rotuman custom requires the chief to
appoint the faufisi to replace him in
his absence; others claim that it is the chief's prerogative to appoint
whomever he likes. Still others assert that different districts have
different customs in this regard. During my 1989 field session, a
highly respected subchief, who now resides in Fiji and is considered
an expert on Rotuman custom, paid a visit to Rotuma in order to instruct
the chiefs about what is proper. He held that in all districts it
is the faufisi's right to be chosen. [back to
text]
[16] I was unable to attend any of these
meetings in person so had to rely on reports of those who were present.
There were, of course, differing accounts and it was not always clear
what had actually transpired. I tried to compensate by talking to
as many people as possible. The account given here is composite in
nature; it represents my best judgment of what constitutes credible
information. [back to text]
[17] Taking a faksoro offering
to a public place rather than directly to the aggrieved party's home
is itself unusual, but in this case Ti'u was away in Fiji and there
was no other single person to whom Manav could apologize. As an attempt
to placate the entire body of dissidents it failed miserably. One
might speculate that by going away, Ti'u made it nearly impossible
for a satisfactory faksoro to be made.
Indeed, it may have been part of Ti'u's strategy to oust Manav. If
so, it suggests that avoidance can be used as a tactic to win disputes. [back
to text]
[18] Although many of these people insisted
that the deposing of a district chief was unprecedented, Rotuman
legends are full of stories about unpopular chiefs being put out
of office, and even killed, by disgruntled subjects (see Howard
1986). There is also ample evidence that colonial administrators
replaced chiefs they considered unsuitable, sometimes at the urging
of dissident subjects. Nevertheless, in the current political context,
where the leadership of the chiefs has been seriously questioned
by many, the issue of chiefly authority is especially volatile. For
this reason the events described above are of special concern to
those who wish to preserve the chiefly system. [back
to text]
[19] Chiefs in fact are under some pressure
to appropriate resources for their own benefit, since they are paid
very little and generally have few resources of their own other than
land. Thus persons with government jobs, and those who receive substantial
remittances from relatives abroad, are much better endowed financially
and are able to afford better houses, motor vehicles, etc. Such valued
possessions enhance people's status, making them competitive with
chiefs. Chiefs are therefore tempted to appropriate resources that
allow them various kinds of status displays. [back
to text]
[20] Two of the chiefs who signed the
petition to the prime minister subsequently claimed not to have known
what they were signing, and sent a letter of regret to the prime
minister renouncing the document. This parallels traditional strategies
denying oral statements, but it has costs. Many Rotumans commented
sardonically that this reveals something about the caliber of chiefs,
that they sign documents without even reading them. Others regarded
the disclaimer as a strategic attempt to avoid mounting resentment. [back
to text] |