Category Archives: Pacific

by | 28 May 2004 · 9:04 pm

Samoan Civil Wars during the 1800s

When Andy of SiberianLight linked to my earlier post on the battle of Khalkhin-Gol/Nomonhan between Japan and Russia in 1938, he headlined it Wars nobody has ever heard of, Part 1043. Well, a Russian reader objected that every Russian has heard of Khalkhin-Gol, and reminded Americans that few Russians have ever heard of Iwo Jima. Fair enough, so let’s get even more obscure. How about the Samoan Civil War of 1898-99, which drastically reconfigured Samoa?

The Samoan Civil War of 1898-99 is what led to its partitioning into what is now Samoa and American Samoa.

On the death of Samoa’s King Malietoa Laupepa (d. 1898), his long-time rival Mataafa (d. after 1899) returned from exile aboard a German warship and was shortly elected the Samoan king as virtually a German puppet. The US and British consuls strongly opposed him, backing instead the dead king’s son. Fighting erupted between Samoans; in January 1899, the capital city of Apia was thrown into chaos with foes fighting in the streets, looting, and burning buildings. At first Mataafa and his Samoan and German supporters gained the upper hand until US and British warships shelled Apia (March 15, 1899). Anglo-American troops took control of coastal roads, but were unable to defeat the enemy in the interior. All fighting ceased with the arrival of a tripartite (US-British-German) commission on May 13, 1899. Both sides agreed to give up their firearms, for which they were fairly compensated, and the monarchy was abolished. By the tripartite treaty (1899), Germany received the western Samoan islands, of which Savaii and Upolu (the site of Apia) are the most important; the United States obtained the eastern islands (American Samoa, with its capital at Pago Pago on Tutuila); and Britain withdrew from the area for recognition of rights on Tonga and the Solomons.

Before Samoa was partitioned and colonized, civil war seems to have been the normal method of chiefly succession. Malietoe Laupepa had secured the throne by civil war.

Desultory tribal warfare had long occurred on Samoa, an archipelago in the south-centr[a]l Pacific, where the United States, Germany, and Britain all signed treaties that gave them commercial and other rights (1878-79). In 1880, the three foreign powers agreed to recognize Malietoe Talavou (d. 1880) as Samoa’s king, whose death later that year brought civil war between contentious groups seeking power. About eight months later, Malietoe Laupepa (d. 1898) secured the throne with the foreign powers’ recognition.

Robert Louis Stevenson happened to be in Samoa during an outbreak of warfare in 1893 and filed a report for the Pall Mall Budget.

The process of gathering a royal army in Samoa is cumbrous and dilatory in the extreme. There is here none of the expedition of the fiery cross and the bale fire; but every step is diplomatic. Each village, with a great expense of eloquence, has to be wiled with promises and spurred by threats; and the greater chieftains make stipulations where they will march. Tamasese, son to the late German puppet and heir of his ambitions, demanded the vice-kingship as the price of his accession, though I am assured that he demanded it in vain. The various provinces returned various and unsatisfactory answers. Atua was off and on A’ana was on and off; Savai’i would not move; Tuamasaga was divided; Tutuila recalcitrant; and for long the king sat almost solitary under the windy palms of Mulinu’u. It seemed indeed as if the war was off, and the whole archipelago unanimous (in the native phrase) to sit still and plant taro.But at last, in the first days of July, Atua began to come in. Boats arrived, thirty and fifty strong a drum and a very ill-played bugle giving time to the oarsmen, the whole crew uttering at intervals a savage howl; and on the decked foresheets of the boat the village champion (the taupou), frantically capering and dancing. Parties were to be seen encamped in palm groves with their rifles stacked. The shops were emptied of red handkerchiefs, the rallying sign or (as a man might say) the uniform of the Royal Army….

War, to the Samoan of mature years, is often an unpleasant necessity. To the young boy it is a heaven of immediate pleasures, as well as an opportunity of ultimate glory. Women march with the troops, even the Taupou-sa or Sacred Maid of the village, accompanies her father in the field to carry cartridges and bring him water to drink; and their bright eyes are ready to ‘rain influence’ and reward valour. To what grim deeds this practice may conduct I shall have to say later on. In the rally of their arms it is at least wholly pretty; and I have one pleasant picture of a war party marching out, the men armed and boastful, their heads bound with the red handkerchief, their faces blacked – and two girls marching in their midst under European parasols….

Every country has its customs, say native apologists, and one of the most decisive customs of Samoa ensures the immunity of women. They go to the front, as our women of yore went to a tournament. Bullets are blind; and they must take their risk of bullets, but of nothing else. They serve out cartridges and water; they jeer the faltering and defend the wounded. Even in this skirmish of Vaitele they distinguished themselves on either side. One dragged her skulking husband from a hole and drove him to the front. Another, seeing her lover fall, snatched up his gun, kept the headhunters at bay, and drew him unmutilated from the field. Such services they have been accustomed to pay for centuries; and often, in the course of centuries, a bullet or a spear must have despatched one of these warlike angels. Often enough too, the head-hunter springing ghoul-like on fallen bodies, must have decapitated a woman for a man. But the case arising, there was an established etiquette. So soon as the error was discovered the head was buried, and the exploit forgotten. There had never yet, in the history of Samoa, occurred an instance in which a man had taken a woman’s head and kept it and laid it at his monarch’s feet.

Such was the strange and horrid spectacle, which must have immediately shaken the heart of Laupepa, and has since covered the face of his party with confusion. It is not quite certain if there were three or only two; a recent attempt to reduce the number to one must be received with caution as an afterthought, the admissions in the beginning were too explicit, the panic of shame and fear had been too sweeping.

Jane Resture’s Samoa summarizes the broader context of European colonization of Samoa and elsewhere in the Pacific, and Alexander Ganse’s site, World History at the KMLA (Korean Minjok Leadership Academy, an elite international prep school in South Korea) offers even broader context.

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by | 26 May 2004 · 7:41 pm

Elections in New Caledonia

Head Heeb has been doing a great job keeping up on the recent elections in New Caledonia and French Polynesia. In both cases, the preponderant sentiment seems to be for autonomy, but not full independence. Like Micronesia, perhaps?

On a related note, the Australian National University’s Pandanus Books imprint has published The Kanak Apple Season: Selected Short Fiction of Déwé Gorodé.

Mme Déwé Gorodé, Vice-President of the Government and the leading Kanak writer of New Caledonia, visited Australia to attend and speak at the Sydney Writers Festival (19-25 May 2004)….

This collection is the first English translation of Gorodé’s work, and is part of Pandanus’ efforts to bring Francophone writing to the attention of Australian readers. A remarkable collection reflecting the ethnic complexities of the colonial past of New Caledonia, the author’s approach to language reveals an original voice that compels attention. Drawing on the heritage of blood-lines, family, cultural tradition and colonialism, Gorodé takes her reader on a journey into the Kanak world providing fascinating insight into the culture of New Caledonia, at once both Pacific island and French colonial possession.

Head Heeb also has an interesting post entitled The Pyramids of PNG:

Economist Utpal Bhattacharya of the World Bank has argued that transition economies are particularly vulnerable to Ponzi schemes, pointing to the large-scale frauds that occurred in post-Communist Russia and Romania as well as Albania. Although Papua New Guinea is not a post-Communist country, it is also in transition from subsistence agriculture and fishing to a modern urban economy, and its people are still adapting to new economic conditions. Such circumstances have facilitated Ponzi schemes in the past, particularly where – as in Haiti in 2002 – prominent citizens and political leaders are induced to participate. Although the PNG government has begun to take measures to combat fraud, “in an environment where economic challenge is a daily reality, most expect the promise of a quick and fantastic return will continue to attract many.”

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by | 20 May 2004 · 7:25 pm

The New Guinea Schoolboy and the Japanese Officer

The following story was told to me in 1976 by a man from Morobe Province, New Guinea who was a noted traveler and raconteur whose nickname was “Samarai,” because he had once spent time there. (My late West Virginia uncle had also spent time as an Army cook on nearby Goodenough Island after spending time in Australia. He had a lot of respect for the Aussies, and he’d been in fistfights with more than a few of them.)

In this first, rough translation, I’ve tried to capture the storyteller’s idiom without presuming too much specialized knowledge on the part of my readers. We can be sure the story has “improved” over countless retellings, but it nevertheless conveys a third-party perspective on the Pacific War that is too rarely heard. For more local reactions to the Pacific War, consult the Australian-Japan Research Project for Australia and PNG, and the book Typhoon of War for Micronesia.

While were were in school [around March 1942], the Japanese came and took over Lae, took over the Bukaua coast [the south coast of the Huon Peninsula], all the way to Finschhafen. But we stayed there at school for another year. Then, okay, the Australians and Americans seemed to be planning to come back. Their number one patrol officer, Taylor, sent a letter saying, “Natives, don’t stay in your villages any more. Build huts in your hillside gardens and stay there. A big fight is coming.”

So here’s what we did. We people at Hopoi abandoned Hopoi. We took our school, our desks, and everything and set them up in the forest. We stayed at a place called “Apo.” We kept going to school and, okay, the Australians came from over on the Moresby side, they came all the way to Wau. And they came down that little trail and they and the Japanese fought each other over at Mubo and Komiatam [above Salamaua].

And they sent word to us Kembula [Paiawa], Numbami [Siboma], and Ya [Kela] villagers to go carry their cargo to Komiatam. And they did that and the fighting got harder. The Australian forces got bigger. And some Numbami went and carried cargo over at Salamaua. They went at night. They went there and the Australians came down and fired on the Japanese so the Numbami ran into the forest.

They ran into the forest and there was one guy named G. “G, where are you? We’re leaving!”

So, okay, they went and slept overnight and the next morning arrived at Buansing. And a Japanese bigman there named Nokomura [probably Nakamura], he heard the story so he came down and talked to me. He talked to me and I said, “Oh, that was my cousin, my real [cross-]cousin.”

So the Japanese guy said, “Really? Your cousin? Oh, your cousin has died. The Australians shot him dead.” And he spoke Japanese, and he said, “One man, bumbumbumbumbumbu, boi i dai.”

I said, “Oh, you’re talking bad talk.”

Then he said, “Tomorrow, you go to school until 12 o’clock, then come to me.” So I went to school until 12 o’clock and I went to him.

He gave me, dakine, a rifle, a gun. And he gave me, dakine, ten cartridges, ten rounds. Then he said, “I’d like for you to take this and go shoot a few birds and bring them back for me to eat.”

So, okay, I took it and I went. And he wrote out my pass. And there were bigmen with long swords the Japanese called “kempesi” [probably kempeitai, the dreaded military police]. One man, his name was Masuda [possibly Matsuda]. This man had gone to school over in Germany. And he really knew German well.

So I came by and he saw me, “You, where are you going with that gun?”

So I said, “Oh, a bigman gave it to me to shoot birds for him to eat.”

“Let me see your papers.”

So I showed him my papers and he said, “Okay, go.”

So I went and found a friend of mine. His name was Tudi. I said, “Hey, Tudi. A bigman gave me a gun and I haven’t shot a bird yet. Could we both go and you shoot?”

“Okay.”

So we both went and stopped at an onzali tree and two hornbills were there. So he went and planted his knee and shot one and it fell down. So I was really happy and ran and got it. We kept going until he shot a cockatoo.

So after I thanked him, I said, “Give me the gun and I’ll see if I can shoot.”

So he gave it to me and we kept going until we saw some wala birds, and I said, “I’ll try to shoot. Shall I shoot or not?”

So, okay, I fired and I shot a wala bird to add to the others. So I said, “Okay, we have enough, so I’ll take it and go.”

So I tied the wings together and hung them over the gun and carried them back over to Buansing. I went and all the Japanese bigmen were sitting in a, dakine, committee. They were talking about the coming battles. They were sitting there talking and their bigman said, “Look, here comes my man,” and the guards saluted him. And I was invited in.

So I entered the building and the guard at the door said, “Ha!” When he said that I replied, “Ha!” And I bowed three times and he bowed three times.

After we finished, okay, I went up to the second guard and he went, “Ha!” And I said “Ha!” And I bowed three times and he bowed three times. Okay, then I walked on.

So then I went up to the man who stood at the steps up to the bigman. When he said, “Ha!” then I said, “Ha!” and we had both bowed the third time, I went up the steps.

I went up the ladder and the people who were sitting in the meeting, they stood up and went “Ha!” to me and I said “Ha!”, then I went up and they gave me a chair. I sat down.

And the bigman glanced at his cook. And, okay, he took smokes and opened a pack and passed them around until they were gone. Okay, then he struck his lighter and gave everyone a light, then we all sat down. We sat and sat, maybe a half-hour. Then he told his people, “Okay, the talk is over.”

So they all split up and went out leaving just him and me still sitting. We stayed sitting until he said, “I’ve already given you a blanket and a mosquito net. Here’s a knife. Here’s your lavalava. Over there are your bags of rice and dried bonito, two tins of meat, a tin of fish.”

I said, “Oh, you’ve given me so much. How will I carry it?”

He said, “Oh, it’s all right. Take it away.”

So I asked him, “You’ve given away so much. What does it mean?”

“Oh, there’s a reason. I guess I’ll tell you. After you leave, a ship will come tonight, a submarine will come and I’ll board it and go to Rabaul.”

I said, “Why are you going to do that?”

“Nothing. All us bigmen are going up to Rabaul because the bigmen and a whole lot of soldiers are at Rabaul. And these people, their job is to stay behind, and fight the Australians and Americans when they come, and destroy them, destroy them here. And us bigmen will be in Rabaul.”

“Oh, all right.”

Then he told me, he said, “You go get a good night’s sleep so that when you see the crack of dawn you’ll get up quickly.”

So I listened to him and left.

For a very well-researched Japanese account of the defense of Lae-Salamaua, see here.

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Filed under Japan, language, military, Papua New Guinea, war

by | 19 May 2004 · 10:46 pm

Townsville’s Native Labor Co. (Chinese)

If you’re like me, you’ve lost a bit of sleep wondering what happened to the many foreign laborers on Nauru and Ocean Island (Banaba) during the Pacific War. Well, the first volume of The Bayonet of Australia has ended those worries for me.

The original name of the “Native Labor Company (Chinese)”, Base Two, was “Chinese Civilian Labor Company”, Base Two. The group of Chinese who are working in this organization were evacuated from Nauru and Ocean Islands in the Central Pacific during February 1942. They had been firstly employed by the Australian Government for the Mine Department for a period of over eighteen months. During November 1943, they signed themselves over for employment with the U.S. Army through the Chinese Consul. They came to Townsville, Queensland from Hatches Creek, Wauchope and Alice Spring by army trucks as far as Mt Isa and after putting up a night there embarked by train for Townsville. The trip took about four days. After arriving in this town, they were camped at Armstrong Paddock (U.S. Army Camp).

Among the Chinese Company there are a good many skilled carpenters, fitters, turners, motor mechanics, plumbers, electricians, blacksmiths, moulders, interpreters, clerks, cooks and labourers. The initial company consisted of 515 Chinese under the command of Captain Ferne M. Schmalle, who was assisted by eight enlisted men. The Chinese prefer the American treatment to any other in the world. They are being well fed, well clothed, well quartered and well paid, in fact they are better treated than the soldiers. In addition they enjoy the privileges of free hospitalisation, free transport to and from work and free movie shows.

Hmm. Was The Bayonet of Australia edited by Americans? Although no self-respecting Yank would write “firstly employed” I can’t believe any self-respecting Ocker would write, “the Chinese prefer American treatment to any other in the world.” (Maybe hoping they wouldn’t stay after the war was over?) Judging from the inconsistent spellings, I’d guess the 1942 Bayonet must have been written by a bilateral committee.

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Filed under Australia, China, Pacific, U.S., war

by | 19 May 2004 · 9:55 pm

LBJ in PNG

Don’t you find it amazing how many important people have turned up at one time or another in Papua New Guinea? Me, too. (Okay, maybe just Errol Flynn, Gen. Douglas MacArthur, and one or two others.) One such VIP was LBJ, who accompanied a bombing run over Salamaua on 8-9 June 1942:

Nine days after the raid, Lyndon Johnson was awarded an Army Silver Star medal, the nation’s 3rd highest medal for valour, by General MacArthur’s chief of Staff, Major-General R.K. Sutherland for his participation in the above bombing raid. He often wore this medal during his term as President of the United States. He refused to discuss the details of how we won the medal. His citation read:

For gallantry in action in the vicinity of Port Moresby and Salamaua, New Guinea on June 9, 1942. While on a mission of obtaining information in the Southwest Pacific area, Lieutenant Commander Johnson, in order to obtain personal knowledge of combat conditions, volunteered as an observer on a hazardous aerial combat mission over hostile positions in New Guinea. As our planes neared the target area they were intercepted by eight hostile fighters. When, at this time, the plane in which Lieutenant Commander Johnson was an observer, developed mechanical trouble and was forced to turn back alone, presenting a favorable target to the enemy fighters, he evidenced marked coolness in spite of the hazards involved. His gallant action enabled him to obtain and return with valuable information.

After President Roosevelt ordered all members of Congress in the Armed Forces to return to their legislative duties, Johnson was released from active duty under honorable conditions on 16 June 1942. In 1949 he was promoted to Commander in the Naval Reserves to date from 1 June 1948. During his time in service, Johnson was awarded the Asiatic Pacific Campaign Medal and the World War II Victory Medal. After he became President following the assassination of John F. Kennedy, Johnson’s resignation from the United States Naval Reserve was accepted by the Secretary of the Navy effective 18 January 1964.

Of course, Johnson also spent time in Townsville, Queensland, Australia, but I’ve never been there, so that hardly counts.

Here’s more on the controversy surrounding LBJ’s silver star in PNG. Opinion Journal’s Best of the Web reports:

It turns out Lyndon B. Johnson’s silver star, which we noted in an item yesterday, is a matter of some controversy. CNN reported in 2001 that its own “review of the historical record raises new questions about the circumstances of its award by Gen. Douglas McArthur nearly 60 years ago.”

Historian Robert Dallek–who contributed the chapter on LBJ in our forthcoming book, “Presidential Leadership: Rating the Best and the Worst in the White House” (order it from the OpinionJournal bookstore)–tells CNN he concluded that “there was an agreement, a deal made between LBJ and Gen. MacArthur. And the deal was Johnson would get this medal, which somebody later said was the least deserved and most talked about medal in American military history. And MacArthur, in return, had a pledge from Johnson that he would lobby FDR to provide greater resources for the southwest Pacific theater.”

Of course, there also seems to be some controversy about John Kerry’s medals in Vietnam.

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by | 17 May 2004 · 8:37 pm

Adachi Hatazo: War Hero or War Criminal?

Chapter 7 of Edward J. Drea’s book, In the Service of the Emperor: Essays on the Imperial Japanese Army (U. Nebraska Press, 1998), is a biography entitled “Adachi Hatazo: A Soldier of His Emperor” (pp. 91-109). In his preface Drea describes Adachi thus:

A fascinating character, Adachi had long perplexed me. As commander of Eighteenth Army on New Guinea, he lost at least 110,000 of the 130,000 soldiers and sailors under his command. Yet today’s Ground Self Defense Forces regard Adachi with awe and reverence.

The chapter begins with a question.

Why talk about a general who is relatively obscure in Japan and virtually unknown elsewhere? … Perhaps by discussing a general officer who was neither a genius, such as Napoleon or MacArthur, nor a fool, such as McClellan or Mutaguchi[*], we gain a keener sense of what it meant to be an officer, a commander, and a leader in a major army. Moreover a preeminent Japanese military historian [Hata Ikuhiko] regards Adachi as one of only three general officers commanding troops who upheld Japan’s military tradition by not disgracing the uniform…. (The others were Lieutenant General Kuribayashi Tadamichi, defender of Iwo Jima, and Lieutenant General Ushijima Mitsuru, defender of Okinawa.)

(*Lt. Gen. Mutaguchi Renya, in command of the Fifteenth Army in Burma, launched an overland attack in 1944 on Imphal, on the Indian frontier. Lacking air cover, he chose the most rugged route through the Burmese jungle, but took along 20,000 head of cattle to feed his 85,000 troops, emulating Genghis Khan, whom he admired. Mutaguchi lost 60,000 men and 20,000 head of cattle, most of the latter before they could feed his men.)

Born into a large family of samurai stock, but unable to afford middle school (as required for a naval career), Adachi instead tested into the army’s fiercely competitive Tokyo Cadet Academy, which aimed to produce graduates who were both tough officers and refined gentlemen. Adachi “became a skilled writer of short verse (tanka) and indeed would spend some of his darkest moments in the New Guinea jungles writing poetry” (p. 92). He then entered the Military Academy, where the subject matter was all military and the discipline was harsh, especially since many of the faculty were veterans of the recent, extraordinarily brutal Russo-Japanese War.

As one of the top graduates, he was posted to the First Guards Regiment, Imperial Guards Division, in Tokyo, and then went on to the Army War College, a sure sign he was destined for high rank. “Tokyo in the 1930s was a hotbed of Army factionalism” (p. 96), but Adachi steered clear of domestic politics, and “unlike many Japanese officers at that time, was monogamous…. He was deeply devoted to his wife and family despite the enforced separations that were a soldier’s lot” (pp. 96-97).

Also unusual for officers in his day, Adachi was devoted to the welfare of his troops. “Adachi led by example and understood his officers and men at an emotional level” (p. 95). After being posted to the Kwantung Army headquarters in Manchuria as the railway control officer, he “ordered all heating in the headquarters’ building turned off” whenever troops had to be transported in unheated trains (p. 97). He was famous for drinking large quantities of sake with his subordinates, creating an atmosphere where they could speak frankly and he could correct their errors without embarrassing them unduly.

Then war erupted with China in July 1937, and Adachi discovered his calling–he was a combat commander who led from the front, always appearing where the bullets were thickest. In the street-fighting meat grinder of Shanghai where head-on assaults into fortified positions became the accepted tactics, this was no small feat. [p. 98]

He was severely wounded in a mortar barrage that September, but was back in command of his regiment in December. His right leg was permanently weakened and bent, but he refused to use a cane. In recognition of his courage and leadership, he was promoted to major general in 1938, then lieutenant general in 1940, assigned to north China, where he conducted a series of bloody but successful pacification campaigns.

In 6 November 1942, on the same day that he heard of his wife’s death after a long illness, he received orders for New Guinea.

In January 1943 Adachi flew from Rabaul to Lae, Northeast New Guinea, a major Japanese stronghold, air base, and port, where he met the survivors of Buna. For the first time in his career he saw Japanese soldiers in defeat, uniforms in tatters, some propping themselves upright on crudely fashioned bamboo crutches, others being carried by exhausted comrades. Shocked by the sight, Adachi discarded his inspection schedule and instead talked to each man, encouraging and praising them for their efforts and telling them they looked like soldiers….Tokyo ordered Adachi to buy time for the Army to consolidate an in-depth defense in western New Guinea and the Philippines…. As the pace of the Allied offensive intensified, Adachi confronted a classic dilemma. If he garrisoned every possible landing site with small numbers of troops, he risked them being overwhelmed piecemeal. If he concentrated his forces, he risked them being bypassed.

So in June 1943, Adachi decided to fight the main battle at Salamaua, because loss of that base would render Lae untenable. His decision played into the Allied plan to fix the Japanese at Salamaua while executing an air-sea envelopement at Lae…. Yet what alternatives did Adachi have open to him? [pp. 103-104]

By 22 April 1944, MacArthur had circled around the north coast of New Guinea and taken the Eighteenth Army’s largest rear area bases at Hollandia and Aitape. Adachi was cut off in eastern New Guinea, but “managed to move his 60,000 troops overland through terrible jungle and swamp terrain” (p. 107) and mount a surprise counterattack on Aitape on 10 July 1944.

His defeat at Aitape cost 10,000 Japanese lives. Now Adachi had to hold together a broken, isolated force, thousands of miles from home, and without any hope of relief. His impartiality and common sense became the glue of the defeated army. So too did his October 1944 Emergency Punishment Order that gave his officers the power of summary field execution….Again Adachi led by example. He shared the hardships and short rations, losing nearly 80 pounds and all his teeth. Disdaining a painful hernia, he insisted on making daily visits to his front-line, no matter how far distant from headquarters. [pp. 107-108]

By August 1945, he could muster only 10,000 men, illustrating the then current saying that “Heaven is Java; hell is Burma; but no one returns alive from New Guinea” (p. 108). “Preparations for a final suicide attack were underway when Japan surrendered” (p. 108).

After the war, Adachi was sentenced to life imprisonment for war crimes, including the summary executions he had authorized, although he was not personally involved in any such executions himself. After also testifying at the defense of every one of his indicted subordinates, “in the early morning hours of 10 September 1947 … Adachi used a paring knife to commit suicide” (pp. 108-109).

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Filed under China, Japan, Papua New Guinea, war

by | 1 May 2004 · 1:48 pm

New Caledonia and the Origin of Kanak

Head Heeb recently posted a nice backgrounder and update on New Caledonia.

The upcoming election in New Caledonia is shaping up to be significant for the future of the country. As usual, the election will pit the ruling settler-dominated, anti-independence Rally for Caledonia in the Republic against the indigenous, pro-independence opposition, but this time the leader of the ruling party wants to pull out of a 1998 power-sharing accord.

New Caledonia is one of the Pacific’s few settler colonies. Like Australia, it began as a penal colony with many of the convicts choosing to stay after the completion of their terms; nickel and copper booms later in the 19th century led to further settlement. Unlike other regional settler colonies such as New Zealand and Hawaii, however, the indigenous Kanaks were never reduced to a small minority. Instead, the Kanaks and the descendants of settlers are at rough parity. The Kanaks are the largest group but are only a 42.5-percent plurality of the population, with Caldoches (whites) at about 37 percent and Asian and Pacific labor migrants making up the remainder. The higher birth rate of the Kanaks gives them a long-term demographic edge, but the relatively even numbers have led to sharp conflict.

The history of how the Hawaiian word for ‘human, person’, kanaka, eventually came to be appropriated by Melanesian nationalists in a French colony named after Scotland is a tangled one.

The word kanaka comes from the original Polynesian tangata as it was pronounced in the eastern end of the Hawaiian archipelago (the island named Hawai‘i), where earlier t had come to be pronounced [k]. The western dialects, in particular those of Kaua‘i and Ni‘ihau, preserved the older pronunciation as [t]. (The island of Taua‘i shows up on early Western maps as “Atooi.”) In 1778, the English explorer, Captain James Cook, on his way north to seek the Northwest Passage, sighted the biggest, highest, southernmost island in the archipelago before any of the other islands he named after the Earl of Sandwich. The local chief, Kamehameha, thus acquired the means to conquer the other islands before his neighbor-island rivals did. His kingdom was named after his home island, and his dialect eventually set the standard for the huge volume of written Hawaiian language materials during the 1800s, a rich legacy which is now being translated and standardized.

The same Captain Cook was responsible for naming New Caledonia (after the old Roman name for Scotland) when he first sighted it on an earlier voyage in 1774.

By the 1840s, at the peak of the whaling and sandalwood trade, Hawaiians could be found on ships and in ports all over the Pacific. At Fort Vancouver, for instance, 40% of the Hudson’s Bay Company laborers were Hawaiian.

As the English vessels stopped in the Sandwich Islands, now the Hawaiian Islands, to take on stores of food, water, and goods like rum and coral, Natives were offered (or sometimes forced into) short-term, renewable contracts with the Company; they boarded ship (in fact, they gained a reputation as skillful aboard because, unlike most sailors of the day, they could swim) and joined the workforce at Fort Vancouver. The employee village, just southwest of the stockaded fort proper, came to be known as Kanaka Village because of the large population of Hawaiians residing there, though it was home to all the diverse employees of the Company.

The common languages were either Canadian French or Chinook Jargon, a trade language based on Chinook but incorporating elements from English, French, and Hawaiian. In the early years of the fort, English was used infrequently, with visiting missionaries or the remnants of unsuccessful American fur trading ventures.

Among the gathering places in the South Pacific for whalers and traders in sandalwood and bêche-de-mer (sea cucumber, trepang) were Tanna in the southern New Hebrides and the Loyalty Islands off New Caledonia. The equivalent of Chinook Jargon here was Bislama, which also incorporated elements from English, Hawaiian, and later more and more French, as France began claiming territory in the area during the 1850s and 1860s.

By this time, kanaka seems to have been used on ships all over the Pacific to mean ‘native’, with the same derogatory implications that its English gloss has. In both Bislama and Tok Pisin (New Guinea Pidgin), it suggests someone who is not just a native, but an uncivilized hillbilly. The word and its meaning were borrowed into French as canaque. However, Melanesian nationalists reversed its derogatory implications and defrenchified the spelling to Kanak, which has the advantage of denoting all New Caledonians of Melanesian ancestry, no matter which of three dozen different Melanesian languages they might speak.

If you’ve read this far, you really should go read the rest of Head Heeb’s post.

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by | 21 April 2004 · 7:46 pm

Nauru: Once Rich in Phosphates, Now Broke

The island nation of Nauru, which once had the highest per capita income in the “developing” world, is now broke. The New Zealand News reports:

Australia has declined to bail out the island nation of Nauru, which is facing almost certain bankruptcy this month.

As receivers moved in on Nauru’s key international property assets, President Rene Harris is understood to have approached Canberra for a short-term rescue package….

The tiny island republic is facing both a constitutional and financial crisis, following a deadlock in its Parliament when the Speaker resigned in protest at the Government’s failure to pass a budget.

A spokesman for the Harris Government said they were still trying to find a refinancer for a A$236 million loan with America’s General Electric Capital.

The loan used the last of Nauru’s once $1 billion-plus property portfolio as security.

Nationmaster.com profiles Nauru’s economy.

Revenues of this tiny island have come from exports of phosphates, but reserves are expected to be exhausted within a few years. Phosphate production has declined since 1989, as demand has fallen in traditional markets and as the marginal cost of extracting the remaining phosphate increases, making it less internationally competitive. While phosphates have given Nauruans one of the highest per capita incomes in the Third World, few other resources exist with most necessities being imported, including fresh water from Australia. The rehabilitation of mined land and the replacement of income from phosphates are serious long-term problems. In anticipation of the exhaustion of Nauru’s phosphate deposits, substantial amounts of phosphate income have been invested in trust funds to help cushion the transition and provide for Nauru’s economic future. The government has been borrowing heavily from the trusts to finance fiscal deficits. To cut costs the government has called for a freeze on wages, a reduction of over-staffed public service departments, privatization of numerous government agencies, and closure of some overseas consulates. In recent years Nauru has encouraged the registration of offshore banks and corporations. Tens of billions of dollars have been channeled through their accounts. Few comprehensive statistics on the Nauru economy exist, with estimates of Nauru’s GDP varying widely.

But Air Nauru says it will keep flying.

UPDATE: Head Heeb has more.

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by | 17 April 2004 · 1:28 pm

19th-Century IT Improvements and Noncorporate Whaling

Alaska-based econoblogger Ben Muse posted a couple of interesting historical observations recently, one on the 19th-century IT revolution and another on why whaling ventures didn’t adopt corporate structures.

The first post summarizes data from the book, The New Financial Order: Risk in the 21st Century, by Robert Shiller.

  • The cost of paper for record storage drops as a paper making machine is invented in 1800, and the use of wood pulp for making paper is introduced in 1865.

  • The cost of data transmission drops when standardized envelopes are introduced in 1849, and as “street addresses proliferated in the late nineteenth century …”

  • The cost of making copies drops with the invention of the letter press in 1780 (“Letters … were placed before the ink was fully dry between the tissue-paper pages of a blank book, and the book closed and placed in a letter press, which pressed the pages tightly together. The special ink used to write the letter left a mark on the blank page, thereby generating a copy, which, although backward on the tissue paper, could be read normally from the other side.”), of carbon paper in 1806, and photographic document copying in 1900.

  • “The invention of the typewriter in 1868 was significant not only for the increased speed of data entry but also for the increased reliability of typewritten records …”

  • Industry for producing forms emerges in the 19th Century; carbon forms available by the 1880s.

  • Document sizes become standardized.

  • In the 1880s and 1890s development of mechanical calculators “sped the operation of the addition of numbers by about six …”

  • Filing systems improved (Dewey Decimal system introduced in 1876).

And then, there is the vertical file: “The vertical file with the associated cardboard file folders appeared at the 1893 world’s fair, the Columbian Exposition in Chicago, where it won a gold medal …”

The second post summarizes data from a working paper by Eric Hilts, “Incentives in Corporations: Evidence from the American Whaling Industry,” NBER w10403, March 2004.

U.S. whaling began in the 17th Century as small groups of colonists set out from shore after targets of opportunity. Gradually the business shifted to whaling ships with crews of 30 taking world wide trips lasting years at a time. Despite the 19th Century IT revolution, management of an enterprise like this would pose big challenges.

In the typical whaling enterprise a small group owned shares in the vessel. These persons delegated most management decisions to agents, who themselves had significant shares in the operations. [The agents and owners also tended to know each other very well, both personally and professionally.] …

In the 1830s some whaling firms incorporated in an apparent effort to become more attractive to large numbers of small investors. But look at what happened to management’s incentives. To a great extent oversight responsibility shifted from the investors to a board of directors. These, in turn, delegated management responsibility to an agent….

The corporate structure never became very important in the whaling business. The whaling industry survived into the later 19th Century, but “Of the whaling corporations that were chartered in the 1830s and early 1840s, none survived past the 1840s.” [Hilts, p. 12] …

Hilts thinks the reason is the different incentives faced by agents under the alternative forms of organization. He sought confirmation in a data set on 874 whaling voyages from 1830 to 1849; the data set covered almost 20% of the voyages during that time. For each voyage he calculated a productivity index. Hilts thinks the reason is the different incentives faced by agents under the alternative forms of organization. He sought confirmation in a data set on 874 whaling voyages from 1830 to 1849; the data set covered almost 20% of the voyages during that time. For each voyage he calculated a productivity index. Statistical analysis of the relation between the index and voyage characteristics found that, both statistically, and practically, corporate voyages were less productive that non-corporate voyages. (As a practical matter, organization as a corporation had a greater adverse impact on productivity than the death of the captain on the voyage. [Hilts, p. 23])

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by | 15 April 2004 · 9:03 pm

Aftermath of Typhoon Sudal in Yap, Micronesia

[This email letter was relayed out from Yap, Micronesia, in the wake of Typhoon Sudal, with the author’s permission to reproduce it freely. I’ve done so verbatim, omitting only one paragraph. My own experience of a hurricane on Yap in 1974 is utterly inconsequential by comparison.]

Dear Friends,

Seok Ha and myself are both shaken, but whole and healthy (minus a nasty head cold that doesn’t want to give up) doing much better than OK given the circumstances, but it is with immense sadness I convey these tidings from our tiny little tropical islands to y’all.

Typhoon Sudal may have broken Yap’s back, but not its people’s spirits.

Nobody ever expected the eye of a super typhoon to hit Yap head on. This was not supposed to happen, traditionally, the Yap sorcerers and magicians have had the powers to divert typhoons. And following the old “badness comes in waves” adage (no pun intended), the peak of typhoon intensity naturally happened to coincide with high tide. Add to that an extreme ocean water surge pushed by Sudal, and these here islands found themselves, as the saying goes, in deeper than usual waters.

We were told, and some of us could learn on the Internet typhoon warning pages, that the “outskirts of Sudal” was, maybe, going to affect Yap. Nobody was mentally, or physically, prepared for the assault that hit us shortly after midnight. Typhoon Mitag, that two years ago I thought was mighty scary, was nothing in comparison. Sudal was not classified as a super typhoon (and I don’t know if it was ever officially “upgraded”), but the opinion of everyone here–even people with first hand experience of serious US hurricane damage–is clear: this was, by far, the worst anyone has ever even heard of. Some of the old Yapese people I talked with remembers a strong typhoon that hit in the late forties, but with nowhere near the destructive energy that Sudal packed. But the spirit of the Yapese turns out to be incredibly strong, and resilient. Come to think of it, that may be a mental requirement, in order to live permanently out here.

I know of no actual measurements taken during this intense ordeal, but Sudal was announced as being of typhoon strength, with 120 knots (60+ meter per second) sustained winds, and up to 180 knots (90+ meter per second) gusts. There may be a tendency to overestimate these things when you’re in the middle of it all, but judging from the extreme damage that was delivered to Yap on these Easter holidays, and by how it was absolutely impossible to venture outside during the peak hours (the “eye” stayed over Yap, incessantly delivering one blow after the other, for a good six hours), my guess is that by the time Sudal hit Yap proper full force (about 02:00), it had grown well into super typhoon territory. As if the matter of classification really matters.

Power and water went early, leaving all the islands in virtual darkness, and with no drinking water. Thanks to no less than heroic efforts by Tim and Tim (water and power, respectively) and their crews, we got power back already early this morning, and we’re promised to have our water back by tomorrow. That is only here in Colonia, though (priority one due to the needs of the Yap State Hospital), the complete grid will probably take some time to get back online.

My personal assessment is that 60 percent of all local businesses, 70 percent of all homes, and 80 percent of all schools, are utterly devastated, completely written off. Gone. Can’t even use the rubble left behind as building material, as the pieces are too small. As kindling, yes. Rumung island is reported to be especially hard hit, with zero man-made structures remaining.

The COM [College of Micronesia] campus, as its neighboring Yap High School campus, looks as if a bomb exploded above the area (especially with that old Japanese concrete tower, with all its US battleship and artillery shelling scars from WWII, residing in the middle of it all). Only the admin and the computer lab buildings are still standing. But my guess is that it will be a considerable while before any Yapese students will have any interest in taking night-time computer courses. Rumor has it that the school board has decided to terminate the 2004 school year early.

The airport terminal buildings has sustained some cosmetic damage, but it looks as if there are no structural problems, except for the fire truck shelter (gone) and the PMA hanger (the hanger doors are bulging outwards, from excessive pressure from within). And unfortunately, all the trees and koyengs [shelters] lining the AP parking lot, together with the “Welcome to Yap” sign, succumbed to the awesome powers of Sudal. It looks like a war zone, the aftermath of another bomb attack.

The Save Way store, along with most of Madrich, and all shoreline Baleabaat houses, gone. Videographer Mark Thorpe, who now rents a concrete house across the road from where Save Way used to be, is fine, but his house got a thorough enema administered by seven meter (20+ feet) waves that kept pummeling the shoreline. He considers himself lucky to have lost only a few belongings, while his next door neighbors were being completely wiped out, and with zero means to rebuild. The outer island Madrich residents, already in abysmal conditions in their shantytown, were emergency evacuated to a few schools, and as if to kick them while they were already downed flat, Sudal then proceeded to blow away the roofs of the schoolhouses. When it rains, it pours, indeed.

Seven-to-ten meter waves pounded the Chamorro Bay Bridge for hours (miraculously, it is still standing, with its concrete pillars all knocked to one side or another, and the steel guardrails severely twisted!), and the ocean surges continued past the bridge to seriously damage all houses and businesses lining the Chamorro Bay.

Ace’s Mart, demolished, as was the little yellow church up on the hill, and the kindergarten (pre-school?). Professor Caldwell’s house (where Carl used to rent) next door was left untouched, as was the Baha’i house–it seems to me as if that particular area received some protection from the Nimar hill.

Pathway’s Hotel got lucky, with only thatch damage (on first assessment, anyway), but in need of lots and lots of minor repair work on all eight units, this with their economy already severely strained by recent events.

Many boats were thrown way up on dry land, most smashed useless.

And trees down, everywhere. In many places in massive piles.

Most Yap coconut trees are now asymmetrical, with all fronds facing the head-on direction of Sudal being brutally ripped off. On Guam, not even super typhoon Paka was able to break healthy coconut trunks: here on Yap, there are now many many coconut trees snapped off like so many matches, silent evidence of how much communal power these tiny air molecules are capable of carrying. Many of the steel reinforced concrete power poles are leaning, but only very few got snapped. Incredibly strong wind gusts!

The Angel’s Mart (Chinese store) and the bakery next to the ESA hotel got flushed clean from the bay-side, with *all* merchandise and product spread all over the road and neighboring landscape. I do not know the status of ESA hotel itself, but I hope it is in as good shape as it looks (minus its bayside koyengs [shelters], of course).

Trader’s Ridge Resort looks comparatively good, but I have no details, as I have not yet ventured past the accumulated debris up the Nimar hills.

The courthouse corner was ripped wide open, and law texts from their library are now littering most of downtown Colonia.

The YCA hardware store/warehouse was demolished beyond repair, battered by both waves and high winds. In contrast, the new WAAB Hardware building, obviously well built, stands relatively undamaged.

The Manta Ray Bay hotel got its newly completed seaside (re-)constructions completely washed away (just as was done by typhoon Mitag, two years ago), and here too, enormous waves were crashing through the hotel and exiting on the parking lot. The proud sailing ship S/V Mnuw is now resting at a 45 degree list, half-way up on dry land, with no conceivable way to get it back into the water. So now the Manta Ray Bay hotel has no bar, and no restaurant, and no glass in most room windows. Bill, traveling, was stuck on Guam until yesterday, when he came back on one of the extraordinary Continental flights. Some of their dive boats were taken to the mangroves before Sudal hit, but since nobody was really prepared for what was coming, some of the fleet was left at the dock, as usual. Together with every trace of the dock, and the beautiful new terrace that replaced the old bar washed away by Mitag, they are now gone. Actually, parts of one of the boats (I think it is the remains of “Betelnut”) can be seen sitting on top of the now totally wrecked (sunk in shallow waters) M/V Cecilia–another ugly wreck now permanently lining the Colonia harbor. Sigh.

The Family Chain Bakery is completely leveled. So now Yap has no local commercial source of bread. It is my hope that some Palau bakery will offer increased shipments.

PBC is damaged, but under control. Also, Hiroshi-san (who was also stranded on Guam until yesterday) is one of the very very few that had any form of insurance.

A forty foot container (!) came tumbling through the air (literally, no less!) and came to rest across the road in front of O’Keefe’s, blocking through traffic. And speaking of O’Keefe’s: all Don Evans’ ventures has escaped with only minor damage, as did his house. Don is counting his blessings.

Just past Dugoor village, heading towards Rumuu village, large chunks of the road pavement has been ripped loose and blown clear off the road, and much of the topsoil on the exposed northern shores has been blown off. Yap is bleeding from multiple open and ugly wounds.

Down south, most villages has been flattened, in the true sense of the word. Because I was known to own a digital camera, I was commissioned by the Police Chief to be on the southern damage assessment team, to take early pictures of the mayhem, to try to convince FEMA that this is indeed a disaster area, in great and imminent need of lots of help from the outside. It was a mentally very difficult task, to go from village to village in Chief Cham’s (Gregory) truck, to stare all this heartbreak and helplessness straight in its face, all those crushed dreams. Unfortunately, my camera got some typhoon damage, so the result did not come out the best. But better than nothing, I guess/hope.

The Nimgil (“Nathan’s”) store is demolished, with fifty percent of their betel nut plantation down on the ground, and their pig farm now without a roof (the concrete walls are still standing, and the porkers are scared shitless, but fine). Jim and Debi’s place looks OK, somewhat sheltered by the dense surrounding vegetation, but we never took a close look–it looked too good for a check-out stop. Down in Anoth, the beach has yet again doubled in size, their beautiful newly built peebai [meeting house] is still standing, but now with a distinct slant. The loop road is impassable, and it will take a major effort to hack through the massive multiple walls of intertwined broken coco, betel, and nipa palm trunks, mixed with assorted crushed building debris. Regina Thun’s house lost parts of its roof, but the (long since closed) store escaped with almost no damage.

At the Destiny Resort, even the ruins from typhoon Mitag’s visit two years ago have now been washed away, and Carol and Colin’s “new” house on Maap has taken major wind gust hits. As destinies for visiting lawyers go: Peter (Public Defender) and Theresa Steltzer’s house at the Queen Bee will be out of the rental circuit until massive roof repairs has been done, plus associated water damage dittos has been undertaken. And trying to find a decent place to stay here on Yap will not be easy, for the foreseeable future.

On the west side, our “home village” (Kadai) has been badly damaged. We were unable to take the road down to Sunset Park, too much debris. Berna and Thomas Gorong, just finishing off a renovation of their hilltop house, had to abandon house for the relative safety of brother Theo’s concrete house, but as it turned out their house had sustained very little damage. Wayaan’s “vacation house” (the fruit bat hunting lodge Fillmed built for Guam governor Guiterrez) next door, however, is now spread across a sizeable area. Dave Vasalla’s house, a stone’s throw away, was undamaged, protected by the recess in which it was constructed. Tony Ganngiyang’s blue concrete house also gave evidence to the wisdom of building solidly–not a scratch! Otherwise, all houses visible from the loop road (Colonia – Delipebinaw – Fanif – Colonia) were either completely or partly demolished. Churches, schools, Kingtex, Public Transportation, the whole lot got hammered, but badly.

No big tree has been left standing. All mango and breadfruit trees of any size, that I know of, are gone, many taro patches have been ruined by salt water, practically all banana and papaya trees are gone, it is just so incredibly sad. It will be quite some time before local food supplies are back to normal. This may become another big problem, because so many people here are still depending only on local food, having no money to purchase imported “manufactured” food.

Remember how we always used to say, with some pride, “There are no homeless here on Yap, and nobody is starving.” Over night, a majority of the Yapese has become homeless, and we can only hope that the food situation will be solved, somehow.

In Gachpar, no house along the shores has survived, in most cases with no trace left behind. Of “our” little beach house, until Good Friday occupied by Michelle and Luke, only the concrete pillars upon which it rested remains. They too (Mich and Luke, that is), way too late realizing the urgency of the situation, got completely wiped out, materially.

James Lukan has just completed a flimsy-looking structure (two-by-fours and corrugated tin sheets) to house my pool table, across the road from the Gagil Elementary School (as most other schools were severely hit, this one got away almost scot free, “only” some roofs gone). For some weird reason, the “pool koyeng” was still intact! The small store, ten feet away, plus the supposedly typhoon-proof “waiting for the bus” shelter the same distance away in the other direction, was completely demolished.

Except for the house where the Munn’s used to live (still standing, good solid house: at one point it was standing in water up to the second floor) and the newly-constructed-but-not-yet-moved-into Kensuf main residence (still stands, but with serious roof damage, and with a truckload of cement sacks, for protection brought into the house, now being fused into a single clump of useless concrete, and most of the unlaid tiles crushed and scattered around the surrounding terrain), Kensuf’s whole property was leveled. There is no trace of the house “Little Richard” Overy (our ex-archivist) used to live in. It is all way beyond heartbreaking.

Saint Joseph’s church is demolished. Again miraculously, the Padre’s house, on its dinky stilts, was unscathed (strong message, or fluke?).

Wanyan, same. All houses along the shoreline are gone. Stone money banks, standing for centuries, were broken into by huge waves, breaking and spreading the rai coins and shattered pieces thereof all over the place. The road to Sea Breeze Beach is as yet, and without a major clean-up effort, impassable. I don’t know about Bechyal Culture Center, but judging from its location and what happened to all other structures on the northern shores of Maap, I fear the worst.

The Sports Complex was badly hit, and I’ve already heard rumors about Black Micro being sued for sub-standard construction. Here, too, the “roller” doors were pushed out by pressure from within (just like the hanger doors at the AP). Together with some of the now knocked out schools, the YSC was designated to function as an official “emergency shelter” in case the typhoon happened to hit. People who had taken refuge there were scrambling for their lives as parts of the roof eventually caved in. You know you have a crisis on your hands, when the disaster shelters are getting knocked out by the elements.

Al Ganang, proprietor of the sadly no longer existing Village View Hotel, is happy to be alive. The surge took him completely by surprise. Again, all the buildings along his beautiful beach are gone: the store, the bar, the dive shop, all of the two-unit hotel bungalows. All gone. Insurance? You’re kidding, right?

Wanead village, a little further north, was almost completely obliterated. Johnny Chugan told us that the entire village population is now shacked up in a single relatively undamaged building. The Wanead village path is now their new shoreline, facing a huge new beach. Chugan had just completed renovations and spiff-ups of their beach-side home, financed by an BofFSM loan. The house is no more (and the beautiful house he built for Cathy and PJ was blown away with it), but the bank loan remains. It is so very difficult to not burst out crying.

The Kula Place (just before Wanead village) is ravaged badly, all its koyengs blown to tiny little pieces, and substantial parts of the lovely old shady three has been blown down. Not entirely gone, thank heavens, and I do so hope that what remains of this grand ole tree will be able to survive its almost complete defoliation.

That is another thing, and it looks so weird and unreal: almost all leaves has been ripped of all trees. And I’m sad to say that, if anything, I am understating the damage done: the beautiful rolling green hills of Yap were, within a few hours, transformed to ugly brown hills, reminding me of late autumn in Sweden: no green leaves, no green anything, just bare branches, and the brown forest floor clearly visible–all across all the Yap islands. Very depressing. I don’t know much about resilience of trees and stuff, and I can only hope that this kind of damage is reversible, that somehow the plants can find the strength and resources needed to survive until a new generation of photosynthesizing green leaves has been produced.

Closer to home, here in Gaanelay village in Colonia: The Yap Agriculture facilities are demolished. Black Micro is a mess. As is some of Gilmar’s enterprises (his new pool room, gone), but it looks as if his store and video rental/Laundromat may be salvageable. Do you remember “Yap Wellness Center” just before Gilmar’s store? Well, forget it. The Talguw area was lucky, we could only see some roof damaged there. Behind our YCA townhouses, Libyen’s brand new two-storey house has been blown off its foundation, coming to rest at 40 degrees off the normal, beyond repair. All that can be done is to try to wreck it gently, in order to get to re-use all the expensive building material. Libyen, stoic, said “I’m too old to get upset by this, but the situation for Yap is really bad.” Gurwan was completely wiped out, the concrete sides of her house are still standing, but there is no roof, and nothing is left inside the house (Gurwan said, “It hasn’t been this clean since it was built”–making fun of the unbearable situation). The schoolhouse (temporary home for some 120 Madrich “refugees”) has lost most of its roof, and is generally beyond repair.

A few seconds of my life I believe has gotten permanently etched onto my retinas: at about 0600, as I was looking out our bedroom window, the huge breadfruit tree growing between our house and Libyen’s was finally brought down, and it fell directly towards our house (this tree has been worrying me ever since we moved in, with its potential for wreaking havoc on our house in case it ever fell down in an uncontrolled way). However, and as I watched it, a gust grabbed the huge trunk, raised it back up and then swung it clear in another direction, and nothing came down on our roof. Guardian angel? Maybe, but more likely our luck that the wind direction was away from our house. But it was a remarkable display of typhoon power, I remember it flashing through my head that “this is some kind of special effects trick,” to see a falling huge tree like that change direction in mid-fall. Amazing. And yes, we too are counting our blessings.

Countless cars, representing years of working hours for the average Yapese, has been rendered useless by flying debris and falling/flying tree trunks. “Flying guillotines” (corrugated tin sheets, the omnipresent roofing island material) also have done their share of slicing damage–that big water tank that got sliced clear through could, but for the grace of God, have been my belly, as I was forced out in the middle of the night to reinforce the window boarding material that was coming loose. Those wavy sheets of sharp steel were flying everywhere! It was scary as hell, lemmetellya!…

The Yap FM radio and TV station was knocked out early, as its aerial tower lost its supports early on.

The good news is that, unbelievably, nobody got hurt! And there has been no looting reported (I sincerely hope it stays that way). James Lukan said that one person is missing from Gachpar, but he also said that person may be just wandering around somewhere (the individual is of somewhat diminished mental capacities, and Lukan said, “If it turns out he’s been hiding in order to get attention, I’m gonna beat him up!”). I hope he will be found, and that he will be spared the beating.

The situation is bad. I’ll try again: It is very, very bad. Maybe as many as 5,000 Yapese have lost their homes. A Guam PDN article … mentions that 1,500 people on Yap are in “homeless shelters” (roofless schoolhouses), but says nothing about the fact that the majority of typhoon-struck Yapese much prefer to stay in whatever way they can in their demolished ex-homes, in their villages, with their clansmen.

And all the Yapese I meet say, “we’ll rebuild. Life goes on” and they laugh, and they prepare another betel nut chew.

In all, quite an unforgettable experience. And I sincerely hope that none of you will ever have to go through something even remotely resembling being a mote in the eye of a super typhoon–It is scary.

May your Gods protect, care for, and bless y’all!

Henry and Kim Seok Ha

MicroTech Consulting

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