Steadfast Movement around Micronesia: Satowan Enlargements beyond Migration

STEADFAST MOVEMENT AROUND MICRONESIA 10_251_00_FM.indd i 6/28/10 11:03:18 AM 10_251_00_FM.indd ii 6/28/10 11:03:19...

Author: Lola Quan Bautista

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STEADFAST MOVEMENT AROUND MICRONESIA

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STEADFAST MOVEMENT AROUND MICRONESIA Satowan Enlargements beyond Migration

Lola Quan Bautista

LEXINGTON BOOKS A Division of ROWMAN & LITTLEFIELD PUBLISHERS, INC. Lanham • Boulder • New York • Toronto • Plymouth, UK

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Published by Lexington Books A division of Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, Inc. A wholly owned subsidiary of The Rowman & Littlefield Publishing Group, Inc. 4501 Forbes Boulevard, Suite 200, Lanham, Maryland 20706 http://www.lexingtonbooks.com Estover Road, Plymouth PL6 7PY, United Kingdom Copyright © 2010 by Lexington Books All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote passages in a review. British Library Cataloguing in Publication Information Available Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Bautista, Lola Quan, 1968– Steadfast movement around Micronesia : Satowan enlargements beyond migration / Lola Quan Bautista. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-0-7391-3477-1 (cloth : alk. paper)—ISBN 978-0-7391-3479-5 (electronic) 1. Migration, Internal—Social aspects—Micronesia (Federated States) I. Title. HB2152.6.A3B38 2010 304.809966—dc22 2010013824

⬁ ™ The paper used in this publication meets the minimum requirements of American National Standard for Information Sciences—Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI/NISO Z39.48-1992. Printed in the United States of America

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To my Juanchos, husband and son, for their love, strength, and sense of humor. And to Jesi, my daughter, and my mother, Josefina Unpingco Quan, who inspire me every day to be a better woman. Para i che’lun-måmi, si Ricky Unpingco Quan, ni ha dingu ham gi año dos mit nuebi. In gegef hasso gue’ ya manmahalang ham nu guiya: Josefina, Teresa, Felis, Pedro, Rosa, Esabet, Dolores, yan Batbara. In pe’lo i che’lun-måmi gi simenteyun i familian tatan-måmi, i familian Gollo (i lugat ni mafanana’an Perez Memorial Park). Gi agapa’-ña na banda, gaigi i guelon-måmi as Alejandro yan Dolores Perez Quan.

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Contents

List of Illustrations List of Tables Preface and Acknowledgments 1 Fetanin Weno, Sefanin Weno 2 Reaching Out to Guam 3 Configurations of Urban Space and Social Space 4 Emic Understandings of Movement 5 Conceptions of Social Groups: Homesite (Falang) and Household (Pei) 6 Atoll Enlargements on “Migration” Bibliography Index About the Author

ix xi xiii 1 19 43 79 109 141 155 167 177

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Illustrations

Figures 1.1

3.1 3.2

3.3

3.4 3.5 4.1 4.2 4.3

Mama Sarlote and her husband, Simon Sivas, on their way to Móch for the celebration of the Catholic Diocese (Taiosis), February 1998. Children walking on main sand road near Falopol Homesite, June 2009. Children sitting on grave aligned north-south. In background, east-west positioning of grave and water catchment, Lenean Homesite, February 1998. Thatch sleeping houses in Parang Homesite, January 1998. Sleeping house on left, called Emmaus, originally built for Catholic retreat in 1996. Author with children from Wenikau Homesite on newly formed sandbar, Pluto, February 1998. Kimono, makal (chief) of Sou-Eor in the faal (meeting house), Wenikau Homesite, February 1998. Catholic youths (serafo) visiting the elderly, Aroset Homesite, June 1997. Catholic youths (serafo) and others welcoming the first priest from Satowan, Mwaluk Homesite, June 2009. Canoe builder carving nuum (bailer) for religious event, Mwaluk Homesite, January 1998.

16 65

66

67 73 75 84 84 85

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x

4.4 4.5 4.6

List of Illustrations

Religious groups of women bid farewell to visiting priest, Aroset Homesite, June 2009. Women wearing likoutang, Lerong Homesite, February 1998. Men from Efong resting on tanks (tanku), Masenifal Homesite, June 1994.

90 91 97

Maps 1.1 1.2 1.3 3.1 3.2

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Micronesia in the Western Pacific Chuuk State, Federated States of Micronesia (FSM) Satowan Settlements on Weno Island, Chuuk State (FSM) The Mortlocks, Chuuk State (FSM) Satowan Island, Chuuk State (FSM)

4 7 12 50 64

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Tables

1.1 1.2 2.1 2.2 2.3 2.4 2.5 3.1 4.1 4.2 4.3 4.4 5.1

5.2 5.3 5.4 5.5

Satowan Islet (Satowan Atoll) De Facto Population, 1947–2000 Learning in the Field, September 1997 to March 1999 Primary Reasons for Coming to Guam by Gender, 1972–1997 Cash Remittances and Dollar Amount of Food, Clothing, and Other Goods Sent Home by Gender, 1996–1998 Cash Remittances Taken Home by Gender, 1991–1998 Reasons for Return Trips, 1979–1998 Return Trips by Gender, 1979–1998 Sites on Satowan That Inform Mobility Kinds and Attributes of Proper Mobility Features of Space for Males: Mobility Related to Marriage Kinds and Attributes of Improper Mobility Kinds and Attributes of Improper Mobility for Women De Facto Population, Average Number of People per Household (Pei), and Number of Sleeping Houses by Village, January 1998 Satowan Population Present or Absent at Time of Census by Village, January 1998 Place and Number of Household Members Living Elsewhere for Eor and Lukelap, January 1998 Primary Reasons for Absence for De Jure Members of Eor and Lukelap, January 1998 Store Items Purchased on Weno by Eleven Employees from Satowan, January to December 1995

9 14 34 37 38 39 40 72 81 94 96 100

116 118 119 120 123

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xii

5.6 5.7

List of Tables

Type of Household Unit, De Facto and De Jure Population, Eor and Lukelap Villages, January 1998 Household Types, Income, Contributors, Wealth Flows, and Likelihood of Population Mobility as Household Strategy, Eor and Lukelap Villages, January 1998

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125

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Preface and Acknowledgments

teadfast Movement around Micronesia examines how people from Chuuk State in the Federated States of Micronesia (FSM) move about, as well as their cultural interpretations of movement itself. I use the term “steadfast” in the sense of firm in purpose, steady, resolute, and exemplifying time-honored dedication. “Steadfast movement” conveys the dual sense of being fixed in place or position, and always there, yet also always reaching out, always going beyond the horizon. But that horizon, too, is constantly shifting, so the idea of retreating, turning around, or coming back is always a strong possibility. In both a literal and metaphorical sense, for the people of Satowan Atoll in Chuuk State, this image of steadfast movement harnesses the language of how they move, how they conceive of what that movement is, and how basic movement is to the functioning of their society. Satowan is their place, but so also is Weno, and beyond that, Guam, for some homes include other places in Micronesia and Hawai‘i. This work presents interpretations and theoretical conclusions about transnationalism melded with the cultural and behavioral imperatives embodied in circular mobility, and it locates the center of analysis in the household as a social organization mediating those transformations. Through an array of methodological strategies, I illustrate how kinship, gender hierarchies, and relations among lineage women shape decision making for those who move and stay. Considering movement as being steadfast makes this study one of the few undertaken in the Pacific to self-consciously attempt to provide a sense of agency and interconnectivity between transnationalism and circular mobility.

S

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I focus on movement for the people of Satowan Atoll as intimately associated with clan, lineage, and locality, as well as the influences of a system of local beliefs and attitudes based on combinations of age, marital status, and childbirth. I also look at the ways in which the current movement of citizens from Chuuk State and others from FSM to Guam fits within larger contexts that emphasize historical circumstances and more current political-economic considerations. Guam is my home. Nearly twenty-five years ago, during my first summer back from college, I returned to the farm of my father, Felix Perez Quan, who had recently hired young men from Chuuk as farm laborers. There were long hours working together in the field harvesting Japanese-style cucumbers, packing them in a piggery-turned-co-op, then delivering them throughout the island in thirty-pound boxes that sold for thirty dollars. The time spent talking during our delivery drives to tourist-filled-hotels and mom-and-pop stores or, on weekends, to the flea market to buy used clothing and other supplies were my first interactions with people from the surrounding islands of Guam, known as Micronesia. These experiences formed the basis for my initial interest in the topic of this book. My journeys away from the farm to other places in Micronesia lead me to sisterships with women who have shaped the way I think and relate to other Pacific peoples. I want to thank my promised sister, Peggy, the daughter of the late Raymond Setik, chon Lukunor. My heartfelt appreciation to my other promised sister, Kathy S. Martin, who often speaks of her life journey as “papaseno papaseto” or “drifting away and drifting back.” Last year while we were living in Hawai‘i, we both lost a younger sibling and were reminded of the places we long to return to, hopefully, forever. Kathy’s sister is buried on her maternal grandfather’s clan land on Piis Paneu (Chuuk). My brother, Ricky, rests besides my paternal grandparents at the Perez Memorial Park on Guam. I am humbled by the atoll dwellers of Satowan, most especially those from Eor Village and the Sor clan. My love and gratitude to Mama Sarlote Hait and her siblings, Sera, Listen, Terry, Jacob, Isao, Eratel, Karatel, Keith, Shem, Kesler, and my promised brother, Iwanes, for escorting me to the atoll. Mama Sarlote, kilisou chapur ren omw tongei me tumunu ei usun chok ngang eman wesetan noum. I am most grateful for the wealth of information provided by Simon Sivas and the kindness showed by his siblings, Kristino, Agatha, Lucina, and her husband, Thomas Narruhn. Much appreciation to Hayden Buliche, Detore Salvadore, and the Reverend Father Bruce Roby for the use of his photographs. My love and thanks also to my Satowan family in Hawai‘i, Auntie Yana, Uncle Manny, and their daughter, Karnim Judah.

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I am most thankful for several island women who make it possible for me to be away and, yet, at home. In Hawai‘i, my mother- and sister-in-law, Rosario Sholing Bautista and Ann Sholing Mitchell, make the celebrations of birthdays and school performances special, as well as for everyday responsibilities of picking up my children from school and escorting them thousands of miles over the Pacific Ocean. On my home island, my sister, Elizabeth Quan Iriarte, continues to anchor and root me by representing me at funerals, visiting relatives at hospitals, and reciprocating gifts on my behalf. I che’lu-hu as Esabet, guiya na gaige i mas tákkilo’ na agradesimiento-ku sa’ guiya mumantietieni i yaben i guinaiyan i mañe’lu-hu. I dibosion-ña yan i meggai sakrifisiu ha chocho’gue para i famagu’on-måmi lao espesiatmente para i sainan-måmi. My thanks also to the FSM employees and their supervisors who allowed me to interview at the following hotels: Alupang Beach Towers, Guam Hilton Hotel, Onward Agana Beach Hotel, Pacific Star Hotel, Palace Hotel Guam, Ladera Towers, Micronesian Hotel, Frank Borja at Guam Reef Hotel, Sis Rosario at Hotel Nikko Guam, and Greg San Nicolas at Guam Dai-Ichi Hotel. Si Yu’us Ma’ase’ to David Hanlon, Anne Perez Hattori, Keith Lujan Camacho, and Donald Rubinstein who helped in the early stages of this book, then a PhD dissertation. I also am thankful to Craig Severance, chon Pisemwar, and the three anonymous reviewers from AltaMira Press, an imprint of Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, Inc. I am grateful for funding support from the School of Pacific and Asian Studies and the Center for Pacific Islands Studies at the University of Hawai‘i, Ma¯noa. Much appreciation to my colleagues at the center, especially the managing editor, Jan Rensel, and her graduate assistant, Kisha Borja-Kicho‘cho‘. Thanks also for the cartographic work done by Jane Eckelman at Manoa Mapworks. For his loyal and steadfast support, my deepest appreciation to my mentor, University of Hawai‘i geography professor emeritus Murray Chapman. Several months ago we went shopping together so I could buy him a belated Christmas gift, and we decided on shoes with real leather soles because he has been traveling to more cold-weather places since his so-called retirement. I thought it odd to be shopping for shoes since so often he didn’t wear shoes, in fact, he didn’t wear any footwear! Maybe that was simply because of Hawai‘i’s warm weather or maybe it was something he picked up from living among Solomon Islanders in the coastal and bush villages of Duidui and Pichahila. Mi tagio tumas mi mitim disfala wantok from Niu Zilan insaed laef wokabaot blong mi. I am very thankful that I have met this “wantok” from New Zealand in the walkabouts of my life.

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1 Fetanin Weno, Sefanin Weno

n 1986, one of the first civil cases to come to trial concerned the traditional ownership of tidelands (lélé) located in Weno, the urban center of Chuuk (Sellem v. Maras 1995), one of four island nations in the Federated States of Micronesia (FSM). Tidelands extend from the dry land to the deep water at the edge of the reef, where it is shallow enough for women to engage in traditional methods of fishing. Two clans claimed to be the traditional owners of the area, from the middle of the Mechitiw Causeway to Iras (see map 1.3). To legitimize their claim, the clans, known as Rak and Osap Rak, demonstrated detailed knowledge of customary activities and lineage connections to the tidelands. However, during the dispute, a third party representing one of the most powerful clans on Chuuk claimed that the tidelands, known as Tawanap, belonged to the Sapunippi. The members of the Sapunippi clan claimed ownership as Mechetiw’s earliest inhabitants through a chant called “Fetanin Weno, Sefanin Weno.” Sometime before the coming of foreigners, claimed the clanswomen of the Sapunippi, “all of the clans of Weno had departed Weno and then came back to Weno.” “Fetanin Weno, Sefanin Weno” illustrates a number of important features involving mobility among the people of Chuuk. The chant embodies a common belief that Weno, in Chuuk Lagoon, is the original homeland of the Chuukese people. It is contained within a body of knowledge called “itang,” which includes rhetoric, history, war, diplomacy, and divination (Goodenough 1992). Itang is recognized and not always understood by most Chuukese, but “resides the history of the Trukese [now Chuukese] people, of

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their origins, migration, and moments of greatness. It embodies their moral philosophy and is their charter of right and justice” (Gladwin 1960, 44). “Fetanin Weno, Sefanin Weno” from the words “fetal” (to walk) and “sefal” (to return) is a metaphor for movement. More generally it means to go forward and back, to drift out and return, or the process of moving and returning. How people from Chuuk move about, and their cultural interpretations of movement itself, is the focus of this book.

Preview The chant “Fetanin Weno, Sefanin Weno” displays elements of circular mobility, a theoretical perspective chosen for this study. Developed by two human geographers, R. Mansell Prothero and Murray Chapman, circular mobility is gaining popularity for third-world and Pacific island scholars interested in a theory that builds on the notion that mobility is subject to cultural premises or territorial notions (Chapman and Prothero 1985; Prothero and Chapman 1985). This book examines different kinds of territorial mobility that are inherent to the social and cultural life for the people of Satowan and the ways in which they incorporate mobility within larger frames of cultural understandings of proper and improper behavior. Special consideration will be made of movement on Satowan as intimately associated with clan, lineage, and locality, as well as the influence of a system of local beliefs and attitudes surrounding an individual based on combinations of age, sex, marital status, and childbirth. Another theoretical framework taken for this research, called transnationalism, came about mostly through collaborative works among sociologists and anthropologists studying the diaspora of the Caribbean (Charles 1992; Grasmuck and Pessar 1991; Pessar 1988), Central America (Mármora 1988; Portes and Bach 1985), the Philippines (Caces, Arnold, Fawcett, and Gardner 1985; Goss and Lindquist 1995; Lindquist 1993), and more recently the Pacific (Lee and Francis 2009). Transnationalism places increasing emphasis on the degree to which people who move act as “transmigrants” through acts of mobility and patterns of reciprocity, illustrating how rural impacts equally influence the consequences of movement. Taken together, circular mobility and transnationalism set forth the theoretical and methodological underpinnings for this study. Transnationalism emphasizes the broader aspects within political economic contexts, while circular mobility attempts to clarify the territorial and cultural aspects enlivened by actors. Chapter 2, “Reaching Out to Guam,” begins by examining the ways in which the current movement of citizens from Chuuk State, and others from

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Fetanin Weno, Sefanin Weno

3

the Federated States of Micronesia (FSM) to Guam, fits within larger contexts that emphasize historical circumstances and more current political-economic considerations. Guam, a territory of the United States, geographically lies in Micronesia and has a population of just under 155,000, of which the FSM citizens make up slightly over 5 percent (Census Bureau 2000). The remaining sections of this chapter look at the degree to which FSM migrants act as transmigrants through mobility, wealth flows, and patterns of reciprocity. Thus, Guam is presented as what the human geographer Anne Buttimer (1980) considers to be “reach” rather than destination, to describe a close connection and a spatial experience that links, rather than separates, Guam and the rest of Micronesia (map 1.1). The argument taken is that migrants do not uproot and sever their identities that exist back home. As migrants form identities in concert with the majority population and other minorities, they also “build fields that link together their country of origin and their country of settlement” (Glick Schiller, Basch, and Blanc Szanton 1992b, 1). In chapter 3, “Configurations of Urban Space and Social Space,” I begin with views of the urban space by the people from Satowan and others in the Mortlock Atolls who are generally known as an ethnic group called the Mortlockese (Mochulok). As we will discover, cultural and territorial boundaries do not easily correspond to rural and urban dichotomies or temporary and permanent migration, which is highlighted in the transnational literature. Later, I consider how urban views are deeply intertwined with aspects of home and movement on Satowan Atoll based on configurations of social space and mobility, which is the focus of the idea of circular mobility. Social space stresses the significance of “space” as a way of knowing and evaluating the physical environment and behaviors that stem from certain social spaces. Events are expressed by metaphors of staying and moving, coming and going, purpose and wander, commitment and estrangement, trodden and avoided paths. The notion of social space is used here as a metaphor rather than as an analytical tool for understanding migratory behavior. The human geographer Joël Bonnemaison (1985), for example, uses a dual metaphor of the tree, which connotes rootedness, and the canoe, which connotes mobility, to express a general set of relationships between people and place on the island of Tanna in Vanuatu. Bonnemaison suggests that each local group is a kind of “geographic society,” defined in relation to the space within which it resides. In other words, the relationship is not between people and land but between people and social space, a field defined as an imagery under the influence of or within the range of some agent. Thus, geographical mobility “can no longer be conceived as a simple removal from one place to another

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MAP 1.1 Micronesia in the Western Pacific


5

or as a neutral and informal phenomenon. Rather it is a journey in the cultural sense of the word—an experience imbued with meaning and ritual, inherent in the action of movement and sanctioned beyond the territory of identity” (Bonnemaison 1985, 32). The circular mobility thesis is further developed in chapter 4, “Emic Understandings of Movement,” where movement is understood as a collage of mobility behaviors that are normally considered to be culturally appropriate and inappropriate among the people of Satowan. Following anthropologist Harold Olofson’s (1985) framework of illegitimate-legitimate spatial mobility, an analysis he applied among the Hausa of Nigeria, the kinds of mobility the people of Satowan engage in are related to the life stage (age, sex, marital status, childbirth), gender specific activities, religion, economic sustenance, and cultural ceremonies marking transitions. In this chapter, I will highlight a particular kind of mobility, called “uruur” (to wander), whose qualities can only arise from aspects of immobility or localization set within the cultural realm of movement experienced mostly by young men. Although the term uruur itself is not used, the metaphorical and literal symbolism of young men who wander has often been the focus of scholars to explain suicide, alcoholism, and reasons for urban drift. Oftentimes the behavior is deemed deviant without a deeper understanding of the meaning “to wander.” I will argue only when we place uruur (as well as other aspects of mobility) within the realm of spatial movement, can we understand how “to wander” fits within broader social processes. One methodological issue for the conceptual framework of circular mobility, transnationalism, and transmigrant is to consider households (at place of origin) as an appropriate level of analysis for social research. A household strategy provides a “culturally defined emic unit” (Wilk and Netting 1984, 2), for it is often the household that contains people’s ideas, norms, and values about their domestic life which in turn act as an important constraint on their behavior. In chapter 5, “Conceptions of Social Groups: Homesite (Falang) and Household (Pei),” the emphasis is on hierarchies of obligation, power, and responsibility internal to the household, such as the role of the household head, firstborn male and female, and issues of status associated with age and career patterns. Studies of Micronesian mobility have generally excluded the analysis of households as social organizations that mediate cultural and territorial transformations. Instead, movement is often attributed to individuals maximizing their economic potential. Several overarching themes emerge from this type of analysis, notably that actors are viewed as economically motivated and act individually in their decisions to migrate. There is also the standard “snap-shot” analysis in censuses and surveys that identifies

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6

Chapter 1

migration as a permanent change of residence from one location to another. Some more convincing studies in Asia and the Pacific have shown that household members often influence individual actions to move or to stay (Marshall 2004; Subedi 1993; Underhill 1989). In the final chapter 6, “Atoll Enlargements on ‘Migration,’” I return to a theoretical and methodological focus on transnationalism and circular mobility to assess its applicability to mobility patterns in Micronesia. This chapter pursues a two-tiered approach, which parallels the transmobility strategy: one investigating the sociohistorical context of dependency by looking at the political economy, the other considering the territorial plane of mobility. Several methodological strategies (formal and informal interview, household survey, type and level of wealth flows) and conceptual frameworks (migrant’s social network, the household, an emic understanding of mobility) are used to unravel this process. The final chapter also considers whether or not an emic or insider account leads to improved understandings of mobility and whether or not it helps to challenge notions that movement beyond one’s homeland is destructive to identity, culture, and tradition. I will argue that the reductionist view of people as “migrants,” or the idea that people are characteristically either rural or urban, speaks little to the actual ways in which the people of Satowan define mobility. I further suggest how primary research, in conjunction with other in-depth and non-Western studies, can lead toward cultural and territorial realms of movement that are sensitive to emic understandings and the ongoing relationships between “home and reach.”

At “Home”: Satowan Islet (Satowan Atoll) “Home and reach” reflect two theoretical considerations. In this study Satowan islet is presented as the “home” area where aspects of circular mobility become the means to enquire into the more cultural, territorial, motivational, and behavioral aspects of migration (Chapman 1975, 1976; Chapman and Prothero 1985; Mitchell 1964). In the following chapter, we look to Guam as the “reach” area to explore the second approach, transnationalism. Although circular mobility is similar in some of its underlying components, transnationalism draws more heavily on the objective social and spatial structures that produce the necessary conditions for labor migration and further places emphasis on the economy, the social life, and the political institutions of the host and origin country. Satowan lies in Chuuk State within a group of islands known as the “Mortlocks,” which takes its name from a British captain who made contact with the islands in 1795. The atolls and islands lie some 155 miles southeast of the

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7

Chuuk Lagoon (map 1.2) and have a population of 6,911, roughly 12 percent of Chuuk’s total population (FSM 2002). The Mortlocks include eleven island communities: Nama, Losap, Pisemwar, Namoluk, Etal, Lukunor, Oneop, Móch, Kuttu, Satowan, and Ta.1 The Mortlockese speak a dialect that is mutually intelligible with those in the Chuuk Lagoon and can also distinguish among people from various places in the Mortlocks based on slight linguistic variations. They are collectively referred

MAP 1.2

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8

Chapter 1

to either as outer islanders, people from low islands (fánápi), people from the southern low islands (fánápi eér), or the Mortlockese people (Mochulok). Two government field ships transport passengers and cargo to the Mortlocks about every other month, but make more frequent visits during special events or to transport passengers to attend funerals. Occasionally, a Koreanowned boat and Pukiel, a boat owned by Móch, also frequents Satowan. There was also a brief time when an eight-seat plane landed nearby, on Lukunor. A small fishing boat (Sopor) was purchased for Satowan in the 1980s, but was used mostly for transportation. It lasted only a few years until it sank in Weno and was later dragged to Uman in the Chuuk Lagoon. Satowan Atoll consists of Móch, Kuttu, Satowan, and Ta. The name Satowan means “the chest,” which refers to Satowan as the largest islet with the most plentiful food resources.2 The chest is also where emotions are centered (Marshall 1994). Or, as the people from Satowan describe it, the islet is like the chest of a chicken, which contains the stomach, the essence of life. Satowan was also called New York City by Father Rively, a Jesuit priest who was on Lukunor from after World War II until the 1990s, because it often led the trend in the Mortlocks with songs and styles of dressing. Others in Chuuk know of Satowan’s powerful love potion, often said to explain how an unattractive person lures an attractive mate, why women stay with abusive men, or why a woman stays with someone she previously hated. The people of Satowan are also humorously known by others for their style of speaking (kapasen Satowan), a type of false flattery or sarcasm, “like when you say you have a lot of coffee when you don’t”; or when someone comments on the attractiveness of your dress but doesn’t believe it to be so. Most of the known history of Satowan, as well as of islander mobility patterns, is restricted to the period after World War II, although, as Marshall (2004, 3) notes, voyages of sailing canoes facilitated contacts and sharing a common pool of information and materials with communities on numerous islands. According to Satowan elders, the earliest population estimate shortly after the war was of about 300 people. This estimate corresponds to the number of 360 given by the chief of Lukunor Atoll and recorded in Tolerton and Rauch (1949, table 1.1). Satowan, during this time, was turned into a landing field by the Japanese, who forcibly relocated the people to Afaren and Alengachuk, two islets near Kuttu and Móch. Only a few men remained behind as laborers; the rest were given ten days notice to evacuate by October 1, 1943. Some managed to walk along the fringes of the surrounding atolls carrying their food and personal possessions, while others used rafts or canoes. They took with them breadfruit, breadfruit seedlings, wild taro, sweet taro, copra, and fish. Initially, they had ample food and clothing, although later, for nearly

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TABLE 1.1 Satowan Islet (Satowan Atoll) De Facto Population, 1947–2000a Year

Population

1947 1963 1966 1971 1973 1976 1982 1989 1994 2000

360 519 563 601 816 800+ 800+ 885 823 955

Source Tolerton and Rauch, 1949 Trust Territory of the Pacific Islands (TTPI), 1963 Trust Territory of the Pacific Islands (TTPI), 1967 Trust Territory of the Pacific Islands (TTPI), 1971b Trust Territory of the Pacific Islands (TTPI), 1973 Unofficial estimate by informantb Unofficial estimate by informant Federated States of Micronesia (FSM), 1992 Federated States of Micronesia (FSM), 1996c Federated States of Micronesia (FSM), 2002

a

A de facto population includes the actual number of people of a particular place at the time of enumeration. b The unofficial population estimates for 1976 and 1982 were reported by an informant who was the only carpenter on Satowan charged with the administration of various structures (like sleeping units) on the island based on the number of people. c As noted in the text, although 823 was reported as a de jure place of residence, in practice a de facto definition was used.

a year, they suffered from starvation, and clothing had to be made from hibiscus bark. After two years, they returned to Satowan on November 1, 1945, recently designated as Liberation Day. After the war, only a few men ventured to the administrative capital, Weno (formally known as Moen), to work for the United States Trust Territory government or the Truk Trading Company (TTC).3 According to a man whose father was a former chief of Satowan, in 1947 the Navy administration required a two-dollar head tax for males between the ages of eighteen and sixty. By 1963, Satowan’s population reached over 500. Most continued to live in a subsistence fashion as well as processing coconut meat to produce commercial copra, which had begun late in the nineteenth century. A field ship from Weno arrived to collect copra, which sold for four cents a pound gathered in 105-pound bags. Only a few families actively engaged in making copra until its decline in the 1980s, when it sold for only twenty cents a pound. Not until the 1960s did a substantial number of Mortlockese arrive in Weno in a movement that became known by the inhabitants of Chuuk Lagoon as the “Mortlockese Invasion” (Nason 1970, 378). This process reflected a growing belief among the people of Satowan that working for government wages in Weno is “something good for the family.” Or, as one council member of the Lower Mortlocks Advisory Council commented, “The Trust Territory government is viewed as a Santa Claus giving out free goods not only at Christmas but all through the year” (TTPI 1971a, 94). The Mortlockese

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continued to fill many government positions up until the early 1970s when those from the Lagoon realized the opportunities. This first wave, mostly men, helped to anchor the Mortlockese on Weno especially because many had attained formal education and held high-level government positions that often led to private business. Although the population during the early 1970s is estimated at 601 by the Truk District Legislature (TTPI 1971b), the later figure of 816 (TTPI 1973) is consistent with an unofficial number of over 800 by 1976, recalled by a Satowan man. During the 1970s, members of the Lower Mortlocks Advisory Council, composed of magistrates from each island in the Lower Mortlocks, reported on problems with transportation, copra production, medical care, basic supplies, problems with mosquitoes and rats, severe dry months (January through March), and salt-water flooding (TTPI 1971a). Problems were added in 1976 when Typhoon Pamela hit the Mortlocks. Compared to some other islands, Satowan’s losses were less, although there was some damage to breadfruit, coconut, and banana, and a few houses were demolished (Marshall 1979b). For those who lost their homes, a prefabricated structure of platforms (24' × 18') was issued by the U.S. government. A handful of these housing units, called “typhoon” by the people of Satowan, still stand, although the roofs have been modified. During the 1982–1983 cholera epidemic, travel was restricted into and out of Satowan. A year-long effort was made to build water catchments with supplies from the sanitation office on Weno instead of depending on well water and water from open containers. Plans also were made to erect water seal toilets and replace the overland toilets, called pincho, a variant of the Japanese benjo, which were inevitably located at the ocean shore. At the time, a local man who supervised the construction of water catchments estimated a population of over 800, based on the number of housing or sleeping units. The water catchments made of concrete measure 9 feet in diameter, 6 feet high, and hold 2,500 gallons of water. Instructions were given to periodically clean the catchments by adding chlorine, as a ratio of the water level, through manholes located on top. During the 1980s, compared to problems faced during the 1970s, infrastructure expanded on the island. The Head Start school, the sea wall, the dispensary, and the ice plant to store fish were built with what the people of Satowan refer to as “project” money, funds for capital improvement allocated by the Chuuk State government. During the brief period when the ice plant and fishing boat were operating, fish were exported to Weno. Then, a decade later in the 1990s, an ice machine was built and ice sold for ten cents a pound. Wooden power poles were erected along the main path and were run by a generator that was shut down by ten in the evening. As with the ice machine

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and most other introduced infrastructure, the generator operated briefly until it broke down. It is difficult to establish population change for Satowan because available evidence is scant. According to the census in 1994, the overall growth rate for Chuuk State is at 2.2 percent, the life expectancy at birth is 63.9 years, and the total fertility rate is 3.5 for the Mortlocks (FSM 1996). Satowan was reported to have a de jure population of 823, defined as those who had resided in the FSM for six months or more prior to the census or who intended to return during the same six months. According to the lead enumerator, no accounts of members living elsewhere, the de jure population, were entered on the census forms, and therefore the number 823 was actually a de facto count. In the most recent census in 2000, Satowan reported a population of 955 (FSM 2002). With the 1994 census, other indicators suggest a severe undercount. For example, the 1997 General Register lists 725 voters from Satowan. As indicated by Donald Rubinstein (pers. comm.), if the median age of the de jure count was around 16, and if there were 725 registered voters 18 years of age or over, then the total population of Satowan should have been twice the number of voters. There are also 103 employees of Satowan in regular wage on Weno (field census, Weno, 1998). According to several census enumerators and politicians, as well as those who frequently travel away from Satowan, something like 600 people from the islet live elsewhere: 100 on Pohnpei, 100 in the Mariana Islands of Guam and Saipan, 400 on Weno. The only other demographic information was provided by the medical technician responsible for Satowan. Only eight births were recorded to have occurred on the islet in 1997. However, he estimated an average of thirteen children were born each month by women from Satowan, mostly in Weno, where women prefer to undergo childbirth. Against this, he estimated an average of five deaths a year during the 1980s and 1990s, from influenza, parasites, skin, and muscular dysfunction. Most of the people on Weno from Satowan live on settlements in the northern areas of Iras, Nepukos, Mechitiw, and also southern Wichap (map 1.3). These settlements tend to be lineage based, but because of crowded conditions and the limited availability of land, there are also many lateral extensions—relatives of in-marrying men or other clan members from different parts of the Mortlocks. Fewer live in privately owned homes in Nantaku, in areas clustered across from the hospital. The oldest known settlement is Lewotes, a rather large piece of land of several houses and leased government buildings. According to Satowan people, Lewotes was purchased in the early 1940s by a local woman who married a man from Germany. After she died, some of her lineage remained and some returned to Satowan. Those who currently live on Lewotes are believed to be the afakur, the children of the male

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MAP 1.3 Satowan Settlements on Weno Island, Chuuk State (FSM)

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members of the lineage. Often this continues to be a point of contention for the people, since land on Satowan is traditionally passed through the maternal line. It appears that the original lineage of Lewotes is dying out on the islet, since the appropriate spokesman to assert their traditional right is too young to speak on their behalf. In addition to Lewotes on Weno, Seletiw and Falopol were established shortly after the war. Another settlement, Kailepan (also known as Lachuin), was created in the early 1970s. All these three settlements owed their origin to a connection with a clan member from Lukunor, illustrating the strong ties between various islands in the Mortlocks. Falopol, for example, was purchased for twenty-five dollars during the 1950s by a Lukunor man, Raymond Setik, who named it after a related homesite on Lukunor. It was entrusted to Agetha, who is a member of Raymond’s clan. Finally, Nechip (also known as Co-op) was established in the early 1960s by a man and his wife from the northern village, Kulong, on Satowan. Before departing from Guam at the end of 1997 to Satowan, I spent a few weeks working on a preliminary census with a man from the islet. Some of our discussions were carried out with the aid of a flashlight since Guam was still experiencing power outages due to Typhoon Paka that December. As I discovered, central to an understanding of “who belongs” to Satowan is an intricate understanding of the named homesites or the falang. The falang, the site of the major matrilineal groups, is also known as the “hearth” or the “cookhouse.” Typically, this includes several women related through a common female, their unmarried children, and their married daughters, their spouses and children. A falang also describes the assets of its kinship: land, sections of reef, taro patches, underground ovens (uum), preserved breadfruit (naas), and even knowledge that is sometimes considered secret like the making of local medicine. Finally, the falang also describes the expected ways in which kinship functions, most notably, in the collective efforts of its members during feast presentations and the distribution of food, especially for church celebrations and funerals.

Learning in the Field: Guam, Chuuk, Hawai‘i The foundation of this study is what was discovered, told, and collected during eighteen months in research settings that included Hawai‘i, and several places within Micronesia: Satowan Islet (Satowan Atoll), Weno (Chuuk), and Guam (table 1.2). Socioeconomic surveys, household surveys, and in-depth interviews provided a basic core. The household census considered household members and their mobility experiences (whereabouts, reasons for being away, time away). I also compiled life histories of household members to gauge both

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General survey Household survey

Satowan islet Satowan islet (Eor and Lukelap villages) Weno, Chuuk Pearl City, Hawai‘i

July to August 1998

September 1998 to March 1999

“Reach” survey

“Reach” survey

Members of “shadow” households Members of “shadow” households

Micronesian leaders, Micronesians on ranches, Government of Guam employees Members of various homesites Members of the household

In-depth interview

January to February 1998

FSM employees

Source

Socioeconomic survey Hotel survey

Guam

September to December 1997, March to June 1998

Instrument

Location

Date

TABLE 1.2 Learning in the Field, September 1997 to March 1999

Census of wage-workers, survey of lineage settlements Type and level of wealth flows, mobility experiences

Sociocultural background of the village, village economy Household census, life-history, type and level of wealth flows

Settlement patterns, mobility experiences, type and level of wealth flows, future plans Relations between Micronesians and Chamorros and others

Information


15

individual mobility and broader contexts of history and cultural change. Following Balan, Browning, Jelin, and Litzler (1969), I used “focus areas” as a way of recording mobility events and then relating them to sequences in other focus areas. Recalling significant events often centered around the personal and the familiar: the birth of a child, the death of a parent, marriage, as well as the unexpected like Typhoon Pamela (1976) and the cholera outbreak in Chuuk (1982–1983). Deeper understanding from life histories of both home (Satowan) and reach (Weno, Guam, Hawai‘i ) came as those living elsewhere filled in gaps, or corroborated details, and interpreted particular events differently. Survey questions, asked in person, were both open and closed. In some cases an assistant translated them because I cannot speak the language of Satowan (Mortlockese), although usually at every homesite at least one person could speak basic English. Questionnaires dealt with education level, employment history, mobility experiences, and links with relatives who lived elsewhere. For each homesite, standard information was obtained on its general condition, its sociodemographic character, its collective and individual assets. In the field, so much learning occurred informally, from “talking story.” Scholars are inclined to call this participant observation, but being with my adoptive family in Satowan made it hardly seem so formal. Most enjoyable were interviews with one or two women that turned into energetic discussions with six or seven female relatives. With a lot of joking and teasing, often they corrected or sometimes contradicted each other. If a male relative intervened, the atmosphere changed as the women submitted to his answers, so whenever possible women and men were interviewed separately. Quite often on the homesite, the eldest sibling was the most informative, speaking with the most authority and detail about family and clan affairs. In essence, these “talk story” sessions were what scholars term “focus groups,” though often these groups were lineage based. “Mama Sarlote,” my adoptive mother and a firstborn of her lineage, was instrumental in teaching appropriate gestures, words, and subtleties for how a woman of Satowan is expected to behave. How to pace foot movements, walk to and from the homesite with related women, move cautiously within larger groups of people, sit cross-legged on the floor, use polite language, and avoid strong words and thoughts. Eventually, I learned that showing “respect” to men, especially those related, is paramount. I was instructed by Mama Sarlote how to “pass” or avoid certain actions and topics around men like hanging underwear outdoors to dry or telling others when I needed the bathroom. Mama Sarlote also sewed traditional skirts (skato) and dresses (likoutang) for me to wear to religious meetings and special events (figure 1.1). Upon arriving on Satowan, at the homesite of Mama Sarlote, I was given a coconut shell containing a local drink prepared by a member of her lineage

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FIGURE 1.1 Mama Sarlote and her husband, Simon Sivas, on their way to Móch for the celebration of the Catholic Diocese (Taiosis), February 1998.

and presented to me in the meeting house (faal). Later, I learned this was to protect me (epeti ei seni feiengaw) from physical harm and the possibility of a “curse” by others, who resented the homesite or its members. I slept in a small hut with another young woman not far from Mama Sarlote and her husband, Simon, where others could not pass unnoticed. I ate meals, attended mass, socialized, played cards, and sang songs with the children of the homesite. Young girls washed my clothes, while other women of the homesite and those related to it prepared daily meals, except for special foods Mama Sarlote tried to teach me to cook. In January 1998, I began a preliminary census on Satowan by visiting various homesites and soon realized it was impossible to carry out a complete census of the island. I decided to focus on two villages, Eor and Lukelap, setting aside the other two, Kulong and Efong (see map 3.2): Eor because I was living in it with my adoptive family, and Lukelap for its association with Petrus Mailo, the former chief of Weno. Even so, numerous interviews were conducted in homesites of Kulong and Efong. Together, Eor and Lukelap had thirty households for a total of 285 people. In retrospect, Eor Village was a critical choice, for it was considered the most traditional on the atoll and had many contrasts with the other three, which in turn pointed to more and less traditional mobility behaviors. In other words, Eor Village provided an op-

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portune setting “for revealing variations in perspective and attitude through subtle pitting of one against the other, for distinguishing between shared and variable perspectives” (Schatzman and Strauss 1976, 83). Immediately upon my arrival on Satowan Atoll, I was impressed by the immense foliage compared to Guam, which in December 1997 had been ravaged by Typhoon Paka. I stayed on the Wenikau homesite in Eor, initially because Mama Sarlote was a family member of some men who worked on my father’s commercial farm on Guam; but there was another connection. Sarlote was married to a man whose father had stayed in Motolong, Weno, with my original sponsor, Raymond Setik. Initially, I was introduced as Peggy’s pwipwi, the promised sister of one of Raymond Setik’s daughters whom I had befriended; later, as Sarlote’s daughter, nei nengin. I first met the Setik family some ten years earlier during field research for a senior undergraduate thesis on alcohol drinking. Raymond and his wife were from Lukunor in the Mortlocks but had been living in Weno for many years where they had raised most of their eleven children. Peggy had worked alongside her father running several of his business ventures. Among all of Raymond’s six daughters, Peggy and I were the best matched: we were about the same age, single, and had no children. She also attended middle school on Guam where she was sponsored by a family of Chamorros, indigenous to Guam. We had both attended college abroad and much later we would give birth to girls about a month apart in the same hospital in Hawai‘i. My friendship with her would continue to shape an understanding of how women travel and live in places outside of Chuuk, but remain firmly committed to their island homes. Peggy gave me a letter that asked Sarlote’s husband, Simon, to care for me and indicated I was a little unsettled about arriving alone. Although unsure if it was solely because of her request, I was hardly ever by myself in Eor. There were always several young girls who followed me even to the shower and, being from a large family, I welcomed sleeping and eating among many people. Sarlote and her sister would accompany me to homesites and helped with translation. As we ventured beyond their homesite, the amount of discomfort it caused my companions became apparent. Sarlote’s younger sister, Listen, became less jovial, often deferred when translating, and declined from eating the food presented. On occasion, it was equally uncomfortable for those being interviewed. One young man who wanted to speak more openly about the attractions of Weno, but did not want to show disrespect to Sarlote, asked her to wait a few feet away since she always sat near me. Such behaviors cued me into dimensions and boundaries of mobility for the men and women of Satowan. I also interviewed Satowan people who were living as part of members of “shadow households” (Caces et al., 1985) in other places. Between September

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and December 1997, several leaders were visiting my father’s farm on Guam and I befriended one who acted as a type of liaison for Satowan. Most of these leaders were related to our farm laborers and learned that my father had been hiring mostly young, unmarried men from differing areas in Chuuk since 1986, when the Compact of Free Association allowed for travel into the United States and its territories. Visits were made to several places on Weno in July and August 1998: Seletiw and Falopol settlements in Iras, Kailepan and Toletan in Mechitiw, and individual homes in Nantaku (see map 1.3). From September 1998, the focus shifted to Hawai‘i, to several Satowan families who lived in two apartments in Pearl City, a suburb of Honolulu. On several occasions I went to Chuuk House in Pearl City, for visiting patients and their families attending Tripler Hospital. The focus of the next chapter concerns enquiries on Guam, which were undertaken first (see table 1.2) and aimed to establish a socioeconomic context for newcomers who passed through or lived on the island. For several reasons, Guam was the obvious choice as a place of reach. It is my home, so I was confident I could obtain more internal and dynamic understandings about the influx of people from Micronesia, particularly the Federated States of Micronesia (FSM). Secondly Guam, geographically closer to FSM than to Hawai‘i or the U.S. mainland, has become a preferred “reach” for many Micronesian citizens. Structured investigations about people on Guam therefore considered those not only from Satowan but also from all four of the island nations in the Federated States of Micronesia: Yap, Chuuk, Pohnpei, Kosrae. Essential to this experience is how migrants are affected in various ways by a sense of belonging to home or an intention to return. Most details came from a hotel survey about the socioeconomic and income levels of migrant workers and their links with kin in the home place. Much attention was paid to how networks were built, relationships between groups and social agents, flows of cash, goods, and food, and return trips back to home islands.

Notes 1. Lukunor is also spelled Lekinioch. Pisemwar is also spelled Piis-Emwaar and also known as Pis-Losap. 2. In 1990, the previous spelling of “Satawan” was changed to “Satowan,” according to the Satowan Constitution and corresponding to the original meaning. Satowan is often confused with Satawal in Yap State, especially because both places are pronounced “Satawan.” There is also Sodowan in Sokehs, Pohnpei, the relocation site for many Mortlockese after the 1907 typhoon. 3. The United States Trust Territory of the Pacific Islands (USTTPI) is a jurisdiction set up by the United Nations at the end of World War II under the control of the United States.

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2 Reaching Out to Guam

uam is a place of “reach” not only for the people of Satowan and Chuuk State in the FSM, but also for other island nations within Micronesia who share a common colonial history. The island nations in Micronesia (see map 1.1) referred to, from west to east, are the Republic of Palau (RP); the Federated States of Micronesia (FSM), which consists of Yap, Chuuk, Pohnpei, and Kosrae states; and the Republic of the Marshall Islands (RMI). Together, they are known as the Freely Associated States (FAS), which refers to their independent political entity in free association with the United States. These island nations, in addition to the Commonwealth of the Northern Mariana Islands (CNMI), once comprised the U.S.administered Trust Territory of the Pacific Islands (USTTPI). Although the following chapters will focus more closely with Chuuk, this chapter broadens the discussion to include the remaining islands in the Federated States of Micronesia: Pohnpei, Yap, and Kosrae. It begins with an examination of the ways in which the current movement of FSM citizens to Guam fits within larger political-economic considerations. This is followed with discussions of modernization; another dominant paradigm applied to Micronesian migration that frequently takes an urban centric approach, seen in its portraying of movement as nontraditional and often permanent. The final section of this chapter develops a transnational theme, making concerted effort to describe the web of social expectations and reciprocal obligations between sending and receiving communities or what the human geographer Anne Buttimer (1980) describes as the continuum between “home-and-reach.”

G

— 19 —

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Various interviews, surveys, and other sources will permit a consideration of the degree to which FSM migrants act as “transmigrants” through mobility, wealth flows, and patterns of reciprocity.

Guam Created as a Place of “Reach” The movement of FAS citizens into Guam may be thought of as an artifact of its neocolonial relationship with the United States. The newly created Federated States of Micronesia (FSM), the Republic of the Marshall Islands (RMI), and the Republic of Palau (RP) have entered into various compacts with the United States. The United States trades unlimited and exclusive strategic access to the islands’ land and waterways for cash payments and benefits. Part of the “benefits” consist of open immigration to the United States and its territories, which includes Guam. In fact, during the negotiations for the new political status, “Micronesian negotiators insisted on a provision in the Compact of Free Association (Title I, Article 6) that would allow Micronesians free access to the United States to live and work there indefinitely” (Hezel and Levin 1989, 43). Since the Compact, Guam has become a significant place of “reach” for many FAS citizens. Although Guam is a part of Micronesia, the people of Guam know very little about the rest of Micronesia, which is a reflection of the historical separatism experienced under various colonial powers. Guam and the rest of the Mariana Islands, the Caroline Islands (that is, the Republic of Palau and the FSM), and the Marshall Islands fell under Spanish rule from 1521 to 1898. However, Spain essentially ignored the Caroline and Marshall Islands and began to formally colonize Guam and the rest of the Marianas in 1668 (Hanlon 1994). In 1898, the United States acquired Guam from Spain as a result of the Spanish-American War and remained an American colony exclusive of the Japanese occupation from 1941 to 1944. The remaining Spanish Micronesia was acquired by Germany through secret negotiations in 1899. At the outbreak of World War I, Japan seized German Micronesia. Shortly after, “in 1919, the League of Nations formally recognised Japan’s occupation of the islands through the award of a Class C Mandate” (Hanlon 1994, 95). Japan remained in power until shortly after World War II, in 1947, when the United Nations designated the Northern Marianas, the Caroline, and the Marshall Islands as the United States Trust Territory of the Pacific Islands (USTTPI) under its administration. Roughly forty years later, in 1986, the United Nations Trusteeship Council approved the Compact of Free Association creating the Federated States of Micronesia and the Republic of the Marshall Islands. The Republic of Palau remained under the Trusteeship Agree-

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Reaching Out to Guam

21

ment until 1994 and the Northern Marianas agreed to a Commonwealth Covenant with the United States in 1975. Although persons from the FAS are distinct in their ethnic origins, the indigenous people of Guam, the Chamorros, consider them an ethnic aggregate, called “Micronesians.” This is due partly to the general unfamiliarity and historical separatism mentioned earlier. Generally, the term excludes Palauans with whom Chamorros have more familiarity. As early as 1953, there were some 100 Palauans on Guam who were described by Solenberger as having easily assimilating with Chamorros “both culturally and socially” (1953, 11). Others have written on the tenacity of the Palauan community on Guam in retaining its ethnic identity (Shewman 1981) and of their eventual and successful return to Palau (Nero and Rehuher 1993). Although Hezel and McGrath (1989) note that Palauans were once termed “Micronesian” in the same fashion as the FSM citizens are identified today, Palauans on Guam have more established communities, higher rates of employment in both the private and Government of Guam sectors, and have more extensive ties through land ownership and marriage with the local population. The more recent labor flows emanating from the Federated States of Micronesia to Guam, and to lesser degrees, to the CNMI and the United States, have been a central focus among contemporary scholars. The most significant factor explaining the migration stream from the FSM to Guam and the CNMI, according to Rubinstein and Levin (1992) and Hezel and Levin (1996), is the implementation of the Compact of Free Association in 1986 which allows for unrestricted travel between the FSM, and the United States and its territories. The expanding Japanese tourism industry in Guam and the CNMI, as well as recent plans for construction projects generated by the military expansion on Guam (Cagurangan 2007), present compelling “pull” factors. The initiation of this overwhelmingly working-age stream is predicted to either continue at its present level (Hezel and Levin 1996) or increase in large numbers (Rubinstein and Levin 1992). The migration of FSM citizens to Guam, described as “The Great Flight Northward” (Hezel and McGrath 1989), caused a burden on Guam’s social services which became known as the “Compact impact.” Guam, and more and more the CNMI and Hawai‘i, have made efforts to collect reimbursements from the federal government for adverse affects caused by immigrants (Levin 2003), mostly for health care and educational services reported to cost nearly $400 million for the Government of Guam (Donato 2009). On Guam, issues of Compact impact are intensified by claims that FSM citizens displaced Chamorros from access to public housing. Images of Micronesians have also been shaped by claims involving police brutality and the deportation of FSM citizens due to criminal offenses.

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Chapter 2

Before the 1986 Compact, migration was instigated in the 1960s by the emergence of formal education in the former Trust Territory islands. Spurred by highly critical reports by the 1961 United Nations Trusteeship Council Visiting Mission over U.S. neglect of its trusteeship and a “renewed concern for the strategic importance of Micronesia” (Reafsnyder 1984, 106), the Kennedy administration began the dramatic transformation of U.S. policies toward Micronesia (Nero and Rehuher 1993). The UN recommendations, captured in the Solomon Report, not only instigated a program of intensive development but gave rise to the “movement of Micronesians into a permanent political relationship with the United States as the ultimate objective of all American effort and initiative in the Trust Territory” (Hanlon 1998, 92). Such policies included hundreds of Peace Corp volunteers sent to Micronesia, many new public works programs initiated in the district centers (Marshall 2004), and major funding to build and staff a system of universal education. The U.S. Congress also made Micronesians eligible for benefits of the Higher Education Act of 1965, which enabled Micronesian students to apply for guaranteed student loans, college work/student money, and various educational opportunity grants. A stipulation of these grants was the enrollment in only American institutions which instigated a major stream of islanders to the United States. Micronesians living in the United States before the Compact, according to the 1980 U.S. census findings, illustrate that Micronesian immigrants are characterized by labor-intensive activities with low capital investment. There are other variables (i.e., age, sex and family status, economic status, occupation and income level) that are also relevant for measuring the level of stability among the migrant population. For example, the age structure of Micronesians differs from that of the total U.S. population. Micronesians have a higher percentage of young persons and a lower percentage of older persons; consequently, they have a higher proportion of individuals of working ages. Furthermore, there are slight differences in the sex ratio of Micronesian male and female migrants, being more male than female. Despite both political and educational considerations, geographer John Connell (1987, 385) places economic influences as the most significant factor promoting international movement “even when social forces are also significant. Migration is primarily a response to inequalities, both real and perceived.” For Connell (1983, 1985, 1987, 1991), the structure of development in Micronesia is almost entirely determined by outside foreign powers, almost wholly the United States with the increasing Japanese-tourism industry as well. A negligible share in most commodity markets presents the island countries with a “weak negotiating position” because their economies

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are small, largely dependent on agricultural production and fisheries, and vulnerable to economic changes (Connell 1987, 380). Fisheries, however, remain highly underdeveloped contributing relatively little to employment, income, and welfare. The findings by Connell, draw strongly from the dependency approach which relates mobility to economic development, social change, and political organization. In the past, capitalist penetration was assisted by colonial regimes that administered poor regions for the benefit of economic interest in colonizing societies. Today it is made possible by neocolonial governments and multinational firms (Massey et al. 1993, 444–45). Connell (1987), whose primary research experience lies within the Pacific, describes an exploitive world system in which metropolitan countries benefit from unequal terms of trade and exchange with their former colonies. The penetration from the international economy, coupled with the nature of island microstates as underdeveloped and economically stagnated, brings about changes in the value orientations and aspirations primarily through imported education and other cultural influences. The impact on the sociocultural subsystems alters motivations to perform subsistence work and attitudes of “relative deprivation” arise which promote the motivation for migration. To summarize, the political-economic approach argues that it is the penetration of the domestic economy and society in poorer countries by richer countries that introduces material as well as ideological links. These commodities make changes in the value orientations and aspirations that lead to the desire for material consumption and ultimately the motivation to emigrate. Much of this discussion is captured in dependency theory that emphasizes historical circumstances, such as colonialism. For Micronesia, this has occurred primarily through education and strategic contracts in the neocolonial era. For the FSM, for example, this can be seen in the Compact of Free Association. Basically, this status allows for the FSM to contain its own government and practice some degree of independence alongside annual subsidies from the United States, as well as immigration into the United States and its territories. In exchange, the United States has both defense rights and access to the FSM. Former Guam representative to the U.S. Congress Robert Underwood (2003, 17) suggests that the FAS may become more valuable from a strategic point of view depending upon the overall state of security with Korea, China, and Southeast Asia. The conclusions reached are that most places in Micronesia are dependent on foreign economic and political arrangements, such as the Compact of Free Association. Under the terms of the original Compact (1986–2001), the United States provided monies for operational expenses, capital investment

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to build infrastructure, and development projects to strengthen the economic self-sufficiency of the new nation (Hezel 2003). However, lower U.S. funding for the second Compact period (2004–2023), new requirements, and constricted access to federal programs have left some wondering whether the revised compacts could be characterized as “less free and more compact” (Underwood 2003, 2). Some hold the opinion that the Federated States of Micronesia are not in themselves “sovereign.” According to Firth (1989), unlike Cook and Niue’s free association with New Zealand, which provides for unilateral termination, free association for the Republic of the Marshall Islands and the Federated States of Micronesia specifically prevents a full and final decolonization by binding those states to the former administering authority in perpetuity (Firth 1989, 78). Similarly, Petersen (1989, 286) doubts the independence of the newly formed freely associated states (FSM, RMI, and the RP) in relationships that “give the U.S. military control over the islands in perpetuity and concede to the United States the right to decide the issues that are to be defined as military.” Knapman (1986, 130) asserts that “aid will tend to create the need for more aid, leading to a condition of permanent aid dependence . . . this is the only available entry into ‘developed’ consumer society.” Foreign aid has not only led to substantial migration but also to increasing pressures for further migration (Connell 1987, 375) exacerbated by growing populations coupled with growing unemployment that compel Micronesia into further dependent relations. Lastly, dependency theorists further conclude that migration is ultimately disruptive (Standing 1985); the displacement of people chafes away the traditional social relations by undermining the perceived legitimacy of existing obligations. In Micronesia, migration is associated with the progression toward individualism and the reluctance to perform subsistence work. Furthermore, remittance undermines the control over resources previously exercised by traditional leaders and are often used for the consumption of imported goods rather than productive investment in line with development.

Modernization Theory In addition to dependency theory, modernization theory has also had a profound influence on migration theory. Modernization theory grew out of a synthesis of anthropological and sociological models of social change and neoclassical economics. However, unlike dependency theory, which argues that the migration is ultimately disruptive due to structural factors linked

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with colonialism, modernization theory adopts a naive optimism about development in arguing that there was a uniform, global, evolutionary vision of social, political, and economic transitioning since World War II. For example, this ideology asserts that altered experiences created by the urban environment reflect progress and the improvement of the human condition as migrants adapt, assimilate, and adjust to the technological, social, and psychological circumstances. Thus, implicit within the modernization approach is the view that migrants in “traditional” societies are backward and stagnant and are drawn to “developed” areas. In the process, migrants become disorganized, individualized, and in general lose their rural, social, and cultural characteristics found in the old world. Modernization theory is also urban centric; this is apparent in its dualist assumptions that postulate polar distinctions between city and countryside, developed versus underdeveloped, and modern versus traditional (Kearney 1986). The distinction between rural and urban found in modernization theory has remained a dominant paradigm in the study of Micronesian mobility. Urban areas, or district centers as they are better known, contain a disproportional number of wage jobs, and health and educational services that serve to attract migrants. District centers are also characterized as places with bright lights, beer, entertainment, and fashion. These places are also depicted as having a corrosive social effect, especially on families as reflected in studies of alcoholism, suicide, and juvenile delinquency. Some also note the violence within lineages (Oneisom 1991), the breakdown of the extended family, and ethnic rivalry. At the same time, some researchers have viewed urban places as places of freedom, or temporary escape from traditional ties. The attraction therefore toward the urban center is compelling in numerous ways. As stated by Hezel and Levin (1989, 53), when confronted with a choice of either “returning to the bosom of their family . . . or striking out for the town in search of a job,” Micronesians (notably educated Micronesians) will “willingly move to town and take a job.” By contrast, the outlying islands, or the “hinterland” as described by Mason (1974), are depicted as traditional, conservative, idyllic, slow-paced—places where one can find close-knit kin observing respect behavior, and practicing traditional gender activities on lineage owned land. “In these small islands surrounded by expanses of open ocean man’s relationship with nature is direct and intimate” (1974, 231). Islanders moving from intimate surroundings to urban centers, over and over again, are characterized as filled with “disjuncture, discontinuity, instability and contradiction” (Young 1998, 61). It is often considered to be permanent as well. For example, Gorenflo and Levin (1995, 41) argue that the

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most predominant features of mobility among the Federated States of Micronesia since World War II from small islands toward urban areas and to other countries (namely the United States, Guam, and Saipan) are its increasing frequency, distance, and permanence. Similarly, according to anthropologist Mac Marshall (1979a), the youth of Namoluk (an atoll in the Mortlocks) are leaving their “ancestral home” to obtain higher education and wage employment. The outcome is bleak since “few of them return to reside permanently” (1979a, 2). Some meet spouses from elsewhere and “[y]et another reason that many educated Namoluk young persons settle away from their home atoll is that life at home has become a bore” (1979a, 2). The findings by Marshall (1996) some twenty years later are not much different except for the addition of Guam as an urban attraction. Those from Namoluk on Guam (which Marshall calls chon Guamoluk) “talk longingly of home. But most of them only talk, and few of them return home permanently” (1996, 35–36). Reflecting on the chon Namoluk more recently, again Marshall (2004, 138) highlights the role of those living “beyond the reef” in places like Guam, Hawai‘i and the United States: [M]any people who reside on the atoll have spent considerable time—sometimes years—abroad, during which they’ve become familiar with identities necessitated by and created as a consequence of their emplacement in new situations and conditions. The point is that the continuing flow of people to and from Namoluk implicates the atoll’s residents in the nestled identities that may develop far beyond the reef.

Lastly, there is also a socio-psychological component of modernization theory. Whereas migration to the urban center is seen as an important source of positive change in which individuals are viewed as acting rationally and goal oriented, it is implied that those who return from the urban area are unable to shake loose from a traditional and archaic way of life. Such distinctions can be found in the portrayal of Micronesian migrants as well. For example, according to the historian and Jesuit scholar Francis Hezel (1979, 178) young people “may dally in the district center for a year or two to ‘catch a piece of the action’ while they half-heartedly hunt for a job.” However, “they soon tire of this footloose life” and eventually return home to “live off the land and count on the support of close kin” (1979, 178). Writing some thirty years later, Hezel (2001, 145) notes the relationship between Micronesian migration and wage employment. “By the early 1980s the job boom was over, even as hundreds of college-educated Micronesians were entering the labor pool. Some new jobs were added during the next few years—but not nearly enough to satisfy the aspirations of the swelling ranks of the high school graduates.”

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In the descriptions of Micronesians as being unwilling to commit to an urban way of life, the more subtle message is that migrants are unable to make the rational choices toward a better life in the urban center. Therefore, the return home is not constructed in a way that gives migrants cultural validity for their behavior except in gleaning impressions that they return because they are “traditional” or when their behavior is minimized to a “homing instinct” (Hezel and Levin 1989). As we will later cover in the discussion of transnationalism, the dualistic framework of rural-urban and center-periphery embedded within the dependency and modernization approaches tends to evoke images that do not adequately describe movement. The fallacy, as Mitchell (1985) points out, is the assumption that the geographical movement of people is the most obvious feature of migration. Therefore, what follows is a strategy of establishing the characteristics of an urban society (What attracts migrants to urban places? Why are migrants inclined to remain permanently? Why are migrants reluctant to return home?) in contrast to the characteristics of the rural society (What are the characteristics of a preurban society? why are some individuals immobile?). Thus, dualistic descriptions do not bring us further than a discussion of the end of traditional lifestyle or the beginning of a nontraditional lifestyle. Dualisms, however, involving center-periphery suggest that differences are organized concentrically around a dominant core (Rouse 1991, 10). It implies a process of change in which the center exercises a privileged capacity to shape outcomes, and suggests that fields ordered in this way are autonomous, each peripheral site is geared to a single center and is independent of all other peripheries.

The Compact of Free Association The first time I traveled to the islands south of Guam was in 1989 to conduct undergraduate field research on alcohol use among school-aged students in Micronesia. I can still recall my mother’s solemn look mixed with a tinge of fear and her instructions to pray for safety. She gave me a beaded rosary for my protection. My mother’s behavior, perhaps, was not unfounded since Chamorros generally are unaware of the complex historical background of the FSM; unaware that there are differences between and within each island nation; unaware that they are further differentiated by language, culture, and levels of economic advancement, especially between urban centers and outlying atolls. Most, or 90 percent, of the FSM citizens living on Guam came after the implementation of the Compact in 1986, when the FSM entered into a treaty

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with the United States (Office of Insular Affairs 2003). Three sections of the Compact significantly shape their experiences on Guam: Section 141(a) which allows for open immigration to the United States and its territories which includes Guam, Section 104(e) in which the federal government promises to reimburse Guam for any adverse effects caused by immigrants, and Section 141(b) which allows for FAS citizens to live and work freely as a nonimmigrant, under a status called “habitual resident.” Previously, as Trust Territory citizens, they were required to present a certificate of identification and faced limitations similar to other foreign nationals who were prohibited from working and could not petition for citizenship or sponsor others (Loftus 1984, 38). As FAS citizens, they are technically not defined as immigrants, thus the U.S. Immigration and Naturalization Service that oversees immigration into Guam does not collect statistics concerning their movements. More recently, however, under the new requirements for the second Compact negotiations (2004–2023), passports are required for entry into the United States. Guam has a population of just under 155,000 (U.S. Bureau of the Census 2000). The FSM citizens on Guam make up slightly over 5 percent of this number, over 7,000, and constitute the fastest-growing migrant community (Rubinstein and Levin 1992).1 Based on the annual rate of increase of 2.5 to 3 percent in the FSM states, Rubinstein and Levin (1992, 380) predict “the FSM could easily continue to export more than a thousand people annually to Guam for the indefinite future.” Most migrants came in increasing numbers after the Compact, described as “The Great Flight Northward” (Hezel and McGrath 1989). Of the four states within the FSM, nationals from Chuuk make up the largest proportion or 72 percent (U.S. Bureau of the Census 2000). Chuuk’s emigration to Guam has also been “progressive and steady” unlike Yap, Kosrae and Pohnpei which have experienced slower growths (Hezel and Levin 1996). Most newcomers are involved in labor-intensive activities with lowcapital labor. Retail trade is the largest category of employment for FSM citizens followed by construction and personal services, which include hotel and restaurant workers. Although the early 1990s saw a decrease in the in-migration of Micronesians due to Guam’s economy and the growing resentment toward Micronesians by the local population (Hezel 2001), more recently, training in construction is being provided on Guam in anticipation of the military buildup. In areas of professional and related industries and public administration, however, FSM citizens are overwhelmingly underrepresented. In addition, only a handful of FAS citizens work for the Government of Guam, acting principally as liaisons, interpreters, teachers, and counselors.

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FAS Citizens as Transmigrants We now turn to a discussion of the experiences of FAS citizens on Guam using a transnational approach. As noted, transnationalism makes a concerted effort to describe the macroscopic economic, political, and administrative structures of the destination area as well as the rural impacts that equally influence the consequences of movement. Earlier, we considered the Compact of Free Association, which provides the context for migration. However, according to Lindquist (1993, 75), “Although economic forces and government policy are necessary conditions to establish potential migration . . . [the] actual flows are initiated and shaped by interpersonal relationships.” In keeping with the transnational theme and the significance of rural impacts, we also consider social networks. A social network is described as a web of social expectations and reciprocal obligations between sending and receiving communities. For Massey (1990), migrant networks capture an inter-temporal dimension: often, decisions taken at one point in time have profound impacts on the context for decisions made at later dates. Hence, stronger emphasis is placed on “wealth flows” than on remittances, or on livelihood than on sustenance to encompass a broader analytic perspective that actively engages with the rural scene. In discussing the views of FAS citizens on Guam, I draw from three primary sources. The first source includes eleven interviews with various Micronesians on Guam, most of whom act as liaisons between the Micronesian community and the Government of Guam. In addition, nine more in-depth interviews were conducted, mostly with women, at several households and ranches in Dededo, Yigo, and Mangilao, sites of longer-established migrant communities. Dededo and Yigo villages, located in northern Guam, contain most of the non-Chamorro population. Mangilao, which lies in southern Guam, is a familiar site of settlement for Micronesians, beginning with the Trust Territory citizens who were College of Guam students (now University of Guam) housed in a separate dorm. A third source of information includes interviews conducted with forty-nine FSM employees working within the hotel industry. Almost all of the interviews were conducted at various hotels and generally lasted about an hour to an hour-and-a-half. On several occasions I met with the employees after the hotel interview and conducted lengthy and less casual interviews elsewhere. In addition, I also include anecdotal evidence provided by local news media and a few surveys conducted on Guam. Networking among FSM Citizens: The Hotel Survey The hotel survey, as well as interviews conducted elsewhere on the island, provides a socioeconomic platform to consider life and living among FAS

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citizens on Guam. Many FSM citizens work in the tourist-related industry and knowing several of them in hotels allowed me access for interviews. Of the forty-nine FSM citizens surveyed, thirty were from Chuuk, eleven from Pohnpei, six from Kosrae, and two from Yap. The twenty-four males and twenty-five females mirrored each other in marital characteristics: eleven men and eleven women were single, and thirteen men and fourteen women were married. The average age for male workers was thirty-one, and for females, thirty-seven. Years on the job tended to be slightly longer for men (3.9) than for women (2.7), where they worked as cooks, receptionists, dish washers, maintenance workers, and waiters. Older women not fluent in English and uncomfortable with routine contact with hotel guests preferred to work in housekeeping. A number of men were security guards, described as “easy” since often there was little commotion within the hotel. The few, more fluent in English, were a concierge, an accountant, a supervisor, and at the front desk. Hourly pay averaged $6.21, higher than Guam’s minimum wage and as much as three to four times more than salaries in their home islands. Five women and four men had previous experience of paid employment; for four of them, outside FSM. Several others, mostly men, had worked sporadically, usually for private firms and for low wages. Though some arrived in Guam with savings, many new comers, often young men, come hoping to get help. According to the manager of a travel agency in Weno, Chuuk, “They only have the money for a ticket and they have their passport. . . . Sometimes they can’t read the documents or write. They say, ‘Oh, I’ll stay with my uncle.’ They don’t even have a specific address. They just say, ‘He lives in Dededo’” (Whaley 1995, 4). Apparently, some landed in Guam’s airport with only a few dollars. “[I]f he is lucky someone may see him off at the airport and ‘itek peh,’ the Pohnpei phrase which means to shake hands and exchange money” (Crisostomo 1995, 62). Away from the job, hotel employees lived in various kinds of households. Nuclear households were most common (twenty-eight of forty-nine), usually of a couple, an additional working relative or an unmarried sibling, and young children of siblings back home. Some households had several nuclear families in which the heads were siblings (five of forty-nine) or unmarried siblings, often of the same sex (six). Three-generation households of grandparents, parents, and children were uncommon (four of forty-nine), as were those of bachelor or distantly related men (three), unrelated members (two), and only one person (one). Usually, the working male or female functioned as a household head, as well as the person primarily responsible for sponsoring others to Guam. Men generally bring “brothers” to help pay for rent and to

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find work, whereas women sponsor “sisters” as household help, to find a job, or to attend school. Except for one FSM citizen who owned a home, hotel workers lived in apartments, low-income housing, or ranches, and mostly move around quite frequently, under economic strain. In a survey conducted by Smith and others, 38 percent admitted being fired from a job and 18 percent said they were let go repeatedly (1997, 58). In some cases, shifting residences reflected unstable domestic conditions as the result of households consisting of distant relatives. At other times households dissolved from the discomfort of living with siblings of the opposite sex, since in most Micronesian societies the onset of puberty finds siblings placed in different dwellings. Some tension with landlords and ethnic discrimination also occurred and it was not unusual for a few workers to have gone to homeless shelters during the recovery period of Typhoons Omar in 1992 and Paka in 1997. Many hotel employees were living or had previously resided on ranches owned by Chamorros. On Guam, many Chamorro families have one dwelling where they live and another, called a ranch, on which they raise crops and animals, and spend time with relatives. Sometimes the Micronesian workers are charged rent; at other times agreements were made to clear debris, plant vegetables, or feed animals. Often, they will gather male relatives to clear the debris and build a shelter. These dwellings resemble ones in the urban center on Weno, a collection of mostly used tin and wood, and government-issued canvas from previous efforts of typhoon recovery. Such a ramshackle structure is undivided and devoid of any furniture, although an extra room may be built for a visiting male relative. Pieces of wood are used to hold windows ajar and old carpets are spread out in front, often coated with red dirt. A few dwellings may have electricity or the use of a generator and some have potable water running through makeshift plastic pipes connected to a nearby household. Food is frequently prepared on propane stoves or over an open fire. Views of Guam Though FSM newcomers may often view Guam as a place to find “good jobs” or “good schools,” it is also characterized distastefully as “Americanized,” which has several meanings. First there is a deep aversion to urban places of large buildings, traffic, crime, and too many people. Guam is seen as especially threatening for many Micronesian women who are fearful of the amount of traffic and accidents. Thus, “Americanized” is used to describe a process or a place where traditions may be lost or where there is potential

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for migrants to become “Americanized like Chamorros.” One couple from Chuuk complained that their children, since being on Guam, did not like to eat local foods like fish, instead preferring milk and rice. Upon a recent return to Chuuk, the woman said, “My father always like scolding me—see you don’t give them our food that’s why this and that. What are you going to do?” As her husband explains, “The parents are worried about the kids because if they cannot eat our food what can they eat? You know, if we don’t have money.” Still, for others, it’s a delicate balance being on Guam and adhering to traditional ways. For one Chuukese woman, aged fifty, she continues to show “respect” toward her brother, who recently came to Guam. He sleeps separately in a makeshift room, which she assembled on the ranch where she lives. In his presence, she will not walk past or lift her head above his. In the morning, she leaves for work in her traditional skirt and later changes to the required pants, far from her brother’s view. Second, the word “Americanized” is also used to describe Chamorros who are viewed as less traditional than islanders from the surrounding Micronesian societies. Some of the sharpest remarks concern Chamorro men acting arrogant and superior or Chamorro women as too modern and lacking respect, especially with regard to men. The fear of young daughters returning home wearing pants like Chamorro girls is a frequent moral teaching used among parents to limit the movement of young women. Similarly, Chamorros may also be viewed as being self-centered or having characteristics of rewon, which in Chuukese means “one from above” or people who act “above” others. Mindful of the unsophisticated image that Chamorros have of them, one young Chuukese boy remarked, “They [Chamorros] think we don’t know anything about American things. They think we’re not smart. They think that we cannot do what they can do.” Still, another said, “Guamanians do not like the way . . . girls wear the traditional skirt or place combs in their hair” (Bautista 1996, 359). Micronesian newcomers are increasingly aware of the discontent with their arrival and link this with their experiences of discrimination. According to a survey conducted by Smith and others (1997, 59), as many as 41 percent of the Micronesians on Guam said that they had repeatedly experienced ethnic discrimination from employers and 40 percent said their children experienced ethnic discrimination at school. When local attempts were made in 1995 to prevent the movement of FAS citizens to Guam, one observer from Pohnpei remarked that the attempted moratorium was a form of Micronesian-bashing. “Whatever happens to the contributions that my fellow Micronesians are making to Guam’s economy and society? Why do our contributions go unnoticed? Why are we stuck with the stigma that we are nothing but a disgraceful load on this society” (Sonten 1996, 21).

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In the early 1990s, many of the community organizations created to serve the FSM population on Guam teetered on failure not long after they were created. For example, the Compact Impact Information and Education Program (CIIEP) attempted to create a single Micronesian organization to articulate common problems on Guam. Shortly after, however, the group broke into smaller units that represented regional areas. One Chuukese man spoke of the difficulty of presenting a united front: “They always have a localized way of thinking. They don’t say I’m a FSM citizen. They say, I’m Chuukese, I’m Ponapean, I’m Kosraen. They don’t have a broader concept of the [FSM] identity. They always localize it.” Most FAS citizens rely more often on friends and relatives than organizations especially since they may be unaware of available agencies or presume that the agency will treat them unjustly (Smith 1994). In addition, political institutions, such as the Association for Pacific Island Legislatures (APIL) and the Council of Micronesian Chief Executives, have similarly failed to develop activities to transcend the cleavages between Guam and the FSM. Instead, they serve more as a forum for Guam’s leaders to air their discontent concerning migrants or to suggest that Micronesian officials call on the U.S. government to fulfill its financial commitment (Eastly 1992, 10). There have been a few instances in which the FAS community demonstrated some cohesiveness. In response to the alleged police brutality against the Chuukese community, FSM citizens on Guam met to discuss options for U.S. intervention (Smith et al. 1997). Again in 1995, in reaction to an attempt to make non-U.S. citizens ineligible for welfare benefits, FSM citizens successfully sued the Government of Guam in federal court. Perhaps the singular event that instigated the most concerted effort by the FSM community, Chuuk in particular, occurred after a fatal stabbing of a Chamorro boy by several young men from Chuuk. In response, several FSM delegates met with the Chamorro family and gave large monetary donations. In addition, the governor of Chuuk, who coincidently was from the same area as the boys charged, was featured on the front page of the Pacific Daily News, which read, “Chuuk leader apologizes” (July 6, 1997). Later articles featured the wife of Chuuk’s governor hugging the mother of the victim, who was reported to have said “‘I know my son would want us to forgive’” (Estella 1997, 5). However, the stabbing was an isolated event and, interestingly, from field interviews among Chamorros, it was not enough to trigger a backlash by the local population. Why Come to Guam? FSM migrants give a plethora of reasons for coming to Guam (table 2.1). Looking first at the primary reasons given by men, most came to find a job

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Chapter 2 TABLE 2.1 Primary Reasons for Coming to Guam by Gender, 1972–1997a Males (n=24)

Females (n=25)

Total (n=49)

11 9 0 3 1 0

6 5 8 2 1 3

17 14 8 5 2 3

Get a job or a better job Get an education Accompany spouse Help with household Visit relative Miscellaneous a

A total of four came before the 1986 Compact, which is discussed in the text.

Source: Guam Hotel Survey 1997–1998.

or a better job, especially since Guam offers much higher wages. Two young men were recruited by hotels on Guam while they were attending high school in Pohnpei. Compared to others, their adjustment was less turbulent, since airfare and lodging were provided. Some came to attend school; one actually had plans to attend school in Hawai‘i and another in Georgia, but decided on Guam because it was closer to home and other relatives were residing there. Another two came before the Compact to attend the University of Guam. One completed his education and the other man is like many other pre-Compact students who dropped out shortly after the Compact, which Peter (1991) attributes mainly to economic attractions that became immediately available. The remaining male respondents came to help their siblings pay for rent and one came to visit a relative. Economic reasons, however, are not the only factors at hand. As Rubinstein (1993, 260) writes, Part of the Micronesian worldview is that personal success is measured, to some degree, by how far from home one has traveled. If a young man spends a few years on Guam and then returns home to Micronesia, he has achieved something in the eyes of his friends, even if he had no work or schooling while he was away.

Other motivations mentioned outside the hotel interviews include men who were enticed to go to Guam to roam about freely, to escape the censure of elder relatives, and to form romantic liaisons. Some enjoy the freedom of drinking openly and, as one man from Chuuk explained, “they [Micronesians] think they’re still in Chuuk . . . so when you go and buy a drink you can drink anywhere including right outside the store.” The primary reasons given by women are more varied than the men’s. One was brought as a child in the early 1980s by her grandmother, married to a Filipino who she met on Chuuk. Another came in search of her

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“real” father. The two women who came to help with the household came to babysit. Eight women joined their husbands after they secured jobs on Guam. One was married to an American contract teacher on Kosrae; they moved to Guam in the early 1970s. Another came in the late 1970s to join her husband, who was schooling on Guam and worked as an apprentice for the Navy. She later returned to Kosrae in the early 1980s and came to Guam again in the early 1990s. Most of the women who came to find jobs or to find better jobs are older than those who came for school. Three came with their husbands, but two had been employed beforehand. Of the three, one came with her husband from Saipan where they both had been working. They decided to come to Guam when their son became ill and needed medical care. Another, in her fifties, came to Guam with her husband who worked at a power plant, although she paid her own airfare from a small clothing store she owned on Weno and from savings she earned as a seamstress. A final came without the assistance of her husband but through help from her relatives on Chuuk. Other women looking for jobs came alone. One divorced woman with two children was sponsored by a female relative on Guam. Another, also divorced, came to Guam from Saipan, where she had been working, to look for a better job. The family from Saipan arranged for her airfare and lodging on Guam. Another unmarried, young woman came to Guam from Hawai‘i, where she worked in a daycare center. She transferred to Guam to be closer to Chuuk because she was homesick. The five who came to get an education were young, unmarried women sent by their parents to attend school. One young woman from an outer island of Pohnpei, at twenty-one, was sent by her father to attend the University of Guam. When she arrived, her plans did not materialize, which made her a bit nervous, since her father thinks she is in school. Although five of the women surveyed came to attend school, typically people from the FSM are reluctant to send their unmarried daughters away. Not only are females viewed as the caregivers, but there is also a fear that young, unmarried girls will become pregnant or marry men from beyond their cultural sphere. However, as explained by one man from Chuuk, these attitudes are changing: I think they [parents] realize . . . that education is associated with money and prestige. If they get an education, they have a good house, they have good things. And so they want their kids to be educated now more than ever before. . . . When they see families where children have gone to school and they come back and they work for the government, they have good things like good house and other things. Then they begin to realize that education is a good thing for them so they push their kids.

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A few came to Guam because of strained relations back home. One woman from Chuuk who had been married several times described her latest husband as “trash” that “magic” induced her to marry. Her parents were reluctant to send her because she had several children, one from an American outside of marriage. Another woman from Pohnpei had similar woes. She came when she was eighteen after her husband had found a job on Guam. Within a few years, however, he was fired and they returned to Pohnpei to live on his natal place, which she described as difficult and constraining. Seven years later, she left him and came to Guam with her children through the help of a female relative. Shortly after, she decided to reunite with her husband and brought him to Guam. She figured it was painful for her children to be without their father, since she herself had been reared without one. Their problems, she remarked, concern his reluctance to go to work and his constant drinking. Some of these sentiments are echoed in interviews I conducted with women living on ranches. One said, “I’ve been with a Chuukese guy before, and I was beaten up many times. Being with a Filipino [now], I never get beaten up.” Another, frustrated with being the youngest and having to obey her elder siblings, said, “I’m not possessing my hands or my feet.” She also came to pursue her dream of becoming a seamstress and owning a business. Other reasons include coming to Guam for the education of one’s children. As one woman said, I just compare Guam and Chuuk very, very different. My kids, when they were attending school on Chuuk, twenty days absent, fifteen days absent. But here on Guam, just twelve days absent . . . I know that the education here is very strong. Back in Chuuk, my two daughters cannot read a book in English. But now, what I observed from them [on Guam], they can read in English; they can speak in English; they pronunciate. I told my husband, maybe this is the way our kids can help us in the future. If they continue with their education . . . they can work and help us.

Patterns of Flow and Reciprocity There has been scant literature on remittances sent back home from FSM citizens on Guam. Rubinstein and Levin suggested in 1992 that the “flow is . . . barely a trickle. Micronesians on Guam are not yet well established economically, and the inflated cost of living on Guam has seriously limited their ability to save and send money home” (1992, 379). Still, more research needs to be done. In a previous study on migration, I found that monetary remittances tended to be small and sporadic, mostly sent to household heads such as parents and grandparents and occasionally siblings (Bautista 1996, 359). In a later survey of FAS citizens by Smith, between 62 to 70 percent reported

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very often or occasionally sending money, food, or clothing to relatives or friends back home (1994, 19). In terms of actual amounts, it is likely that very little money reaches migrants’ relatives due to the migrants’ socioeconomic conditions (Smith et al. 1997, 60); nonetheless, “Remittances appear to have become a significant source of income for families remaining in the FSM” (Hezel and Levin 1996, 110). The findings in the hotel survey suggest that FSM citizens are becoming more established on Guam. Nearly all respondents reported sending goods and cash home, except for three cases of cash remittances received by young women on Guam by their parents who were in high-paid jobs. In table 2.2, respondents were asked to report the number and type of remittances sent home over the past twelve months. Both cash and the amount spent on items like food and clothing were recorded. The food items include the costs for chicken, turkey tail, and spare ribs, which are often carried in coolers, later filled with local foods upon return. On Guam, meat is often purchased in cases which, is less expensive. A case of chicken parts or turkey tail costs about fifty cents per pound, while spare ribs sell for two dollars per pound. The amount spent for clothing consists of both new and used items, often purchased at the Dededo Village flea market. Miscellaneous expenditures include the cost for toys, school supplies, and cigarettes. From September 1996 to June 1998, a total of $37,135 worth of cash, food, and clothing was sent home which averages to $757 per person. The slightly higher average amount contributed by males ($842) is due, in part, to higher wage incomes. The largest contributions were cash remittances ($26,495). TABLE 2.2 Cash Remittances and Dollar Amount of Food, Clothing, and Other Goods Sent Home by Gender, 1996–1998a Items Sent Home Cash (dollars U.S.) Food Clothing Other goods: Miscellaneous Total a

Male (n=24)

Female (n=25)

Total (n=49)

18,080 (753) 1,790 (74) 300 (12) 40 (1) 20,210 (842)

8,415 (336) 6,030 (241) 2,160 (86) 320 (12) 16,925 (705)

26,495 (540) 7,820 (159) 2,460 (50) 360 (7) 37,135 (757)

The average amount is presented in parentheses.


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Although males sent home larger cash amounts, females were more likely to send items such as clothes, food, and other supplies purchased on Guam. Seven women, for example, regularly send these items to their children living in their natal places. Most of the cash remittances are sent to parents for a variety of reasons including to build a house or a small store, for church celebrations, to purchase food, and for funerals. There were a few households of sisters or closely related females who contributed consistent and large amounts of cash and goods. A few of these household types had members who came to Guam solely to support their parents back home, especially in the provision of food and building supplies for a new house. In a few cases, the eldest daughter was specifically sent to Guam to find a job and sponsor others, including parents. It appears that parents have great control over the dispersal of their daughters’ incomes on Guam. Young women do not hesitate when fathers request for their income or when fathers request they return home, unlike men, who generally have more freedom. Often missing in the literature on remittance is the amount taken home by migrants themselves, since it is often assumed that this amount has been included in what was sent home. Table 2.3 shows the amount of cash remittances taken home at the respondent’s most recent return. Only forty-one of the forty-nine individuals returned home some time between 1991 and 1998. Most were employed in their current positions at the time of their last return, except for five who were working elsewhere on Guam earning slightly lower wages. There are striking differences between the amounts taken home by males and females. Males take home almost six times more than females, whose lesser amounts suggest several things. Generally women give more consistently and begin remitting shortly after their arrival, unlike men, who often give cash remittances more sporadically. Compared to men, the evidence suggests that women spend more for their kin on Guam and also sponsor others more frequently, excluding the instances of married men bringing wives and children. Most of the newcomers in the hotel survey also reported that elder female relatives purchased their tickets to Guam. TABLE 2.3 Cash Remittances Taken Home by Gender, 1991–1998

Number that returned home Monetary amount (dollars U.S.) Average

Male (n=24)

Female (n=25)

Total (n=49)

18 11,050 613

23 2,390 103

41 13,440 327


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Although women are viewed as reliable, men also face pressures to contribute, which is consistent with the traditional male role as guardian and spokesman. Men are often asked to make large donations for funerals and special ceremonies. And, if a man returns home with little—or as one woman said, with a “half-filled fiber boat”—it can be a source of embarrassment. By looking at their career patterns, however, it was not uncommon to find instances of losing jobs frequently due to drinking. Women complain that men, even those with jobs, frequently ask them for money for drinks or cigarettes. As noted, men often have more freedom with their earned income, unlike women, who send regularly to parents. The act of taking home large cash amounts, therefore, may be seen as an attempt to emphasize the paramountcy of home ties, especially since young men are less attached and show less commitment while living away. Return Trips The hotel survey also included an item asking the number of return trips, and their reasons, since their first arrival on Guam (table 2.4). Between 1979 and 1998, there were a total of 122 return trips, often to their natal places or to the urban center since travel to the outer islands was sometimes difficult. The respondents reported returning home to escort others, for vacations, for medical emergencies, and to attend funerals and other ceremonies like births, weddings, graduations, Christmas, and other religious events. In addition, nearly 50 percent returned home to visit relatives which indicates intense ties between those on Guam and home. Though most returns were temporary, in a few cases concerning young men who lost their jobs, they TABLE 2.4 Reasons for Return Trips, 1979–1998 Reason Visit relatives Attend funeral Attend ceremony Medical emergency Escort others Do not recall Vacation from work Miscellaneous Total a

Number

Percent

60 15 14 9 9 7 6 2 122

49 12 11 7 7 6 5 2 99a

Percentages do not sum precisely to 100 due to rounding error.


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Chapter 2 TABLE 2.5 Return Trips by Gender, 1979–1998

Number returning home Number of return visits Average number of return visits

Male (n=24)

Female (n=25)

Total (n=49)

23 49 2

18 73 4

41 122 3


returned home for several months until another factor instigated their move back to Guam. Men and women differ not only in their remittance patterns but also in their rates of return trips (table 2.5). As noted, most newcomers have made return trips home. On average, women return home twice as many times as men. Women also are more likely to return home the same year of departure to Guam, unlike men, who return home roughly two to three years later, which may be linked to their somewhat unstable economic positions within the first few years on Guam. The arrival of women on Guam, unlike for men, is often prearranged and well-thought-out. Similarly, the return of women to their natal places is often well planned, especially for young, unmarried women. Although most newcomers have intentions to return home eventually, men, especially unmarried men, are less certain and will indicate that their stay on Guam depends on the job situation. Women, on the other hand, often give a more definite response to return home; as one woman from Chuuk said, “my mom is my place.” It is also common for women to articulate their presence on Guam as wasala (visitors) or as temporary.

Translating Experiences into “Capital” Back Home In the treatment of Micronesian mobility to Guam, the interviews and hotel survey focused principally on the types of networks that exist between FSM citizens on Guam and kin at home. By focusing on social networks as an essential category of analysis, we avoided the view of migrants as individuals driven by economic motives. A social network analysis also challenges issues of permanency by focusing on the experiences of migrants, wealth flows, acts of reciprocity, return trips, and the ways in which they translate these experiences into “capital” back home. Gender played a significant role in the type and level of wealth flows sent and taken home. Women are frequently regular contributors of both cash and nonmonetary items. They were also more likely to sponsor more members to Guam and to escort others. As unmarried, young women, they are relied

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on quite heavily; as older women, they are responsible for bringing children for education. The rate of return trips and their intention to return home eventually also indicate strong ties with home. Although some came to Guam to accompany their spouses, there were also women who came without the help of their husbands or to escape them, suggesting that women play a much larger economic role in mobility. Men also make significant contributions, albeit less frequently than women. They are less supervised on Guam, compared to women, and have more turbulent career patterns. Men are more likely to state economic factors in their reasons for coming and for their uncertainty about returning home eventually, although the large cash remittances taken home serve not only to fulfill social obligations to kin but also to reinforce their position within the social unit upon return. The newcomers on Guam, however, face increasing difficulties in their efforts to provide for their kin on Guam and at home, due in part to their low socioeconomic conditions. The overwhelming majority are in entrylevel jobs and undergo shifting residences and employment. They also face growing resentment by the local population on Guam and the lack of local and political organizations to address these tensions. Many of these tensions are described as an inability amongst the FSM community on Guam to behave in a collective fashion as a group of “Micronesians.” However, one criticism drawn from the transnational literature has been the decreasing significance of the nation-state as a politico-administrative boundary (Skeldon 1990) and the paralleled decline in the nation-state’s ability to form and discipline its subjects in the form of national allegiance (Kearney 1991; Patterson 1975). According to Glick Schiller, Basch, and Blanc Szanton (1995), the idea that a nation should be a community of people sharing a common history and blood is a peculiar product of modern political thought. Rather, nation-states are relatively new inventions that can be linked to the development of capitalism; and nationalism is “based on an ideology of the commonness of origins, purposes, and goals that allowed those in power to legitimate rule over large and diverse populations” (Glick Schiller, Basch, and Blanc Szanton 1992b, 15). The superimposition of the term Micronesia on fluid and complex societies that encompass several island nations further problematizes the study of ethnic relations among FSM citizens and Chamorros on Guam. As Hanlon (1989, 1) notes, “Micronesia is, in many ways, a nonentity. For the most part, Micronesia has existed only in the minds of people from the outside who have sought to create an administrative entity for purposes of control and rule.” Thus, although Guam geographically lies within Micronesia, in many ways it has not historically been a part of the regional collective. To argue that

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Chamorros and FAS citizens lie within a similar cultural unit raises questions about the tensions that exist between ethnic groups that many assume would have cooperative and harmonious interactions. The gloss of the “Micronesian-ness” (Kiste 1999) of FSM citizens and Chamorros does not address the many crucial differences in history and culture. Thus, understanding how ethnic distinctions have emerged in the present time has become problematic. Like many new nations emerging from colonial rule, Micronesia is composed of a population that far from approaches ethnic homogeneity. There exists, for example, a local orientation among Micronesian groups (Kiste 1975) that fails to coincide with ethnic boundaries of the nation-state. Mason (1974, 225) captured it well when he stated, In the face-to-face interaction of daily life, identities are colored with greater emotion and sense of belonging to social groups that are distinctive in beliefs, sentiment and behaviors. Examples are island villages, clans, lineages, kindreds, classes, and collectivities based on shared language, religion, occupation, or proprietary rights.

To summarize, “Reaching Out to Guam” represents the macroeconomic and political forces, as well as the material and ideological links between, Guam and the FSM. However, by incorporating a discussion of transmigrants involved in social networks that mediate macrostructural changes, I have attempted to go beyond the conventional ideology of how the state, institutions, laws, or ruling ideas structure mobility. In the following chapters, we return to Satowan Atoll (Chuuk), where consideration is paid to cultural and emic interpretations to highlight the second theoretical approach to this study, circular or territorial mobility.

Note 1. In the most recent census of 2008 (U.S. Census Bureau 2009), there were 18,305 Compact of Free Association (COFA) migrants residing on Guam. COFA migrants include citizens from the Republic of Palau (RP), the Republic of the Marshall Islands (RMI), and the Federated States of Micronesia (FSM).

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3 Configurations of Urban Space and Social Space

n the discussion of migrant views or migrant ways of life, it is often suggested that the mere fact of living in the urban center will—for better or worse—sever individuals from their rural past and accelerate them to an urbanized orientation. Frequently there is a disassociation between living at home and living in an “urbanized” area found in the early works by anthropologists’ observations of Micronesia. Although anthropology has made a huge contribution to the study of ethnic identity and urbanization, the methodological approach to descent groups and kinships makes for an emphasis on a thriving matriliny, being female, and being immobile. I will argue that when anthropologists tie matriliny too closely with genealogy and rules of kinship, they make silent the important question of how a culture integrates mobility. This is followed by views of Weno, the urban center of Chuuk, by the people from Satowan and others in the Mortlocks who are generally known as an ethnic group called the Mortlockese (Mochulok). Following Kunstadter (1979, 199), an ethnic group is defined as a set of individuals with similar consciousness and mutual interests centered on some shared understandings or common values that organize at least some behaviors to maintain a perceived interest. The origins of a Mortlockese identity on Weno can be traced to a shared history and ancestry, but the source and formation of an ethnic identity often depends upon reference to some other group(s). For the Mortlockese on Weno, the out group of reference, usually phrased in terms of confrontation, are those of Weno and other high islands in the Lagoon who are known as the Chuukese.

I

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However, an essential element to Chapman (1975, 1976) and Chapman and Prothero (1985), in their discussion of circular mobility, is that migrants keep options open by continuously translating the economic and social position gained in the settled area into political, social, economic, and emotional capital back home. As Bonnemaison (1985, 32) states, “Mobility can no longer be conceived as a simple removal from one place to another or as a neutral and informal phenomenon. Rather it is a journey in the cultural sense of the word—an experience imbued with meaning and ritual, inherent in the action of movement and sanctioned beyond the territory of identity.” Thus, we will begin to examine, more closely, the ways in which the people of Satowan conceive of social space and movement on the atoll which equally influence their mobility to and from the urban center and beyond. Social space is used here as a metaphor rather than as an analytical tool for explaining migratory behavior. Sociospatial reference systems, according to Buttimer (1980, 27), “can be viewed as filters through which the physical environment is known, evaluated, and used.” In other words, spaces assume dimensions that reflect the social significance they have for those who use them (Strauss 1976). According to the people of Satowan, mobility is characterized in terms of acceptable forms of behavior that exist both on and off the atoll. For example, one type of movement, called “uruur,” is often used to describe young men who “wander” in the urban center. I will argue, however, that to wander, or uruur, is considered an improper form of movement mainly because it occurs in public and nonkin places and especially because every place on Satowan is intimately tied to a clan or lineage. Thus the distinctions between those who move and stay concern boundaries that are ongoing and negotiable and do not easily correspond to rural and urban dichotomies or temporary and permanent migration.

Previous Anthropological Research: From Classical to Contemporary Within Micronesia the interpretation in analyzing and understanding migration and ethnic phenomena has tended to be taken up by anthropologists, beginning with the onset of the Coordinated Investigation of Micronesian Anthropology (CIMA) after World War II in the former U.S. Trust Territory of the Pacific Islands, described as the “most ambitious experiments ever launched in applied anthropology” (Kiste 1985, 12). In the study of ethnic identity, much criticism of anthropology lies on the emphasis on cultural phenomena and tradition as critical elements that make for a descriptive rather than an analytic account.1 According to Fredrik Barth (1969), most anthropological literature defines an ethnic group as

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largely biologically self-perpetuating. “This ideal type of definition is not so far removed in content from the traditional proposition that a race = a culture = a language and that a society = a unit which rejects or discriminates against others” (1969, 200). Such definitions assume that boundary maintenance is unproblematic by depicting small communities or villages as closed systems unaffected by events either in their own nations or in the wider settings. Typically, “the peasantry itself was considered to come into being only when connections to a dominant outside group had been established” (Skeldon 1990, 44). Anthropologists steeped in micro-observational fieldwork often take a corresponding methodological approach which tends to focus on the community as a coherent and independent entity. For example, Lessa’s (1964) description of the Ulithi (Yap) society portrays a tightly knit society where identity is hardly cognizant or challenged. The Ulithians have strong proscribed roles, according to Lessa, as agriculturalists and fishermen. Daily work is clearly delineated for each gender; land is never privately owned (it belongs to matrilineal lineages); the political structure is contained mostly within the village council; and social control is practiced through public opinion, gossip, and ridicule. Lessa’s account is not unlike other anthropologists whose description of social organization consists mostly of descent groups and kinship as well as the corresponding emphasis on property ownership and inheritance. Putting forth these aspects of society, I argue, has indirectly compounded notions of immobility and of island societies as immobile. For example, Ward Goodenough’s (1961) Property, Kin, and Community on Truk, which emerged as one of the most influential writings of anthropology, uses the genealogical method to unravel the characteristics of kinship and behavior, as well as property relations related to marriage and inheritance. The conspicuous emphasis on kinship, however, which Goodenough (1956) admits in a later article entitled “Residence Rules,” limits the scope of understanding the sociological significance of residence. In his words, “To use land ownership as a basis for differentiating types of residence choice, therefore, seems to me to be artificial. Undoubtedly there are societies, however, where land plays a more direct role in the residence choices of individual couples” (1956, 33). By this Goodenough meant that even when census data indicate a pattern of residence, additional sociological and cultural information is needed to indicate whether a couple was actually living patrilocally, matrilocally, or avunculocally, which Goodenough later addressed in Cooperation and Change (1963). The anthropologist Ernest Mark Borthwick (1977, 114) made a similar point while observing as a “matter of some intimacy,” close kinsmen taking

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part in the daily sharing of food on Lukunor, an atoll in the Mortlocks. Borthwick later footnotes that the category of close kinsmen is not precisely defined and depends on sociological as well as biological factors. By this, I assume, the author is suggesting that an interpretation in addition to, or beyond kinship, would better describe particular aspects of socialization rather than an over reliance on the rules of behavior based on kinship. In addition to an anthropological emphasis on kinship, accounts of a thriving matriliny also imply immobility. For instance, there has been a tendency to romanticize the image of women as rooted, circumscribed, or coherent. Again, this reflects a great concern with the matrilineal locus, gender roles (as in subsistence activities), the brother-sister dyad, and a post-marital residence, called “matrilocal” and often read as inherent in atoll societies. The belief that land equates to females, for example, is pronounced in matrilineal and matrilocal societies where membership in a landholding lineage depends on “uterine” links (Alkire 1989). Land, believed to be a female domain, is centered on the lineage based homesite on a plot of land where the men’s house, sleeping houses, and cookhouses are built and the activities of the lineage take place. In Lukunor, according to Tolerton and Rauch (1949, 23), the homesite is considered the “placenta on which the foetus is thought to feed while in utero, and similarly the lineage plot is its anchor within the island social structure.” Thus, rather than putting forth changing images of women, anthropologists have tended to associate being female with being immobile. As Thomas (1978, 67–68) writes, female mobility is circumscribed by their most immediate surroundings, namely, their sleeping house, their cookhouse, their gardens, and the periphery of their natal island. Consequently, women are believed to act as the primary caretakers of the clan’s assets—land and children—which also share the attribute of being island-localized. Immobility also is a key characteristic of a form of post-marital residence, called matrilocal where, upon marriage, women remain on their natal land but most men come and become attached to their wife’s place. The special relations of women with their brothers also makes them appear to be immobile. According to Marshall (1981), the brother-sister tie, or in his words the cross-sibling set, is a fundamental building block of the society. He (1981, 203) states, The brother is viewed as the more powerful, public figure who protects the reputation, rights, person and property of his sister, the sister’s role is that of domestic . . . nurturance, demonstrated by cooking food for her brother (especially when he is unmarried). . . . Males operate in the public domain. . . . Females content themselves with the private domain; they are portrayed by Trukese as acquiescent persons who shun danger and avoid risks and are said to be “weak.”

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Though the association of women with reproduction and the lineage are essential characteristics of atoll societies, is a culture based on matriliny without some systematic analysis of behavior related to mobility beyond dichotomies of gender that may not be linked to mobility or immobility? As the anthropologist Juliana Flinn (1986) posits, there are contending beliefs about the effects of matriliny other than the “tension” experienced by men being attached to two descent groups. One belief is that matriliny encourages a system of exchange and social interaction even when residential, property, and subsistence relations are organized according to principles that enhance the wife’s people. And a final, though not contending view—one that is unrepresented in the Micronesian literature—looks at the effects of matriliny in the face of change and modernization. Following this line of thought, where is there mention in studies of Micronesian societies of the economic role of women, or at least the indirect role that women may play in the mobility of their husbands or their sons to urban centers? Still further, what are the characteristics of educated women, firstborn women, or women in declining households and how do these features affect their mobility? What further are the scrutinizing remarks made by others when women are uncharacteristically mobile? Perhaps it is not just the forces of modernization at work but the interplay of cultural and territorial forces working just below the surface, so that roles appear to be both harmonious and conflicting with notions of “traditional” society. Thus, when anthropologists tie matriliny too closely with genealogy and rules of kinship, they remain silent about the important question of how a culture integrates mobility. Such accounts have often “meant that much understanding of the processes of social change and development has been lost” (Griffin and Monsell-Davis 1986, xi). In essence, the view that island societies are considered unproblematic, small, and isolated also reinforces the myth of the idyllic rural past and an anti-urban bias. Movement, therefore, is considered to be mostly permanent with a somewhat schizophrenic message that movement is pragmatic though counter to tradition. For example, Mason (1974, 231) writes, “For most Micronesians the initial move from the outer islands to the district centers was an exhilarating experience. The possibility, always present, of moving on again, from the district center to someplace in the world, holds for many individuals enough promise to keep them from returning to their outer island homes ever again to stay.” Urban areas, more commonly known as district centers, “had long been sources of attraction as Micronesians were drawn to them to conduct business, enter hospital, consult officials, attend school, or seek the bright lights

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and diversions from the monotonous routine of outer-island life” (Kiste 1986, 130). Similarly, Borthwick (1977, 9) states, Traditional kin-based systems of old age support appear threatened by rapid economic and demographic changes that have led many young persons to seek education, employment and excitement in the port towns on the larger island. Most of these young people leave elderly relatives behind in the small outer island communities, and little is known of how this affects the aged.

The tendency to view the urban setting in the Pacific as corrosive has much to do with how anthropologists view urban situations after a prolonged experience in rural, often isolated settings. Anthropologists “conceptualize the behavior of migrants in towns in terms of ‘detribalization’ by which they meant the falling into desuetude of customs, beliefs and practices to which the migrant had firmly adhered before he had come to town” (Mitchell 1974, 18). Thus, anthropologists have a tendency to write about kinship in the city rather than the cityness of urban kinship (Leeds 1968). Or, as Friedl and Chrisman (1975, 13) further describe, Located in a village, an anthropologist who found that a large proportion of the population was migrating to urban centers was tempted to follow them. But in studying urban immigrants, the anthropologist already had a preconceived notion of what he would find, based upon his experience in the rural hinterland. His research usually was designed to explain why he did or did not find a breakdown in rural culture, but in either case the research plan was set up in terms of that rural culture. There was little rephrasing of questions about rural traditions to fit the new urban context; as a result, many of the early works appear to be extensions of village studies rather than separate urban studies with their own methodology and theoretical approach.

Many of the above criticisms, however, are directed to the more classical anthropology but it is this tradition that is more firmly fixed in the literature of Micronesia. As societies have become more modernized and urbanized, we begin to see a shift by anthropologists from a nativist sentiment to an analysis of the cognitive nature of ethnic phenomena. With the increasing mobilization of people, it is generally agreed that the use of ethnic identity has become “more salient, ethnic self-assertion stronger, and ethnic conflict more marked” (Glazer and Moynihan 1975, 25). Fredrik Barth, who most anthropologists in Micronesia credit as the most sophisticated analyst of the ethnic cognitive dimension, defines ethnicity as the product of social ascriptions, a kind of labeling process engaged in by oneself and others; however, as the individual (or group) moves through daily life, the ethnicity can change according to variations in the situations and audiences encountered.

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Many studies of relocated communities and ethnic enclaves in Micronesia reflect Barth’s writings such as Lieber (1977) on the Kapingamarangi on Pohnpei, Emerick (1960) on the Pis-Losapese (Pisemwar) on Pohnpei, Alkire (1993) on the outer islanders of Yap on Madrich, and Flinn (1990) on the Pulapese (Polap) on Weno. For many Pacific societies, the discussion of self, the ethnic self, and the social self involves identities that are shaped by environmental forces such as groups, land, food, and spirits. Patterns of ethnic relations seem to be determined both by notions of personhood that acknowledge the importance of environmental contributions and by the conditions that govern relationships such as cultural and social performances rather than biological or racial assets being emphasized. The centrality of personhood is attributed to small-scale communities where interdependence in face-to-face relations is intensive. Lieber’s (1990) findings among the Kapingamarangi on Pohnpei, for example, illustrate that identity is logically related to notions of “personhood” or the ways in which people generate ethnic descriptions. What it means to be a person for many Pacific societies is structured by people’s ideas of how one becomes a person. Thus, the “person is not an individual in our Western sense of the term. The person is instead a locus of shared biographies: personal histories of people’s relationships with other people and with things. The relationship defines the person, not vice versa” (Lieber 1990, 72). This understanding of personhood often stands in stark contrast to the Western concept of the sovereign individual “bounded by their skins, and possessing attributes” (Howard 1990, 262). In the Pacific Islands, the blurring of modern and traditional and the study of ethnic consciousness as an appropriate form of collective identity led Linnekin and Poyer (1990) to conclude that although possessing genealogical links are powerful badges of identity, appropriate social behavior is what ultimately constitutes identity. As illustrated by Flinn (1990), the Pulapese, outer islanders of Chuuk who formed an enclave community on Weno, who lagged behind others in terms of education and wage work, used their socially ascribed “backward” stereotype to illustrate their cohesion with traditional custom. For example, dance performances encoded with messages about the kind of people the Pulapese are assert a symbol of strength and worthiness in the modern world. These efforts by the Pulapese are increasingly self-conscious; in fact, some customs that “pass” for traditional were recently interwoven into the asserted tradition as ethnic (Flinn 1992). At the same time, the Pulapese have cast the dominant group into a role of Westernized, a self-image that has distinctive advantages for Pulapese people. Their depiction of the cultural Other, however, is not based

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on biological factors but on valued actions expressed when one exhibits respectful and nurturant behavior toward kin through the sharing of food. The Beginning of a Shared Identity As already noted, the origins of a Mortlockese identity on Weno can be traced to a shared history and ancestry. The Mortlocks, with a total land area of around 4.9 square miles, are a chain of five atolls and one low coral island that are eleven in number (map 3.1): Nama Island; Losap and Pisemwar (which lie in Losap Atoll); Namoluk Atoll; Etal Atoll; Lukunor and Oneop

MAP 3.1 The Mortlocks, Chuuk State (FSM)

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(which lie in Lukunor Atoll); and Móch, Kuttu, Satowan, and Ta (which lie in Satowan Atoll). Satowan Atoll is also known as Nomoi. The Mortlocks are further divided into three precincts: Losap, Nama, and Pisemwar in the Upper Mortlocks, Namoluk, Etal, Móch, and Kuttu in the Mid-Mortlocks, and Lukunor, Oneop, Satowan, and Ta in the Lower Mortlocks. Project money, simply called “project,” is divided amongst the Mortlock precincts. Also, within the Chuuk State Legislature, there are a total of six representatives for the entire Mortlocks: two from each of the three precincts. Currently, there is one representative from Satowan. There are also two senators for the entire Mortlocks voted by a general election; however, the current incumbents are not from Satowan but from Etal and Losap. Lastly, there is one representative for the entire Mortlocks in the FSM Congress. Again, the incumbent is from Etal. “Acculturative influences” are noted to increase after 1870s with the development of the copra trade by a handful of European traders and the establishment of Christianity, which began with the arrival of converted Pohnpeians in 1874 sponsored by the American Board of Commissioners of Foreign Missions (ABCFM). By 1901, the New Testament was translated by an American missionary, Robert Logan, while residing on Oneop. Soon afterwards, the celebration of European events like Christmas, Easter, New Year’s Day, and Sunday as the day of rest became a part of traditional celebrations (Reafsnyder 1984). Catholicism came almost immediately with the arrival of the German Capuchin on Lukunor. Although Reafsnyder (1984, 91) notes “an attempt to reassert the validity of Mortlockese religious practice in the face of European opposition” through the reintroduction of forbidden dances (pwaruk). The Mortlocks also share a history of disturbing encounters with foreigners. The Australian blackbirding vessel the Carl took islanders to Fiji for slave labor in the early 1870s. Around this time, another German vessel recruited laborers for plantation work on Samoa. Additionally, the people of the Mortlocks were moved about according to the interests of colonial administrations. Whereas the Spaniards placed most of their efforts in the Marianas and essentially ignored Chuuk, the Germans (1899–1914) took a larger economic interest and moved islanders to serve the copra trade, operating under the Jaluit Gessellschaft, and to labor phosphate mines on Nauru and Angaur (Palau). After the 1907 typhoon, several hundred Mortlockese were resettled by the Germans to Sokehs (Pohnpei) while others were sent to islands in the Chuuk Lagoon and Saipan. Like the Germans before them, the Japanese banned inter-atoll canoeing, citing the difficulty and expense of looking for lost natives at sea. In reality, it served the colonial interests to restrict movement and require natives to pay for boat transportation. As with the Germans, mining on Angaur (Palau)

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continued into the Japanese era (1914–1945). In addition, a regular schedule of inter-island shipping and a public school system was built on Oneop. A few who completed schooling, continued at a two-year school on Tonoas (previously Dublon) studying math and the Japanese language. A select few of these graduates went on to attend carpentry school in Palau. By 1939, however, nearing World War II, those from the Mortlocks were moved about to suit the needs of war preparations. Several hundred Japanese soldiers occupied Satowan and Lukunor, whose inhabitants were removed to Móch and Kuttu. Many able-bodied men from various places in the Mortlocks were forced to serve in the construction of an airfield on Satowan (now lined with bomb holes, see map 3.2) and in providing provisions for the Japanese soldiers. The people of the Mortlocks also have historical relationships based on warfare that occurred until the nineteenth century and on material exchange such as the formalized island-to-island food exchange held after land taboos. There are eleven clans on Satowan that can be found on other atolls in the Mortlocks where visitors today can rely on temporary refuge: Sapunippi, Sou-Eor, Sor, Lewal, Sou-Luk, Inemarau, Sou-Won, Sou-Efong, Wenikar, Katamak, and Tum, which is believed to originate from Tarawa Atoll in the Gilbert Islands. Lukunor also shares a long history of “planting women” on Satowan to reactivate a lineage. There are also sets of atolls whose links are reinforced by visiting and intermarriage such as Namoluk and Etal (Nason 1975) instigated by Etal’s resettlement of Namoluk’s population, according to oral tradition. There also are two historical alliances seen in the patterns of intermarriage and kinship: one among Nama, Lukunor, Kuttu, Ta, and Satowan; and another allegiance among Losap, Pisemwar, Namoluk, Etal, Oneop, and Móch. Lastly, there are also names describing traditional ties between islands in the Lagoon and the Mortlocks. The Mortlockese on Weno In more contemporary times, an ethnic identity as Mortlockese becomes increasingly pronounced through experiences with the people of Weno, the Chuukese, and through interactions with other migrant Mortlockese. Oftentimes, both an aversion to urban or “public” places and Weno’s association with rewon or American characteristics continue to shape the Mortlockese identity. Weno lies in what is known as the Chuuk Lagoon, a thirty- to forty-milewide lagoon enclosing volcanic or high islands (see map 1.2). Outside of Chuuk Lagoon lie several groups of low-lying atolls: Namonpäfeng (Hall

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Islands), located north of the Lagoon; Namonpattiw (Western Islands) and Namonuito Atolls, lying to the west and northwest; and the Mortlocks, located southeast where Satowan sits at the tail end. Weno is the original site of the earliest trading stations during the German administration. Under the Japanese era, Dublon (now Tonoas), located south of Weno, was favored for its deeper anchorages. Following World War II, the U.S. administration reoccupied Weno since Tonoas was largely destroyed by bombing. Weno contains two island groups: Faichuk in the west and Namoneas in the east. This area is further divided into three political groups: the Northern Namoneas, which contains Weno; the Southern Namoneas, where the former center, Tonoas, rests; and Faichuk. Weno is the administrative and commercial center for Chuuk State (see map 1.3). It is heavily populated—over fourteen thousand people living on about 7.3 square miles. The majority of people living on Weno are the original inhabitants and others from the Chuuk Lagoon. Many come to Weno in search of wage-earning jobs and to frequent the only hospital, which sits in the main administrative center, Nantaku. On any given day, the only airport, which is perched on the northwestern side of the island, is bustling with people bidding or welcoming their relatives, carrying goods and messages, exchanging gossip, or gawking at some conspicuous returnee strutting in jewelry and stylish clothing. Weno also has a large harbor, private and public schools, government housing, administrative offices, a radio and telecommunication center, several banks, and the only post office. There are also numerous video rentals, hotels, bars, coffee shops, bakeries, and restaurants. Most of the Mortlockese (Mochulok) people living elsewhere can be found on Weno. According to the 2000 census, there are nearly 7,000 Mortlockese living on Weno (FSM 2002); however, it is difficult to determine the accuracy of this count since this is a highly fluid population. Other significant destination areas include the FSM, Guam, Hawai‘i, and the continental United States. Collectively, the Mortlockese on Weno outnumber other outer islander populations of the Namonpäfeng (Hall Islands), Namonpattiw (Western Islands), and Namonuito whose populations are smaller, roughly 11 percent of Chuuk’s total number. The first wave of Mortlockese to the urban center began in the 1950s. Then in the 1960s, due primarily to the U.S. plan toward self-government, a formal policy of “Micronesianization” absorbed many into middle- and higher-level government positions (Hezel 1995). Increased governmental spending, employment opportunities in the educational system, and salaried government positions accelerated the trickle to a wave of Mortlockese known by the natives of Chuuk as the “Mortlockese Invasion” (Nason 1970,

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378). Increasingly, wage jobs and the pursuit of higher education became the most pertinent considerations as well as the attractions of urban ways of life. Also noted by several anthropologists studying the Mortlocks is the intense population growth on atoll communities (Marshall 1975; Nason 1970; Reafsnyder 1984) and the increased number of exogamous marriages with people on Weno, which, in turn, led to further out-migration (Marshall 1975; Reafsnyder 1984). The Mortlockese on Weno are also referred to as chon fánápi, people from low islands or outer islanders. In some regard, “chon fánápi” and “outer islander” are epithets for conservatism. The Mortlockese, for example, share many of the characteristics attributed to another set of outer island people from the Western Islands (Namonpattiw), the Pulapese, who have also settled in areas in Iras (Weno). Flinn (1992) describes the Pulapese identity to include humility, respectfulness, modesty, cooperation, and generosity. Like the Pulapese, the Mortlockese consider themselves to be more distinctively traditional than the Lagoon Chuukese and pride themselves on living largely in a subsistence life style. Those in the urban center who have become more “modern” continue to cling to a Mortlockese identity by being humble and generous, especially to their visiting kin. The people from the Mortlocks also consider themselves to act more Christian, especially noting that Christianity was brought to Chuuk Lagoon from the Mortlocks. A successful businessman from Lukunor contributed the stained-glass windows for the Family Mei Pin, the largest Catholic church on Weno where Bishop Amando Samo, also Mortlockese, gives weekly sermons. According to Reafsnyder (1984), values of generosity, humility, and honesty, are recast in the Christian setting and put forth in terms of a Mortlockese ethnicity and ethnic identity on Weno. Typically, this is done by pivoting the Mortlockese belief with oppositional traits in the Lagoon Chuukese who are viewed as mired in “uncivilized” traditional beliefs system of “darkness.” Unlike the Pulapese who lagged behind others in Chuuk in pursuing education and opportunities (Flinn 1992), the Mortlockese accelerated through education as well as through political office and higher wage positions. American administrators often preferred to hire the Mortlockese who appeared to be more cooperative than those from the Lagoon (Reafsnyder 1984). In fact, some of the earliest civil servants were graduates of Xavier High School (Weno) and the Pacific Island Central School (Pohnpei) where the Mortlockese often excelled above others. Many secured land through government salaries and some succeeded through business and went on to became politicians. The Nama Trading Company, the Truk Co-op, 3K, and Stop ’n Shop were just a few of the more successful Mortlockese businesses

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established early on. Relatives were often hired, and credits were extended to the Mortlockese who frequently shopped there. A description of a Mortlockese identity cannot be given without some mention of the former high chief of Weno Island, Petrus Mailo, who was also the first elected mayor. According to Kawai (1987), when Weno became the political and economic center after World War II, the influx of people from the outer islands was seen as a fulfillment of ancient prophecies because Chuuk Lagoon, according to oral tradition, is believed to be the original homeland. This belief is evidenced in many clan connections and in navigational skills and sorcery that link lagoon and outer-island people (Peter 1997, 2000). According to Peter (2000, 258), In early days, voyages between these outer islands were common and clan chiefs in the lagoon held these outer island connections to be vital to their chiefly roles. They kept the genealogies and special knowledge particular to their clan, while competing traditions of navigational skills and sorcery kept lagoon group and outer island connections strong and important.

Petrus’s whole persona is recalled as itang, described earlier as a body of knowledge which includes rhetoric, history, war, diplomacy, and divination (Goodenough 1992). According to the Mortlockese, Petrus was “half ghost and half human,” always speaking in “riddles and half-truths.” In one account, Petrus predicted that the outer islanders would come to occupy the lowlands of the western shore of Nepukos Village on Weno and the original inhabitants would be forced into the mountains away from the water resources at the mountain’s floor. Nepukos Village currently contains many migrants. Petrus also had a talent for drawing historical clan ties between the outer islanders and the lagoon sometimes in an attempt to calm existing tensions. His talent was observed by an early anthropologist working as the Civil Administrator on Weno (then Moen) in 1948, Thomas Gladwin (1960, 61): It is rather his greatest gift that he can make history a vital part and servant of this present, not by citing precedent but by bridging the span in his own person. His strong feeling of identity with his culture leads him intuitively but almost unerringly to discriminate those things which would be appropriate and constructive for his people from those which would breed confusion and distress. Thus in his finest speech Petrus revealed also the key to his own greatness.

In the early American administration, when the flow of Mortlockese to the urban center began, Petrus influenced the inhabitants of Weno to act as sponsors for some young students while others were housed in the municipal

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offices or in places in Mwan Village where he owned land. It was also said that Petrus told of ancient chants like “Fetanin Weno, Sefanin Weno,” described in the opening of this book, to recall the historical travels of people of Weno to the outer islands and back, and in the case of the civil trial noted earlier, to draw connections between opposing clans that very likely came from the same mother or were sisters under custom. This was relayed in the following chant (cited in Sellem v. Maras 1995): Ou munuto mwo fefin me mwan, Women and men, we are the ones to take care of the land, Nengin me at chon napeni fonu, Girls and boys, as we grow older, we will divide the land, Chon osonapeni fonu sipwe ne ineti, Those that are confusing the people, we throw them away, Ineti nopung inetin namenin, We divide Nopung; we divide Namenin,2 Inom nge inei inachupok, Your mother is my mother, our mother, Semom nge semei samachupok, Your father is my father, our father, Pwim nge pwi pwichupok, Your brother/sister is my brother/sister, our brother/sister, Osom nge osei osachupok, Your brother/sister-in-law is my brother/sister-in-law, our brother/sister-in-law, Fanuwom nge fonuei fonuwachupok, Your land is my land, our land, Onom nge enei anachupok, Your food is my food, our food, Nonom nge nonoi nonochupok, Your body of water in the lagoon is my body of water in the lagoon, our body of water in the lagoon, Sipwe ne urur non nomosepi sipwe, Let’s go and play in Nomosepi,3 Ochuwawu punguni nomosepi sia ta ren, Let’s throw it out [Nomosepi] what is breaking us apart, Sia os ren afan, afan, afan mwarisom. Throw away the boat [symbolizing people who do not get along] that is aground, aground, aground.

As mentioned earlier, respectfulness, generosity, and a stronger commitment to Christian belief by the Mortlockese are made in contradistinction to the Lagoon Chuukese (Reafsnyder 1984, 238). The people of the Lagoon often are viewed as less traditional people—the Chuukese speak more Eng-

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lish; they’re show-offs; the women do not respect their “brothers.” In fact, the Mortlockese often will point out that the Chuukese do not follow the tradition of men leaving their natal place to join their wives upon marriage. They claim that Lagoon men consider marriage to Mortlockese women as beneficial, especially since men in the Lagoon are charged with gardening and food preparation and therefore would not be required to do as much physical work in the Mortlockese custom where women typically carry out these tasks. It is implied that Lagoon men are lazy and look to Mortlockese women, who have a reputation of being longtime jobholders on Weno, thus providing economic security. At times, Lagoon people are considered to be violent and it is common to hear of fighting, especially stabbing events among young men. As one middle-aged man described it, Lagoon people who are from high islands (Chuuk literally means “mountain”) have “mountainous island hearts . . . like clay; they’re hard. But low lying islands have soft hearts, like sand.” They will admit, however, to feeling vulnerable when Lagoon people mention their overcrowding atolls and of the “Mortlockese way” of intermarrying as a way to secure land. Some of the perceived differences that the Mortlockese attach to the Chuukese can be attributed to their relative positions in the political and economic order. Although the Mortlockese secured land through an early foothold with wage employment on Weno, today the majority of wage earners and those holding political positions come from the Lagoon. This is captured in the pun pachification, which is meant to illustrate the political and economic patronage the Lagoon people enjoy. Shortly after Typhoon Pamela in 1976, a widely used phrase, “ke pach ke tento,” which roughly translates as “those with connections receive tents,” was used to characterize policies that favor those with connections and political power. “Pachification” and “ke pach ke tento” are used by Satowan people to describe their subservient economic and political position within Chuuk State. Friction between outer islanders and those from Weno can be linked to the outer islander’s settlement. At the time of the Mortlockese arrival, plots of land in Iras were sold for several hundred dollars. As with other outer islanders, most live in Iras village squeezed between the airport runway and the base of Tonachaw Mountain in crowded housing made mostly of wood or sheet wood with tin roofing. There is often a sporadic use of faucet water and electricity worsened by an inefficient drainage of frequent rainfall. Land ownership underlies the more general tensions between outer islanders and the original inhabitants of Weno (Parker 1985). Some of the problems stem from the Japanese era when those on Weno were relocated to Tunnuk Village after the war. They returned to Iras amid faulty conditions caused by

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the building of the airport. Others were faced with land disputes and differences between the Chuukese and the Trust Territory land laws (MacMeekin 1975). In some cases, land owners were merely compensated with cigarettes and candy (Elieisar, Falmed, Rayphand, Gorang, and Muritok 1978). Tensions over land and increased competition for government resources, according to Reafsnyder (1984, 238), “have contributed to the emergence of a pan-Mortlockese identity that serves as the basis for mutual support and cooperation.” The early 1970s is earmarked as a particular time in the Mortlockese settlement when frictions and resentment became particularly salient. After Typhoon Amy in 1971, some of the migrants in Iras felt that the Chuukese were given more recovery supplies. This resulted in the separation of formal activities and a growing schism between the migrants and the Chuukese, especially those residing in Iras. Those on the atolls of Etal, Lukunor, Oneop Kuttu, Móch, Satowan, and Ta formed the Lower Mortlocks Advisory Council (LMAC) to organize island projects and also, in part, to call attention to the lack of medical supplies and the shortage of transportation. According to Nason (1970, 276), Their concept of the Mortlock Islands as a unit, standing apart from other islands or island groups in the district, would culminate in 1968 when the LMAC would jointly submit a plan to the administration for a new water catchment system to be built on all of the islands, instead of each municipality separately requesting funds for separately implemented projects.

In the past decade, in 2001 and 2007, a bill was introduced to the FSM Congress to separate the Mortlocks from Chuuk, though a plebiscite has not been held. The current request for statehood and separation from Chuuk State dates back to the early 1970s. Unlike Faichuk, an island group in the Lagoon also requesting separation, the Mortlockese contend that they have a stronger plea since they geographically lie outside of the Lagoon and have a distinct cultural unit. The largest contention appears to be the monopolizing of government money and funds by the urban center, which is thinly spread to the outer islands. The Mortlockese also figure it would be nearly impossible to win national office since they comprise a smaller proportion of Chuuk’s population, roughly 12 percent. Nonetheless, several problems have developed within the separatist movement; namely, the downsizing of the second Compact negatively affects their chances for separation since the trend has been toward centralized administration. In addition, there are signs that the movement may not include the Upper Mortlocks (Nama, Losap, Pisemwar), being geographically closer to the Lagoon and having more ties, such as marriage with Lagoon people.

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The Mortlockese View of Urban or “Public” Places The Mortlockese resistance to urban places is made known through descriptions of urban life. Some fear that Satowan will become increasingly urbanized, especially since it is the subcenter of the Mortlocks and appropriations have been made for a new dock and a bridge to connect Satowan to the nearby airstrip on Ta. As one man indicated, “Where can you go to relax if you bring Weno to Satowan?” Many people from Satowan living on Weno often feel confined and unaccustomed to urban living. Women can be seen walking to shops early in the day to avoid the many cars that appear by midmorning. Men complain they gain weight by staying indoors and sleeping more often. As one man said, “I don’t feel strong because I don’t do anything.” Some miss the local food and grow tired of eating mostly rice without any side dish of meat or fish. Others grow irritated with the lack of toilets and showers on crowded settlements. Even those who have lived on Weno for many years grow weary that children prefer rice over breadfruit. As a Mortlockese nurse observed, young mothers believe that “filling the stomach” with rice is a sufficient diet. One of the greatest contentions, especially among the women of Satowan, is that Weno is frequently associated with drinking alcohol. Women often return to Satowan feeling unable to control their husbands’ drinking bouts. A few men working in the urban center for many years candidly stated that they did not save money or send it home but used it for drinking instead. Perhaps most frightening for parents is the well-being of their sons on Weno. Except for the occasional iis (homebrewed alcohol made from baker’s yeast, water, and sugar), many will not experiment with alcohol on the atoll, where it is prohibited. Some young men admit fleeing Satowan to drink on Weno, where “it’s easy for young boys to appach [to glue] to someone who has money for drink.” Some elderly men have indicated that Lagoon men may make offers for alcohol and cigarettes, unlike in previous times when “we are strangers to them.” Another aversion to Weno lies in its association as a place to uruur (to wander). Uruur frequently takes place in “public” places among nonkin, especially for men. The most prevalent public sites include areas near schools, courtrooms, the hospital, the port, the post office, municipal buildings, the airport, bars, beaches (especially Continental and Sewer beach), outside of churches, and parking lots. Some more favored spots for many young men include Tonachaw Mountain, which nears Chuuk High School, atop water tanks, the truck-and-field (Kuranto) and the causeway which connects Mechitiw to Tunnuk Village. Cruising on the road and in boats to surrounding islets are also considered public places to uruur, which explains the appeal of taxi driving for many young men.

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Not only are there more opportunities on Weno to wander (uruur) and to drink, but young men also are able to approach young women in public places. especially at school, school picnics, and in stores, unlike on Satowan where open courtship is prohibited. Young women from Satowan and elsewhere in the Mortlocks frequently tell me that only after drinking can young men reveal their feelings, dreams, anger, and secrets. Drinking also allows a young man to “save face” if he is teased by other men for speaking with a young woman in public. As noted by Marshall (1979c, 113), the “Trukese recognize that most young men who drink and subsequently engage in weekend warfare do so to impress others—particularly the young ladies—with their bravery, strength, and willingness to fight and take risks.” Some of the Mortlockese aversion to the Lagoon is entangled with their perceptions of another more culturally distinct people categorically defined as “rewon.” The people of Satowan have many labels for outsiders often depending on the perceived degree of “outsidedness.” “Wasola,” a polite word for “outsider,” can be replaced with “re eseng,” a harsher term for an outsider accused of some wrongdoing. Similarly, “re won,” which literally means “one from above,” usually refers to foreigners who may be described as handsome, sharp-nosed, or light-skinned and who are believed to be more intelligent, more beautiful, eat better food, and wear good clothes. As Peter (1997) aptly illustrates, however, “rewon” has taken on a politically charged local meaning in more contemporary times. “Rewon” can be interpreted as “people who think highly” or “self-centered people.” Rewon is used to describe the status of a person as outsider, to be called an American describes distasteful or offensive behavior. For example, women wearing pants, sisters relinquishing the bow of respect to brothers, or men who give up their land to live elsewhere are thought to engender American characteristics. According to Nason (1970), the people of Etal Atoll describe a lack of cooperation as “American” traits. Similarly, the late Petrus Mailo compared American government administrators to the plover (kuling), who is so self-absorbed it also sings its name: kuling . . . kuling . . . kuling. It is likely that American anthropologists, who have had a foothold in Micronesia beginning with the Coordinated Investigations of Micronesian Anthropology (CIMA) in 1947, may also have had a hand in shaping ideas of “American” traits. Apparently the parents on Lukunor used the presence of the two anthropologists to elicit good behavior. They told their children, “Be good, do not do that or the foreign men will come and beat you” (Tolerton and Rauch 1949, 38). Still, some locals perceived American anthropologists as fleeting, since “most Micronesians simply tolerate the presence of anthropologists as another foreigner in their midst. The anthropologist wants to be a part of

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the community but after some months he packs his bags and leaves never to be heard from again in most cases” (Gale 1973, 5). Some of the rewon characteristics are related to the growing irritability with visiting American doctors. In June 1998, I had a chance to witness an occurrence when I traveled with a medical mission to an island in the Lagoon. The medicine was provided by Chuuk State, the nurses were employees of the hospital, and the doctor was a volunteer from the Civil Action Team, more commonly known as the CAT team. Examinations were held at an elementary school made of wood and tin roofing. Only the mothers brought their children for immunization though both men and women came to check their weight and blood pressure. In the corner of the school, there were a few married women who took pregnancy tests and requested contraceptives. After the examinations, the American doctor informed the women that the presence of ringworm and scabies in their children, worsened by itching, results from the “failure” to perform basic hygiene. He pointed out that the “mothers [of the village] are not doing your job.” He further instructed the mothers to bathe their children in water and soap and to sun-dry sleeping mats to extinguish unseen bugs. A Mortlockese nurse, who sat near the doctor, translated for him. In a rather soft-spoken and unpretentious manner, she said, “us mothers, the care is in our hands. And it is our carelessness [if our children are ill], because we as mothers are the ones taking care of our children.” When the doctor spoke of the importance for “each member in the family” to own a toothbrush, which, he added, was rather inexpensive, the nurse’s translation was “it is good that you provide a toothbrush for the family because it’s more expensive to get artificial teeth. It’s wise to provide a toothbrush; otherwise you will have to come to Moen [Weno] and get kimpa [Japanese word for gold-capped teeth].” The type of soft language detected in the nurse’s translation served to gather the support of the village women and also to deflect the insulting attitude of the American doctor. Her delicate approach in speech and manner has been noted by others. According to Lutz (1988), who researched an outer island of Yap named Ifaluk, the use of the first-person plural—using “we” instead of “I”—reflects a strong emphasis on perceived similarities between self and other among atoll societies. First-person pronouns are, by definition, egocentric since the speaker frames all statements from his or her own viewpoint. Reafsnyder (1984) further attributes some of the Mortlockese success in the urban center to a “soft” language often witnessed in formal meetings by the Mortlockese, who present themselves as humble guests or visitors when addressing the Lagoon Chuukese.

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To conclude, the disdain for American or rewon characteristics often stands opposed to a Mortlockese ethnic identity which includes humility and generosity. Increasingly, a Mortlockese identity is growing in opposition to the Lagoon Chuukese and those of Iras on Weno in particular. Whether real or perceived, the growing schism has come to be interpreted in increasingly political and economic ways. While in the urban center, the Mortlockese—based on a shared history and common ancestry—adhere to common values and modes of behavior which derive primarily from their traditional backgrounds. Reafsnyder (1984) argues that there is a carryover into the urban situation of the Mortlockese ideology of how society should be organized, although novel experiences in Weno continue to shape and modify new emergent values and modes of behavior. The effects of the urban setting on migrant identity is not a novel topic. Moving to the urban center is often considered positive, “something good for the family when their son or daughter is working for the government.” There is no doubt that wage-earning has become a symbol of success especially for the few men from Satowan who live in individually owned homes. Weno also provides for a temporary escape from an atoll life. Many young men wander (uruur) and engage in drinking and openly seek young women, which is prohibited on the atoll. Ultimately, however, the behavior in the urban setting—its appeal and distaste—are guided by configurations of social space and mobility, the subject of the latter half of this chapter. As alluded to, to wander (uruur) is considered an improper form of movement mainly because it occurs in public and nonkin spaces, but it is also informed by aspects of mobility associated with the natal place and the behavior can be seen as acceptable in certain places within certain limits. In chapter 4, features of uruur are presented within the life cycle to demonstrate that this behavior may be acceptable within certain life stages and for young men more than women.

Configurations of Social Space and Mobility on Satowan Thus far we have discussed how the people of Satowan often engage within a larger social group, the Mortlockese. We also found that an ethnic identity as Mortlockese becomes increasingly pronounced in their interactions with the people in the urban center of Chuuk and considered the ways in which urban place and space are defined. We can now begin to examine, more closely, the group’s system of territorial mobility meaningful to “home,” which equally shapes understandings of movement. Many years ago Mayer and Mayer

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(1974, 10), in the ethnographic classic Townsmen or Tribesmen, describe those who are adept in both rural and urban places as “culturally ‘urbanized’ without having been correspondingly ‘detribalized.’” In other words, urbanization is not a state but a process that involves the ties and constant reflection between origin and destination. Among the Hausa people of northern Nigeria, Olofson (1976, 1985) explores a wide range of emic categories of spatial mobility and the cultural content and values that they attach to these categories. Instead of engaging in discussions about whether mobility is temporary or permanent, Olofson presents an array of mobility experiences ranging from the legitimate to the illegitimate. According to Olofson, legitimate forms of mobility are closely tied to “useful” purposes such as keeping the compound together economically and promoting family cohesion. Improper mobility, on the other hand, results in “useless” activities that bring shame and reflect badly on related kin. In a similar fashion, Frazer (1985) describes a type of movement, called liliu, among the To‘ambaita of the Solomon Islands. “Liliu” means “to wander around” and it is closely associated with the To‘ambaita in the urban center, Honiara. Frazer, however, does not take the position that wandering about reflects the To‘ambaita’s politico-economic stance within the urban setting. Instead, like Olofson, Frazer places liliu within a category of spatial mobility in To‘ambaita life to consider how it fits with broader social processes. Configurations of social space and mobility among the people of Satowan are a highly complex phenomena. Social space, which may include mobility, stresses the significance of subjective or cognitive “space” as a way of knowing and evaluating the physical environment and behavior. Events are expressed by metaphors of staying and moving, coming and going, purpose and wander, commitment and estrangement, trodden and avoided paths. People’s corresponding mobility is described as embodiments, journeys and travels, an imagery of relationships between people and social space. In attempting to clarify the notion of social or cognitive space as a framework for a comprehensive understanding of mobility, it would be useful to describe the characteristics of Satowan islet that, in turn, inform aspects of mobility (map 3.2). The white sand road running from Efong to Eor is flattened by patrons in bare feet or slippers using wheel barrows to carry heavy food items and occasionally a sleeping baby (figure 3.1). Wooden power poles jot the sandy path connected to a large generator which supplied Satowan with only one year of power in 1996. During the day one gives a silent nod and a tail-ended greeting (allim) to passersby. During the evenings, without the aid of much moonlight or a flashlight, shadows move along the sandy path though not incognito since the sway and weight of feet, silhouettes, and the groups that people keep are

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FIGURE 3.1 Children walking on main sand road near Falopol Homesite, June 2009. Courtesy of Rev. Fr. Bruce M. Roby.

known. There are also two narrower trails running parallel to the sandy path. One on the ocean side (rós) for those walking to the taro patches; another on the denser lagoon side (róró) which provides more shade and is frequented during hot afternoons. One only has to dodge the occasional falling coconut and be careful not to trod on leashed pigs. Sleeping houses, cookhouses, and meeting houses (faal) are open and face the road unlike the burial plots on each homesite which align along the “traditional” north-south positioning of the islet (figure 3.2). According to some people from Lukunor and Kuttu, the sleeping houses and most cookhouses on these atolls also face the road. I could not, however, discern why. Some state that there is a fear that houses that lie perpendicular would grow “empty” like graves. Recently, however, the Catholics have adopted the east-west positioning of graves inspired by the Bishop’s viewing of burial rituals on New Guinea. The spatial metaphor associates the alignment of graves with the rising of Christ in the East as indicated in burial rites. Those who do not follow the east-west positioning like those who commit suicide are “just bury, look like animal,” as one elderly Mortlockese woman said, with no headstone, gravesite so “nobody will come and cry on you.” There are also special people who are buried diagonally like canoe carvers; men who could build the faal, and men who could turn over a canoe after it toppled in the water. In olden times warriors were buried diagonally.

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FIGURE 3.2 Children sitting on grave aligned north-south. In background, east-west positioning of grave and water catchment, Lenean Homesite, February 1998.

On the atoll, most dwellings lie along the interior on the lagoon side (róró) where most types of purposeful, open activity take place. The róró side of the islet provides fresh groundwater, marine resources, and protection from northeasterly storms offered by the lagoon (Ayers and Clayshulte 1985). Unlike the ocean side (rós), the calmer lagoon waters allow for the docking of boats and competitions involving swimming, fishing, and sailing and paddling canoes. On Satowan, the people of Eor Village, and sometimes the people of Lukelap as well, claim that there are more of the old ways in the south. The south holds more frequent taboos on land and sea (pwaaw) and fishing events like the faukö. The southern villages often champion the yearly visits from the Sanitation Office, which prompt the shoveling of clean white sand on the road, around the sleeping houses, cookhouses, and meeting houses. Eor’s features are dramatically illustrated by an evening stroll through the villages. As a northern villager noted, “They [Eor and Lukelap] sleep with the chickens,” unlike the northerners (Kulong and Efong), kept awake by rumbling generators. More modern amenities like solar lamps and motorboats are found in Kulong and Efong housed in wooden and concrete structures unlike the more plentiful thatch houses in the south, where there are also more flowers, bananas, and breadfruit trees (figure 3.3). The villagers of Eor continue

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FIGURE 3.3 Thatch sleeping houses in Parang Homesite, January 1998. Sleeping house on left, called Emmaus, originally built for Catholic retreat in 1996.

to craft the luul (rope) made from coconut husk fibers used for binding fish traps, canoe parts, and structures for the housewarming (afinuun). In previous times, the luul was used for head taxes to the municipal government when jobs were scare; but its highest value is when it is placed in meaningful knots within the coffins of special people. Another illustration of Eor’s historical depth was featured some ten years ago at the death of a young man, named Alib, from Lerong Homesite. Alib was asked by the finichi (firstborn woman) of Turek Homesite to climb for coconuts. As a boy, he spent many nights in Turek sleeping in the faal among other young boys and eagerly accommodated requests for tree climbing. His mother, Naomi, was adopted into Turek, the homesite of the paramount chief (makal) of the Sou-Eor clan. His kinsfolk were busy preparing for the celebration of a new motorboat (wiö), which traditionally set out to sea on Saturdays, like paddling and sailing canoes in earlier times. On this day, he was charged with gathering bundles of coconuts (ummun nuu) as were other falang(s) related to the Sou-Eor clan. On this last request, without anyone knowing, he fell from the tree in Turek and was injured, but he managed to stumble past his related homesites—Fanior, Turutu, Lemwar, Wenikau—to the southernmost, Lerong, the original place of his mother and clan. By midday, a clanswoman from Turek swimming in the lagoon caught sight of him. She and several young boys

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gathered around him while he sat propped unconscious against a breadfruit tree. They carried him back to Turek to rest while they searched for the local doctor, who discovered he fractured his neck. He was first taken to the dispensary, in Efong, where he died, and then brought back to Turek. At his eulogy, the young man’s circular meandering from Turek to Lerong and back—homesites which lie in Eor—was both sorrowful and yet a glorification of the ties between homesites that Eor Village is typically known for. There is also a stereotypical personality attached to the southern people. Eor and Lukelap people are more obedient, humble, and less loquacious, to the point of being mëlöuch (slow-minded or passive), or so they are teased. The people of Lukelap have the added reputation of being “stingy” with their land and asset, seen in the continual intermarriage of the three clans. Those of Lukelap are also seen as more pach (to join or to be more intertwined) to Weno because of their connection to the late Petrus Mailo whose brother was adopted to their “mother” in German times. If the people of the southern villages view themselves as more “traditional” then what follows is the more fleeting, less stationary, symbolism of northern people and northern places. Kulong, and especially Efong, are overpopulated with people and underpopulated with breadfruit trees which not only signify subsistence but evoke feelings of identity for atoll societies, as in the phrase “uwan efoch maai?” a metaphoric question meaning “are you from the same breadfruit tree or the same clan?” On rare occasions, one is also more likely to witness opposite-sex persons engaged in conversation, overt drinking, and cases of unwed pregnancies in Efong. But its more devalued characteristic, at least for the people of the south, is that people from the north “show off” and have to depend on modern items. There are also fissions between the north and the south based on religious affiliations. In addition to Catholics and Protestants, there are also roughly thirty Bahai members and a handful of Jehovah’s Witnesses. Early Sunday morning, patrons are called to attend service. The Catholics ring an iron bell, which Protestants can distinguish from the lower sound of a gas tank. Efong people claim that Catholics who reside mostly in the south are more likely to drink and smoke than their northern counterparts, the Protestants. The Protestants also claim that by receiving communion every Sunday, Catholics are less mindful of the significance of communion, which they receive only four times a year. There are also two abandoned cemeteries where, in previous times, Protestants and Catholics were buried separately until the return of burial of kin on the homesite in the early 1970s. Although the people of Satowan certainly value having their kin buried on their homesite, there are other possible reasons why burials at the cemeteries ceased in the early 1970s. One, the Protestant and Catholic cemetery became overcrowded and people were unwilling

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to give up more parcels of land. Two, the visits of both Catholic and Protestant leaders who opposed burial on the homesite became sparse. Not surprisingly, the people up north perceive the manifestations of their site differently. Politics rests squarely among the largest clan on Satowan, the Sapunippi. Large clans can also secure project money for the needs of their clan. Although project money is supposed to be used for municipal projects concerning infrastructure, very often, it is also used to purchase boats, sewing machines, material for meeting houses, sleeping houses, piggeries, and solar lamps. For this reasons, “project” is also called “hand-outs.” Large clans with educated men often can play both the “pitcher and catcher” in modern politics. The phrase “pitcher and catcher” came about in the 1990s when Sasao Gouland became governor of Chuuk not long after his wife’s brother, Tosiwo Nakayama, was the FSM president (1979–1987). In January 1998, Efong Village displayed its influence at the funeral of two prominent men, one of whom was Krispen Carlos. Krispen was the long-time mayor and a savvy businessman who owned one of the only two stores on Satowan and experimented with a twenty-five-cent video show and pool house. He was also known for frequenting the taro patch daily (kunupwel)—features which often caused others to overlook his status of peche sesset (an immigrant, his mother was from Lukunor). For his funeral, each falang or homesite prepared two pounded breadfruit (kón), one taro or breadfruit mweal (starch with coconut milk poured over it), and provided one banana bunch and ten coconuts to feed the families of the deceased and the many visitors from the Mortlocks. In addition, the employed men on Weno contributed one sack of rice, a bottle of coffee, and two packages of sugar, and the wage-earning women donated a case of soda and five packs of bread, which were brought to Satowan on a government-sponsored ship. The village of Efong also contains most of the municipal buildings, the dock, the superdispensary (for the Mid- and Lower Mortlocks), one of the only two stores (the other in Kulong), an abandoned cemetery, and the Mortlock Junior High School (ninth and tenth grades) which includes dorms that were recently closed down because of their dilapidated condition. This year the Mortlock Junior High School, which is the only high school for the Mortlocks, enrolled 150 students from the Mid- and Lower Mortlocks while most from the Upper Mortlocks prefer to attend Chuuk High School in Weno. Many of the students reside with kin or clan members on Satowan, while the remaining are assigned to thirty volunteers who drew ballots for sponsors. Kulong, an offshoot of Efong, contains one store, the Protestant church, the elementary school, and the Head Start school. The villages and homesites described are significant for an understanding of movement. The people of Satowan engage in a collage of mobility

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experiences; some are considered proper, some less proper. Whether or not mobility is proper or improper, however, depends on a range of contingent descriptions closely related to particular sites on Satowan. Attachments and Movements on Land and Water There is no real objective “public” space on Satowan as we understand it in an urban environment characteristically inhabited by urban people. All land on Satowan, whether inhabited or not, including taro patches and adjacent lagoon water, belongs and is attached to a homesite, clan, or individual owner. Even places that harbor what may be perceived as public places like the abandoned cemeteries, the elementary school, the dispensary, and the broken-down ice-plant are still sites that feature into the personal space of clan owners. On Satowan, both the St. Joseph’s Church purchased by the Catholic Diocese and the Bethel Church, better known as the Mission, purchased by the Protestant Liebenzell, as well as a few municipal buildings and pathways are frequented by numerous patrons but are believed, nonetheless, to be interconnected with the original owner or clan owners. According to one informant who is a member of the parish council, in 1997 the Vicariate of the Marshall and Caroline Islands purchased the land where the St. Joseph’s church stands. Apparently, until very recently the more formal purchasing of land was conducted throughout the Mortlocks, except for Lukunor where pieces of land were exchanged. Originally, the Catholic Church land was a gift to the priest from a man whose sister had given birth to a child after continual miscarriages. As for the Protestant Church, the original clan owners of the land have died out. However, another clan that has many members with leadership positions in the church acts as the guardian of the land and church. Portions of the land where the elementary school stands are owned by the children of the late Estanis, one of three island men sent to attend school in Palau during the Japanese era. When Estanis was mayor he provided the municipal government with ample places to build the elementary school, municipal office, and the dispensary. Estanis’s eldest son claims that these lands still belong to him and his siblings highlighting that there were no monetary compensations. This belief is shared by others except for some who claim that because Estanis acquired these lands while he was unmarried, a portion, therefore, traditionally should be given to his clan. On the islet, it is customary for a man to move to his wife’s natal homesite upon marriage. Those who reside on each homesite theoretically include the women of the descent line, their husbands, and their unmarried children. There are approximately forty falang(s) on homesites on the islet that derive

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their name from plots of land or some other related characteristic (discussed in chapter four). As Flinn (1992, 55) describes, the members of a descent line refer to themselves as the people of a named homesite. The homesite includes one or more sleeping houses, cookhouses, meeting houses (faal), burial plots, outhouses, water catchments, and occasionally a storage house as well. On the homesite, members of the lineage move about freely. “We say we are from one woman,” said one man from Satowan describing where one has rights, power, and authority to a falang and clan assets. Immediately beyond the homesite, however, behaving in nonkin spaces becomes highly scrutinized. Since every space on Satowan is intimately tied to a clan or lineage, to wander about to unrelated places, or places of nonkin, is considered an improper type of mobility. Some sites on Satowan, however, lie “unoccupied,” or somewhat occupied, and assume a spatial dimension reflective of the social significance the inhabitants have for it. Table 3.1 gives a brief description of four places on Satowan and the kinds of mobility associated with each site. “Fanuan uruur” is land that allows for a special type of mobility called “uruur” (to wander). Many years ago, however, Tolerton and Rauch (1949, 78) depicted this type of land on Lukunor as “detached from identification with any particular lineage and is therefore more likely to be used in payment of debts, indemnities or for services.” The authors derive the “detached” significance from the local identification of land (fanuan) that wanders (uruur). It is highly likely that they may have misidentified, or perhaps placed added emphasis on “detached” lands rather than on the “detached” type of mobility that is allowed on it. According to the people of Satowan, for example, fanuan uruur are places like the surrounding islets of Satowan that are either individual or clan owned. There are twenty islets surrounding Satowan; nineteen lie north: Fatikat, Letau, Ewal, Enekep, Simalap, Ponon-Kis, Ponon-Lap, Alangfanu, Chonifar, Cholap, Tawanikich, Peilisiop, Faupuker, Fauchan #1, Fauchan #2, Fauchan #3, Fauchan #4, Fauchan #5, and Elengenmesenk. The last islet, Weito, owned by the Sou-Eor Clan, lies south of Satowan between Satowan and Ta. Weito used to be separate from Ta but has recently filled with sand.4 Two other islets have recently washed away: Mesawech and Anepula. These last two islets are considered to be sand beaches because they lacked coconut trees. Except for Weito, which lies south of Satowan, for the most part the islets are uninhabited though they have two primary purposes. First, is the provision of food or the potential for food in the future. All the islets have coconut trees, three have breadfruit trees, and four have temporary shelters built on the islet. During the time when copra was sold, coconuts were collected from these islets. Now, the people of Satowan collect food from these islets mainly

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Chapter 3 TABLE 3.1 Sites on Satowan That Inform Mobility

Site on Satowana

Description

Kinds of Mobility

Fanuan uruur

fanuan (land) uruur (to wander) Includes twenty islets surrounding Satowan (clan and individual owners) Mostly coconut trees, few breadfruit trees, uninhabited with few temporary shelters

uruur, to wander onöset, to gather fish for later use asösö, to vacation, rest, relax, also where young men imbibe homebrewed alcohol (iis)

Ilük

The “back” of the atoll, ocean side (rós), uninhabited Filled with trees and loud sounds of waves

uruur, to wander asusu, covert affairs asösö, to vacation, rest, relax, also where young men imbibe iis and smoke marijuana

Poro

Northern tip of atoll Owned by five clans White sands imagery similar to Parang, but faded Reminiscent of Japanese occupation and forced mobility to Afaren and Alengachuk (islets near Kuttu and Móch)

uruur, to wander asösö, to vacation, rest, relax

Parang

Southern “white sands” tip of islet Owned by eight clans (all in Eor Village) “A Parang Letipach” (see chap. 5) Parang is the place of the pwaaw, closely associated with the makal (chief) of Sou-Eor

uruur, to wander asösö, to vacation, rest, relax pwaaw, taboo and restricted movement

a

Both fanuan uruur and ilük are generic sites, unlike Poro and Parang which are place names.

for big feasts, for firewood, and for food for pigs. The people also gather fish for later use (onöset), usually in the summer months when the water is low and calm. A second, and equally important feature is that these islets allow for several kinds of mobility: to uruur, to get away from family tension or from hard work (asösö), to vacation, to take a nap, and to hide while drinking. Even Pluto, a tiny parcel of white sand with a single tree that lies off Satowan’s southern tip, which has yet to be considered an islet, is owned by a young man

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FIGURE 3.4 Author with children from Wenikau Homesite on newly formed sandbar, Pluto, February 1998.

who has built a small sleeping house to show his ownership and to secure a private place to sleep on hot afternoons (figure 3.4). Another site to be enjoyed or to seek temporary privacy is ilük. Potential couples bypassing each other on the sandy path give anonymous clues to meet secretly (autek) at the ocean side of the islet or the “back” (ilük) where foliage and the sound of crashing waves provide a hideout for covert affairs. Occasionally to relax (asösö) includes drinking homebrewed alcohol (made from baker’s yeast, water, and sugar) or smoking marijuana because like most other places in the Mortlocks, alcohol is illegal, though it is expected that young men stow alcohol when they arrive by ship. They make every attempt to go undetected from the municipal police who fine and brandish them to the kanapus (calaboose). However, there isn’t any jail on Satowan, so they simply call the person kanapus. Otherwise, if a young man has an available mwoota (motorboat), he may wander to the uninhabited islets north of Satowan or to the nearby islets, Weito and Pluto. Still another site is Poro, also known as Kansoku, a Japanese name given to the northern tip of the atoll once occupied by the garrison headquarters and reminiscent of the forced migration of the people of Satowan to Afaren and Alengachuk, islets near Kuttu and Móch. Poro is owned by four northern homesites of Lekulu, Lenean, Aliap, Sot, and another parcel owned by

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an individual from Aliap. The clans of this homesite are afakur (members of the male lineage) to Saleken where the makal (chief) of Efong resides. Poro’s significance is similar to Parang, the white sand plot at the southern tip of Satowan, although its white sands have eroded caused by the digging for the dock in nearby Reuou in the 1940s. It is now overgrown with bushes, trees, and Japanese remnants that include a large cement foundation used for a weather station, a large water tank, and overland cement caves used as gun emplacements. Another site on Satowan that provides for a place to wander lies on the southern tip of Satowan, called Parang. Parang is a narrow strip of land, made up mostly of white sand and coconut trees. The people of Satowan place much symbolic value on Parang. Foremost is Parang’s sentimental value: a place that moves “the gut”;5 a place that moves (makutukut) the heart; a place to uruur (wander) on cool afternoons, to seek privacy, and to relieve stress. Parang is comprised of eight smaller parcels: Lekul, Leulau, Lepar, Alang Móch, Manipwal, Parang (Lerong), Parang (Turutu), and Parang (Wenikau). In the summer of 1996, a youth retreat was held in Parang, which is better known by the younger people of Satowan as Emmaus, the place described in the Bible (Luke 24:13) where Jesus revealed himself after he rose from the dead. Parang and the surrounding water (on the lagoon side) also make up the area where the chief (makal) declares a pwaaw. A pwaaw is a prohibition on the gathering of food from land or sea which are more often declared in the south and hardly ever in the north. Without special permission, a pwaaw also prohibits traversing the designated area. Although it could be called to replenish the island’s land and sea resources, the more common reason is to honor the passing of a clan member. Kimono, the makal of Eor Village, extends a pwaaw on land which is his traditional right; while his right of pwaaw into the shallow waters stretching to Echikech on the lagoon side is his right as the head of his clan, the Sou-Eor (figure 3.5). The taboo on land starts from Lekul which borders on Lerong the southernmost homesite. It extends to Echikech, which lies between Satowan and the nearby islet, Weito. It also includes the water between Satowan and Weito, called Lemou (see map 3.2). Recent events, however, threaten the significance of Parang as a place that informs aspects of mobility. When I arrived on Satowan, a pwaaw was being discussed between the makal and the villagers of Eor over Parang. Parang had always remained uninhabited until recently when a woman who was a member of the Sor clan and held traditional rights to portions of Parang, her husband, and their adopted daughter from an overextended homesite built a sleeping house, a faal, and a cookhouse.

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FIGURE 3.5 Kimono, makal (chief) of Sou-Eor in the faal (meeting house), Wenikau Homesite, February 1998.

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The previous year Kimono had declared a pwaaw on Parang. The stewards planted a mechen at the edge of Lerong and in the shallow water between Satowan and nearby Ta. A mechen is a stick with young coconut leaves (upwut) placed in the reef, shallow area, or land plot declaring no trespassing for a certain amount of time. The couple who recently moved to the area were allowed to stay provided they refrained from gathering firewood, picking food, or fishing within the reef. And another man was allowed to traverse Parang on his way to Weito to feed his pigs. But Kimono’s most recent pwaaw stirred anxieties among those from Eor who objected to both the couple and the pig owner being allowed to reside or traverse in the restricted area when typically a pwaaw did not allow for such activity. The recent planting of the couple heightened misgivings about the right of the couple and the continuities of Parang. It was also discovered that the pig owner paid some young men to feed his animals in exchange for cigarettes and stole food from the prohibited area. The tensions that arose with the couple and the pig owner illustrate problems of defining a boundary amongst issues of overcrowding and people “spilling over” into available space. Indeed, the extension of inhabitants on Parang undermines the sanctity of the pwaaw and the power of the makal to declare a taboo. In many ways, the idealistic aging makal clashes with the modern codes that are written in the 1991 Satowan Constitution: “No law may restrict the freedom of residents of Satowan to move and migrate within the territory of Satowan” (1991, Article IV, Section 10). How, they ask, will Kimono champion the $600,000 appropriated for a dock in Parang and an extra $100,000 for an envisioned bridge between Parang and nearby Ta? How is the power of the makal affected once he has fewer areas to declare a pwaaw? It was later decided that the pig owner would gather food from his homesite in Kulong and transport it by boat to Weito, effectively avoiding all taboo areas. But the couple had a harder dilemma to resolve. The most paramount was that the woman was the finichi (firstborn) of the makal declaring the pwaaw and the wife of a man who was peche sesset (an immigrant, his mother was from Tonoas) to Satowan. Though there were misgivings of his influence, the couple and their daughter were allowed to stay provided that they refrained from gathering food.

From a Geography on the Ground to a “Geography in the Mind” Configurations of social space and mobility are intricately tied to the identification of territory and clan, and the site where the behavior takes place. This

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chapter attempted to define and clarify the notion of social space as a framework for a comprehensive understanding of mobility experience. Places like fanuan uruur, ilük, Poro, and Parang, in other words, are not just physical, geographical places on the ground; they also correspond, as Olofson (1976, 70) has written, to notions of a “geography in the mind.” Parang is but one example of a place beyond the homesite that speaks to mobility being closely tied to the identification of territory and clan. Restricted movement during the pwaaw is symbolic of the ways in which the people of Satowan, as well as other atoll dwellers in the Mortlocks, engage in a creative and interactive dialogue with their environment and choose to prohibit their collection of food, resources, and movement itself in a particular place for a particular purpose. This is a unique type of prohibited mobility which the people of Satowan proudly acknowledge more than ever because it appears to be diminishing in other places, especially in the Chuuk Lagoon.6 Parang is also a reflection of the people of Eor Village who are commonly thought of as being more traditional. The people of Eor Village and the SouEor clan honor Kimono because he calls more frequent and a longer pwaaw than the other two chiefs of the atoll. His predecessor was also the only makal who objected to Satowan becoming the subcenter of the Mortlocks in 1971, perhaps fearing that his sliver of a village would be consumed by the proposed infrastructure. In contrast, Poro, which sits on the northern tip of the atoll, has lost some of its “white sands” appeal which, metaphorically speaking, reflects the less traditional ways of the northern people—at least according to those in the south. With an angry tone, Silvester, the makal of Efong, recalled his last pwaaw. Apparently a member of his clan removed coconut leaves to fertilize his taro patch. This was considered a breach of the prohibition since entering the designated area and removing the leaves was also considered taboo. Because every place on Satowan is intimately associated with a clan or lineage, movement on every site is structured, and the meaning of movement is often informed by locality. This, perhaps, helps to explain why to wander (uruur) among unrelated people in nonkin places in urban or “public” places earns considerable disdain. Equally disturbing is when young men “glue” (appach) to nonkin people for drink and cigarettes. The interpretation of mobility, therefore, is subject to both fronts—both the rural and the urban scene. Indeed, at some level, the urban center is but an extension of what is better understood as territorial mobility at home. In chapter 4, “Emic Understandings of Movement,” social space is further defined as the influence of a system of local beliefs and attitudes surrounding an individual based on combinations of age, gender, marital status, and childbirth. I will use the life cycle as the major ordering principle to discuss different kinds of territorial mobility

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that are inherent to the social and cultural life for the people of Satowan. As in this chapter, I will illustrate that mobility is often incorporated within larger frames of cultural understandings of proper and improper behavior.

Notes 1. Anthropologists have written about cultural identity, which is sometimes differentiated from ethnicity. For example, according to Linnekin and Poyer (1990, 4), the study of cultural identity focuses on the “symbols, meanings, and indigenous categories,” whereas the study of ethnicity does not. Thus, the authors contend that “oceanic ethnotheories are not necessarily ethnic theories” (Linnekin and Poyer 1990, 5). The most persuasive arguments supporting this view are presented in notions of personhood, discussed by Lieber (1990), and the sharing of food, discussed by Flinn (1990) in the text. 2. Nopung and Namenin are places in Mechitiw traditionally owned by the Sapunippi but in more recent times had been settled by the Rak clan. 3. Nomosepi is a place in Mechitiw where people gather to eat. There are other places in Chuuk called Nomosepi, which indicates a tie with the Sapunippi clan. 4. There is another islet named Weito, located west of Ta, that belongs to Ta. 5. As Marshall (1994, 2) states, the Carolinian atoll dwellers traditionally view “the gut” as the seat of thought and feeling. 6. According to Rubinstein (pers. comm.), the practice of pwaaw (and cognate forms) is widespread in the Western and Caroline Islands, including Palau and the Yap outer islands.

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4 Emic Understandings of Movement

hus far I have attempted to sketch certain configurations of social space and argued that this is pertinent to the understanding of how individuals conceive of some kinds of mobility. In attempting to write about “conceptions of space” or the notion of social or cognitive space as a framework for a comprehensive understanding of mobility, examples were given of places that speak to mobility being closely tied to the identification of territory and clan. A consideration of how identity is continually reinforced by perceptions that exist on and off the atoll was offered. Now that a more emic stance of mobility has been illustrated, the time is ripe for a further analysis of mobility using the life cycle as the major ordering principle. The life cycle is defined as the influence of a system of forces surrounding an individual based on combinations of age, sex, marital status, and fertility. Sociologists have been instrumental in relating the life cycle and career patterns with migration, as they provide a particular orientation to the world outside and its influence, and a particular set of opportunities at different stages of the family (Shaw 1975, 33). Mobility, therefore, is seen as indicative of how an individual responds as he transitions from birth through marriage and beyond. Sociologists, however, have been less successful at illustrating cultural or emic spaces within the orientation of the life cycle that may influence mobility patterns. This perspective embodies localized qualities of movement represented by a particular set of circumstances, or an ongoing frame of reference, that members of a particular unit employ as they go from stage to stage. In the writings about third world societies, this is often thought of as territorial mobility.

T

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Human geographer Bhim Prasad Subedi (1993) describes territorial mobility as an inherent aspect of social and cultural life for the people of Nepal. He argues that the discussion of mobility should be based on the indigenous meanings attached to movements rather than classifying moves based on the experience of western societies and conventional western terminologies. In his study of territorial mobility, Subedi employs two local concepts: basai sarai (relocation) and ghumphir (short-term mobility). Although the first concept, basai sarai, may be likened to the Western notion of permanent relocation, it is also intertwined with cultural considerations like one who may be banished for a cultural offense. The more likely event involves those who engage in ghumphir, or short-term mobility, which “are made by household members for social, religious, and economic purposes intended to improve household status, strengthen interhousehold and kin relationships, and fulfill customary household obligations” (1993, 155). Writing on the Hausa people of Northern Nigeria, anthropologist Harold Olofson (1976, 1985) engages in a similar discussion of movement. There is, for example, movement that is absent of certain goals and destination (yawon Dandi) and movement that is intended for “useful work” (k’aura) according to local understandings of territorial mobility. Like Subedi, Olofson puts forth the subjective component or behavioral orientations to better uncover values, aspirations, and cultural traditions that shape mobility behavior. As reiterated by human geographer Anne Buttimer, the challenge is for researchers to articulate “new metaphors and cognitive categories that strive toward a contextual understanding of migrant identity” (1985, 313) rather than a focus strictly concerned with geographical mobility in its obvious sense. Fashioned after Olofson’s (1985) writings, this study will first consider proper and appropriate aspects of movement using the life cycle to articulate facets of mobility that are essentially related to a life stage. For example, acceptable forms of movement for the people of Satowan often involve a specified reason and place that is normally made known to others. Many of these kinds of proper mobility are related to life stages involving age, marital status, and childbirth, as well as gender-specific activities, religion, economic sustenance, and cultural ceremonies marking transitions (table 4.1). The faukö, for example, is a fishing event which usually marks the time when young men and women are considered mirit, or mature. It is at this point that young people are encouraged to respect and acknowledge a plethora of boundaries: bodily and gestural boundaries, boundaries with the lineage and relations with their afakur (the clan of their father), boundaries with nonkin, and acceptable forms of boundaries between men and women. Mobility is also considered acceptable if there is a continual reciprocity between those away and those at home. Those living away from the home-

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TABLE 4.1 Kinds and Attributes of Proper Mobility Churi Emweri Chöchö Tapwelo murin Mweich Lepwel Faukö

Onöset Asösö

Wonofal

To visit. To visit the sick. To stay in the faal (meeting house) near the dead. To follow after (spouse). To go for a meeting; for women, religious gatherings are most common. Young men (aluel) accompany their fathers or join groups (apwipwi) to work in the taro patch cultivating and cleaning. Fishing event when young men (aluel) and young women (fapul) take part in the homesite of their afakur (the clan of their fathers); marks a time when aluel and fapul are considered mirit (mature). To spend a few days collecting fish for later use at the surrounding islets. To get away from family tensions, to relax, to go on a vacation; can also mean to take a nap, to rest after a long walk or run, or getting out from under the heat; students returning for summer asösö on Satowan. From “won,” the preparation of men; for males, corresponds to leaving the household to sleep in the nearby faal at puberty; for females, a time to “preserve” themselves and to learn dictates of culture. Also learns to be “obedient” to afakur (clan of the father).

site continually reinforce their membership through acts of reciprocity, seen in wealth flows and the housing of other kin members in the host area. Among the people of Satowan, for example, it is not necessarily important to define how long others intend to be away from the atoll, which could range from a few days to a few years. In fact, often the people of Satowan do not know how long their siblings and even spouses intend to live or work elsewhere. Similarly, those living off the atoll do not often have a defined period to remain away. What appears to be more central is if the person away reciprocates with kin back home. Frequently the level of reciprocity is used to measure “time and distance” between those on the atoll and those living elsewhere. The reciprocity that occurs points to the last criteria that determines acceptable movement: the intention to return to the homesite. Again, when the person living away decides to move back to the atoll may not be a crucial factor, except for those who are nearing death, or children returning before or soon after the death of a parent. Otherwise, it is the continual affiliation with kin, either on or off the atoll, that informs the intention to return.

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In contrast to proper and appropriate mobility, the second focus of this discussion is on some improper and inappropriate aspects of mobility. In some respect, improper forms are the polar opposite of proper forms—movement that is unstructured, appears to have no purpose, and does little to enhance the homesite. However, as with proper mobility, improper kinds are guided by features of the life cycle. In this discussion, I will reintroduce a particular kind of mobility, called “uruur” (to wander), whose qualities could only arise from aspects of immobility or localization set within the cultural realm of movement experienced by young men. I will also discuss a particular aspect of mobility—being an immigrant or “peche sesset”—which also features strongly as an improper kind because of its association with people with no roots. Although the term peche sesset could apply to both men and women, the consequences for women weigh heavier because much of their mobility can be traced to elements of a matrilocal and matrilineal society.

Spatial Mobility and the Life Cycle The people of Satowan characterize basic elements of the life cycle according to age, sex, and marital status. There are five broad life stages: infancy, childhood, young adulthood, adulthood, and old age. A child’s birth often draws near the female members of its parents’ clan to celebrate the child’s entrance into the lineage. More often, the infant (manukol) is indulged through constant physical touch and through breastfeeding by several related women (Rubinstein 1995). An infant becomes a child at around three or four, when boys (áát) and girls (lierá) cease breastfeeding and are half-clothed on a regular basis. In the third stage, children transition to young adults between the ages of fifteen and eighteen, which is occasionally marked with their participation in a special fishing ceremony called the “faukö.” In the fourth stage, the birth of a child for a woman and man, as well as an increasing commitment to the wife’s place marks the transition. Finally, the decline of physical abilities between the ages of fifty and sixty marks the final life-cycle stage of old age for men (reikewe), with the addition of the onset of menopause for women (liwel). Of the five stages, most of my discussion is about the transition from childhood to adulthood. At the end of infancy, the process of socialization begins to ebb outward, moving the child through successive stages of expanding affiliation and identification, bounded within wider circles of kin (Rubinstein 1995). As Thomas (1978) states, activities are kept close to the clan homesite where childcare is conducted intimately among clan mates, and a child’s relations with nonclan mates is often discouraged and even punished. Children are taught to share their food, their support, and eventually their labor among clan mates. This

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inculcates an abiding interest in clan welfare, and the necessity of cooperatively preserving it represents a preeminent concern of parents as one of the most dominant themes of child-raising (Thomas 1978, 106). At this stage, the locus for children is mostly contextualized “under the rule of fathers and mothers” (Goodenough 1992). Children, for the most part, are ranked as semirit, “understand-nots,” as explained by the former chief of Weno, the late Petrus Mailo: “We can indicate to it ‘Come here!’ and it comes. We are able to tell it to go away, and it goes. We can call it to come and eat, and it comes to eat. That is the beginning of instruction in understanding among us humans, the beginning of it. That is enough to look for at that age rank” (Goodenough 1992, 263). The next stage occurs between the ages of fifteen and eighteen, which young men (aluel) and young women (fapul) occasionally mark with participation in the faukö (fishing event). The faukö also corresponds to a life stage when young boys leave the house of their sisters and sleep in the nearby faal (meeting house). The security of the domestic household is replaced by the lineage and its organization of the meeting house where, according to Rubinstein (1995, 39), “the leisurely swapping of stories and lore, the preparation of fish materials, the planning of work activities, and the practicing of village dances and chants” take place. The birth of a child for a woman (chöpöt) in her early twenties often characterizes the next stage. This is also a distinguishing transition for a man (mwään), in addition to a firm commitment to his wife’s place. Satowan engages in a postmarital residence, called matrilocal, where upon marriage women remain while most men leave their natal place and become attached to their wife’s place. As he approaches old age, however, a married man may return to his natal place if his wife dies before him, if he gains seniority in the stewardship of his lineage land and assets, or if he desires to be cared for by his lineage members. Increasingly, manhood also involves venturing beyond Satowan for work or formal education. Men who are able to do so are often highly respected and take on considerable roles in atoll affairs even while living away. Many men and women also attend church activities (mweich) which has increasingly become another aspect of this life-cycle stage. In fact, most men and women are involved in religious groups (figure 4.1, 4.2). The Catholic men’s groups include the Saladore, Alwise, and Joseph. Women’s groups include the Saladora, Maria, and Mercedes. “Asor,” meaning “sacrifice,” is a mixed-gender group. For Protestants there are the Finalisi Women’s Group and the Soukowa or deacon group. Both Catholics and Protestants also take part in Christmas and Easter celebrations hosted by different groups in the Mortlocks. Another significant event for the Catholics is the celebration of the Diocese (Taiosis) of the Caroline Islands which was held nearby at Móch in 1998.

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FIGURE 4.1 Catholic youths (serafo) visiting the elderly, Aroset Homesite, June 1997. Courtesy of Rev. Fr. Bruce M. Roby.

FIGURE 4.2 Catholic youths (serafo) and others welcoming the first priest from Satowan, Mwaluk Homesite, June 2009. Courtesy of Rev. Fr. Bruce M. Roby.

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The Catholic members from Satowan brought a nuum to present at the altar. A nuum is a wooden instrument used to scoop out water—or symbolically speaking, to scoop out sins—from a canoe (figure 4.3). The banners on the altar read, “Kich Makuran Poun Me Pechen Lon Mortlock,” “We are the head, hands, and feet of the Mortlocks.” Another reads, “Wesetaan Mweichefelin,”

FIGURE 4.3 Canoe builder carving nuum (bailer) for religious event, Mwaluk Homesite, January 1998.

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“It is our local church.” During the event, a priest from the Lagoon spoke of “marginalized” Catholics, and this was followed by a skit involving three cantankerous actors dramatizing young people leaving for Guam, earning fast money, and forgetting about their obligations to family. Throughout Chuuk, skits are often performed to encourage proper behavior. In both serious and funny ways, skits are used to admonish abuse by government and church officials or to help raise topics that are difficult to speak of in small island societies, like land stealing and encroachment. The Structure of Mirit : Proper Attributes of Mobility Children’s games reflect the association of girls (lierá) with the homesite and also relate the types of activities of boys (áát), who are often allowed to venture beyond the homesite. A game of shells erected in the sand, called kipap, allows young girls to reenact family stories and, more often, love stories and arranged marriages. The rarer, luminous shells are the good spirits and ghosts, or the good mothers and wives, seen doing the daily chores required of each homesite which is distinguished by sticks and rocks. Other games, like girls pretending they are mothers, are hardly an exaggeration. Many young girls are seen straddling smaller siblings on their hips and are taught to share in the responsibility of caretaking at a very young age. A favorite event is when a young mother returns from Weno with her baby, perhaps the firstborn, and is greeted by others with showers (atutu) of leaves and torn pieces of paper instead of the usual bunch of candy. While young girls play in or near the homesite, young boys often engage in spear fishing on the reef (asafich), or rafting (atano) on broken canoe parts in the lagoon. With the help of an older boy, the áát fashions boats made from coconut shells, or small canoes made from breadfruit attached to a string and stick, to pull along the shore. Or he may play in the nearby sand meandering his toy rowboat (timma) between sand islands pretending to load and unload cargo. At a later stage, boys also hold competitive chicken fights (afiou malek). Sometimes they roam up and down the main path searching for competitors with roosters or premature chickens strapped under their arm. As relayed to me by a Head Start teacher on Satowan, even with the introduction of formal schooling, children are skilled in basic gender distinctions that are considered traditional. The teacher’s style is to divide his students according to clans and then proceed to tell them how they are connected. He claims by age five or six each child knows which clan he or she is from, and he finds it humorous when young boys, who were fighting before this discovery, quickly become allied afterward. His teaching also involves adult roles. Children are taught that men gather breadfruit and taro, which women prepare;

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men gather coconuts, which women make into milk and oil; men gather pandanus to thatch; women clean clothes and the area surrounding their homesite. So when a lierá inquired about the care of her doll, he responded that a clanswomen would be responsible for bathing and feeding it. The activities among children, for the most part, are carried out near or at the homesite among kinsfolk. When children wander about to unrelated places they are called rapaan. Like children who covet food or handmade toys from their kin, being rapaan is considered improper behavior. Nonetheless, children are semirit, unable to understand the ways of proper culture. It is only at a later stage that proper behavior becomes more censured, as illustrated by the status of being mirit (mature). Mirit connotes maturity, responsibility, and wisdom. According to the people of Satowan, one significant aspect of becoming mirit is avoiding strong or arrogant thought; this prescription can be illustrated in behavioral gestures surrounding church activities. For example, on their return trip to Satowan, the Catholic couple assigned to carry the blessed communion from Lukunor (Mortlocks) is instructed to refrain from speaking and making any sudden gesture until the host is placed in the wooden tabernacle at St. Joseph’s church. Satowan often has no priests and relies on the church on Lukunor for their supply of communion for mass. During the mass, young girls avoid being pochokul (strong) and lamelam tekia (being above or arrogant) by placing the mwárámwár (flower leis) in the hands of the katekista (catechist, Catholic male leaders) at the altar; the men then place these flower leis atop their heads. Rubinstein’s (1979, 96) research on an outer island of Yap named Fais further describes behavioral gestures according to kin variation which connote a constellation of avoidance behavior such as not sharing food, drink, tobacco, perfume, or other personal items, and avoiding personal contact or even each other’s presence. This behavior can be observed when a lierá (girl) makes the transition to a young women (fapul) and is considered mirit. The transition to fapul is most pronounced when a young woman begins to learn about the physical space and the use of her body among others, especially the extended kin, her “brothers,”1 and cross-siblings.2 A young woman also learns not to walk between men, especially men engaged in conversation; to refrain from touching the shoulders and head of her brother; to avoid areas where her brother congregates; and when approaching the faal with men present, to walk bowing with hands placed behind the back and to sit on the outskirts. The most illustrative gesture takes place when she stoops (ópwóro) around the presence of her brothers and men of chiefly rank (Goodenough 1961). This deferential behavior exhibited by females in front of their mature brothers is featured in the film The Silent Keepers (Berraondo

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1994), where women orbit around men considered to be their brothers in order not to incite an incestuous response. What is considered traditional or proper behavior is sometimes met with newer forms of increasing participation in church activities. At one point, the deferential behavior of women bowing (ópwóro) past their brothers became an issue when a visit was made by Catholic women from Chuuk Lagoon. Apparently, the visiting women had instructed the Catholic women on Satowan to refrain from bowing past their brothers while receiving communion, which they viewed as a lack of moral commitment and a resistance to more modern dictates of religion. The Satowan women still receive communion at the altar, make the sign of the cross, and stoop past their brothers as they return to a sitting position on the floor of the church. There have also been attempts to have women become the servers of communion. But the atoll women expressed misgivings about serving their brothers communion, which is to be received only by mouth, an area taboo to related females. They laughed at a plan to have related brothers receive communion from the unrelated servers stationed at the opposite side of the church. It was later decided that they would not change this tradition, especially since most of the katekista (catechist, Catholic male leaders) were opposed. Catholic and Protestant leaders on Weno, the urban center of Chuuk, have also made attempts to have churchgoers attend as a family. However, the Catholics continue to cluster inside the church in scattered groups of men and boys, and women and girls, while the Protestant church segregates its members, with all males lined up against one wall and females against the other. As with young women, the age of becoming mirit also corresponds with puberty for young men, at which time the aluel leaves the household of his sisters and sleeps in a nearby faal or men’s house. Like their female counterparts, young men elicit harmony with others by avoiding sexual topics among opposite-sex members. For young women and men, this stage is occasionally marked with a fishing event called the “faukö,” which usually takes place in the summer depending on the availability of breadfruit and the willingness of elder fishermen to tutor young men. The last faukö was held in June 1998. At the beginning of the faukö, young men at the homesite of their afakur (the clan of their father) prepare twelve to fifteen variously sized fish traps and place them in different areas in the lagoon. They collect the fish on four different occasions. In preparation for the first collection, called the “angeranger” (“nger” meaning the scratches left on the hands by the palms), young girls and the women of the homesite remove the leaves from the coconut fronds used for fastening the fish traps. In turn, the captured fish is shared with all the members of the homesite.

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Following angeranger is sarpopo (póópó meaning floor of the fish trap). Although various materials can be used to make the floor of the fish trap, most often the trunk of the pandanus will be employed. The intensity of skill lies in the opening of the traps in such a way that disorients the fish, preventing them from escaping. The catch is reserved mostly for the men, although leftovers are eaten by the women in the cookhouse. Amongosotup is the third catch, which is reserved for the children who are afakur to the homesite. This collection is meant to “feed” the fathers or ancestors who have passed on. This precedes the final and largest catch, the chonom (from the word “nóómw,” the region of lagoon water associated with an island). The fish is counted in the paddling canoes or the mwoota (motorboat) before returning to shore, divided into equal parts, and fastened with string (faaten iik). This makes it easier to distribute to the fapul on the shore where the aluel exchange fish for variously prepared breadfruit. For the first three collections, the fish is prepared only over an open fire without removing the insides, since it is believed that the removal of the guts will disturb a future catch. Similarly, the preparation of breadfruit is done achung style: cooked over an open fire, then peeled, pitted, and pounded. Throughout the entire period, an etiquette called “asemä” is followed where a portion of the catch, usually the largest fish, is given to the head of the clan to be consumed only by his children. Throughout this period, for roughly five weeks until the last collection of fish, a type of avoidance, called “wonofal” (“won” meaning the preparation of the men for the fishing event) is observed (see table 4.1). Elderly men taking part in the event and the aluel sleep early in the faal on their kieki (sleeping mat) separate from the women. It is said that the fapul, the newly young women, are to “preserve” themselves, to obey the culture, to learn to cook, clean, sew, and to dress appropriately. A young woman is also taught to participate in the homesite of the clan of her father and to learn the “obedience” expected of her. This is why the first homesite where the fapul will exchange breadfruit for fish will be her father’s clan and later she will proceed to exchange at other homesites she is invited to. This exchange was traditionally done to encourage marriage between cross-siblings, which served to retain resources within the lineage. The faukö often marks a period when young men are expected to be more active in the lepwel, the taro patch. During the taro season, from October to February, young men accompany their fathers or join groups, called “apwipwi,” to help harvest, plant, and clean several taro patches. Men who spend several hours a day, except for the ranninfel (Sunday, the day of rest), hoeing, mulching, canal-clearing, transplanting, and laying coconut fronds to prevent weeds in the taro patch are considered to be prestigious and industrious (kunupwel). During the summer months, when the water

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is typically low and calm, a young man may decide to onöset (“on” meaning “sleep” and “set” meaning “fishing”), to spend a few days collecting fish for later use at the surrounding islets belonging to Satowan. Reaching the stage of mirit also includes participation in weekly village meetings (antere) and church activities. Many young men and women join youth groups, called “serafo,” for Catholics, or “aluel me fapul,” for Protestants. At a later age, most of the women and many men of Satowan become deeply involved with church activities. The Maria group of seventy-two women clean in and around the church, take care of visiting priests and nuns, ring the church bell for morning and evening rosaries, and recite novenas for the dead (figure 4.4). The Clustering of Women and the Movement of Men On Satowan, interactions between men and women beyond the homesite are often quite structured. On the main sandy path that runs from the northernmost village of Efong to the southernmost of Eor, there are no instances of hand holding, leisurely strolling of couples, or affectionate greetings as couples pass each other on the narrow trail. In fact, quite often when a couple leaves a function the man will often lead—by as much as twenty or thirty

FIGURE 4.4 Religious groups of women bid farewell to visiting priest, Aroset Homesite, June 2009. Courtesy of Rev. Fr. Bruce M. Roby.

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feet—while his wife walks behind with several other women. At the Protestant church, a narrow aisle runs between the men who sit on one half and the women who sit on the other. Likewise, clusters of men or women can be witnessed in the Catholic domain. Also, during meetings held in the faal, men will sit in the center while women line the edges, since it is the men who act as the spokespeople. The opposite can be observed during the viewing of the dead when women sit center stage while men line the fringes. Very often women are the caretakers of the recently deceased and are allowed to openly grieve for the dead. Younger and older women are found near or at the homesite. Related young women cluster in groups that can be seen chatting, eating lime dipped in salt and soy sauce, and exchanging mwárámwár (flower leis), beaded bracelets, jewelry, slippers, cassette tapes, and a type of dress called the “likoutang” (figure 4.5). Young women sit, kneel, or stand one behind the other grooming each other’s long hair using metal combs made from the fallen Japanese fuselage lying in the jungle. Coconut oil used for the hair and skin provides much intimacy among sisters, an intimacy that is ensured by placing cut hair in banana pods to ensure the continual growth of “cool” and healthy hair.

FIGURE 4.5 Women wearing likoutang, Lerong Homesite, February 1998.

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For nubile women excursions beyond the homesite become more pronounced. They are most often found performing domestic chores, caring for children, and occasionally fishing within the nearby shallow waters with other related women. Adult females are likened to chofar, the spongy meat found within a mature coconut after it has fallen to the ground, sits for a long while, and spurts a shoot. This humorous pun is meant to poke fun at a woman’s ability to sit for long periods gossiping with other women. For young women, the use of a type of dress called the “likoutang,” which many learn to sew at an early age, often symbolizes their passage to womanhood. The likoutang is a loosely styled dress often made with bright, floral material. The square-cut collar, lined with lace, begins about three inches from the base of the neck. The sleeves extend halfway between the elbow and the armpit. Slightly above the edge of the sleeve is an elastic band lined with lace that is fluffed similar to the raised pina sleeve of the Filipino dress. The bodice is like the Hawaiian mumu, which flares out except for a slight pleating around the lower hip or upper thigh area, and is also lined with lace extending below the knees to the middle of the shin. There is a popular two-toned likoutang, used for formal ceremonies, which the women from Satowan claim they designed. The dress has a white bodice contrasted with black material from the hip to the hem. All of the women on Satowan can be seen wearing the likoutang with the traditional skirt (skato) beneath. The skato, a simple slip-like pattern—except for the hem of flower petals, leaves, or some other baroque design—is worn to reinforce the shielding of her hips and thighs. She is able, nonetheless, to sit open legged on the ground for lengthy periods during funeral ceremonies, church gatherings, and hospital stays. While sitting, her children can sit and lie comfortably between her legs. A breastfeeding woman can leisurely pull up the outer dress while the skato shields her below. She can also squat and prepare food over an open fire with the skirt gathered between her legs. On warmer days, she may pull the skato over her breasts to cool herself while reassured that the length of the skirt still conceals. When women travel away from the homesite they often travel in groups. By morning the sand road is filled with students walking to school in Efong. Some manage to hop onto the red Toyota truck that zigzags the main path throughout the day driven by the only two nurses, husband and wife, going from the dispensary in Efong to their homesite in Lerong. Otherwise most everyone walks. On Sundays, younger and older women walk in groups to church and to any other activity that takes them away from the homesite. In their likoutang, with a slight sashay and heavy feet, groups of women walk leisurely avoiding the more circumspect “high feet” (waasaas). For women, there are many kinds of proper mobility that take them away from the homesite. During the chöchö young and elder women sleep in the

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faal of the deceased until the burial. The Catholics spend nine days of mourning (muruluk), which are followed by the burial, nine days of the rosary, and a final celebration (arek). The Protestants follow three days of mourning followed by the arek on the fourth day. Occasionally, the men will sleep outside the faal or return to their homesite if there isn’t enough room. Women also make frequent trips to visit the sick (emweri) on and off the atoll. When women accompany others too weak too travel, they are rewarded with gifts of land called “pauntapw.” Women found away from the atoll travel in groups for specific purposes. At the only hospital located on Weno, related women bring pillows with decorative pillow shams, sheets for beds and for temporary drapes, cold water, a fan, coconut oil, lotion, Omega (menthol liniment), a kieki (sleeping mat), and food for the attendants. Depending on her ailment, relatives may bring local medicine such as herbs, which are chewed and spat on the affected area a required number of times and then blown. Some local medicines, wrapped tightly in bright material about marble size, are placed in the patient’s mouth or dipped in water and then rubbed on the affected area. Occasionally an accompanying sou rawa (a massager) from her clan will sit quietly at her bedside rubbing mixed coconut oil and liniment in gentle, circular motions, relaying to the other women present the origin of her pain. For almost the entire period that she is in the hospital, she can feel someone touching, rubbing, or massaging her body, stroking her head, grooming her hair, or speaking softly in her ear. Women also frequently travel to the hospital in Weno for childbearing, severe ailments, and childcare, except for unmarried pregnant women who may feel embarrassed. A first-time mother is frequently accompanied by her mother or older sisters, especially since many cultural taboos require that men stay separate from women during illness and recovery. A spouse may accompany his wife to Weno but does not frequent the hospital. Instead, the spouse may prefer to wait until the baby is taken home. Women generally make plans to leave late in their pregnancy unless they discover they have ngut (a tightness symptomatic of edema), swelling of the legs or hands, or severe headaches. After childbirth, she may often refuse a pelvic exam but remain in Weno for several months because of a strong belief that she needs much rest to recover. Many of the kinds of movement mentioned for women are also proper kinds of movement for men. Men also travel to Weno to visit kin, travel to nearby atolls for religious meetings, and make frequent calls on the sick. For males, however, there are two additional kinds of movement. As noted, the first occurs when a young man leaves the household of his sisters and sleeps in the nearby faal, a second is related to marriage (table 4.2).

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Chapter 4 TABLE 4.2 Features of Space for Males: Mobility Related to Marriage

Iráán faan éénaw

Mwan en lepou

Mwirimwiringaw

Likoko

Iráán meaning part of a plant or tree, faan meaning under, and éénaw, the platform that lies between the body of the canoe and the outrigger float. An itang expression describing simultaneously the tension which in-marrying males experience trying to grow from under and the support that they provide. Meant to describe the in-marrying male, bobbing in and out of the water, always getting wet, but important for lineage support like “men on our shoulders” (mwan en on afar). “Men in hand.” The word pou in lepou means hand or meaning anytime they want to throw what is in the hand, it can be thrown away. A rather harsh phrase used to denote those who are expendable to the homesite. Likened to mwan en lukun mosora, men from outside the cookhouse or a man who does not belong to the hearth (of his wife’s place). A harsh term applied to men who do not provide for their children or men who do not provide for their sisters. Similar to the phrase “esor anomw me ren semwomw,” meaning “no food (property) from your father,” which is directed to children to embarrass their father. To join or to link a spouse. Negative connotation for a man thought to be too close to his wife, walking too closely, doing female chores, and also a man who does more for his wife’s clan than his sisters’ clan.

Usually in their early twenties young men are considered ripe (maw) or ready to be married. One of the basic elements for manhood is a firm commitment to his wife’s place. Later, he may build a separate house for himself and his wife on her natal place, and perform the gathering of food and fish for his wife’s homesite. A man living on his wife’s place is obligated to work for his wife and her descent group. In fact, some claim that the word “pupulu,” meaning marriage or couple, comes from the word “pulúei” (“pul” meaning “break,” “uei” meaning “neck”), as when a man “breaks his neck” for his wife, her children, and her clan. Another woman explained “pupulu” as when a man comes to ask for marriage, he has to bow his head, or “break his neck,” out of respect. Still another man described “pupulu” as how a man and wife are not to “break their neck” looking at another. Some men find it difficult or are unwilling to be under the supervision of their wife’s people, and feel constrained in their desire to wander as they wish in the homesite of their wives as described in the itang expression “iráán faan éénaw.” There are, however, a few married men on Satowan who remain on

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their natal land and take their wives to live with them. Often they are perceived by others as both stingy and selfish with their labor because they do not elevate their wife’s people, who are the people of their children, and because they deprive their children of their clan. As Borthwick illustrates (1977, 128), a woman is not eager to be apart from her lineage mates, rendering her children without easy access to their lineage holdings and eliciting estranged relations with primary relatives. Nonetheless, some in-marrying men find that they are expendable to the homesite, as described in the harsh phrases “mwan en lepou” and “mwan en lukun mosora.” There are, however, some legitimate reasons why some men take their wives to live on their natal place. Goodenough (1949, 257–58; 2002, 40–41) gives several reasons for patrilocal residence that most often deal with the lack of women or a lack in the woman’s expertise in heading the homesite. Similarly, men who are needed on their homesite could prompt patrilocal residence. As Tolerton and Rauch (1949, 27) also point out, the homesite could be “nominally ‘patrilocal’ since the land on which the house is built is usually given by the husband to his wife and children, and thus falls into the usual procedure.” Nominal patrilocal residence might also occur among cross-cousin marriage, or when children of a lineage brother and sister marry. In this case, the husband receives land from his father, who is a member of his wife’s lineage, thus retransferring the gift of land (Craig Severance, pers. comm.). In other words, land lost through lineage males is reintroduced to the original lineage by the marriage of the children of a brother and a sister. Though a man is expected to elevate his wife and her clan, he is also obligated to sustain good relations with his sisters and their clan. If a man shows too strong an inclination to his wife and ignores his clan, the sisters of the man sometimes accuse him of being likoko. “Likoko” comes from the word “kokko,” which means “to chain or link” as when a spouse ties or knots the other. In the extreme version of “likoko,” a man is believed to love or obey his wife “too much.” At some point, a man’s sisters may fear that their brother will give too many clan assets to his wife’s group. “Likoko” may also be attributed to a man perceived as having less male qualities and behaviors, for example, a man who stays at home too often or walks too close to his wife. On an atoll that has clear divisions of labor, he runs the risk of being ridiculed as amanaw, slave-like, when seen washing clothes, cooking, watching the children, and cleaning the house. A woman, too, can be accused of being likoko when she keeps her husband from going afar perhaps because she suspects he is unfaithful. Tolerton and Rauch (1949, 34), describe “likoko” as “a woman who won’t let her husband away; she wants them to walk together, work together, eat together, wander around together . . . and everything else.”

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The Structure of Wandering: Improper Attributes of Mobility Improper attributes of mobility are essentially the polar opposite of proper kinds of movement, which include not having a defined reason for being away, not sustaining or reciprocating with kin members back home, and, perhaps the least likely event, not having any intention of returning (table 4.3). It became apparent early in my field research that the word that best captured these aspects was “uruur,” which means “to wander.” For example, during the many interviews involving elder women giving information on the whereabouts of their kin, initially the conversation ran smoothly, as they are often eager to relay the intricate connections between members of their homesite. Upon mention of reasons for their young sons being away, they retort “uruur” with an irritated wave of a hand and a stern face. There were also a few instances in which some women were said to uruur. One was accused of abandoning her children and “wandering” in Guam. Another was said to be “wandering” in Weno, spending her recently deceased husband’s earnings on getting herself gold-capped teeth called kimpa. In its most basic form, “uruur” means “to wander about aimlessly.” “Uruur,” from the Chuukese root word “wuru” or “wur,” means “to visit,” “take a walk,” or “stroll” (Goodenough and Sugita 1990, 542). Its more drifting qualities can be seen in related words like “wurumé,” “to be pushed about,” or “wurumwmwot,” to “play about” or “fool around.” There are both proper and improper aspects of uruur that depend on the socializing stage and the particular site where uruur occurs. Many times “to wander” is a proper kind of mobility. For example, children uruur—they play about—though they are often punished for wandering to unrelated places. Young girls also uruur, although around more appropriate sites like the beach or at the edge of the homesite. A few hundred yards off Reuou on Satowan, TABLE 4.3 Kinds and Attributes of Improper Mobility Uruur

Likoepei

Amworukennat Mán sakau Autek Asusu

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To wander aimlessly, without any specified purpose. Uruur mwal (false wandering), uruur fatal (walking about without purpose). Similar to rapaan, a person who wanders, does not know boundaries. One who goes to a nonkin’s homesite to eat; one who sleeps in several houses. Someone not culturally “at home”; a higher gradient of uruur. One who has gone away forever or one not expected to return. Wanting to drink, to go about drinking, especially on Weno, to go about asking for drink. To make a plan to meet later, to sneak about in an amorous relation. To go about fooling around with the opposite gender.

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young men also uruur at the departure of the passenger ship, circling the ship for hours in their mwoota (motorboats), waving at relatives and friends, and watchful of others encircling as well. And elderly men and women are said to uruur on Weno for months at a time, which could mean that they are vacationing, babysitting, collecting benefits, or visiting family. There are also sites on the atoll where young and older men uruur, such as the rusted Japanese tanku (tanks) along the sand road where many are seen hanging about and talking while watching passersby (figure 4.6). In the Amarew Homesite, younger and older men uruur for bingo while card playing is popular on the Lerong Homesite. Popular sites, however, shift easily with the availability of instant coffee or action videos. Still, many of the elderly men and women contend that uruur has extended far beyond the homesite and recall a time when they hung about and wandered only around their village. As one elderly man summed up, “The only thing that brought us together is school and church.” On the other hand, “uruur” can have more improper attributes as well. Normally, to come to a homesite one must be a member either through the mother’s lineage or the afakur, the father’s lineage. Otherwise, as Peter (1977, 44–45) illustrates, to wander beyond the place of one’s clan members or his

FIGURE 4.6 Men from Efong resting on tanks (tanku), Masenifal Homesite, June 1994. Courtesy of Rev. Fr. Bruce M. Roby.

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afakur is to be seen as a likoepei, someone not at home or who has left home, a status which is “culturally unacceptable.” “Likoepei” can be seen as a higher, more improper gradient of “uruur.” It is not simply the wandering, but the wandering beyond kin space into places of nonkin space that defines the more improper aspects of “uruur” and “likoepei,” especially since it is assumed that when young men venture beyond places of reciprocity they are among unrelated people trying to apach (to join, to glue) for food, coffee, or cigarettes. As Borthwick (1977, 114) illustrates, eating among kinsmen is an intimate affair though anyone walking past a residence during a meal can expect an invitation to sit and eat (sa mongo!). Such invitations are offered more as polite gestures rather than for the purpose of really sharing, especially if the invited party is a distant kinsman or unrelated (1977, 114). Among young men, uruur may also be used strategically to escape from social obligations. For example, usually after informing his father of his plans to leave, a young man may flee temporarily to Weno or, more commonly now, to Guam. If he gets a job, he is like most young men on Weno who gravitate toward low-paying, low prestige jobs like taxi drivers and stock workers. Even then, the money earned by young men is believed to be spent on “foolish things” like drink, jewelry, and cigarettes. It is well known that the relationship young men have with stable jobs is tenuous, if not foolhardy, since most young men are viewed as irresponsible and anchorless, especially among the employers on Weno who anticipate that young men will abandon their jobs when a field ship leaves for the outer islands. Upon his return, he would prefer to mention uruur as his reason for leaving, rather than to say he searched for a job since, as explained by one young man, “maybe because the gap between Moen [previous name for Weno] and Guam—there is a big gap there. To my experience, it’s not embarrassing on Guam [to return without a job] especially because there is no Trukese in a high office there in Guam.” He continued, “No Guamanians know that we are elementary, high school dropouts. But to the Trukese here in Moen [he was referring mainly to the many Mortlockese in high positions], they know everything about our history, even when we’re lying.” Still another middle-aged, employed man on Weno preferred to say “uruur” because to say otherwise, or to say he was denied, was “so much shame.” It is not like on Satowan, he explained, when he asks for a coconut or a cup of coffee, it is given to him and he is assured he will not be shunned. Many also admit that uruur and drinking (mán sakau), especially on Weno, allow them to approach young women at school, school picnics, and especially at stores. Still, young men, whether on Satowan or Weno, are often assumed to engage in uruur if it is combined with other features such as drinking, smoking, or trying to apach (to glue) to someone for cigarettes,

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coffee, and sometimes food. Uruur seems more prevalent in the urban center where there are more instances of drinking, brawling, hanging around in public places, planning amorous relations, and spending money on items like drinks, cigarettes, and jewelry. Although this behavior is characteristic for young men, it may also stretch well into adulthood, at which point it becomes more distasteful for married men with children to uruur. In fact, there were a few men on Satowan who openly admitted that it was better for them to return to Satowan where drinking is prohibited. Apparently, they had spent most of their money on drink and wandered about with friends and relatives. Although wives may often lament their situation, they tolerate this behavior expecting an eventual change. In the interim, many women return home to rely on the support of lineage sisters. Another example of improper mobility concerns those who have no intention of returning to the atoll. “Amworukennat” is the Satowan word for “one who has gone away forever” or “one not expected to return.” It comes from the word “nat,” the name of a tree found near the shore. The men of Satowan say when the nat is beyond their sight, as they sail away from the shore, they know they are emotionally distanced, “very far away.” The nat is also symbolic of feelings of severance due to the small fruits of the tree that fall into the sea, drift away, and never return to their source. Not many people hold this status, although the people of Satowan will say men are more likely to be amworukennat than women. After fighting with his father, a young man may threaten that he will become amworukennat. A sibling who does not return at the death of a parent is also likely to be considered amworukennat, since that often marks a time when children living elsewhere return home permanently. However, it is difficult to mark the finality of one in this status. Sometimes people considered amworukennat make an unexpected return home. There have been a few instances of men of the atoll considered amworukennat who returned shortly before dying. In these cases, someone from the lineage reluctantly cared for them for fear that they would lose land to another unrelated clan whose members might care for and be rewarded by the sick person. It is especially difficult to consider a woman amworukennat, even if she is away for a lengthy period, since generally women are expected to return home. Women often express the sad, melodic utterance “waio,” which denotes a type of homesickness, loneliness, and longing to return home. At the parting of a field ship, women wail “waio” anticipating the departure of their kin. “Waio, waio, waione me mun Merika,” are words in a song relaying gratitude to the American government for its role in the war and the return of Satowan people from the nearby islets of Afaren and Alengachuk. The frequent response to a

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woman’s homesickness is “pwata ka mü?” (Why are you homesick? Who are you missing?). It could also mean a longing for those who are away or a longing for those who have died. In addition to “uruur,” there are other terms that describe movement for women that are unstructured and in opposition to mirit (table 4.4). The names Resu (for males) and Nesu (for females) come from the word “su,” meaning “to fly or run away.” These names are given to children to embarrass a female caretaker who fled within a few months of caring for a child and its mother, to whom they are usually closely related. “Fine chueselau” or “lie matikimal” are harsher terms for women who move about from place to place without any particular reason, or women who wander about at night or who do not stay home. A more highly charged term is “sikepwach,” for women who wander about “showing themselves so other men will look at them.” Similarly, for a woman to be called “re Merika” (from America) points to the associated distasteful or offensive behavior similar to “rewon,” one “from above.” There is yet another term that describes one who is without roots, “peche sesset,” which can simply mean “an immigrant.” Another explained it as “peche,” meaning “leg and foot,” “set out” (sái) “onto the sea” (sát), or one with “salty” legs who has traveled over the sea from another island. Still anTABLE 4.4 Kinds and Attributes of Improper Mobility for Women Resu (for males) or Nesu (for females)

Peche sesset

Re Merika

Fine chueselau or lie matikimal Sikepwach

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Names given to children to embarrass a female caregiver who fled within a few months of caring for the child. Euphemism for a woman who fled. Broadly means an immigrant. More specifically, an in-marrying spouse not from the atoll. For a woman it connotes one who has no roots, one who has no rights. From America. Similar to rewon, one “from above,” or one that is self-absorbed and self-centered. For a woman, one who does not stoop around her brothers, wears pants, or has “strong” thoughts. A woman who goes from one place to another, sneaks out at night, or does not stay home. A woman who wanders about too much, not at home, shows off. A woman who sleeps with several men, who has children from several men, or a young woman who returns home pregnant and unwed.

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other explained it as a part of the body that is not “truly Satowanese” because the feet are “still wet (chéchén) with salt water.” Others have suggested, however, that “peche sesset” is itang (a special body of knowledge) because of its metaphorical meaning reserved especially for in-marrying spouses who are not from the atoll. Although Reafsnyder (1984) does not use the term “peche sesset” in his study of another atoll in the Mortlocks, named Kuttu, his example helps to better illustrate this point. Reafsnyder explores a sequence of events that lead to the acceptance of a woman, labeled AT, who did not own land on Kuttu and was not born there but was gradually accepted as one chon Kuttu. There were many complex issues surrounding her full acceptance, but most compelling was the origins of AT’s mother who was from an outer island of Pohnpei (an island nation that lies east of Chuuk). AT was also a member of the clan of her husband on Kuttu, the Sor, which some regarded as incestuous. Gradually her acceptance was granted by drawing stronger connections with another clan, which served to play down the charge of an incestuous relation, yet still allowed for her children to be members of the originally claimed clan. This was further reinforced by the recent marriage of her son to a member of the Sor clan. In the above example, Reafsnyder (1984) alludes to several issues significant to a matrilocal, matrilineal society. As with most places in Chuuk, postmarital residence is traditionally matrilocal, though, clearly, many homesites originated from other islands, mainly from the Mortlocks, but eventually became identified as a matrilineal, matrilocal lineage of the atoll (Marshall 1975). For instance, the people from Uluas Homesite on Satowan trace their “mother” to a woman who married a chief on Satowan but was from Oneop, another atoll in the Mortlocks. Likewise, the current people of Lerong Homesite also originated from another atoll, Nama, and were absorbed by those now living on Moulen. Those on Lerong and Moulen consider each other “one people.” Marshall (1975), who draws from Goodenough’s (1961) notion of “clientship,” describes in-marrying women who live patrilocally or women who belong to a nonlocalized matrilineage as “noncitizen.” In turn, their children are described as “afakuran”—followed by the name of the atoll. For example, afakuran Namoluk are descendants of Namoluk men and an in-marrying spouse. As Marshall (1975) has indicated, others are able to penetrate what appears to be a bounded unilineal kinship ideology through a process called clientship. Clientship allows persons who do not have a matrilineage localized on the atoll to become a member through land rights, marriage, residence, or adoption. This process allows for a “formal means for altering one’s island ‘citizenship’ and, in many cases, one’s clan membership as well” (Marshall 1975, 171). Marshall, furthermore, compares clientship with the Western notion of naturalized citizenship, a term that attempts to explain membership

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by illustrating “a flexibility, an alterability, and a built-in ambiguity that are essential parts of . . . perception” (1975, 172). Naturalized citizenship, however, implies that there is considerable latitude in choosing to become a member of the society or not. Terms like “citizenship” and “clientship” also elude the issue of temporality by implying that it becomes immediate, which further undermines the importance of external ascriptions in restricting membership to others not from the atoll. Until a nonmember is considered a member, a time that depends on the players involved, there are many more momentary or provisional aspects involved. There is, for example, a temporal dimension to “peche sesset” which stigmatizes in-marrying females over males. Children of an in-marrying male become the clan members of their Satowan mother. But an in-marrying female could transmit the stigma of “peche sesset” to her children, possibly for several generations or as long as someone recalls her history. Part of the intensity and injury of being labeled “peche sesset” involves an ambiguity of commitment since it is perceived that in-marrying females are more detached from their kin than in-marrying males who appropriately settle on their wife’s place. Although the stigma of being an immigrant may lessen over time, an in-marrying woman who bears children and gives rise to a new lineage initially holds a precarious position, unlike an in-marrying male. The people of Satowan have seen cases of incoming spouses, intending to become members, who have false expectations or experience inopportune conditions. In any event, when the union meets with dissonance, the nonmember assuredly returns to their natal island where rights are normally reasserted. A woman who is not from the atoll also does not bring land to the arrangement. In this sense an in-marrying woman is often regarded as being more detached than an in-marrying male. A woman living away is also less likely to be given land on her natal island, although her children have rights in her natal place among her sisters. A woman who comes to a man’s place brings nothing, except perhaps the added burden of her affines who escort her and act as her protectors. A man, however, “usually allocates land on his natal island for the future use of his children” (Thomas 1978, 77). If desired, an in-marrying man can also procure land with labor, which is one of the quickest and most pronounced avenues to anchorage. He is then able to buffer shameful comments from others who will be hesitant to bring up his status, especially if the newcomer has more land than the natal man, due to the shared belief that a thriving clan and lineage shows “strength in the land” (Nason 1975). There is yet a further disadvantage for the female children of in-marrying women. The daughter of an in-marrying woman continues to be called a peche sesset even after marrying a man localized on Satowan. But her brother who marries a Satowan woman effectively eliminates such stigma.

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The Stigma of “Peche Sesset” On one homesite I met with a woman, named Maria, whose father was from Satowan and mother from Oneop. As a child she remembers returning from school to find her mother busy weaving a kieki or working the taro patch, which took her away from the homesite a lot. On special occasions that required a lot of preparation and cooking, relatives from her father’s clan came to help. More often, they resorted to asking more distant relatives for help, which was often reciprocated with cigarettes, clothing material, or powdered soap. Maria had only one sister, who died as a child. She recalls her experience growing up alone: “I remember when I was a child, I used to cry because no one to play with. No one but my brothers.” In fact, she would plead with her father’s relatives to stay with her because she was lonely, especially eating only with her parents. Perhaps in an attempt to incorporate Maria on Satowan, her parents tried to arrange a marriage with a man from Satowan, but she refused and married a man from Weno instead. Her husband was on Satowan at the time of my interview recovering from a foot injury. He spoke candidly about his intentions to move to Satowan eventually because he wants his children to be “from their mother’s place.” As we spoke, Maria interrupts, “When I had my children, I am relieved that I have children and more people in my family. . . . I wish my dead sister were here to share with us. And she would have had her children. And we would be more.” Maria, now aged thirty-eight, has been working in Weno for many years. Caring for her mother on Satowan, now in her seventies, poses a problem when her mother is ill. Maria has to recruit a relative from Oneop to care for her mother when she is unable to go to Satowan herself. I also had an opportunity to interview several sisters from another homesite located in northern Satowan, whose names, like Maria’s, have been changed to protect their identity. Like Maria, their father was from Satowan but their mother was from Tonoas, an island in Chuuk Lagoon. Although their father had died over twenty years ago, their mother (who recently died) had remained on his natal land with her children. Between 1947 and 1972, six daughters and six sons were raised on the homesite. Their father, Thomas, perhaps foresaw the precarious situation for his children because his wife was not from Satowan. In a record book, now kept by the eldest son (mwánichi), Thomas wrote that no one would deny his children what was rightfully theirs “until the end of my descendants” (asapolon aramasei monison). If anyone should hate (oput) his children, he stated further, then his children should return to where they are from (o liwiniti lenier), meaning Tonoas.

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Today, this homesite appears to be quite empty. Only one female has remained, married to a man from Satowan. Two brothers reside at their wives’ place elsewhere on Satowan, two females live on Pohnpei, and two live on Weno. Three other siblings live in Tonoas, the place of their mother, and two male siblings live in Hawai‘i, though this appears to be on a temporary basis for employment. The holder of the record book, the firstborn son, has indicated that he intends to return home and continues to keep close watch on the property owned by his father. The firstborn female (finichi), Kathy, has married a man from Pohnpei and, according to her siblings, appears to be anchored there. She and her husband have even adopted a child from her husband’s brother. Kathy has also taken to live with her a younger sister who is also married to a man from there. According to her younger siblings, Kathy has no intention of returning home, which is described by the people of Satowan as uncharacteristic, since on almost every homesite the finichi was either present, soon to return, or was away for a defined period of time for a specific purpose. Kathy’s intentions were also made clear when she came home for the death of their mother but remained for only a brief period, unlike many others who become especially anchored to the homesite after the death of a parent. Because her mother was not from the atoll, Maria, in the first example, is perhaps somewhat undermined because she and her mother had no lineage sisters to help on the homesite. A woman not localized on the atoll perhaps played a larger role in the second example, as indicated by the record keeping by her husband, demonstrating the need to secure land that would not have been questioned had the land passed from a localized woman. Maria’s and Kathy’s stories share another interesting feature in addition to their mothers not being localized and being the firstborn females (finichi). They were both married to men not from the atoll, which is considered uncharacteristic of women in the finichi position on Satowan. Typically, marriages between the finichi and the mwánichi are orchestrated by parents and clans on Satowan. As noted earlier, the firstborn position is a privileged one, especially since a firstborn female is entrusted with any land given to her and her lineage sisters by their father, directs the harvest and preparation of meals with her lineage sisters, and is sought for permission to gather food from lineage land or sell lineage assets. Even after the death of the parents, she plays a large role when brothers ask for a piece of property or taro patch for their wives and children. Thus, for some women the attribute of being peche sesset undermines their position on Satowan, which was substantiated by Kathy’s mother in the second example. This situation is made worse when, for example, a woman whose mother is not from the atoll, in turn, marries a man not from the atoll. Another woman discovered she was peche sesset during a land quarrel,

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before which she had been unaware that her mother’s mother’s mother was not from Satowan. She summed it up by saying “we do not like our history.” Another woman born on Satowan, whose mother was from another atoll in the Mortlocks, Móch, recalls vividly being in the cookhouse of her father’s natal land, when another young girl teased her as peche sesset. She cried, but did not respond: “I just act like I’m the real daughter [of her father’s sister].” Still, a Satowan man with German ancestry said, “I don’t believe in peche sesset since all people were peche sesset to Satowan at some time.”

The Dynamics of Social Space A scholarly inquiry that attempts to explore the dynamics of social space to include emic understandings of mobility at a particular life stage within a particular setting better describes behavior that includes mobility. For women, the likoutang can be seen as a metaphor for movement within the homesite. In some sense, its loose style illustrates the ease and comfort with which a woman moves: she squats to cook and clean; raises her dress to breastfeed; walks halfdressed on warmer days; or has her children leisurely sit between her legs. In another sense, the likoutang also captures the essence of womanhood, because it represents the concomitant respect and avoidance behavior required of women. Many of her bodily gestures such as avoiding “high feet” (waasaas) and “high” character (lamelam tekia), stooping (ópwóro), sleeping near the dead in the faal (chöchö), placing her hands behind her while approaching a faal with men present, remaining still after childbirth, or sitting for long periods at a time, like chofar, illustrate—at times—her circumscribed condition. A woman not dressed in the likoutang, a woman who wears pants or a dress above her knees, which is never the case on Satowan but of women in the Chuuk Lagoon or Guam, is by definition someone stepping beyond the dimension of acceptable behavioral boundaries. It is not simply because she draws attention to her body, but also because she shows disrespect to her brothers. She is said to be acting re Merika (from America), which connotes images of self-centeredness, disrespect (lamelam tekia), arrogance, and stinginess. There are also features in Satowan culture that inform the spatial mobility of males. Between the time when a young man leaves the household of his sisters to sleep in the nearby faal, and the time when he becomes firmly committed to his wife’s place, there is a kind of mobility, called “uruur,” that is often associated with young men. As boys, they are slightly more distanced from the actual homesite, nearing the water where they will eventually learn to swim, dive, and fish. As already mentioned, young boys engage in fishing on the reef

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(asefich), or rafting (atano), making toy rowboats (timma), or roaming the village to compete in chicken fights (afiou malek). At a later stage, a boy will take part in the faukö (fishing event) at which point young boys are expected to be mirit (mature). They work in the taro patch (lepwel), fish at nearby islets (onöset), join boys groups (apwipwi), and take part in village affairs (antere) and church activities (serafo). All of these kinds of territorial mobility among males can be seen as proper, cultural features of movement. Young men who “wander” have often been the focus of scholars, though they do not use the term “uruur,” itself. Young, unattached men engaged in aimless, wandering activity are the subjects of studies into suicide (Hezel 1987), alcoholism (Marshall 1979b), juvenile delinquency (Kenney 1976), and dependency. Wandering has been described as an extended period of “play time” (Mahoney 1974) or the unfolding of adolescent subcultural motifs (Rubinstein 1995). Some elements of these studies are featured in the film Nothing to Do, Nowhere to Go (Metzgar 1977). In the opening scene, the viewer is chided with the question, “Where is youth going in Truk?” only to be shocked and dismayed with what appears to be “too much freedom.” The viewer sees young men sitting idle, bored, wandering about picking fights, sniffing gas, and imitating the latest kung-fu stunts. There is also a lot of machismo to tailor-fit the image of young wandering men. Other features commonly attached to young men and elements of manhood are machismo (Gladwin and Sarason 1953), and suffering and difficulty (Rubinstein 1995). These elements often lead young men into matrices of “social abyss,” “uncontrolled freedom” (Kenney 1976, 3), and “empty time” (Kenney 1976, 5). For example, Mahoney (1974, 27), in his study, Social and Cultural Factors Relating to the Cause and Control of Alcohol Abuse among Micronesian Youth, writes, The district centers exert a magnetic influence on people of all ages in the surrounding hinterland. Because they are young and not yet considered to have compelling family support responsibilities, males and, to a lesser extent, females, in the age 15 through 25 category are most mobile and hence most responsive to this magnetic attraction.

Similar comments are made by Kenney (1976) in his study, Youth in Micronesia in the 1970s: The Impact of Changing Family, Employment and Justice Systems. According to the author, the drinking among youth is due mostly to a clash of cultures, the breakdown of social control, the separation of youth and adults, and the lack of structured activities. Thus, “Often young people who have began to learn new values and ways of living do not want to gather firewood, pound taro or breadfruit, cook, weave, fish, or do other traditional community of household chores” (Kenney 1976, 7).

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These depictions, however, are often closely tied to the effects or characteristics of urban life without a discussion of what an inner, more territorial understanding of mobility means for the actors themselves. As this research illustrates, the reduction of people to “migrant,” or the idea that people are characteristically rural or urban, speaks little to the actual ways in which the people of Satowan define mobility. There are, for example, many attributes of mobility which are more closely associated with strong thought, high thought, no roots, self-centeredness, false wandering, and wandering without purpose that describe mobility far more effectively than theories concerning the attraction of bright lights, urban drift, the education explosion, or the apparent boredom among young people. In the next chapter, we consider the role that households play, again, to bring forth the cultural aspects of movements as well as structural constraints that guide household members both home and away.

Notes 1. The children of two same-sex siblings or the children of sisters. 2. The children of two cross-sex siblings or the children of a brother and sister.

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5 Conceptions of Social Groups Homesite (Falang) and Household (Pei)

ne methodological strategy to the conceptual framework of circular mobility, transnationalism, and transmigrant is a discussion of households (at place of origin) as an appropriate level of analysis for social research. The household, in other words, is a mid-level concept that illustrates the interconnections between the micro, territorial aspects of circular mobility and the macro, political economic considerations found in the transnational literature. For example, in describing the role that households play in population movement, Wilk and Netting (1984, 2) suggest that the household focus allows us to investigate the members’ ideas, norms, and values concerning their domestic life that act as an “important constraint on their behavior.” Other researchers have used the household approach to bring forth the cultural aspects of movement such as the collective identities and experiences associated with home or the natal place (Subedi 1993). The household focus also shifts the analysis from one of coresident membership to one in which the household has a bi- or multilocal structure. In Underhill’s (1989, 95) study of Manihiki Atoll in the northern Cook Islands, household membership is “based on the provision and distribution of collective resources in its widest social and economic sense.” In her analysis, those living elsewhere who contribute significant amounts of remittances, goods, and services are included as important household members but may not be enumerated in a de facto census. As illustrated earlier, however, the mobility patterns of Micronesia are often characterized as one way and oftentimes permanent. Some of these findings can be traced to the structural methodologies of census analysis

O

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that often portray mobility between areas as fixed and clear-cut rather than fluid and changing. For example, analyses drawn from census data are based mostly on de facto rather than de jure populations which tend to ignore a full analysis of migration for given cohorts as well as their latitudinal movement. Furthermore, research carried out on the urban end tends to overemphasize the attractions of the urban center and obscures the dynamics of mobility. There are, however, a growing number of studies, mostly in third-world societies, which illustrate the household, rather than the individual, as an appropriate level of analysis. According to Wood (1982), households bridge individual (micro) and structural (macro) approaches of movement by acting as social organizations that mediate transformations. To illustrate this point, he identifies a variety of sustenance strategies such as labor power and monetary and nonmonetary income that are often influenced by internal factors of the household like the division of labor or its life cycle. This dynamic nature of the household and the choices made by its members “reflect the way in which the household adapts to the forces that lie beyond the household unit” (1982, 313). Here the household analysis especially highlights the important role that women play in the mobility process through focusing on two organizational features called a “falang” (homesite) and “pei” (household). As will be illustrated, for women of Satowan a key feature of mobility—and immobility— rests on the relationship between lineage sisters and sibling hierarchy. I begin with a discussion of the homesite or falang described by the people of Satowan as a social unit that displays a kinship composition that has existed over several generations. A falang also describes the assets of its kinship, the expected ways in which kinship function, and the collective efforts of its members. The falang, however, speaks more to the ways in which domestic units are socially enmeshed; it does not always describe the ways in which domestic groups perform activities on a daily basis. As Wilk and Netting (1984) point out, kinship structures may not embrace residence or the actual groups of people that function together. In chapter 3, we considered how the over emphasis on kinship and land tenure in anthropological writings tended to skew the analysis of mobility and immobility. Similarly, the anthropological literature is concerned primarily with the biological reproduction and genealogical continuity of the unit. It is often inferred from these descriptions that people live in large, extended units although often we are unable to ascertain to what degree or if extended units exist on all levels. We are further led to believe that extended units carry out the domestic functions on a daily basis since anthropologists have often ignored the distinction between kinship and residence as two principles of social organization.

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Following the discussion of the falang, I will introduce the concept of the pei that comes closer to the notion of household. “Pei” is the name Satowan people use for a section of inhabited land within the falang where the domestic unit functions. The pei speaks more to the domestic group and its residence as distinct from a falang, which includes larger social groupings. The pei entails a minimal kinship grouping sharing a common residence and engaging in common activities of consumption and socialization. In the next section, I consider membership. As mentioned earlier, the standard practice in censuses and surveys is to identify migration as a permanent change of residence from one location to another. This type of analysis gives a snap-shot view of population movement but tells little about its process or dynamics because the emphasis is on moves made and not the movers involved and their motivations (Underhill 1989). Typically, de jure members are from the researcher’s definition of “usual resident.” Here, the household is described as a culturally defined unit; their membership and the links that bind people together, from the perspective of those currently present on the atoll, are centered mostly with kinship and behaviors concerning reciprocity. In keeping with the idea that households are not simply passive but continually adjusting themselves to larger socioeconomic forces, the last section will consider whether or not mobility is a result of a household strategy by discussing the links between household morphology and particular socioeconomic factors. The more sociocultural descriptions include hierarchies of obligation, power, and responsibility internal to the household such as the role of the household head, firstborn male and female, and issues of status associated with age, education and career patterns. In addition, I also consider here the inclusion of more structural constraints on household formation. Such socioeconomic characteristics include the average monthly income, number of de jure wage-workers contributing, and level of wealth flows.

The Homesite or the Falang Satowan is a whale-shaped islet with its head facing north and its tail curved slightly northward as well. It rests on the southeastern side of Satowan’s nóómw (the region of lagoon water associated with an island) along with the islets of Móch, Kuttu, and Ta (see map 3.1). This coral island, which totals an area of 0.44 square miles, measures slightly over a mile and a half long with its head spanning less than half a mile wide and the narrow girth of its tail measuring less than 400 feet. It is situated at 5°20' north latitude and 153°43' east longitude.

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The head contains two villages: Efong, meaning north, and Kulong, an offshoot of Efong. The body contains Lukelap, the “middle,” and the narrow tail Eor, the south. Sketches drawn by the village men often reflect their mental maps for their villages, so that those from the north drew an islet with a ballooned head while those from the south drew an islet with a swollen tail. In addition to clan membership, another important unit recognized by Satowan people is the falang or homesite, and within the four villages there are approximately forty falang(s). “Falang” has several meanings. As mentioned earlier, typically it conveys the kinship composition over several generations. In a matrilineal/matrilocal society, this composition usually involves several women related through a common woman, their unmarried children, and their married daughters, their spouses and children. There is a general understanding about the functions of the kinship within a falang. For example, the oldest lineage brother is the spokesperson for his lineage and supervises the gathering of food for major events. The oldest lineage sister directs the daily activities of the homesite. Furthermore, married men are considered to be a member of both their wife’s place and a member of their natal place as well, especially since they play an important role in the supervision and collection of food for their sisters. In-marrying males take a subservient position in relation to the brothers of their wives. The children of the male lineage members, collectively called the “afakur,” also take a subservient position in relation to the children of the lineage women of the homesite. There are also countless nuances in which younger siblings show respect to their elder siblings. The falang not only reflects kinship ties that have existed over several generations, but also represents the assets of its kinship such as land (both inhabited and uninhabited), the islets near Satowan islet, taro patches, as well as reef and lagoon areas (see map 3.2). On Satowan, particular homesites and clans have the traditional stewardship of reefs. The reefs from Lekul (off Lerong) to Echikech and from Wenior (ocean side) to Echikech for the Lerong Homesite and the Sou-Eor; the reefs from Pukeluk to Lekul for the Pukeluk Homesite and the Sor; the reefs from Aroset to Pukeluk and from Luken Maker to Wenior (ocean side) for the Fanuwin Homesite and the Sou-Luk; the reefs from Alengata to Luken Maker for the Sot Homesite and the Lewal; the shoreline, called Kopelap, roughly 200 meters out from Uluas to Alengata for the Uluas Hhomesite and the Sapunippi; and from Kopelap to a crossing reef called Tonefong for the Aliap Homesite and the Lewal clan. Knowledge, skills, and characteristics of its members are also reflected in the falang. Turek, Fanuwin, and Saleken are the homesites of the chiefs of the Sou-Eor, the Sou-Luk, and the Sapunippi respectively. Another homesite, Sot, was the homesite of the chief of Sou Efong, believed to have lost power

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some time at the end of the German period. These four homesites may relate to the original settlement of the islet and the later fissions into smaller units. Homesites like Mwaluk and Lemwar traditionally carried out the orders of the chiefs; still others guarded or had the responsibility of carrying a sick or elderly chief. Thus, people are said to belong to a particular falang whose name derives from a plot of land, some of which are featured in a song entitled “A Parang Letipach” relayed to me by several elders on the atoll: A Parang letipach sipwe le lo le-ulau From Parang [a place of white sand that moves “the gut”], we go urgently to Leulau [for sustenance] Lerong sipwe rong pungun Lerong will listen to the truth, the decisions [from Turek] a wen me Wenikau Wenikau will make straight and follow [what Lerong says] Lemwar sisap tipemwaremwar Lemwar will not hesitate or doubt [the message from Turek] Fanior feior sefal Fanior will think again [about what comes from Turek] Amarew a to atongach Amarew will love and care for others Pukeluk en fanu Pukeluk will join the land [the people] together Turek a rek [le]tipach Turek will unite our “gut” feelings Wenekei sa kekeilo Wenekei is happy with laughter [because of the decisions of Turek] Lukan letipach [The laughter of Wenekei] is felt “right in the stomach” of Lukan Lemas a mas pungun mou we Lemas is thinking about the “fit” between the rule [of Turek] and the people Fanuwin o a win fanu [Because of the good “fit” between Turek and its people] Fanuwin is happy like the feeling at the end of a taboo on food and fishing Mwaluk lukeito aramas Mwaluk gathers the people Palii aion palii Palii [discerns] the “halves” together, as a whole body Lepei sa pei ngeni Lepei observes the movement of people [and reports to Turek] Falopol apulata Falopol is the “flame” [of all the coming together of people and land] [A]liap sa liap Aliap will “catch” [food and fish]

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Aperes so soni [Sot] uuwe Aperes [the place where magic and weapons are held] will spread the word of Sot Achech oa a ul [Uluas] fanu Achech [also known as Reuou] will “throw” the final decision of the Sapunippi [all the way to the other atolls in the Mortlocks: Ta, Kuttu, Móch, Oneop, and Lukunor] Saleken kini uwan Poro Saleken will “pick the fruits” from Poro [a northern homesite with much more land].

“Falang” also means “the hearth,” or “the cookhouse,” which represents the collective efforts of its members unlike a mosora, a cookhouse where smaller units prepare food on a daily basis. Each corporate lineage prepares local food on Saturday in the main falang in preparation for Sunday, the day of rest. Occasionally, closely related people who reside on homesites related to the falang prepare food together for special occasions such as funerals and visiting guests. Requests by the chiefs (makal) are made of the falang(s) for special events like Liberation Day (November 1), sports events like track-andfield day, the death of important people, and for other Mortlock islanders visiting during Easter and Christmas. Traditional foods brought from the other Mortlock islands are frequently divided among the falang(s), so also is the occasional donation of USDA and FEMA supplies and food. Although each person born on Satowan is a member of a falang, there may be some dispute about whether a particular homesite is independent or still a member of its previous homesite, which is the reason for an approximate count of forty homesites on the atoll. If, for example, a woman and her husband live on land that is owned by the original falang, then the homesite is characteristically labeled as a place belonging to the original. But if the woman and her husband live on land that was brought in by her husband, then it is referred to as a “faang,” “a gift of land,” and has the potential of becoming another falang. In the initial years the homesite may continue to be called a place belonging to the man’s lineage until this group grows in numbers, secures enough resources like taro patches and breadfruit trees to establish their own homesite, prepares their own food, and becomes identified with the particular women who had split off from the broader group. In addition, a husband has more opportunity to make the faang to his wife if there are few sisters with children to compete with or, in rarer occasions, if the lineage dies out (Craig Severance, pers. comm.). There is also much confusion when there are sets of falang(s) that intermarried over several generations. In addition, the number of falang(s) is not always fixed and may be adjusted for economic or political reasons. The makal (chief) may delineate additional falang(s) for more contributions for special events. If a homesite is lacking in

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adequately aged women, the falang could become inactive until the younger members marry and have children. Similarly, if the women of the homesite are away and are unable to care for the place, then the falang could become inactive for many years until they return. In the meantime, other members of the homesite may be absorbed into another falang.

The Household or the Pei Although the concept of falang articulates what and how matrilineal/matrilocal groups are structured, it does not always speak to the actual ways people function on a daily basis. “Pei” is the name Satowan people use for a section of inhabited land within the falang where the domestic unit functions. Every pei is incorporated within a falang. However, the pei speaks more to the domestic group and its residence as distinct from a falang, which includes larger social groupings. The pei is equivalent to the conceptual notion of a household, so that here pei and household will be used interchangeably. The pei entails a minimal kinship grouping sharing a common residence and engaging in common activities of consumption and socialization. For the falang, biological kin ties are most important. In the discussion of the pei, we shift to domestic groups sharing food on a regular basis. Often, it is the presence of a cookhouse that delineates one pei from another. In addition to the preparation of food, the cookhouse is where most socialization occurs: eating, caring for children, social gatherings, and socializing of children. The building of a cookhouse also indicates that there is a gradual decline from subordinate to superordinate roles among various domestic units, although on a daily basis there is often much overlap in the collection and preparation of food especially among lineage sisters who live nearby. There are, for instance, times when several domestic groups become enmeshed in other units and arrangements. During major events, such as the faukö (a fishing event), the falang for several weeks incorporates the offspring of its male members, collectively called the afakur. There are thirty pei(s) or households located in Eor and Lukelap villages, the two under study on Satowan (table 5.1). Eor Village contains a de facto population of 169 people distributed among 17 households while Lukelap Village contains 116 people in 13 households. Although the number of people is higher for Eor Village, they are spread over a greater number of sleeping houses. Three cases of unoccupied structures in Eor and Lukelap were not included. One site had been temporarily abandoned and consists of only one lineage woman without children who moved beyond the study area to her husband’s place in Kulong. The homesite appears to be

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Chapter 5 TABLE 5.1 De Facto Population, Average Number of People per Household (Pei), and Number of Sleeping Houses by Village, January 1998

De facto population Number of households (pei) Average number of people per household (pei) Number of occupied sleeping houses

Eor

Lukelap

Total

169 17 10 36

116 13 8 21

285 30 9.5 57

Source: Field research, Satowan, January 1998.

“dying out.” In another case, the individual was in the process of moving and continues to eat at another site, also beyond the study area. The final case includes a couple who recently moved to Lukelap at the request of the household’s older brother, who asked the male head to come temporarily to the site since recently it had been vacated. The household head has yet to erect a cookhouse and continues to eat at his wife’s place in Kulong. The more established pei(s) often include one or more cookhouses, sleeping houses, a meeting house (faal), outhouses, water catchments, and occasionally storage houses and burial plots. A few homesites have two faal(s): one built with personal income and another under “project” construction. Usually the motorboat and the paddling canoe are kept in the faal. A simple construction of tin is used for a separate bathhouse where available water is kept in large basins or buckets. Each homesite also has an oversealed toilet, called a “pincho.” The cookhouses (mosora) are constructed of thatch, tin, sheet metal, wood, or some combination of these materials. Usually large plywood tables are placed outside for eating or for visitors to sit. Firewood and utensils are kept in the cookhouse and there are a few portable propane stoves. Although several domestic units may share a single cookhouse, it is not uncommon for a married couple to cook a pot of rice separately. On occasion, where someone ate did not always correspond to where one slept. Upon puberty, young men leave the sleeping house of their sisters and sleep in a nearby faal (meeting house), a bachelor house, or an abandoned structure elsewhere. To give an example, a man in his sixties whose wife has recently died returned to his lineage land. He has no children, except for a recently adopted son, and continues to eat at the cookhouse of his sister on their lineage land though he has a separate sleeping house. In another example, two older sisters live on one homesite while their third sister and unmarried brothers stay on a related homesite nearby. The latter group, however, have too few women to prepare food and therefore are considered part of the first

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homesite. Also, men returning for visits on Satowan often sleep on their natal land rather than at the homesite of their wife’s lineage. Usually, sleeping houses are constructed of either thatch, tin, or wood, with a few made of cement. Very often these are spacious, undivided structures devoid of any furniture except for the use of mats and cushions placed on the floor at night. There are, however, four sleeping houses with divided rooms. One is a two-story cement house. Two houses use the extra rooms for storage, while the fourth domestic unit sealed off two rooms with a separate entrance for an adult son. Personal items are kept inside the sleeping house, oftentimes padlocked in wooden shelves or in luggage. Each pei has a well, usually about six feet deep and lined with stones or concrete slabs left over from the World War II. A bucket with an attached stick is used to scoop out water for bathing. All the wells are located near the sleeping houses and cookhouses. Except for two households that collected water nearby, each homesite also has a water catchment, most of which were built after the cholera outbreak (1982–1983). The catchment is 9 feet in diameter, 6 feet high, and holds 2,500 gallons of water (see figure 3.2). Access for cleaning the large tanks is through a manhole located on top. Unlike water from wells, the catchment water is used for cooking and preparing food. Only one household had a water pump; otherwise water is transported by bucket from a faucet located at the base of the catchment. Fewer homesites have storage houses for firewood, coconut husks, and woven mats (kieki). Many homesites have a hole, about two-feet deep and about thirty feet in diameter where trash and leaves are raked into and burned on weekends. Animals are not common, except for a few chickens or a lone pig tied to a tree at the edge of the homesite. There are also a few piggeries. Various amenities include generators, solar lamps, sewing machines, and wheelbarrows to transport heavy items or sleeping children. There were also eighteen CB radios on the island with forty channels available. Most CB radios can communicate with any of the other Mortlock Islands, except Pisemwar, located in the far north. They also communicate with the field ships once they pass Namoluk, located midway between the Chuuk Lagoon and Satowan. A few houses have small solar lamps that provide nearly ten hours of light at night. These lamps are charged by the sun atop roofs or with car batteries.

Household Membership Details of household membership were obtained to distill spheres of activity beyond the household. In keeping with Wilk and Netting’s (1984) argument

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that residence refers more to how a group of people function, “it becomes possible to regard the household as having a bi-local or multi-local structure” (Caces, Arnold, Fawcett, and Gardner 1985, 7) rather than focus narrowly on the physical fact of coresidence and propinquity. In other words, by shifting the focus to activity groups of varying density, we may examine members of the domestic unit who share a commitment to a common socioeconomic entity at the same time that they live in geographically separate places (Underhill 1989, 88). For each household located in Eor and Lukelap villages, several members were asked whom they considered to be part of their household. Quite often, such persons included a wide range of lineage members. Interestingly, women living elsewhere, far more than men, regardless of the ethnic origins of their spouses, are more likely to be considered members. Perhaps this may be expected in an matrilineal/matrilocal society where a man becomes a member of his wife’s place upon marriage. However, as will be shown, lineage women are also more likely to send regular cash and goods to the household, which in turn influences whether or not one is considered a member. A de facto and de jure census was conducted, so as to include the whereabouts of members not currently living on Satowan (table 5.2). Thirty domestic units of 285 people de facto acknowledge another 199 people de jure who are living elsewhere. Thus, a total of 484 members were enumerated as belonging to Satowan villages of Eor and Lukelap. Only seven of the thirty households have every member present on the atoll and the remaining twenty-three have anywhere between one to twenty-nine persons elsewhere (not shown). This underlines the high level of mobility experienced by many Satowan households. According to table 5.2, Lukelap had a higher proportion of its members living elsewhere (118 or 50 percent) than Eor (81 or 32 percent). This is due primarily to Lukelap’s connection with Petrus Mailo, the former chief of Weno. Shortly after the 1907 typhoon, a woman named Emma from the Masenifal homesite in Lukelap left for Weno where she married a German merchant who was a good friend of Petrus Mailo’s father, known as Mailo. In the 1940s they purchased a large piece of land on Weno, named Lewotes (see map 1.3). TABLE 5.2 Satowan Population Present or Absent at Time of Census by Village, January 1998

Members present Members away

Eor

Lukelap

Population Total

169 81

116 118

285 199

Source: Household census, Satowan, January 1998.

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TABLE 5.3 Place and Number of Household Members Living Elsewhere for Eor and Lukelap, January 1998 Place Weno (Chuuk Lagoon) Guam United States (continental) Hawai‘i Saipan (Northern Marianas) Pohnpei (FSM) Marshalls (RMI) Palau (RP) Tol (Chuuk Lagoon) Lukunor (Mortlocks) Total

Number 130 30 11 7 7 6 4 2 1 1 199

Source: Household census, Satowan, January 1998.

Emma and her husband had no children, although they later adopted Mailo’s son, Michio (Petrus Mailo’s brother), who was said to have “run away” from Emma. The descendants, the children of her “sisters,” are those of Masenifal, Fanuwin, and Lemas homesites. Because of this connection, Petrus Mailo, who was the president for the Truk Trading Company and the first mayor of Weno, provided jobs and lodging mostly in Mwan for many of the people of Lukelap Village. Of the total 199 household members living elsewhere (table 5.3), most were in Weno, the urban center of Chuuk, with smaller numbers living on Hawai‘i, the continental United States, and a range of Micronesian destinations: Guam, Saipan, Pohnpei, Marshalls, Palau, Tol, and Lukunor. About a third of those living away are young children with parents or grandparents and almost as many are attending school elsewhere (table 5.4). Most are at Chuuk High School in Weno, since the Mortlock Junior High on Satowan extends only to the tenth grade. Many are away in employment, mostly in Weno, in stable or permanent positions, such as teachers. In fact, nearly two-thirds of the teachers employed at Chuuk High School are from the Mortlocks. Several more from Efong Village and also Kulong work in higher paid positions. One man works for the Environmental Protection Agency, another is a doctor, and the highest-paid female wage-earner works as a sales clerk for the Truk Trading Company on Weno. Satowan women who accompany their husbands (n=14) and spouses who are not from Satowan (n=13) but are considered members of the household form another group who are elsewhere. Although very few from the census were said to be uruur or wandering, the life history and mobility registers

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Chapter 5 TABLE 5.4 Primary Reasons for Absence for De Jure Members of Eor and Lukelap, January 1998 Children accompanying parent or grandparent Attending school Working Accompanying spouse Accompanying spouse (from elsewhere) Visiting Uruur (wandering) Babysitting Collecting social security Being unwell Unknown Total

61 49 41 14 13 13 3 2 1 1 1 199

Source: Field census, Satowan, January 1998.

show this movement to be far more prevalent. As described by elder relatives or parents, these were adult children who were not working, had dropped out of school, were elsewhere without permission, fooling around, or drinking. Furthermore, many movements for school or wage work may have been uruur at an earlier stage, as for many young men and women (typically in their late teens or early twenties), in the interim period between graduating from high school and becoming employed. An older man, recalling younger days when unemployed, said he was uruur. Similarly, young men who have recently returned and were unable to get a job, were fired, or did a lot of drinking while they were away, admit they went to uruur. Thus far we have discussed conceptions of social groups: the falang or the homesite and the pei, which approaches a more conceptual notion of a household. Although considering the falang acknowledges the ways in which the people of Satowan are enmeshed in larger social units within a matrilineal/matrilocal society, not all households live in an extended fashion. Additionally, a discussion of the pei speaks to ways in which a group or groups of people carry out domestic functions, so that the falang can be viewed as a frame enclosing and highlighting the functions of the pei. Both conceptions of social groups are vital to an emic understanding of a household. Even more importantly, through considering the pei, I was able to identify other members who lived elsewhere and who contribute to the socioeconomic stability of the household through wealth flows. Had my investigation initially focused on the falang, I may have simply chronicled every genealogical member of Satowan heritage, whereas the pei gives a clearer picture of the ways in which people interact to enhance the household.

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Socioeconomic Characteristics and Structural Constraints We now turn to whether or not mobility reflects a household strategy, the idea that members within a household act according to principles of reciprocity and consensus to ensure its maintenance and reproduction. Structural constraints, which guide household members acting both as individuals and in concert, include sibling hierarchy, kin relationship, marriage, and the role of firstborn men and women to investigate how these may influence household morphology and mobility. Socioeconomic characteristics of the household include wage income, wealth flows, and the number of de jure members who make contributions to the household, supplemented by details on education and career patterns. A brief analysis of the socioeconomic characteristics of Satowan households is followed by the structural basis for household morphology, then linked, to access the likelihood of a household strategy being followed. Each household of Eor and Lukelap Village has one or more sleeping houses. For Satowan Atoll as a whole, around two-thirds of an estimated 115 sleeping houses came from federal grants provided by the Farmer’s Home Grant, the Aging Program, and the Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA).1 After Typhoon Pamela in 1976, FEMA made large contributions of building materials to the atoll, and a few of these households, made of plywood and tin, are still standing. The remaining, approximately fortythree sleeping houses, or 37 percent, were paid for by government employees working mostly in Weno. Federal project monies, which were made increasingly available in the late 1980s through Compact funding, also were used to purchase sewing machines, solar lights, and motorboats, as well as to build meeting houses (faal) and piggeries. In addition, most water catchments were built with FEMA money in response to the cholera outbreak in 1982–1983. In January 1998, FEMA made a drop to the Mortlocks consisting mostly of sacks of rice and cans of juice in response to a recent drought that caused young coconuts to drop prematurely, taro leaves to turn yellow, banana shoots to lie over prematurely, and older breadfruit trees to fall. At the time of my arrival to the islet, there were about eighty government positions, or one wage job per every ten people. Slightly over half are employees of Chuuk state: teachers, nurses, school cooks, janitors, a chief justice, a statistician, an agriculture agent, a nutritionist, and a laundry and maintenance position. There is also an elected representative to the Chuuk State Legislature. The remainder, slightly less than half, are municipal positions: a deputy mayor, four commissioners, twelve policemen, fifteen councilmen, four village leaders (also known as “boss”), a prosecutor, and a public defender. One man is a mayor and administers about $130,000 a year from

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Congress as Capital Improvement Money (CIP). In addition, the senators elected to the FSM legislature have the discretion to draw project monies from state revenues for protocol and community services. Most atoll households have at least one adult male in wage work and there are three female heads with regular employment. Monthly incomes vary from a cook’s salary of $240 to about $400 for a teacher’s salary. Retirement income also averages $150 a month. Two businessmen have established small stores on the atoll, while a few others have ventured into selling rice, canned goods, and gasoline. It did not appear, however, that wage work was necessary to feed household members or to offset lack of access to land for food gardens since all homesites have access to taro patches and lagoon waters. Common staples include breadfruit, taro, coconuts, bananas, pumpkin, and fish; pigs are reserved for special occasions. Wage earners on Satowan play a critical role in the donation of money and food for funerals, weddings, housewarming parties (afinuun), and a celebration known as the wiö. In previous times a wiö marked the completion of a canoe, but nowadays it marks the “blessing” of a motorboat before it sets out to fish for the first time. Donations made for church projects are also common, especially on occasions like Easter and Christmas when Satowan hosts people from many other places in the Mortlocks. For Protestants, there are also donations for the celebration of becoming a minister, beginning with the deacon position (sounkoa), to pastor (sounpatak), to senior pastor (wanporon). Satowan people reported spending most income on imported food. Very often, those working on Satowan authorize a close relative on Weno to purchase food items using the monthly allotment check of fifty dollars, which is deducted from government checks and paid directly to a store. During a one-year period, January to December 1995, eleven employees from Satowan purchased goods totaling $943 from a store in Weno that is owned by a Mortlockese and patronized by the outer islanders (table 5.5). Rice, which accounts for 66 percent of expenditures, is viewed as a highly respected gift for funerals and other ceremonies. In addition to “kow” or corned beef, Spam, and turkey tail, the price of other popular canned foods like mackerel at $1.50 a can and tuna at about $1.15 is the same as on Weno and so purchased locally in small stores. Those routinely received on Satowan include rice, instant coffee, sugar, canned food, kimchee, biscuits, cigarettes, bread (a popular package is twelve buns for one dollar), turkey tail (usually salted), frozen chicken, and various other meats transported in ice chests or Styrofoam. Foodstuff regularly sent to Weno include pounded breadfruit (kón), fermented breadfruit (mar), taro, pounded taro, coconuts, copra, coconut crab, pounded bananas, salted fish, salted clams, salted octopus, and also coconut body oil. Fish and seafood often leave in the same ice chest in which the frozen goods arrived.

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TABLE 5.5 Store Items Purchased on Weno by Eleven Employees from Satowan, January to December 1995a Item Rice (50 pounds) Corned beef Spam Turkey tail (50 pieces) Soft drink Cigarette a

Price (dollars U.S.)

Number of Items

Total Expenditure

13.00 1.95 2.50 12.00 .50 2.00

48 29 26 3 59 66

624.00 56.55 65.00 36.00 29.50 132.00

Four of the eleven employees are from Satowan but work on Weno. They were included because these items were purchased and sent to kin on Satowan, which is evidenced by the purchase dates that correspond with months that the field ship visited the Mortlocks. Source: Field research, Weno, July 1998.

Beyond foodstuff, wealth flows include clothing (often used, especially T-shirts), perfume, medicine, wash basins, plastic utensils, powdered soap for washing clothes, video tapes, and, infrequently, a television, a video player, even a chainsaw. Little actual money is sent or received, except for special occasions like a funeral or church donation, unless specified for another relative living elsewhere. Depending on either an available relative or the schedule of the government ship, money oftentimes is handed to a relative, who may bring it to Satowan or convert it on Weno for desired items. Now that I have examined the socioeconomic characteristics of Satowan that may affect the household, we can now consider how different types of household formations shape the decisions about moving or staying. Inherent to this discussion of household morphology is land tenure. On Satowan, land continues to be recorded by oral testaments made known, very often, to the potential inheritors close to the land owner’s death to ensure care-taking by their children (Borthwick 1977; Nason 1970). With this in mind, land ownership on Satowan always is being contested and land disputes are ubiquitous, especially with a population of Chuuk State growing annually at a rate of 2.2 percent (FSM 1996). Additionally, lineage land is shared by more than one person and individual rights and privileges largely depend on positions within the lineage (MacMeekin 1975, 146) and continual usage. Residence has been disrupted on Satowan when, after the death of a woman or man, the remaining siblings object to a gift of use-rights to a plot of land (faang) given previously to the married couple. According to custom, when a man takes his wife to live on his natal land and raises his children there, his death signals the end of all claims or use-rights made by his wife and children to the father’s mother’s lineage. One woman, who had lived on her husband’s homesite for nearly twenty years, could not say if the

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site on which she continues to reside will be given to her children since her husband and his lineage did not determine the transfer of ownership. This is substantiated by the growing number of land disputes entertained in court on Weno, according to a court translator who is from Satowan. Still, there are other ambiguous circumstances surrounding use-rights and ownership. Nason (1970, 113), who conducted research in Etal in the MidMortlocks, notes that disputes are more likely to arise with the transfer of land and property to the spouse of a brother or sister than with the daughters of a deceased sibling, particularly a sister. Another type of land exchange found especially in the Lower Mortlocks requires that land be returned should a wife die without children and the husband does not remarry one of her “sisters” (Borthwick 1977, 278). Another possible dispute, as one Satowan man explained it, occurs when a son acts “proud” (lamelam tekia) or disobedient to his father’s lineage, in which case the father may take back the land and return it to his sisters. One man from Satowan, whose ownership was questioned, built a cement house on that which he was trying to claim. He was, quite literally, trying to cement his rights and boundaries since continual residence strengthens one’s claims to the eventual control over land. Sibling hierarchy is the last structural constraint that influences household morphology and, in turn, may shape mobility. In Satowan culture, it is firstborn children who are of particular importance, since a firstborn woman (finichi) is entrusted with transmitting the maternal line and bringing in property through marriage. Similarly, a firstborn man (mwánichi) is charged with acting as the spokesperson for the lineage, protecting his sisters, and guarding the “secrets of his father’s land” (land brought to the lineage by his father). Firstborn children speak with more authority and are able to be more openly critical. When children, firstborns are hardly ever given out for adoption, even temporarily, and any disrespect or lack of deference is rewarded with pieces of property. This is what happened to one firstborn woman for enduring hardships on a boat when escorting a kin member back to the atoll. Another type of land transaction from a father’s lineage to his firstborn child, called “pauntapw,” is given for undertaking a long and difficult journey and “showing love to his father” (and his lineage). Humorous stories about firstborn children tell of parents not permitting them to climb a coconut tree for fear of falling off, or giving them rare chicken eggs nowadays replaced by candy given by visiting relatives.

Types of Household Units There are four types of households on Eor and Lukelap based on the type of kinship organization and the life cycle of the collective membership (table 5.6).

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TABLE 5.6 Type of Household Unit, De Facto and De Jure Population, Eor and Lukelap Villages, January 1998 Type of Household

Average

Broadly Extended (n=9)

13.6

Extended Nuclear (n=5)

9.6

Nuclear (n=10)

7.3

One Woman (Aleman) (n=6)

6.8

De facto (percent)

De jure (percent)

123 (51) 48 (48) 73 (78) 41 (80)

117 (49) 52 (52) 20 (22) 10 (20)

Total 240 100 93 51

Source: Household survey, Satowan, January 1998.

At an early stage, a couple will establish a household, usually after the husband attains a wage-earning job and is able to secure land, but will continue to draw on the resources of its original homesite. Later, a couple with adult children will be able to deploy them to work abroad. Potentially, in the next stage, several couples living together will be able to pool incomes from wage earners on and off the atoll. The first type, the broadly extended household (n=9), consists of several groups of people who live in an expanded fashion that resembles the falang. This includes several women of the descent line, their husbands, married daughters and their spouses and children, and unmarried children. Not only were these the largest households (13.6), but they also are the sites of established matrilineal and matrilocal lineages on original named plots. For the most part, these are lands known to be held by the lineage and that came into the lineage through the maternal line. This type of household morphology is the most valued for a variety of reasons: the stability of a large lineage and secure land, the ability to thrive through the provision of land, the ability to contribute large donations of food, the availability of women as caretakers, and, especially, the emotional support found within large units. Several men said that they would prefer to marry a woman with many sisters because it showed the strength of both her lineage and their future children, who would belong to the wife’s lineage. A large number, roughly half of the members of nine extended households are on the atoll and half live elsewhere. All other types of households are much smaller and less extensive, as in the extended-nuclear household (9.6). The absence of several women from the descent line is the major difference from the broadly extended homesite. Typically, this occurs when an individual or married couple becomes the head of

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a nuclear household, including unmarried children, and married daughters, their spouses, and children. As with the broadly extended household, roughly half of the membership—but a slightly higher ratio—live elsewhere. The ten nuclear households are less extensive and less established, averaging seven members, mainly a husband, wife, and their children. Many had yet to acquire some of the basic amenities of older households, such as water catchments and storage houses. Unlike the two extended households, the nuclear households have only 22 percent of their members off the atoll. A few households are long established but lack the number of women to sustain a unit. The people of Satowan describe these as “aleman,” an “only one” woman household. This connotes a feeling of demise since a site is unable to sustain itself without procuring more members. As with the nuclear household, the one-woman household has a fifth of its members living away.

Mobility as a Household Strategy We can now draw together the socioeconomic characteristics (average monthly income, number of wage workers, level of wealth flows) with household morphology (kinship organization, household life cycle) to consider whether mobility is a household strategy. In summary, as shown in table 5.7, mobility appears to be strategic for the broadly extended and extended-nuclear households, but unlikely for both nuclear and aleman households. Whereas hierarchies of kinship and gender seem most influential in broadly extended households, assisting household heads who are old and unemployed are the main reasons for those that are extended nuclear. Mobility does not appear to be a likely strategy in either nuclear or only one-woman households, mainly because of economic constraints symptomatic of a lack of available women to sustain an independent household and the lack of cash income. Broadly Extended Household For the nine broadly extended households, two span four generations and another seven are of three. Typically, these households include several women of the descent line, their husbands, married daughters and their spouses and children, and unmarried children. The four-generational households contain a widowed, elderly person while a few households include lineage men who have returned after an unsuccessful marriage or the death of a spouse. Commonly, heads of the broadly extended households are the oldest lineage woman and her husband, who are in charge of the day-to-day activities of the household and direct the daily subsistence activities. There is an average

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120 (4 reported no income)

One Woman (aleman) (n=6)

0.6

5 high 4 low 4 high 1 medium 3 high 1 medium 4 low 2 none 3 medium 3 low

Level of Wealth Flowsa

low

low

high

high

Likelihood that Population Mobility Part of Household Strategy?

Eor and Lukelap villagers were asked to recall money and goods received and given over the past year. Twelve or more instances of in-remittance were considered “high” level, six to twelve “medium,” and one to five “low.” How often someone remitted was significant for the people of Satowan, rather than the amounts received. Wealth flows tended to be remembered in monthly increments, which is the reason of the choice of twelve or more as “high.” Although twelve averages to about once a month, the field ship rarely came that often, thus indicating that more than one person was remitting.

Source: Field census, Satowan, January 1998.

a

3.8

65 (2 reported no income) 190 (2 reported no income) 0.6

2.6

641

Average Monthly Income (dollars U.S.)

Broadly Extended (n=9) Extended Nuclear (n=5) Nuclear (n=10)

Type of Household

Contributing Wage Workers (number of de jure)

TABLE 5.7 Household Types, Income, Contributors, Wealth Flows, and Likelihood of Population Mobility as Household Strategy, Eor and Lukelap Villages, January 1998

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of three sleeping houses on these homesites. Typically, the eldest sibling and her husband and children live in the oldest sleeping house; although, it is not uncommon for the couple to build a separate sleeping house after the dispersal of the female head’s younger sisters, their spouses, and children. An average monthly income of $641, an amount that is three to ten times more than the other household types, reflects mainly the many male wage-earners and, in particular, the income of firstborn men. As mentioned earlier, such men hold a privileged position on Satowan. For example, eldest sons (mwánichi), who act as spokespersons for their lineage, are seldom denied land; in addition, they are encouraged to pursue higher education and a wage-earning job. Of nineteen elementary and high school teachers for Satowan as a whole, nine are firstborn sons; and of the nine, seven are married to firstborn women. Not only are these the most educated men, but also they are more likely to hold secondary wage jobs. Overall, except for the two nurses and the congressional representative, they occupy the highestpaying jobs on the atoll. Firstborn sons are the most fluent in English, take part in the atoll’s political functioning, commonly are the church and community leaders, and may also direct atoll-wide projects. Firstborn men married to firstborn women are likely to have higher wage incomes, many more amenities, and educate children abroad. Although men generally have higher mobility experiences than women, firstborn men typically have the most extensive travel experience of any on the atoll. Teachers, for example, take part in yearly summer training sessions on Weno and attend workshops on Guam. Roughly half, five of nine, of the broadly-extended households received a high level of wealth flows, primarily from lineage sisters living elsewhere. In the households that received low levels, more members had atoll employment and reported higher levels of food and money sent elsewhere. In one household, an income of several thousand dollars was reported by a mwánichi from Lukelap village who lived in Weno for over thirty years. He first stayed with Petrus Mailo who advised him to invest in a company in Saipan that now pays dividends to him. Since then, he set up a small store selling forty sacks of rice a year. Other households that receive less tend to have household members locally employed and, in one, a firstborn woman and her husband work as the only nurses on Satowan. Looking at life-history accounts, in general women have fewer mobility experiences than men, with those who are unmarried and childless being the exception. These latter often go to Weno to help other kin and babysit or assist at the birth of a child. Later, when they adopt a child from a brother or sister, their mobility may be reduced.

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Firstborn women are more mobile than their younger lineage sisters, so that level of movement mirrors the sibling hierarchy in these households. For five of the broadly extended households, the mobility of women occurred primarily through marriage, and in particular, marriage with firstborn men—a union accorded a highly privileged position on Satowan. Many years ago, Tolerton and Rauch (1949, 72) on Lukunor observed marriages between children of women with seniority that involve a large amount of land and are often arranged, usually after the first few years of life. Even today, although marriage among firstborn children often is orchestrated, people of Satowan will play down this aspect saying that it is an old-fashioned practice and not promoted by the Christian view. As one pastor explained, firstborn children should not be cherished above others; nonetheless, younger siblings and their spouses often show considerable respect to their eldest sibling and spouse, even their offspring. In addition to marriage between firstborn men and women, there is another arrangement of marriage between cross-cousins to ensure access to land. This occurs when the children of a lineage brother and sister marry, with the more significant from the daughter of a lineage woman marrying the son of her lineage brother. In this manner, land lost through lineage males is reintroduced to the original lineage by the marriage of their children. Since patrilineal inheritance plays such a large role in the society, cross-cousin marriage is a mechanism that brings land and other property back into the maternal line (Tolerton and Rauch 1949). Cross-cousin marriage was especially noted in Lukelap Village. Although I documented only one case of a cross-cousin marriage of firstborns, it is likely that had I compiled a genealogical chart of the previous three or four generations, I would have determined its past extent.2 When studying the homesites in Lukelap, however, there was continual reference to mothers and fathers being from the same clan. Sometimes, in fact, it was difficult to discern if they were the afakur (the descenders of the male members of the lineage) or not. In five out of nine cases in the broadly extended households, firstborn women have higher educational levels than their younger sisters: two have completed high school on Weno and another two attended college, suggesting an effort to enhance the sustainability of the household through educating women. In addition to the lesser levels of education among middle sisters, other reasons for lower mobility are that, many times they were more likely to be unmarried, divorced, or separated. Middle sisters had many more children compared to the older sister who often married slightly later. Middle sisters also are more likely to marry men from other places, mostly the Mortlocks,

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indicating that in early years of marriage they settled on the homesite of the eldest female. Marriage to men from other atolls explains the dependence of middle sisters on their older sister, who is more likely to marry a man from Satowan. Petrus Mailo characterized firstborn women (finichi) as the “island bearers,” because it was their anchoring and strength that sustained lineage families, in turn, signifying the importance for the finichi to remain at home. Marriage to a localized man is also important since it is difficult for a nonlocalized man to achieve as much prestige as a localized male of the atoll (Goodenough 1966, 73). From the anchoring of the firstborn, we can infer that some middle sisters are freer to move around, primarily through their wage-earning husbands working elsewhere, reinforced by them also finding jobs. Some unwed and without children also work elsewhere. Five of the nine broadly extended households reported high amounts of wealth flows, primarily from lineage sisters living elsewhere and parents of adult children receiving as well. In fact, most of the wealth flows received by the broadly extended households are provided by lineage sisters living elsewhere, especially those that are unwed and without children. Again it is those lineage sisters who mostly account for the average of 2.6 de jure members with regular wage employment contributing to the household. Two homesites reveal dimensions of this.3 Moulen Homesite There are four men from the Moulen Homesite. Misau, the mwánichi, attended the Pacific Island Central School (PICS) in Pohnpei and in 1967 for nine months he went on to attend the San Francisco State College. From 1969 to 1971, he also studied education administration at the East-West Center in Hawai‘i. He has had a long career with government in Weno and owns a home in Nantaku. The second brother, Pelsesar, lives on Pohnpei with his wife. Another brother, Isais, has recently divorced and returned to live on the atoll. The last brother, James, is still unmarried and works as a councilman on Satowan. There are also four women from Moulen. The eldest sister, Misko, married a mwánichi named Mataichy. They had one son with mental retardation son who is cared for by a next younger sister named Sokopet. Misko and Mataichy had no daughters, so they adopted Asteria who is the oldest daughter of Sokopet. After Misko died in 1986, Mataichy returned to his natal homesite and Asteria returned to her real mother, Sokopet, now the de facto firstborn (finichi). Sokopet stays mostly on Satowan, although occasionally she will visit her brother on Weno who provides a constant source of lodging for those visiting and attending school, including her own children. The next sister and

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her husband are both unemployed. The youngest sister, Yana, is the fourth wife of a man from Satowan who stays in Hawai‘i where he receives medical care as a retired veteran. Manny Judah, her husband, is the only man from the atoll to fight in the Vietnam War. In one year, this homesite of eight lineage adults received goods and cash remittances thirty-nine times, mostly from Yana, who lives and works in Hawai‘i. Amarew Homesite The head of Amarew Homesite is a seventy-five-year-old widow named Filanis. She has dark, oiled, brown skin, high cheekbones, walks slightly bent over, and often keeps her hair tied neatly in a bun fastened with a plastic comb. She lives on one of the more densely settled homesites with two daughters, one son, their spouses, many grandchildren, and adopted children. Roughly half of the homesite membership is aged less than twenty. Two of the in-marrying spouses make a wage income of roughly $130 each as a school security aid and a municipal policeman. Filanis’s son, Lamber, also works as a school security aid while several young women craft mats (kieki), flower leis (mwárámwár), and baskets to sell on Weno. Since the return in 1997 of Filanis’s younger sister, Isty, the dynamics of the Amarew has changed somewhat. Isty and her husband, also from Satowan, have lived in Weno for more than thirty years working mostly for the Lukunorowned Stop ’n Shop. The single cement sleeping house across the road where Filanis’s son resides was built by Isty and her husband, costing over $10,000. Isty recently built a small tin store on the homesite that sells mostly canned meat, biscuit, sugar, coffee, rice, ramen, salt, and potato chips. Most days, Filanis and Isty can be found in the faal (meeting house) playing Chinese checkers on a worn-out cardboard. Though Isty has a place of her own on the islet, through her husband, her constant presence on the homesite accentuates her rights to clan land for both herself and her daughters. Perhaps she also is concerned about what lands will be given out to the oldest living son of Filanis, who has tried to delineate land for his wife and children. Until her recent return, Isty has been the largest and most consistent source of cash and food. The second largest provider is her grandson, Peter, on Guam who recently sent clothes, cups, ice chests of food, coffee, flashlights, a thermos, and baskets, along with $100, which Filanis used to buy powdered soap, rice, and canned meat. To conclude, mobility for the broadly extended households is likely to be a household strategy. Kinship composition and sibling hierarchy play a large

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role in defining which members are mobile, especially in households where there is a marriage of firstborn females to firstborn males. Educational and occupational opportunities are often shaped by cultural understandings of sibling hierarchy, so that firstborn men often are educated abroad to provide the economic integrity of their wives’ households, especially through their provision of land. While firstborn females often provide the anchoring necessary for the lineage to survive; lineage sisters also are a constant source of cash and goods and thus contribute importantly to the economic sustainability of the household. The relationship between firstborn and lineage sisters and their movements back and forth suggest that mobility is hardly an individual choice but lies at the interstices of many other goals that concern the sustainability and enhancement of the homesite. Extended-Nuclear Household The absence of several women from the descent line is the primary reason for the second type of household, the extended nuclear, being usually smaller than the broadly extended. Typically, an individual or married couple heads a nuclear household, which includes unmarried children, married daughters, and their spouses and children. Extended-nuclear households commonly incorporate three generations, as with the broadly extended households, but are less stable and less permanently established than the latter. Each homesite has an average of two sleeping houses with the household heads sleeping in one and the adult daughters in the other. Although extended-nuclear households are typically on well-established plots of land, often these were from a father to his children to establish a new lineage or a working unit within the lineage, called a “faang,” as distinct from an inheritance from the maternal line. When a married couple moves to land that the wife’s husband has brought to the marriage and secures enough resources to establish their own homesite and prepare their own food, she becomes a potential founder of a new group (Flinn 1992, 56). Of the five extended-nuclear households, three were on lands passed from father to daughter, in turn now the household heads, and two were from the women’s husband for their children. This transfer could occur anywhere from ten to twenty years after marriage depending on a variety of factors, but usually occurs for a woman in her early to mid-thirties. This timing indicates that for roughly ten years her children have the added support of and are subordinate to several other lineage adults in the extended household. Slightly more members (52 percent) of the extended nuclear live elsewhere which is the highest ratio for all households in Eor and Lukelap villages (see table 5.6). Most are attending school or accompanying their parents or

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grandparents (n=29, not shown). The average number of de jure members (3.8) contributing to the household also is the highest, with support coming either from married children, spouses of children working elsewhere (n=12, not shown), or unmarried children (n=7, not shown). Another four adults are elsewhere with their spouses but not working. It is during this phase in the life cycle of the homesite, when children are unmarried wage-earners, that the extended-nuclear household receives wealth flows most frequently. In fact, parents often prefer their children to be both working and unmarried, since most income will come to them. Married sons may help. But more wealth flows are received from their daughters’ spouses, most of whom also are working themselves in the urban center and remitting as well. Many young children, after attending high school in the urban center, also stay on and get a job soon afterwards. For a young unmarried woman, who would otherwise be beckoned to return home, attaining a job and remitting home becomes a valid reason for her to stay especially if she contributes to her parents at home. In one household of six contributors, the senior members were temporarily on Saipan, so that money and gifts flowed between Saipan, Satowan, and Weno, making it a multilocal household. The female head, said to be returning soon, had land on Saipan and regularly sends money and food items to Satowan for her son and his family. She also assists other children in Weno, while her eldest daughter works and stays with her on Saipan. Given the high number of adult children living elsewhere, these households have the highest amount and most frequent traffic of wealth flows to and from the atoll. Children send parents food and clothing and they respond with traditional food. Cash is also more likely for these, rather than any other kind of household on the atoll, most often to purchase food for daily consumption or for special events like funerals. Although nuclear-extended households receive the highest and most frequent amount of cash, goods, and clothing from de jure members, the average income of $65 is the least for the four types of households. One household has no independent source of income from wage work; another is in the same position, but the female household head leases land on Saipan, mentioned earlier. A third relies on a son-in-law with a monthly income of $50; and two households depend on retirement checks of about $100 a month. Moreover, all household heads, ranging in years between fifty-four to seventy-six years, are unemployed. Their occupational histories show intermittent earnings, often reflecting a lack of privileged positions like firstborn men. They tend to have an elementary education and do not have special skills like carpentry or crafts, except for the one woman, now widowed, whose husband was a mwánichi working as a carpenter in Weno for many years. For a period of fifteen years, the senior woman oscillated between Satowan and

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Weno, later returning in 1975 when her husband received a transfer. With their income, they were able to purchase property and build a cement house, having previously lived at the nearby homesite of her husband’s sister. In another household, the head woman is a middle sister in her late sixties. She has had very little mobility experience. In fact, she recalls only one trip to Weno in the 1990s to get retirement benefits. She receives food items, clothing, and money from her son working on Guam and from her younger sister on Weno. In her forties, this woman moved from an extended household with her children to her husband’s place. Meanwhile, her oldest sister’s children (the oldest sister is dead) live on the place of her original homesite. Her younger sister is married to a man from the Marshalls. Although her younger sister has lived on Weno for over twenty years, one of her daughters stays in this household, which illustrates her strong commitment to Satowan. Whereas relations among siblings was the major reason for movement being strategic for broadly extended households, for the extended-nuclear households, most earnings and items of clothing and food were from the adult children of the household heads and their spouses earning wages in Weno, Guam, or Saipan. We may infer, as children become adults, the collective household pursued a conscious strategy of them going away to work. In other words, mobility does appear to be a household strategy. Levels of wealth flows provided by many adult children may be high, but most members hold low-wage jobs reflecting a high school education. This pattern is reflected in the comparatively low average incomes of so many adult persons in five extended-nuclear households. Nuclear Household Nuclear households consist of women, who previously lived among lineage sisters in extended units, but are now the household heads. When they marry and become more stable, they are able to utilize use rights to a subset of lineage land and establish a separate sleeping house and cookhouse. These units have an average of seven people; most are two generational consisting of a husband and wife and their children, although three had three generations, which include a married daughter with a few children. There are also two more lateral households; one man and his nuclear family live with his two unmarried sisters in their forties, and in another, a man and his nuclear family included the membership of his lineage brother and his wife on Weno. Except for seven households that sleep in one structure, the remaining had two or more sleeping houses, and a final had a two-story cement house. The nuclear households have three times as much monthly income ($190) than the extended-nuclear households that consisted mostly of aging and un-

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employed heads. Many of the nuclear household heads were in positions with a regular income: a special education teacher, a junior high school teacher, an elementary teacher, a village leader, a policeman, a deputy mayor who also works as an elementary teacher, a mayor, and a woman running a small store. At the time of my survey, two head men reported no income, although one occasionally did carpentry and the other was a sailor twenty years earlier. As distinct from the established homesites of broadly extended households, the condition of nuclear sites was fairly new. Some have no catchments and draw water from nearby places, and most are without storage houses, a faal (meeting house), or a motorboat, and continue to go to the original homesite for meetings and amenities. Six of ten nuclear households are considered to belong to their original homesite; the rest live on parcels of land brought in either by a male spouse or the head woman’s father. Most nuclear households receive few wealth flows. In two nuclear households absent of wealth flows, one male head’s lineage was “dying out.” Unlike an inheritance, the land he resides on was purchased from a woman of his original place signaling a lack of support found in most other homesites. In the other, the female head actually receives some food and clothing, though most are directed to her mother in the original homesite. Nonetheless, the households with low to medium levels of wealth flows, in addition to the two households without any, usually reflects the newness of these households and very often a dependence on their original homesite. Nuclear households, unlike the broadly extended and the extended nuclear, were more likely to have most and occasionally all of their members on the atoll. This also explains the findings of “none” or “low” wealth flows. Frequently, nuclear households do not receive money and gifts directly from those living elsewhere but through members of the original homesite. Persons of nuclear households also are less likely to give an account of food and clothing that were directed to the original homesites, since these resulted from the efforts of the larger group. In the three households of high wealth flows, one receives from his wife’s family from Weno with additional support from two unmarried daughters working on Guam; another receives most from an unmarried daughter working in Weno and smaller amounts from the male head’s sister, from Tonoas (Dublon), working on Saipan. In the last household, food, clothing, and cash comes from an unmarried son in Oregon, the male head’s sister in Oregon, the female head’s sister in Weno, her mother’s sister on Guam, and her younger sister who recently returned to Satowan. To summarize, for nuclear households mobility does not appear to be a household strategy. We may infer that at this household life cycle, the collective membership is unable to mobilize because it is newly established and

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continues to rely mostly on the original homesite for their daily activities and subsistence access. Additionally, most of the members, which include many young children, are present on the atoll and, in turn, receive low to medium levels of wealth flows that may enhance the household as in the two previous types, the broadly extended and the extended nuclear. One-Woman Household The absence of immediate lineage sisters distinguishes the final type of household, the one woman. These six households have at least two consecutive generations for which there was only one woman born from the same woman. Three of these households were not strictly of a sole woman, although they were culturally considered to be an “only one” or aleman. One head was adopted from Lukunor because her adopted mother had no immediate sisters on Satowan. This head, who is a middle sister, has other siblings on Lukunor who frequently visit and supply her with food. Another household head has a younger sister who was adopted out to Pohnpei as a child. And, finally, another head woman’s mother was adopted from Lukunor where she had another sister. There were three cases with three generations consisting of only one woman with no immediate lineage sisters, her only daughter, her daughter’s spouse, and children. Similarly, two cases consisted of one woman (with no immediate lineage sisters), her husband, and her children. A final household consists of a nonconsecutive generation—namely, a grandmother and her adopted grandchildren. All of the six households have one sleeping house, although for the three generational households it was not uncommon to find the elderly widowed woman sleeping in the faal. Only two of the six one-woman households had a monthly income averaging $120. One was an elderly, widowed woman receiving a small retirement stipend from her husband and income from her son-in-law who works as an elementary teacher. Another consists of a female head working as a teacher. The remaining households have no access to regular wage incomes, although one man makes intermittent earnings from crafts. As with the extended-nuclear heads, low monthly incomes for aleman households is mostly related to low levels of education attainment by household heads. Of the six female heads, four had an elementary education, one had a junior high education, and a final head attended college in Palau. Except for one in-marrying male, the remaining had low levels of education. The one-woman households also report low to medium levels of wealth flows, which is understandable since these households had the fewest number or

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only ten members living elsewhere (see table 5.6), most of whom are young children. In fact, for three of six households all members were on the atoll. In the previous types, both the extended nuclear and the nuclear can be seen as a later stage of the broadly extended household; however, the onewoman households were actually on established homesites, although it may appear to be less established because there are very few members (averaging 6.8 per household) residing on the atoll. By looking at their residential histories, at an earlier time some of these households had other domestic units, typically a brother and his wife and children, who lived with them but eventually moved to a separate site. Not surprisingly, these household types are often described as lacking support and struggling with the daily demands of gathering and preparing food unlike the broadly extended household that resembled a falang. A lack of women also could lead to the decline of the lineage, land, and food; in fact, one site was considered to be “dying out” because there were “no more women” (tolo much). The head woman on this site had only one sister, who died as an adult without marrying and having children. The demise of her lineage seemed inevitable since she only had three sons and attempted to adopt a female member of her afakur (the children of the male members of the lineage) but was unable “to plant” the young woman, who was accused of “running away.” Female heads of one-woman households have the least amount of mobility experiences than any other women. As children, the female heads were the least likely to be moved about. This lack of mobility continued into adulthood which also explains their low levels of education. They will often say that their parents feared sending them elsewhere because it compromised their unstable positions as only women. One household head’s recollection of travel included a limited amount of a three-month visit to Weno in 1967 to accompany the birth mother of her adopted child, a one-month visit to Weno in 1993 to accompany her son’s wife giving birth, and a three-month visit in 1993 to visit her brother in Weno. Another household head attended elementary school on Pohnpei and later went to Kuttu where she met her husband and stayed for several years. She returned to Satowan in 1986 and has been to Weno once in 1996 for a three-month period to escort her son to attend high school. To summarize, mobility does not seem to be a strategy for one-woman households most likely because they face some of the basic needs of having the physical presence of their members and especially women to sustain a lineage. The lack of adult females not only affects the functioning of the household but also shapes the level of socioeconomic earnings and the amount of wealth flows received. Because a considerable effort is spent on establishing

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the household on Satowan, it also appears that the lower levels of education, lower mobility experiences, and lower levels of socioeconomic abilities act as insurmountable obstacles to being mobile. The Moral Imperatives of Ways of Living To consider the concepts that Satowan people held of homesite and household, I set up a developmental cycle of domestic groups in which, ideally, each household passes through the broadly extended household. Findings on extended nuclear and nuclear households were derived from this. However, since a complete analysis of the life history of every domestic unit on the atoll was not collected, more variations may exist than the four types of households discussed previously—as when a nuclear household becomes dissolved and reabsorbed into the extended household.4 Or, as Petersen (2009, 93) highlights, Continual variation in the composition of households, changes in the landholdings of the relevant groups, and environmental fluctuations make it difficult for anyone to predict where the best place to make a living is likely to be a few years in the future, and the dynamics of personal relations between spouses and between them and their respective families shift often enough to make each household’s history unique.

Nonetheless, households recorded as based on domestic units coincided with details from household surveys and genealogical information, although, again, no complete analysis was attempted on how marriage, its occurrence and dissolution, affects household morphology. In 1982–1983, after the cholera outbreak, the Satowan person responsible for building water catchments estimated about 115 sleeping houses. This estimate is consistent with a total of fifty-seven occupied sleeping houses for two of four villages on the atoll, Eor and Lukelap. Very often the level of wealth flows received correlates with the number of wage workers de jure, who are able to contribute to the household income. In other words, the higher the number of wage workers in a household, the greater the level of wealth flows provided. In turn, this reflects the life cycle of domestic units, since broadly extended households have lineage sisters and both the broadly extended and extended-nuclear households have adult children who are working elsewhere. Conversely, the nuclear household is more likely to hold its members at home, including the very young children, yet, may still receive some help from the original homesite of its extended unit. The fourth type, aleman, although long established and

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more independent of their original site, face the added stress of an insufficient number of women able to sustain a household. As a result, very few of its members are away. Although women in a matrilineal/matrilocal society are at a disadvantage if they leave Satowan, repercussions for women in the first three types of households are very different than for the women of the last type. In these, some women, and especially the firstborn, are able to take socioeconomic advantage of going away for wage employment. Firstborn women, made secure not only from such income but also through marriage to firstborn men, themselves in wage employment, can provide the anchoring necessary for household survival. The small membership of one-woman households is reflected in low incidences of leaving Satowan, likely from her status as an only female child, potentially less economic security, and fewer persons with formal education on which to draw. With firstborn or other lineage sisters anchored at home, some others (mostly the middle) are able to detach themselves, but in the process become the highest remitters and thus secure their position upon their return. Similarly, when children become adults and go away, they become the most important providers for their aging parents at home. Both the broadly extended and extended-nuclear households employ mobility as a conscious strategy through not only the money received but also the care and support provided when yet other members leave. Still, one could ask, if the morphology and socioeconomic characteristics of households influence population mobility, how in turn does mobility influence household morphology? We might argue, for example, that the most successful domestic units would be those whose members were more educated and held the better jobs, as very often revealed in the marriage of firstborn men and women. Theoretically, we could suggest that if this group were to separate from the broadly extended household, economically they would be by far the most successful group. But the position of mwánichi and finichi are themselves dependent on cultural norms. Their position could be undermined and the prestige of the firstborn revert to the middle sibling if, for some reason, the eldest sibling living elsewhere has no intention of returning or provides no remittances, if the eldest sibling marries and remains elsewhere without any desire to return, or if the eldest displays no skill or inclination to “keep the father’s secrets” and (for males) serve as both spokesperson and communicator for the lineage. Yet, previously and for other generations, these were rare occurrences. Often, if the mwánichi or finichi dies prematurely, then the next sibling becomes a de facto. We might also argue that the privilege of being firstborn often is combined with considerable responsibility. Many firstborns, who often live in extended

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households, continue to support siblings for much of their working lives or until siblings become more independent. In Subedi’s (1993) view, based on a study of isolated village communities in eastern Nepal, the existence of large, three-generational households speaks to the moral imperatives of kinship and reciprocal obligation. The members of large households are not dependent socioeconomically on each other, but reflect continuing patriarchal values and norms, where leadership is in the hands of grandparents upholding the integrity of the household. Furthermore, large domestic units help to consolidate resources, which again reflects respect for the elderly who continue to structure the uses of land “in the face of increasing individualistic way of life” (1993, 94). Finally and most crucial for the intellectual stance of this study, households may live in an extended fashion, but to understand the falang from the inside is to help gauge the moral imperatives of that lifestyle. Very often those who live closest to what was considered a falang are revered by others living in domestic units that are less extended. A falang reflects the continuity of lineage women and the guidance of lineage men over several generations, through both cooperative effort and income pooling, unlike the lack of support and poignant loneliness witnessed in smaller households. Symbolically the falang describes social relations that span the physical presence of a household unit. Thus, extended families are not simply viewed as if they were a capitalist firm (Hayes 1992, 229), nor do they act in the calculating manner of “transnational corporations” ascribed to them by Bertram and Watter’s (1985) MIRAB model. Instead, a conscious strategy of household mobility emphasizing both the moral economy of members exhibiting social solidarity and income pooling and the role the collective unit plays in evolving scenarios for survival on atolls.

Notes 1. This estimate was made by a man who was responsible for building water catchments after the cholera outbreak in 1982–1983. 2. See Marshall (1999) for a fuller discussion on cross-cousin marriage patterns in Namoluk Atoll (Mortlocks) and the larger Micronesia. 3. Original names are presented with permission of homesite members. 4. See Peterson (2009) for other variations in household composition and organization.

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6 Atoll Enlargements on “Migration”

n the contemporary migration literature there is a theoretical debate involving the link between macro and micro phenomena and the role of structure and agency. Guam presents us with a macro level and the ways in which the “state” permits immigrants across its borders. Through a body of law, as well as through institutions or ruling ideas, the structure of mobility is transferred downward. At the micro level, we see immigrants bringing with them a host of sociocultural resources from another society (Pedraza 1999). This is often described by sociologists as differentials in social class, education, occupation, culture, or values. “Their outcomes . . . will be partly a function of the nature of their migration . . . and partly a function of the social context that greets them” (1999, 378). The approach of my study mirrors this debate. The two theoretical constructs used to guide the investigation of people in movement were transnationalism, which makes a concerted effort to describe the macroscopic economic, political, and administrative structures, and circular mobility, which takes a more micro-focused approach by looking closely at cultural and territorial interpretations of movement. Studies that take a macro approach often address the issue of how the dominant ideology—as expressed through configurations of the state, institutions, laws, or ruling ideas—provide for the structure of mobility. This focus, however, often ignores how cultural penetrations and emic, insider interpretations flow upward. Similarly, the micro approach often lacks full consideration of the political and socioeconomic conditions that shape mobility. To address this scholarly impasse, I used the household as a form of social organization that mediates transformations. Norms that operate within the household on

I

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Satowan are often based on their notions of matrilocal residence, marriage, sibling hierarchy, and gender that affect the behavior of movers and stayers. On the other hand, the educational and occupational status of particular members reflects the ways in which the household continually seeks to adjust itself to larger socioeconomic pressures. Although the approaches of both transnationalism and circular mobility underpin this study of population movement in general and migration in particular, the idea that the rural-urban dichotomy is inappropriate for the study of migration arises from their different orientations. Transnationalism calls for a balance in considering both the urban and rural settings. In other words, what are being seen as rural areas should be equated with the importance of the metropole instead of being viewed as of peripheral or secondary importance. The critique of circular mobility is to challenge assumptions in more conventional concepts of movement by focusing on more emic understandings. At the close of this chapter, we will consider different dimensions and processes of “walkabout” that are framed in opposition to EuroAmerican epistemologies of migration. This research took place at the “home” area (Satowan) and several “reach” sites (Weno, Guam, and Hawai‘i). I explored both the structural conditions and the motivations underlying decisions to document better not only why movement occurs but also why it may not occur and how particular household members affect the mobility or immobility of others. Comparisons between movers and stayers emerged from investigating the relationships embedded in sites at home and at reach. Several methodological strategies (formal and informal interview, household survey, wealth flow survey) and conceptual frameworks (migrant’s social network, the household, an emic understanding of mobility) illuminated this process. Lastly, issues of identity were discussed on several levels: Satowan identity through space and place, Satowan ethnic identity as Mortlockese in relation to Lagoon Chuukese, Micronesian migrant identity with homeland, and the effects of the movement of FSM citizens to Guam.

Transnationalism in Micronesia How relevant is the idea of transnationalism for Micronesian mobility? Through this concept, as already noted, a concerted effort is made to describe the macroscopic economic, political, and administrative structures of the destination area as well as the rural impacts that equally influence the consequences of movement. Hence, greater emphasis is placed on wealth flows than on remittances or on livelihood than on sustenance to encompass a broader

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analytic perspective that actively engages the rural scene (Massey 1990). “It is in this transnational space,” writes Small, “that new social and economic structures of social mobility, development, tradition, remittances, and social identity are being wrought” (1997, 193). In their study of Dominican mobility to New York, Grasmuck and Pessar (1991) focus on sending and receiving populations, immigrants and their families, the movement itself, and on pertinent state policies in both receiving and sending societies, as well as on relations between social classes, social networks, and hierarchies of gender and generation. Much transnational research centers around recent changes in American immigration policy, which shifted in 1965 as a result of an influx of people from beyond Europe. Many scholars drawing from this framework have noted several differences in these new immigrants who arrived from the third world regions of Latin America, Asia, Mexico, and the Pacific Islands. Those recently coming into the United States “are arriving into an increasingly postindustrial, service-oriented society embedded in a new era of globalization” (Pedraza 1999, 379). Tongans in America, for instance, are entering into “largely white, often racist industrial economies during a time when skilled manufacturing jobs are leaving these countries,” which have repercussions for immigrants at the lowest rungs of the economic ladder (Small 1997, 7). The newer wave of migrants into the United States sponsor family members at four times the rate of those from Europe (1997, 7) and send significant levels of remittances, which, in some cases like Tonga and Samoa, sustain the home economy. Lee (2009, 15) observes, “The form of transnationalism with which Pacific peoples typically engage is shaped by this awkward relationship between state-imposed borders and cultural differences, and their own perceptions of social relatedness that transcend national boundaries and emphasise reciprocity, kinship and cultural identity.” The transnational literature also highlights the role that women play in the migration process compared to former streams in which European males outnumbered females. The migration of Haitians to the United States is often instigated by single women (Charles 1992). Similar findings have been replicated in studies of Jamaicans and Dominicans in New York, as well as research on the feminization of the labor market by women from Sri Lanka, the Philippines, and Indonesia (Gamburd 2000). Still, other findings have found that women from Samoa (Shankman 1976) and Tonga (Lee 2003) are more frequent and more reliable remitters than men. Here, the idea of transnationalism was used to consider the movement of FSM citizens to Guam since the Compact of Free Association was implemented in 1986 and to illustrate the crucial links between those at home and on Guam, in particular, the flow of goods, services, and cash remittances. The

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data on Guam illustrate transnationalism operating on several levels. Very often, those on Guam brought other kin members from their natal places to live with them. Men frequently sponsored other male relatives to find jobs and help pay rent; women typically encouraged female relatives to come and help with the household and the younger to babysit and attend school. Migrants from the FSM reported both sending and receiving food, goods, clothing, and money. Cash remittances were used mostly at the home place to build a house or establish a small store, for church celebrations, to purchase food, and for funerals. Men tended to dispatch greater amounts, while women gave more consistently and often soon after their arrival on Guam. FSM migrants talked about the frequent return trips with women returning twice as often as men and frequently soon after they arrived. This difference is linked to impressions of Guam; for many women, it is a threatening place and viewed as one where traditions are lost. On Guam, FSM migrants continue to show strong allegiance to their home place and many intended eventually to return. In the literature, much is made about the emergence and character of transnational and diasporic citizenship, in which movers embrace both host and origin communities, as seen in the exchange of resources and kinship ties that cut across national boundaries. Changes in transportation and communication are also recognized as enabling migrants to maintain closer and more frequent contact with home. For the FAS community on Guam, it is difficult to determine how much of their “transnational migration” will translate into a pan-Micronesian identity for there is not yet a nationalist sentiment among citizens of the FAS, or among FSM citizens in particular. At this stage, no organizations exist on Guam that focus on the politicization and mobilization of Micronesian newcomers, either as a cohesive unit or in relation to the majority population, although FSM political leaders recognize the economic gains to be won from more and more islanders acting transnationally. Growing evidence suggests that what is rather at play among FSM migrants on Guam is a preoccupation with showing differences amongst themselves, especially through a disassociation with the Chuukese. As already noted, stereotypes ascribed to the Chuukese are low status, an association with drinking and driving, problems with the police, and difficulties with renting. Those from Chuuk Lagoon also face opposition from others within Chuuk State. People of Satowan are included in a larger social unit, the Mortlockese, and often view those people from Chuuk Lagoon as less traditional, with a tendency to be violent. Such perceptions have contributed to the emergence of a pan-Mortlockese identity and fuel the desire among many Mortlockese to be politically separated.

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Equally problematic for the North Pacific are questions of regionalism as a vehicle to secure the sovereignty of island states. “Micronesians of the trust territory lagged behind other Pacific nations with regard to regional affairs. During the 1960s, 1970s, and well into the 1980s, they were preoccupied with negotiations with the United States over their future status” (Kiste 1999, 440). While some envision a pan-Pacific framework involving Micronesia, Polynesia, and Melanesia in contexts such as the United Nations, the South Pacific Games, and the South Pacific Forum (Hereniko 1994), others believe that the “Pacific Way” has not yet developed into a real ideology and at this stage is more a popular sentiment among mobile elite groups than a grassroots perspective (Hau‘ofa 1985).

The Household: The Juncture between Transnationalism and Circular Mobility I have argued the household contains both behavioral and structural dimensions that influence mobility; in other words, it is a mid-level concept to illustrate the interconnections between micro- and macro-phenomena. Rather than looking at the individual as the unit of analysis, or the polities of the origin and destination states, we focused on the dynamics of the household. As a methodological strategy, the household at the origin place gives analytical credence to the conceptual frameworks of circular mobility, transnationalism, and transmigration. A growing number of such studies, as by Subedi (1993) in eastern Nepal and Underhill (1989) on Manihiki Atoll in the Cook Islands, shed light on the more subjective aspects of mobility: sequences of person or group experiences, dynamics of behavior, possible motivations, issues of identity, rootedness to home, level of familial obligation, and the decisionmaking process in general. As Rodman states in her study on Vanuatu (1985, 269), “Understanding what domestic space is symbolic of, for local people allows us to see into their world and glimpse processes of change through the dwellings they construct.” Studies on Micronesian mobility generally do not analyze the household as a social organization mediating transformations. The focus is primarily socioeconomic, through census materials that speak broadly about household units receiving cash remittances from migrants who live elsewhere. Similarly, the micro focus by ethnographers on households fails to consider ways in which they are influenced by broad, macro-level pressures. Most such anthropological studies treat lightly the socioeconomic activity of the household and the effects of wage labor, except in sweeping generalizations that such economic activity draws many members away from the rural setting, oftentimes

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permanently. Notions of household in the anthropological literature are embedded within discussions of matrilocality and patterns of kinship organization that, when linked with land tenure, make strong assumptions about all people living in a homogeneous system of extended kinship. On Satowan, I considered two conceptions of social groups. The first is the falang, or the homesite. As described by the people of the islet, this is a composition of kin that has existed over several generations and identifies its collective assets as land, islets near Satowan, taro patches, and reef and lagoon areas, as well as the knowledge, skills, and characteristics of its members. “Falang” also means “the hearth,” or “cookhouse,” which represents the collective efforts of homesite members to prepare food. Considering the falang helped to understand the ideal functioning of a homesite, the cultural beliefs embedded within this social unit, and the ways in which a homesite strives to sustain the sense of a traditional way of life. From the Satowan concept of falang I teased out four types of households, the pei. The intellectual goal was to extend one locally specific conception, the falang or homesite, toward another, the pei or household, to incorporate both cultural considerations and socioeconomic contexts. More cultural aspects of “pei” included hierarchies of obligation, power, and responsible roles of the household head, firstborn male and female, as well as issues of status associated with age, education, and career patterns. The more structural constraints affecting household formation were reflected in socioeconomic characteristics, as distilled in average monthly income, number of contributing de jure wage-workers, and level of wealth flows. Kinship and gender hierarchies powerfully shape the decision making of the household. Within a broadly extended household, one of four kinds of pei, eldest siblings played a crucial role in both its functioning and its ability to mobilize others. Men, the firstborn, appear to be encouraged to pursue higher education and wage-earning jobs as a means to sustain the household. Often, many firstborn men were educated abroad and were most likely to earn the highest wages on the atoll. Similarly, firstborn women generally experienced greater mobility than their younger lineage sisters, although most of that occurred primarily through marriage, especially if a firstborn female was married to a firstborn male. Even so, in the early period of marriage, firstborn women return to the atoll more permanently, unlike middle sisters who typically stay abroad much longer. The presence of lineage sisters on the atoll, especially the firstborn woman, seems to provide the anchoring and the security for other lineage sisters to be far more mobile. Not all pei(s) on Satowan are able to mobilize their members, which, in turn, highlights the frequent assumption of all households being organized according to principles of reciprocity, consensus, and altruism. Among all

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four types of households there were several reasons why two, the nuclear and one-woman households, were unable to mobilize their members. Among nuclear households, land tenure seemed to play a role in lower mobility. For example, less-established households struggling to enhance their rights may demand the physical presence of members, especially when there are no written accounts of land tenure on Satowan and inheritance is primarily through oral declarations. Some nuclear households contain members whose receipt of cash, clothing, and food is not directly but rather, if at all, through kin of the larger or original falang (homesite). Although land tenure did not play a crucial role for one-woman households, this type of pei faced daily demands of gathering and preparing food. Apart from a lack of women, it appears that lower levels of both formal education and prior mobility experience, reinforced by fewer socioeconomic opportunities, act as insurmountable obstacles on Satowan to being mobile. A close examination of Satowan households detailed the intricate relations between lineage women at home and abroad. Compared to a man, a Satowan woman was less likely to be gainfully employed or to be formally educated beyond elementary school, so that in general women had less mobility experience than men. On the atoll, the amount of mobility among women lies in sibling links, especially the interconnectedness between lineage sisters, which in turn is crucial to the enhancement of the pei. For extended households, lineage sisters living elsewhere were the most consistent providers of cash, food, and clothing. Sibling hierarchy embodies a cultural function in defining whether absence will assist or harm the domestic unit through allowing some members to be more mobile and others less so. Perhaps because most firstborn females were on the atoll, or soon to return, they provide an anchor of stability for their lineages and in turn allow some middle sisters to be more able to be mobile. On the islet, both cultural and economic considerations operate in the return of firstborn men. Many, having lived away for years on end and being educated abroad, were entrusted with acting as spokesperson for their lineage, protecting their sisters, and guarding any land brought to the lineage by the father. These individuals exhibited a higher sense of security, perhaps because of the inheritance of land and other possessions. It seems unlikely that firstborn men, compared to younger male siblings with fewer mobility experiences, would have been chosen to go away and attain formal education if their return seemed questionable or uncertain. Rather, the calculation of return had more to do with fulfilling cultural objectives than with opportunities or obstacles faced in the urban centers. Although my findings cannot say how pervasive has been the education of firstborn males in Micronesia, they suggest such individuals are chosen to succeed on a cultural basis, with the imperative understanding of returning to sustain the economic integrity

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of the collective pei rather than simply for narrow economic reasons in and of themselves. The significance of cultural goals or considerations can be found among other Pacific migrants. For Samoans in Aotearoa New Zealand, senior members committed to fa’asamoa (the Samoan way) play a key role in establishing households and ensuring the continuing flow of wealth between urban migrants and Samoa (Macpherson 2002). Within Samoa itself, the a¯iga, or the larger collective unit, also plays a role in deciding which person to send, favoring those most likely to serve (tautua) the family and “to remit all or part of their income, in either cash or kind, for the longest possible period” (Macpherson and Macpherson 2005, 11). Women, particularly the unmarried, were favored (Macpherson 2002), a practice reported as early as the 1960s when Shankman (1976, 61–62) observed that women were the most frequent and reliable remitters of cash to a¯iga in Western Samoa. At times cultural considerations, even tensions, can underlie mobility. Tongan youths, particularly unmarried men, seek “to escape the onerous obligations to senior (higher) relatives by moving elsewhere, both to the capital and overseas” (Small 1997, 200). Pule, the executive power the father exercises as representative of the patrilineal unit to control and command the membership, “makes it hard for the youth to achieve social recognition as adults of the local community” (Perminow 1993, 108). Similarly, faka’apa’apa, the respect found in the brother-sister relationship, limits opportunities “to develop cross-sex relations of intimacy and to establish marital relations while staying in the local community” (1993, 108). To return to Micronesia, a focus on the household helped isolate the significant role of women by examining not only the ideal types of behaviors characteristically depicted by ethnographers, but also how women act in concert with others, especially in the pei. There is scant literature on movement of Micronesian women and it is simpler, for example, for aspects of immobility to be read into anthropological accounts of a thriving matriarchy, with a tendency to romanticize the image of women as rooted, circumscribed, or coherent rather than to focus on contemporary issues of womanhood. Again, this positive ethnographic aura reflects an overemphasis on a matrilineal locus, gender roles (as in subsistence activities), the brother-sister dyad, and a postmarital residence termed “matrilocal” often read as inherent in atoll societies. When the overwhelming analysis is on principles of kinship organization, women are seen as interlocked in layers of sociocultural relations that impede the ability to be away from home. In terms of the role of women, the current stream of FSM citizens to Guam is also little recognized and often most attention is paid to the fertility of migrants and their lack of participation in wage work. Rubinstein and Levin

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(1992) suggest, for instance, that the lower rate of labor force participation for Micronesian females reflects cultural attitudes that discourage working outside the household. Another study by Rubinstein (1993), considers a continuum of stable settlement on Guam ranging from the most capricious households, young bachelors, to the more stable that resemble those of three generations in the home place. Stage-one households are comprised mostly of young Micronesian men, recently arrived, the most estranged or “uncultural” type because there is no acknowledged figure of authority. In the next phase, stage two, more links of kinship are found, as in married couples with children. The household grows more stable in the third and fourth stages, which reflects matrilineal relatives of the wife, such as sisters and children, and children of her mother’s sister. Thus the significance of women who have moved to Guam is linked to the emotional stabilization and maintenance of households initiated by men. All these dimensions of household membership are pertinent to the study of population movement, but the more subtle message is that women play an insignificant role, mainly moreover as followers of men. When economists fail to count female-gendered tasks as “work,” argues Gamburd (2004, 45), “sexist gender norms, rigid economic rationality, and culturally insensitive development ideologies shape discussions of women’s labor and migrants’ accomplishments.” Other scholars of island mobility have been less comfortable about adopting such a stance. Gailey (1992, 51), in her study of Tongan migration, notes that women’s contribution to wage work frequently goes undetected, which “lead[s] to systematic under-reporting of women as labor migrants, particularly if they are accompanying husbands or if they have husbands living abroad. Women migrating may be viewed as housewives or as seeking to join husbands.” What has been learned about Micronesian women on Guam indicates that their role is not solely or simply to follow husbands. Some came without the aid of spouses, and still others were escaping troubles with them. Most important to the household, migrant women on Guam were more consistent contributors of cash, food, and clothing and more likely than men to make return trips more often within their year of departure. These women were also more concerned about children’s education on Guam and responsible for bringing other women to seek employment and to help with household tasks.

Circular Mobility in Micronesia Despite insights of the transnational literature, it focuses mostly on social agents within the country of destination and takes a somewhat stilted view of

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economic consequences. Most writing centers on experiences linked to the emergence of “recent changes in the world economy, especially the extensive penetration of capital into the third world” (Glick Schiller, Basch, and Blanc Szanton 1992a, x). Within its micro-level focus, the idea of circular mobility is complementary by calling attention to more inside, or emic, understandings of a people or a society. It is more successful at integrating cultural aspects and allowing agency, without making a priori assumptions about the act of movement, and avoids the pitfalls of essentializing mobility. In this sense it challenges the term “migrant,” often embedded within the Euro-American notion of movement, and helps to uncover the illusion of permanency. The literature on circular mobility illustrates that the rural-urban dichotomy, as well as its analysis, compartmentalizes the real world in ways not experienced by the movers themselves. As Flinn (1992, 164) argues in her study of Pulap (Polap) atoll in the Western Islands, cultural notions of people and mobility “structure interaction with others and define social and cultural boundaries, they affect perceptions of locale and its relationship to social structure in the context of mobility.” For atoll dwellers, the social context in the urban center of Weno is much informed by Satowan conceptions of social space and mobility, with some behaviors characterized according to where they take place. Very broadly, any behavior that occurs on nonkin space is highly circumscribed since all land, whether inhabited or not, belongs to and is attached to a falang (homesite), a clan, or, more rarely, an individual owner. Wandering about in nonkin places is captured in “uruur” and “likoepei,” because often it implies these individuals are depending on others beyond related homesites. Most of the time, “uruur” and “likoepei” are associated with young men roaming about trying to appach (to glue) for food, coffee, or cigarettes from unrelated persons. The people of Satowan conceive of mobility as embodied in particular sites. Parang, which lies on the southern tip of Satowan islet, is highly valued as a place which moves the gut, a place to wander, to seek privacy, and to relieve stress. Parang is also the site where the chief can declare a pwaaw, symbolic of the ways in which a creative and interactive dialogue is engaged with the atoll environment, to which end the collection of food, other resources, and even movement itself is prohibited. Conceptually, mobility is set within customary or traditional residence. A Satowan man, upon marriage, usually moves to his wife’s natal homesite. A man who “stays” on his natal land (and does not acquire it for his wife or his children) may run the risk of having his labor perceived as stingy and selfish, because he does not elevate his wife’s people, the people of his children, or because he deprives his children of their clan. Similarly, a man who “stays” too close to his wife and so ignores the needs of his clan may be accused of being

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likoko (possessive). Women who move around the islet are embedded in a plethora of cultural metaphors, such as “fine chueselau,” “those who wander from one place to another or do not stay home” and “sikepwach,” “those who sleep around with several men.” For women, the term “peche sesset,” which broadly refers to an in-marrying spouse, carries the connotation of those who have no roots and therefore no land rights. Peche sesset may be a minor form of embarrassment for some women, but for many others such a perception undermines their position in an atoll society and is one key for leaving to try and reclaim some sense of socioeconomic security. Mobility, as conceived by the people of Satowan, does not necessarily involve the physical fact of movement from one place to another. It is best understood when set within cultural notions of acceptable and unacceptable behaviors, which sometimes embody mobility, as informed and shaped by the home place and the homesite (falang). Movement on or off the atoll may be considered improper if it appears to have no acknowledged purpose and does little to enhance the homesite. If the purpose of movement is made known ahead of time, most crucial is that there is continual reciprocity between those away and those on the atoll, and that there is a desire or an intention to return to Satowan. Dimensions of “Walkabout” The principal contribution of paying theoretical attention to circular mobility is calling to question whether the transferability and application of Euro-American concepts of “migration” to reciprocally based societies is inevitable, possible, or even desirable. The analysis of population movement in the Pacific Islands can be seen to have reached an intellectual impasse when migration is “reduced to a mechanical sequence of discrete events, abstracted from the broader structural contexts of environment, history, culture, society, economy, and polity” (Chapman 1991, 267). “From the standpoint of western scholarship,” Subedi (1993, 304) observes from life-long experience in eastern Nepal, “an indigenous typology of mobility may appear unbounded, because at times categories are ambiguous or flexible, there is no clear fit with those derived from western experience, nor are the time-space boundaries well defined for many forms of mobility.” Western concepts of migration assert that the principal streams are from rural to urban, oftentimes one way and permanent, and likely to continue as long as the socioeconomic conditions in the origin area remain bleak. Within this framework, migrants act rationally and individually through economic motivations. Yet an increasing literature among scholars of island mobility points to dimensions of “walkabout,” where movement is fluid rather than fixed and ongoing rather than permanent.

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One kind of “walkabout” found throughout parts of Melanesia, called lela, means to go visit, to travel, or to attend a feast, “but always with the future intent of returning to the natal place” (Chapman and Prothero 1985, 10). Among young men of Nepal, “baralina jane” involves sheer curiosity, pastime, or adventure to other places, but intending to come back (Subedi 1993). “Gade,” reported among the people of Lakeba (Fiji), is described as “evasive and at times purposive; it might appear . . . when no ‘obvious reason’ for journey presents itself or the person is unwilling to reveal why they moved” (Young 1998, 19). On Satowan, “uruur” is “walkabout.” Although “uruur” means to wander without any specific purpose, its significance lies within a collage of spatial mobility guided by life cycle and gender. For children who uruur, there is little consequence except when they frolic among unrelated individuals. Women too may uruur among other young women on particular sites. “Uruur” has many socializing qualities when a pastime out of curiosity, as many young men do in concert with other men. Only at an age when men and women are expected to be more responsible with childcare and running the homesite does “uruur” take on negative connotations. Mobility histories reveal that males, especially the unmarried, were more likely than females to engage in uruur. As a form of behavior, this may occur on the atoll, in the urban center, or in reach areas like Guam, Hawai‘i, and the continental United States, but the site or location is always less significant than the behavior itself. People of Satowan characterize “to wander” as inappropriate when the reason for leaving is unknown, the individual does not reciprocate with members on the atoll, and there is no expressed intention of returning. Similar observations were made among the To‘ambaita of Solomon Islands (Frazer 1981). “Liliu,” which means “to walkabout” or “wander about,” incorporates many behaviors among young unmarried men in town (Honiara), as in “spending time away from one’s regular abode, being a person with ten (numerous) toilets (te’e tafulu talawane), a man who eats in ten (numerous) houses (te’e tafulu luma), a person who passes from one house to another (makelea luma ba ‘e fula bo’o neri)” (Frazer 1981, 354). Rather than taking a political-economy approach, since urban migrants are the poorest, the most disadvantaged, and lack experience and security of town life, Frazer considers “liliu” an important and significant indigenous concept. He links the practice of wandering around an urban place to basic rural experience. To‘ambaita constantly move around their own territory to fulfill social obligations, such as to cultivate food gardens and tree crops, attend local produce markets, and participate in church services. In Honiara, walkabout is not aimless but engaging. Learning about the town and its environments may lead to a fortuitous exchange of pleasantries or to the possibilities for increasing one’s

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economic status, especially since at that time, most To‘ambaita were without telephones and did not read. Fijian social organization also includes a distinct category of young, unmarried males, called the cauravou, who associate together daily in intensive peer groups (Gounis and Rutz 1986). In the urban setting of Suva, the cauravou may be found “resting” (vakacegu) or relying on others who are better placed to find them employment, since “Fijian culture emphasizes the normative obligations of kinsmen, friends, and classmates toward oneself . . . and use one’s personal network to help find a job” (Gounis and Rutz 1986, 77–78). By studying the dimensions and dynamics of walkabout, we shift from an analysis of rural-urban and issues of permanency to cultural understandings of behaviors that may or may not engage with movement. I used the notion of social space for a more comprehensive understanding of mobility experience. Identifying and describing particular sites on the ground, like fanuan uruur, ilük, Poro, and Parang, corresponded to a “geography in the mind,” which in turn informs aspects of mobility. Later, social space was expanded to incorporate systemic influences of local beliefs and attitudes surrounding an individual, based on combinations of age, gender, marital status, and childbirth. The life cycle became the major ordering principle to examine different kinds of territorial mobility inherent to the social and cultural life of Satowan people. A behavioral continuum of proper and improper behaviors, first set out by Olofson (1985) for the Hausa of Nigeria, made it possible to incorporate mobility within larger frames of cultural understanding. Movement viewed through the experiences of person and cultural identity “involves a shift away from viewing ‘those who move’ as ‘migrants’ tied to localities rural and urban, to movement as a relationship between the body and culture” (Young 1998, 320). Seen in this manner, even the wandering of young men can be purposeful and culturally inscribed. In the words of the Mortlockese cultural historian, Joakim Peter (1977, 43), this places “Islanders’ travels as the center of the narrative” rather than casting island peoples as lost or adrift. Studies that consider the ideas of circular mobility, social space, and dimensions of walkabout, or chants like “Fetanin Weno, Sefanin Weno,” challenge the characteristic view of migration and permanency. Taken together, they go beyond dualistic frameworks concerning the demise of a traditional lifestyle and the emergence of an untraditional one. “Fetanin Weno, Sefanin Weno,” the lynchpin of the story with which this book begins, serves as a metaphor of journey and movement captured in what the geographer Anne Buttimer calls “home and reach” (1980, 17). In this paradigm the dialectic of security and adventure, or the relations between “home and reach,” are grounded in concepts like place, community, encounter, at-homeness,

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movement, commitment. In other words, “Physical displacement . . . is not accompanied by social structural displacement” (Chapman 1976, 132). The people of Satowan anchored to a falang or homesite, which provides for a sense of identity, stability, and security, are not immobile. Through collective efforts, they continue to sustain links with members elsewhere through steadfast acts of reciprocity, most especially through adherence to territorial understandings of mobility set within cultural frames.

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10_251_z1_Bib.indd 166

6/28/10 10:56:57 AM

Index

ABCFM. See American Board of Commissioners of Foreign Missions afakur (descendants of male lineage), 80, 88; falang and, 112; faukö and, 80, 81, 88; uruur and, 97–98 alcohol, 73, 104; uruur and, 98–99; Weno drinking of, 59, 60 Alkire, William H., 49 Amarew Homesite, 131–32 American Board of Commissioners of Foreign Missions (ABCFM), 51 Americanization, 105; of Guam, 31–32 “American” traits, 32, 52, 60, 62; re Merika (from America), 100 amworukennat (travel forever, never return), 96, 99 anthropological research: community focus of, 45; descent groups and kinship focus of, 45; on detribalization, 48; on ethnic identity and urbanization, 43; on kinships, 48; research, of FSM, 44–50 APIL. See Association for Pacific Island Legislatures Aroset Homesite, 84, 90

Association for Pacific Island Legislatures (APIL), 33 atoll society: matrilocal, 46; women reproduction/lineage in, 47 Barth, Fredrick, 44–45, 49 Basch, Linda, 41 Bertram, Geoffrey, 140 Bonnemaison, Joël, 3, 44 Borthwick, Ernest Mark, 45–46, 48, 95, 98 breadfruit: as assets of falang, 13; in preparation for the faukö, 89; sent to Weno, 122 broadly extended household, 125, 126–32; Amarew Homesite, 131–32; education and, 129–30, 132; kinship composition of, 131–32; marriage and, 130; Moulen Homesite and, 130–31; sibling hierarchy of, 131–32 brother-sister dyad, in matrilocal society, 46 burial: Catholic east-west alignment, 65, 66; cemetery, Satowan ceasing of, 68–69; warrior diagonal, 65 Buttimer, Anne, 3, 19, 44, 80, 153

— 167 —

10_251_z2_Idx.indd 167

6/28/10 11:02:25 AM

168

Index

canoe builder, nuum carving by, 85 Capital Improvement Money (CIP), 10, 122 Caribbean, diaspora of, 2 Carlos, Krispen, 69 Caroline Islands, 20 CAT. See Civil Action Team Catholics, 51, 54; communion, women and, 88; Diocese of the Caroline Islands celebration, 83, 85; east-west grave alignment of, 65, 66; men/ women’s groups of, 83; in Satowan, 68; Satowan lack of priests, 87 Census. See de facto population; de jure population center-periphery, 26–27 Chamorro/Chamorros, 27; “Americanized” description of, 32; ethnic relations with FSM in Guam, 41–42; as Guam indigenous people, 21 Chapman, Murray, 2, 44 childcare, clan homesite and, 82 cholera epidemic, 10, 15, 121, 138 Chrisman, Noel J., 48 Christianity, 51, 54, 56 church, life cycle and, 83 Chuuk state, 7, 19, 69; bill for Mortlock separation from, 58; cholera epidemic in, 15; clans of, 1; education in, 36; government, 10, 51, 121–22; Guam disassociation with people of, 144; Guam emigration of, 2–3, 28, 144; itang of, 1–2, 55; as original homeland, 55; political/economic positions of people of, 57; Weno urban center, 43, 52–53, 88 CIIEP. See Compact Impact Information and Education Program CIMA. See Coordinated Investigation of Micronesian Anthropology CIP. See Capital Improvement Money circular mobility, 2, 6, 44, 141, 145–54; micro-level society and, 150; of Satowan, 5; territorial aspects of, 109

10_251_z2_Idx.indd 168

Civil Action Team (CAT), 61 CNMI. See Commonwealth of the Northern Mariana Islands COFA. See Compact of Free Association collective identity, 49, 109 Commonwealth Covenant, with United States, 21 Commonwealth of the Northern Mariana Islands (CNMI), 19, 21 communion, women and, Catholic, 88 Compact Impact Information and Education Program (CIIEP), 33 Compact of Free Association (COFA), 18, 20, 23, 27–28, 29, 42n1, 143; “Compact impact,” 21; FAS as nonimmigrant, 28; FSM/U.S. unrestricted travel of, 21; Guam reimbursement for immigrant adverse effects, 28; open U.S. immigration, 28; original terms of, 24 Connell, John, 22–23 cookhouse, 13; and activities of the lineage, 46; association with men, 94; falang and, 114; pei and, 115–17 Cook Islands, 109, 145 Cooperation and Change (Goodenough), 45 Coordinated Investigation of Micronesian Anthropology (CIMA), 44, 60 copra, 9, 51, 71 Council of Micronesian Chief Executives, 33 cross-cousin marriage, 95, 129 cultural identity, 78n1, 147 culture, mobility integration by, 43, 47 deceased, women as caretakers of, 91, 92–93 de facto population, 9, 11, 109–10, 115, 116, 118, 125, 130, 139 deferential behavior, of women, 87 de jure population, 11, 110–11, 118, 121, 125, 130, 146; absence reasons for,

6/28/10 11:02:26 AM

Index

120; of extended-nuclear household, 133 dependency theory, for migration, 23–24, 27 diaspora, of Caribbean, 2 Diocese of the Caroline Islands celebration, 83, 85 discrimination, of FSM in Guam, 32 economic motivation, for migration, 5, 22, 23 education, 22, 34, 35, 36, 54, 129–30, 132 Efong Village, 16, 66, 69, 77 Emerick, Richard G., 49 emic understanding: characteristics, of spatial mobility, 63; of household, 120; of movement, 79–107 Emmaus, 67, 74 Eor Village, 16, 66–67; de facto population of, 115; historical wandering and, 67–68; households on, 115, 118, 119, 121; household unit types on, 125, 127; stereotype of, 68 Etal, 7, 50; on “American” traits, 60 ethnic identity, 43 ethnic relations, of Chamorros/FSM of Guam, 41–42 extended-nuclear household, 125, 147; marriage and, 132–33; multilocality of, 133; wealth flows and, 133–34; women absence in, 132 falang. See homesite Falopol Homesite, 65, 113; settlement, 13, 18 Fanior Homesite, 67 fanuan uruur, 71, 77 Farmer’s Home Grant, 121 FAS. See Freely Associated States faukö (fishing ceremony), 80, 82, 88–90, 106, 115 Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA), 121

10_251_z2_Idx.indd 169

169

Federated States of Micronesia (FSM), 1, 19, 41–42; anthropological research of, 44–50; citizens, of Guam, 3, 19, 32, 39–40, 41, 143, 144; Higher Education Act and, 22; immigrant remittances for, 37, 37–38, 38; map of, 4; migration to district centers, 25–26; migration to Guam, 21; public works/universal education in, 22; retail trade employment, in Guam, 28; United States and, 20–24; urban migration of, 25 FEMA. See Federal Emergency Management Agency “Fetanin Weno, Sefanin Weno” chant, 1–18, 56, 153 firstborn men, 121, 124, 128, 132, 139, 146 firstborn women, 121, 124, 128–29, 130, 132, 139, 146 Firth, Stewart, 24 Flinn, Juliana, 47, 49, 54, 71, 150 Frazer, Ian Leonard, 63 Freely Associated States (FAS), 19, 28; transnationalism, in Guam, 21, 26, 29–40, 37, 38, 39, 41–42 Friedl, John, 48 FSM. See Federated States of Micronesia Gailey, Christine Ward, 149 gender distinctions: affect on mobility behavior, 142; gender roles, 148; hierarchy of, 143, 146; life cycle and, 152; and proper mobility, 86–87; social space and, 153 General Register (1997), on Satowan population, 11 geographical mobility, 3–4 “geography in the mind,” 76–78 German Micronesia: Japan acquisition of, 20; Mortlocks slave labor and, 51; Weno trading station during, 53 Gladwin, Thomas, 55 Glick Schiller, Nina, 41 Goodenough, Ward, 45, 95, 101

6/28/10 11:02:26 AM

170

Index

Gorenflo, Lawrence J., 25–26 Gouland, Sasao, 69 Grasmuck, Sherri, 143 “The Great Flight Northward,” 21, 28 Guam, 13, 18, 19–42, 119, 142, 148–49; Americanization of, 31–32; Chamorros indigenous people of, 21; Chuuk movement to, 2–3, 28, 144; FSM citizens of, 3, 19, 32, 39–40, 41, 143, 144; FSM retail trade employment in, 28; immigrants and, 141; Japanese tourism industry in, 21, 23; Yap/Kosrae/Pohnpei immigration to, 28 Guam, FAS citizens as transmigrants to, 20, 26; community organizations for, 33; discrimination against, 32; education and, 34, 35; ethnic relations of Chamorros and, 41–42; flow/reciprocity patterns of, 36–39; hotel survey of, 29–40; nation-states and, 41; remittances and, 37, 37–38, 38; return trips of, 39, 39–40; social network analysis of, 40–42 Haitians, U.S. migration of, 143 Hall Islands, 53 Hanlon, David, 41–42 Hausa, of Nigeria, 5, 63, 80 Hawai‘i, 13, 18, 142 Hezel, Francis, 21, 25, 26 Higher Education Act (1965), 22 homesite (falang), 5, 13, 67, 70, 82, 84, 86, 90, 97, 101, 111–15, 130–31, 146, 151, 154; experiences associated with, 109; gender distinctions in, 86–87; hearth/cookhouse of, 114; inactive, 115; kinship composition of, 110, 112; member knowledge/ skills/characteristics in, 112–13; social groupings of, 111; women/men interactions beyond, 90–95 hotel survey, of Guam FAS citizens, 29–40; on Americanization, 31–32; demographics of, 30;

10_251_z2_Idx.indd 170

on discrimination, 32; on flow/ reciprocity patterns, 36–39; household types of, 30–31; “reasons for coming,” 33–36, 34; remittances and, 37, 37–38, 38; return trips, 39–40; views of Guam in, 31–33; wages of, 30 household (pei), 5, 146; analysis of, 110; children games and, 86; cookhouse of, 115, 116; domestic group of, 111, 115; eating sites of, 115–16; employment/ wage earners of, 122; on Eor/Lukelap, 115, 118, 119, 121; gender distinctions in, 86–87; membership, 117–21, 149; minimal kinship grouping of, 115; mobility as strategy of, 126, 128–38; sleeping sites of, 116–17, 121; socioeconomic characteristics of, 121–24, 145; structural constraints of, 121–24, 146; transnationalism/circular mobility and, 145–49; unit types of, 124–26; women/men interactions beyond, 90–95 household unit types, 127; broadly extended, 125, 126–32, 146; extended-nuclear, 125, 132–34, 147; moral imperatives for ways of living in, 138–40; nuclear, 125, 134–36, 147; one-woman, 125, 136–38, 146 identity, 54; collective, 49, 109; cultural, 78n1, 147; ethnic, 43; shared, 50–62 Immigration and Naturalization Service, U.S., 28 immobility: matriliny and, 46; postmarital residence and, 46 improper mobility, 63, 82, 96–102; amworukennat and, 99; kinds/ attributes of, 96; kinds/attributes of, for women, 100; uruur and, 97–99 in-marrying female, 102 in-marrying male, 102, 112 intermarriage, in Mortlocks, 52 Iras, 11, 18 itang (body of knowledge), 1–2, 55

6/28/10 11:02:26 AM

Index

Japan: German Micronesia acquisition by, 20; inter-atoll canoeing ban of, 51; soldiers, on Satowan, 52; tourism industry, in Guam, 21, 23 Kailepan settlement, 13, 18 Kennedy administration, U.S. policies toward FSM, 22 Kenney, Michael, 106 Kimono (chief), 75, 76, 77 kinships, 43, 45, 101, 131–32, 146; anthropology on, 48; falang homesite and, 110, 112; minimal groupings, of pei, 115; in Mortlocks, 52; organization of, 148; relationships, 121; rules of behavior based on, 46 Knapman, Bruce, 24 Kosrae, 18, 28 Kulong Village, 16, 66, 69 Kunstadter, Peter, 43 Kuttu, 7, 111 land ownership: by clan, in Satowan, 70; disputes over, 123–24; in Weno, 57; women and, 45, 46 Lee, Helen, 143 legitimate mobility, 63 Lemwar Homesite, 67, 113 Lerong Homesite, 67 Lessa, William A., 45 Levin, Michael J., 21, 25, 28, 36, 148–49 Lewotes settlement, 11, 13, 118–19 Liberation Day, 9, 114 Lieber, Michael D., 49 life cycle, 82; church activities and, 83; life stages, of Satowan, 82–83; as mobility ordering principle, 79; spatial mobility and, 82–105 likoko (man/woman relationship): characteristics of, 95 likoutang dress, 91, 92; as movement metaphor, 105 Lindquist, Bruce A., 29 lineage sisters, 47, 110, 132, 134, 136, 139, 146, 147

10_251_z2_Idx.indd 171

171

Linnekin, Jocelyn, 49, 78n1 LMAC. See Lower Mortlocks Advisory Council Logan, Robert, 51 Losap, 7, 50 Lower Mortlocks Advisory Council (LMAC), 9, 10, 58 Lukelap Village, 16, 66, 112; crosscousin marriage in, 129; households and, 115, 118, 119, 121; household unit types on, 125, 127; stereotype of, 68 Lukunor, 7, 8, 50, 119; close kinship in, 46; detached land identification on, 71; Seletiw/Falopol/Kailepan settlements and, 13; women “planting” on Satowan, 52 Lutz, Catherine A., 61 macro level, of mobility, 141 Mahoney, Francis B., 106 Mailo, Petrus, 16, 55, 60, 68, 83, 118, 129, 130 Manihiki Atoll, 109, 145 marriage, 121, 130, 132–35, 142, 146; cross-cousin, 95, 129; of firstborn males/females, 132; mobility related to, 94; of Mortlocks, 52, 57; natal homesite, man’s move to upon, 70; women mobility through, 129 Marshall, Mac, 26, 46, 60, 78n5, 101 Masenifal Homesite, 97 Mason, Leonard E., 25, 47 Massey, Douglas S., 29 matrilineal society, 112, 139, 148 matriliny, 43; immobility and, 46; land and, 45, 46; mobility and, 82 matrilocal society, 83, 101, 112, 139, 142; brother-sister dyad in, 46; postmarital residence in, 46 maturity, mirit structure of, 86–90 Mayer, Iona, 62–63 Mayer, Philip, 62–63 McGrath, Thomas B., 21 Mechitiw Causeway, 1, 11

6/30/10 6:45:16 AM

172

Index

men: boundaries between women and, 80; Catholic groups, 83; elements of manhood for, 106; firstborn, 121, 124, 128, 132, 139, 146; movement of, 90–95 micro level, of mobility, 141, 150 Micronesia. See Federated States of Micronesia migration: dependency theory for, 23–24, 27; economic motivation for, 5, 22, 23; hotel survey, of Guam FAS citizens, 33–36, 34; modernization theory for, 24–27; permanent change of residence of, 111; political/ economic factors, 23, 25, 55, 57, 109; political-economic theory for, 23; political organization and, 23; social change for, 23; social space and, 3; United States and, 20, 26, 143; wage employment and, 26–27; Western concepts of, 151; of women, 143 military control, of FSM by United States, 24 MIRAB model, 140 mirit structure, 104; of maturity/ responsibility/wisdom, 86–90; women unstructured movement and, 100 Mitchell, J. Clyde, 27 mobility, 3; attributes of, 107; circular, 2, 5, 6, 44, 109, 141, 145–54; culture integration of, 43, 47; as household strategy, 126, 128–38; improper, 63, 82, 96–102; legitimate, 63; life cycles as ordering principle of, 79; lineage sisters/sibling hierarchy and, 110; macro level of, 141; onewoman household, lack of, 137–38; prohibited, 77; proper, 80–81, 81, 86–90, 92–93, 96–97; related to marriage, 94, 129; on Satowan, 62– 76; short-term, 80; social/cognitive space and, 63; spatial, 63, 82–105; territorial, 79–80; of women, 82,

10_251_z2_Idx.indd 172

92–93, 100, 129. See also immobility; uruur (to wander) mobility Móch, 7, 111 modernization theory, 19; centerperiphery in, 26–27; for migration, 24–27; socio-psychological component of, 26–27; urban centricity of, 25; urban v. rural in, 25 “Mortlockese Invasion,” 9, 53 Mortlock Islands, 6–7, 7 Mortlocks, 3, 43, 50; acculturative influences and, 51; alcohol as illegal, 73; “American” traits of, 52; bill for separation from Chuuk state, 58; businesses of, 54; Christianity of, 54, 56; Christmas/Easter celebrations of, 83; dialect of, 7; education/ political office of, 54; FEMA and, 121; intermarriage/kinship in, 52; marriage and, 52, 57; precincts of, 51; project money divided among, 51; shared identity of, 50–62; slave labor recruitment in, 51; Typhoon Pamela and, 10; urban place view of, 59–62; values of, 54; on Weno, 43, 52–58 Moulen Homesite, 130–31 movement: cultural interpretations of, 141; emic understanding of, 79–107; territorial interpretation of, 141 Mwaluk Homesite, 84, 113 Nakayama, Tosiwo, 69 Nama, 7, 50 Namoluk, 7, 26, 50, 101 Namonuito Atolls, 53 Nason, James D., 58, 60, 124 natal place: female mobility and, 46; married men, attachment to, 112, 123, 150; post-marital residence, 83, 94–95; relationship to peche sesset, 102–3; remittances sent to, 38–40; return to, 38–40; wife’s homesite, 70 nation-states: ethnic boundaries and, 41–42; of FSM in Guam, 41

6/28/10 11:02:27 AM

Index

neocolonial governments, 23 Nepal, 80, 145, 151 Nepukos, 11, 55 Netting, Robert McC., 109, 110, 117 Nigeria, Hausa of, 5, 63, 80 nuclear household, 125, 134–36, 147; marriage and, 134–35; monthly income and, 134–35; wealth flows of, 135 Olofson, Harold, 5, 63, 77, 80, 153 Oneop, 7, 50–51, 52 one-woman household, 125, 146; mobility, lack of by, 137–38; monthly income of, 136–37 Pacific, 2, 6, 143; urban space, as corrosive in, 48 Pacific Island Central School (PICS), 130 Palau. See Republic of Palau Parang Homesite, 67, 74, 76, 77; “A Parang Letipach” song, 113–14 patrilocal residence, 95, 101 peche sesset (immigrant), 82, 100–103; commitment ambiguity of, 102; stigma of, 102, 103–5; women position and, 104–5 Pessar, Patricia R., 143 Peter, Joakim, 34, 55, 60, 97, 153 Petersen, Glenn, 24, 138 PICS. See Pacific Island Central School Pohnpei, 19, 28, 49, 101, 104, 119 political/economic factors, in migration, 23, 25, 55, 57, 109. See also economic motivation political-economic theory, 23 political office, of Mortlocks, 54 population: de facto, 9, 11, 109–10, 115, 116, 118, 125, 130, 139; de jure, 11, 110–11, 118, 120, 121, 125, 130, 133, 146; movement, household in, 109, 127; of Satowan, 9, 11 Poro, 73–74, 77

10_251_z2_Idx.indd 173

173

post-marital residence: immobility and, 46; in matrilocal society, 46 Poyer, Lin, 49, 77n1 prohibited mobility, 77 project money, 121–22; Mortlocks division of, 51; of Satowans, 69 proper mobility, 86–90; kinds/attributes of, 81; reciprocity and, 80–81; uruur and, 96–97; of women, 92–93 Property, Kin, and Community on Truk (Goodenough), 45 Prothero, R. Mansell, 2, 44 Pulapese, 49, 54 pwaaw, 74, 78n6, 150 Rauch, 46, 51, 60, 71, 95 Reafsnyder, Charles B., 51, 54, 58, 61, 62, 101 reciprocity: acceptable mobility and, 80–81; uruur beyond areas of, 98 remittances sent home, 37, 37–38, 38, 142, 143, 144 Republic of Palau (RP), 19, 20, 21, 42n1, 52, 119 Republic of the Marshall Islands (RMI), 19, 20, 42n1, 119 return trips: of FSM citizens, of Guam, 39–40; by gender, 40; reasons for, 39 rewon (outsider), 60; characteristics of, 60–62 RMI. See Republic of the Marshall Islands Rodman, Margaret C., 145 RP. See Republic of Palau Rubinstein, Donald, 11, 21, 28, 34, 36, 78n6, 83, 87, 148–49 Saipan, 26, 35, 119 Samo, Amando (bishop), 54 Samoa: level of remittances to, 143; Samoans, as remitters, 142, 148 Sapunippi clan, 112; in Satowan, 69; tideland chant of, 1

6/28/10 11:02:27 AM

174

Index

Satowan, 6–13, 43, 51, 59, 64, 142; acceptable movement by, 80, 83; alcohol prohibition in, 99; Catholics/ Protestants in, 68; census of, 118; characteristics of, 63, 64–70; cholera epidemic in, 10; circular mobility of, 5; clan land ownership in, 69; cultural life of, 2; Eor Village of, 16, 66–68, 115, 118, 119, 121, 125, 127; evacuation of, 8–9; falangs within, 112; imported food and, 122; islets surrounding, 71; Japanese soldiers on, 52; kinship composition of, 110; Liberation Day of, 9, 114; life stages, 82–83; location of, 111–12; Lukunor “planting” of women on, 52; matrilocal residence, 83; mobility and, 62–76, 83; open courtship prohibition on, 60; population of, 9, 11; project money of, 69; reefs of, 112; social space and, 44, 62–76; subservient economic/political position, 57; urban space view by, 3; uruur movement from, 44; WWII history of, 8 Satowan Constitution (1991), 76 Seletiw settlement, 13 Sellem v. Maras (1995), 1, 56 Setik, Raymond, 13, 17 Shankman, Paul, 148 shared identity, 50–62 sibling hierarchy, 110, 121, 124, 131–32, 142, 146, 147 slave labor recruitment, in Mortlocks, 51 sleeping houses, 65, 67, 71, 116, 117; from grants, Farmer’s Home Grant/ Aging Program/FEMA, 121 Small, Cathy A., 143 Smith, Kyle D., 36–37 social groups: conceptions of, 109–40; homesite (falang), 5, 13, 67, 70, 82, 84, 86–87, 90, 90–95, 97, 101, 109, 110, 111–15, 130–31, 146, 151, 154; household (pei), 5, 86–87, 90–95,

10_251_z2_Idx.indd 174

110, 111, 115–26, 119, 128–38, 145– 49; on Satowan, 146 social network analysis, of FSM of Guam, 40–42 social space, 3; dynamics of, 105–7; migratory behavior and, 3; mobility and, 63; Satowan and, 44, 62–76; territory/clan identification and, 76–78 socioeconomic characteristics: de jure population, 11, 110–11, 118, 120, 121, 125, 130, 133, 146; of household (pei), 121–24, 145; wage income, 26– 27, 121; wealth flows, 121, 133–35, 138, 142, 146 Solenberger, Robert R., 21 Solomon Islands, 63, 152 Sou-Eor clan, 67–68, 71, 75, 75–77, 112 Sou-Luk clan, 112 spatial mobility: emic characteristics of, 63; life cycle and, 82–105 structural constraints: firstborn men, 121, 124, 128, 132, 139, 146; firstborn women, 121, 128–29, 130, 132, 139, 146; kinships, 43, 45, 46, 48, 52, 101, 110, 112, 115, 121, 131–32, 146, 148; marriage, 52, 56, 70, 94, 95, 121, 129, 130, 132–35, 142, 146; of sibling hierarchy, 110, 121, 124, 131–32, 142, 146, 147 Subedi, Bhim Prasad, 80, 140, 145, 151 Ta, 7, 59, 71, 111 territorial mobility, 79–80 Thomas, John Byron, 46, 82 To’ambaita, of Solomon Islands, 63, 152–53 Tolerton, 46, 51, 60, 71, 95 Tonachaw Mountain, 57, 59 Tonoas, 103–4 tourism industry, Japanese, in Guam, 21, 23 Townsmen or Tribesmen (Mayer/Mayer), 63

6/28/10 11:02:27 AM

Index

transmigrant, 5, 19–20, 29–40, 109, 145 transnationalism, 2, 6, 109, 141, 142–49; of FAS citizens in Guam, 21, 26, 29–40, 37, 38, 39, 41–42; with Pacific people, 143; political/economic considerations in, 109 Truk District Legislature, 10 Truk Trading Company (TTC), 9, 119 Trust Territory islands, 22, 58; CIMA in, 44; FAS as citizens of, 28 TTC. See Truk Trading Company Tunnuk Village, 57 Turek Homesite, 67 typhoon: of 1907, 118; Amy, 58; Paka, 13, 17; Pamela, 10, 15, 57, 121; “typhoon” house, 10 Ulithi (Yap) society, 45 Underhill, Yvonne, 109, 145 Underwood, Robert, 23 United Nations, 20, 145; Trusteeship Council of, 21, 22 United States: FSM defense rights/access by, 23, 24; FSM dependency on, 23–24; FSM migration to, 20, 26; FSM/RMI/RP compacts with, 20; Guam acquisition by, 20; Haitian migration to, 143; immigration policy, 143; third world immigration and, 143. See also Americanization; “American” traits United States Trust Territory of the Pacific Islands (USTTPI), 9, 18n3, 19, 20 University of Guam, 29, 34 urbanization, 142; anthropology contribution to, 43; permanent movement and, 47; process of, 63 urban space: as corrosive, in Pacific, 48; Mortlocks resistance to, 59–60; Satowan view of, 3 uruur (to wander) mobility, 5, 72, 82, 105, 119–20, 150; alcohol and, 98–99; to escape social obligations,

10_251_z2_Idx.indd 175

175

98; fanuan, 71, 77; beyond places of reciprocity, 98; proper/improper, 96– 99; from Satowan, 44; “walkabout,” 152; Weno and, 59, 62 U.S. See United States USTTPI. See United States Trust Territory of the Pacific Islands wage employment, migration and, 26–27 “walkabout,” 151–54 water catchments, 10, 58, 66, 121, 138 Watter, Ray F., 140 wealth flows, 121, 138, 142, 146; of extended-nuclear households, 133– 34; of nuclear households, 135 Wenikau Homesite, 67, 73, 75 Weno Island, 11, 18, 103, 142; alcohol drinking on, 59, 60; Chuuk urban center, 43, 52–53, 88; copra sale by, 9; hospital/airport on, 53, 93; household members on, 119; land ownership, 57; “Mortlockese Invasion” of, 9; Mortlocks on, 43, 52–58; open courtship on, 60; as political/economic center, 55; Pulapese on, 49; Satowan settlements on, 12; store items purchased, 123; tidelands, ownership dispute of, 1; trading station, 53; urban center, 150; uruur and, 59, 62 Wilk, Richard R., 109, 110, 117 women, 47; absence, in extendednuclear household, 132; boundaries between men and, 80; Catholic groups, 83; clustering of, 90–95; deferential behavior of, 87; firstborn, 121, 128–29, 130, 132, 139, 146; group travel of, 92, 93; improper mobility kinds/attributes for, 100; land ownership and, 45, 46; medical treatment of, 93; mobility consequences for, 82; mobility of through marriage, 129; physical

6/28/10 11:02:28 AM

176

Index

space understanding of, 87; planting of, on Satowan, 52; proper mobility of, 92–93; unstructured movement of, 100. See also one-woman household World War II (WWII), 52, 53; CIMA after, 44; political/economic

10_251_z2_Idx.indd 176

transitioning since, 25; Satowan history after, 8 WWII. See World War II Yap, 19, 28; outer island of Ifaluk, 61; outer island of Ulithi, 45. See also Ulithi (Yap) society

6/28/10 11:02:28 AM

About the Author

Lola Quan Bautista is assistant professor at the Center for Pacific Islands Studies at the University of Hawai‘i, Ma¯ noa.

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