By the 1830s, whalers had begun cruising the waters of the southern Gilberts. They were after sperm whales, and after months of hunting sperm whales, the whalers got to thinking and they drifted over Kiribati-way. I-Kiribati women soon became renowned for their beauty, and fortunately for the whalers, some of the islands had a class of women called nikiranroro, fallen women who were not quite married and not quite virginal, and these were made available to the whalers. The cost for their services was typically one stick of tobacco, and it was not long before the I-Kiribati became mad for the weed. Soon, whenever a ship was spotted nearby, the I-Kiribati would yell te baakee, te baakee! They gorged themselves on any tobacco that made it to the islands, smoking it, chewing it, even swallowing it, and here things began to go wrong. The whalers soon discovered that there weren’t that many women of the nikiranroro class and that the licentious reputation of Tahiti was well deserved, and like apparently every other male who rounded Cape Horn in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, the whalers too began seeking most of their entertainment in Polynesia.
This was good for Kiribati, which was not nearly as afflicted by the epidemic of venereal diseases that racked Tahiti. But, as I can attest, nicotine withdrawal can make one decidedly grumpy. This is why the crew of the Columbia found themselves taken hostage one day by nic-fitting I-Kiribati, who refused to release them until they received one hundred pounds of tobacco. Soon the I-Kiribati developed a reputation as devious marauders, a reputation that was no doubt enhanced by the local custom of considering anything and anybody to wash ashore, ships included, as fair game. In addition to the assault on the Columbia in 1846, raids were conducted on the Triton (1848), the Flying Fox (1850), and the Charles W. Morgan (1851), among others, and whalers soon began to avoid particular islands all together, including Tarawa, no matter how great their lust or hunger. A number of these attacks, however, could probably be attributed to simple misunderstandings. Stealing or borrowing? There can be a gray area. The I-Kiribati perceived property differently than the Americans and the English, two societies whose very foundations were based on property. And being surrounded by canoes does not necessarily mean one needs to blast them with cannon shot, which is what the captain of the Charles W. Morgan ordered when he found himself becalmed off Nonouti.
Nonetheless, the I-Kiribati reputation for forging cunning attacks on visiting ships proved to be well deserved. It wasn’t the ships themselves they wanted, but their tobacco and their parts. If taken, the vessel was stripped of iron and nails, weapons and wood, tools and sails, and what was considered useless was allowed to rot on the reef. It was a good thing, however, that the I-Kiribati gained practice and confidence in assaulting ships. By the 1840s, the blackbirders had arrived. These were slavers contracted to obtain labor for the plantations in Fiji, Hawaii, New Caledonia, and Peru. The slavers used both force and deceit to fill their holds. On the friendlier islands, they invited villagers aboard, where they were promptly given rum until the entire village lay passed out on the deck, at which point the crew would quietly sail off with them. At other times, blackbirders raided a village, hunting in particular for women. Said one blackbirder: “They fetch in the Fiji Islands twenty pounds a head, and are much more profitable to the slavers than the men.” According to one account of a raid on Arorae, “thirty-eight young women were all made fast by the hair of their head and led into the boat.” Most never saw their home islands again.
By the 1850s, however, resistance from the I-Kiribati and changing European attitudes toward slavery convinced the plantation owners that they had a bit of a marketing problem. From here on they would no longer engage in slavery but in the “Pacific labor trade.” Instead of armed slavers, there were now recruiters visiting the islands. Instead of being sold as slaves, the I-Kiribati were contracted as laborers. Possibly, contracted laborers might even return home one day. It says much about the hardship of life on an equatorial atoll that over the following seventy years, thousands of I-Kiribati left their islands to work the sugar, cotton, and coconut plantations of Fiji, Tahiti, Samoa, Peru, Central America, and nearly everywhere else where Europeans needed labor. One often reads of the masses of Indian and Chinese indentured laborers in the nineteenth century, but when one looks at the labor trade as a percentage of a country’s population there is probably no nation that exported more of its people than the I-Kiribati. Between 1840 and 1900, nearly a third of all I-Kiribati were laboring abroad. Half never made it back. Still, during this era most of the I-Kiribati recruited to work abroad went willingly. Drought and starvation were the most compelling reasons. No place on Earth is more unforgiving than an atoll during a drought. For generations, starvation and infanticide kept populations in check, but the labor trade offered another way. The laborer’s life was a harsh life, but it was life.
Curiously, upon returning to their islands the laborers were quickly reabsorbed into the village community, where they followed the same beliefs and traditions as those who had never left the islands. It was as if the intervening years abroad counted for little more than a source of colorful anecdotes to be shared in the maneaba. There was no challenge to religion, no usurpation of local hierarchies, no defiance of custom. That you could take one-third of a country’s population and scatter them around the world, where they would toil in strange environments, eat peculiar foods, and be exposed to a life profoundly different than what they knew, and then return some of them to their islands without social consequences, suggests that the I-Kiribati are a fairly stubborn people, utterly content with the culture they have developed to survive on an atoll. It would take a little doing to mess with the culture here. Enter the beachcomber.
Consider the situation of an illiterate, low-class English seaman in the mid-nineteenth century. The pay was low, floggings common, death at sea highly likely, possibilities for advancement negligible, and when he returned to England he would be cast adrift into a country that was well on its way to becoming the industrial hell vividly described by Charles Dickens. Life on a tropical island where polygamy was the norm might not seem like such a bad option. Some jumped ship and hoped search parties would decline to search very hard. Atolls are very small and hiding places few, particularly when the I-Kiribati were offered a tobacco bounty for the seaman’s return. Occasionally, escaped convicts from Australia were deposited by obliging whalers. Most often though, it was a seaman who had made such a nuisance of himself aboard the ship that the captain felt either compelled to maroon him or accede to his wish to be marooned.
The first beachcomber known to have set ashore in the Gilbert Islands was one Robert Wood, who arrived on Butaritari in 1835, where he quickly taught the locals how to brew sour toddy, an ill-tasting alcoholic concoction for which a certain I-Matang was nonetheless thankful for more than 150 years later, when he was experiencing acute beer withdrawal. By 1860, there were around fifty I-Matangs living in the Gilbert Islands. I think it is fair to say that the early beachcombers in Kiribati were Question Authority kind of people. Most were itinerant, spending a year or two on an island before seeking a working passage elsewhere on an obliging ship, but a number settled for the remainder of their lifetimes, where they happily acquired wives, leaving enough offspring to ensure that within a couple of generations every I-Kiribati carried a dollop of the beachcomber. It is a small country. Of the beachcombers, Richard Randall, originally from England, lately of Australia, became the most renowned. He asked to be set ashore on Butaritari in 1846. His ship’s captain obliged him and within a short while Randall had four wives and was living the beachcomber’s dream. Soon enough, four wives led to forty children and Randall began thinking about getting a job. He became a resident trader.
Early trade in Kiribati consisted of bêche-de-mer and turtle shells, which were exchanged primarily for tobacco. Randall was thinking bigger. Coconut oil was used in the manufacture of soap and candles and its trade had long been a sideline for the whalers. Randall muscled in and within a decade he was by far the most important pl
ayer in the coconut oil trade in the Gilbert Islands. Producing coconut oil did not alter the I-Kiribati lifestyle. They used it themselves, primarily as a skin lotion. The coconut oil trade, however, did lead to change. According to one local historian writing of Randall: “For [coconut oil] he traded such things as rifles and ammunition, food, cannons, whiskey, gin and rum. There was, thereafter, much drunkenness and fighting and many people were killed. The cannons, some of which were quite big, were used for making a noise and frightening people.”
Clearly, in the latter half of the nineteenth century there was a lot of sinning going on in the Gilbert Islands. And if there’s sinning, there will be missionaries. The first appearance of missionaries in the Gilbert Islands occurred in 1852 when the American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions sent three missionary families to the Marshall Islands. The missionaries called on Butaritari and, I must confess, I really wish I had been there. With Richard Randall acting as the interpreter, the missionaries offered Bibles and a letter of introduction from King Kamehameha IV of Hawaii to the high chief of Butaritari. The high chief of Butaritari, Na Kaiea, was fourteen years old. Like most fourteen-year-old boys, Na Kaiea was a little preoccupied and so he had but one question for the missionaries. Does Christianity permit polygamy? When he heard that Christianity forbids polygamy, Na Kaiea decided to hold out for the Mormons. One can imagine Richard Randall escorting the missionaries back to their ship. “Well, it’s been fun. What’s that? Do you mean those four naked women? No, no, we’re just friends. Off you go now. Bye-bye.”
It would take a lot of doing before Christianity supplanted traditional I-Kiribati beliefs. Indeed, it wasn’t until well into the twentieth century that most islanders proclaimed themselves Christian. It is a wonder that it did not take longer. Think of the I-Kiribati male of the nineteenth century—he’s smoking, he’s drinking sour toddy, he’s naked, he’s dancing, and he’s got options, fornication-wise. These are significant lifestyle issues for the missionaries to overcome. The first to try was Hiram Bingham, a frail Yale-educated American, who arrived on Abaiang in 1857 accompanied by his wife, as mandated by the Missionary Board, lest he be tempted by a dusky savage. Bingham immediately saw that he had a lot of work to do.
The sight of naked men, boys, girls and more than half naked women, their observance of their extreme poverty, their worship of false gods, their extremely immodest manners and customs, their great licentiousness, their unbounded lying, their covetousness, theft, warlike spirit and bloody warfare, a realizing sense of their ignorance of a final judgment of heaven of hell of Jesus Christ, have made me long to preach to them.
To do so Bingham set about learning “the heathen jargon which noisy savages were shouting about my ears.” Bingham was successful in mastering the heathen jargon. He essentially created the written I-Kiribati language, though one senses he failed to offer every letter of the alphabet out of spite. By 1890, he had translated the Bible into I-Kiribati. There his success as a missionary more or less ends. His services were poorly attended, and Bingham found that those who did attend were “very slow to learn propriety in the house of God. Many of them, caring little if anything for the truth, habitually sprawl themselves out to sleep; not a few often laugh, talk, move about.” His first two converts soon reconverted to heathenism, while Abaiang was beset by a long period of drunkenness and clan warfare.
Bingham’s work was largely carried on by Hawaiian missionaries, who were increasingly sent to the Gilbert Islands because the Missionary Board deemed the islands too savage for the white man. By the 1870s there were Hawaiian missionaries on seven islands and they had managed to convert 112 I-Kiribati, though only seventy-eight were church members in “good standing.” A number of missionaries were a little lackadaisical in their work, preferring instead to concentrate on trading opportunities, but here and there Hawaiian missionaries conducted their work with the zealotry of the newly converted. This was particularly true on Tabiteuea, which had the misfortune of finding its mission led by Kapu, a Hawaiian missionary entrusted by Bingham to spread the good word. Tabiteuea means “kings are forbidden,” and it seems likely that Kapu took this as a challenge. Evoking the hellfire and damnation that would surely befall those who clung to the old beliefs, Kapu managed to convert much of North Tabiteuea. He became known as Kapu the Lawgiver, and soon he drew his zeal toward South Tabiteuea, where the inhabitants remained stubbornly opposed to him. Kapu decided that this would not do and he organized an army of the converted to descend on the south. Until then, warfare had been unheard of on Tabiteuea, where disputes were traditionally settled mano a mano. Unlike a number of other islands in Kiribati, Tabiteuea had no experience with a chiefly system and the wars that chiefs initiate to keep themselves busy. Instead, on Tabiteuea every family had land, every man was a king, and governance, what there was of it, was conducted in the maneaba by the village unimane. Kapu’s effect on Tabiteuea was like Napoleon’s on Europe—revolutionary and immensely destructive. With his army of Christians, Kapu descended on the south of the island. Armed with shark-teeth swords and spears fitted with the lethal barbs of the stingray, Kapu’s army swarmed around the pagans, who had gathered around an old cannon salvaged from a wrecked ship. The cannon was fired once until rain extinguished any hope of fighting the onslaught. Within hours, nearly a thousand southerners lay dead. Most had been decapitated. And thus Tabiteuea became Christian.
As the years went by, the zealotry of the early Protestant missionaries lessened, primarily because on most islands it got them nowhere, but also due to competition from Catholic missionaries, who were amenable to smoking and drinking and dancing, which gave them a powerful competitive edge in the pursuit of I-Kiribati souls. Indeed, by the early twentieth century, the northern Gilbert Islands, long the domain of the American Board of Missionaries, had become predominantly Catholic, while the southern Gilberts, which had come under the sway of the more lenient Samoan missionaries sent there by the London Missionary Society, had become largely Protestant, a division that continues to this day. The Catholics, however, drew the line at polygamy and nakedness and gradually, island by island, the tradition of having multiple wives withered into memory, and the I-Kiribati began to cover themselves up in cloth, which allowed them to experience the same skin infections that bedeviled the I-Matangs.
Into this atmosphere of agitated missionaries, unscrupulous traders, and chiefly wars fueled by drink, guns, and delusions, the arrival of the British Empire was not entirely unwelcomed by the I-Kiribati. In 1892, Capt. E. H. M. Davis of the Royalist arrived on Abemama to plant the Union Jack and declare that henceforth the Gilbert Islands would exist as a protectorate of Victoria, by the Grace of God, Queen of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, Defender of the Faith, and Empress of India. He then moved on to every other major island in the group and said likewise. The I-Kiribati said okeydokey, possibly because Davis immediately banned trade in guns and alcohol, and soon went so far as to banish the more obstreperous missionaries, including Kapu the Lawgiver, two moves that in a very short while returned to the islands a peaceful languidness that they had not seen since the advent of the whalers. The chiefly wars that had riddled life in the northern Gilbert Islands gave way to Land Commissions and local magistrates. A few of the more murderous I-Matangs who had long stirred trouble on the islands were tried and either expelled or shot. The activities of traders were regulated, and as a result of there now being actual rules, many traders left. The Protestant missionaries were told to lighten up when it came to dancing. The power of the chiefs, which had been artificially enhanced by guns and traders, devolved to the unimane. In short, within a remarkably brief period of time, Pax Britannica descended on the islands. That this occurred I think is less a tribute to the peripatetic colonial officers, who were ordered to administer both the Gilbert and Ellice Islands without the Colonial Office actually providing them with a boat, but more to the desire of the I-Kiribati to reclaim their world from the rancorous influence of the I-Mat
ang reprobates who had settled on the islands. The British certainly didn’t invest much in Kiribati. In fact, they didn’t even want it. The islands were claimed solely as a check on German and American aspirations in the region. But the power of empire resonates, and for a few happy years, the British colonial model of benign paternalism brought to the islands a stability and order that many had thought lost. The British colonial habit of training locals to handle most administrative tasks is quite likely what introduced something approaching a national identity among the I-Kiribati, whose collective identity was focused almost exclusively on their home islands.
The British experience in Kiribati, such as it was, considering that at no time did the British have more than a dozen colonial officers stationed there, might have remained essentially benign were it not for the discovery that on one of the islands there existed an actual, honest-to-goodness, extremely valuable natural resource. Since this is Kiribati, it is not surprising that this resource was based on shit, specifically old bird shit, which is also called phosphate, probably because it is considered impolite to discuss bird poop, whereas discussing phosphate seems sophisticated and manly, if also boring. This treasure trove of bird shit was discovered on Banaba, long called Ocean Island by I-Matangs, an island that lies by itself, roughly three hundred miles southeast of Tarawa. Unlike the other islands in Kiribati, Banaba is a raised island, shaped like an upturned canoe, with a peak that rises to a lofty one hundred feet above sea level. The island is only about four square miles in size, but it had twenty million tonnes of phosphate deposits. For these twenty million tonnes of phosphate, in 1900, the Pacific Islands Company signed an agreement with someone they presumed to be the chief of Banaba. This agreement gave the Pacific Islands Company, which was to become the British Phosphate Commission, the right to mine all phosphate deposits on Banaba in exchange for an annual payment of fifty pounds sterling, “or trade to that value.” The agreement would be in force for 999 years. Someone listed as King of Ocean Island signed with an X mark. Of course, there was no need for such a lengthy contract. The phosphate deposits were thoroughly extracted by 1979, the year of independence for Kiribati. But with the phosphate, so too went the soil, the pandanus trees, the coconut trees, and pretty much everything else necessary to sustain life on an island. Today, only about thirty people live on the blasted remains of Banaba. The rest of the Banabans were removed to Rabi, an island in Fiji, in the 1950s, when the British realized that phosphate mining had rendered Banaba uninhabitable.
The Sex Lives of Cannibals Page 12
