By Rick Feinberg, professor emeritus of anthropology at Kent State University
Few topics stir more controversy — either in our local neighborhoods or around the country — than the existence of human diversity and the question of how we should engage with people who are different from ourselves. My perspective on the issue is atypical, as I was vividly reminded last month, when I got to see my Polynesian family for the first time in a dozen years.
My connection to that family goes back over half a century. In 1972-73, I spent a year on the tiny, remote isle of Anuta in the southeastern Solomon Islands. Anuta is a half-mile in diameter and 75 miles from its nearest, only slightly larger, populated neighbor. People live almost entirely on locally grown crops, fish and wild birds. Ships typically visit two to three times a year. In the absence of Wi-Fi or cellphone service, a short-wave radio facilitates occasional communication with the provincial capital, 250 miles away.
I first traveled to Anuta to conduct research for a doctorate in anthropology. Almost immediately, the senior chief took me in as his brother (taina in the Anutan language), and community members have treated me as family from that time on. I’ve been back a half-dozen times, both by myself and with my wife and children. My most recent visit prior to this year was 2013, when I accompanied a documentary film crew. The result is available on YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9RyRWbtLmDg.
Today, the island’s population numbers around 300, with a few dozen more Anutans scattered through the country. Most Anutan expats live near Honiara, the nation’s capital. Several community members now use email, Facebook and other forms of online communication, so it’s possible to stay in touch between physical visits. Prior to that, such contact was by mail, and delivery could take months. Sometimes, messages were permanently lost.
In 2000, my wife, Nancy Grim, and I established a small scholarship fund to assist young Anutans who must travel overseas to pursue formal education beyond sixth grade. Among our program’s notable accomplishments, we assisted two young men who recently completed medical degrees at the University of Fiji. They now work for the Solomon Islands National Referral Hospital.
In mid-February, an organization with which I have long been involved held its annual meeting in Fiji. After the conference, Nancy and I took advantage of our location to spend a week in Honiara. On arrival at the airport we were greeted by a small group, including Mark Rongokavea, one of the newly minted Anutan doctors. We loaded our gear into Mark’s car, and he drove us to his parents’ house in Panatina, a Honiara suburb. The car was rather old and fragile, with front windows that wouldn’t open despite the bright sun and a temperature in the mid-80s. So we were soaked in sweat by the time we reached our destination.
Mark’s home was being renovated, so he was staying with his parents. For decades his father, Leslie (aka Pu Nukuraro), has provided maintenance and security for a prominent local company, and his compensation includes living quarters as well as a paycheck. Leslie and his wife, Monica (Nau Nukuraro), live in the same house they occupied when I first visited them 25 years ago. It’s built into a steep hillside and has one bedroom, an enclosed veranda, a small kitchen and a bathroom. In addition, they have an outdoor cookhouse and a small shed, covered with aluminum sheets and plastic tarps.
Also sharing the house were Mark’s brother and sister-in-law (Job and Tanisha) as well as his cousin, Providence. Including Nancy and me, that totaled eight residents. We were placed in the bedroom; Job and Tanisha stayed on the veranda. Leslie and Monica slept on the floor of the shed, while Mark and Providence generally slept in outdoor hammocks. On rainy nights, they joined either Leslie and Monica in the shed or Job and Tanisha on the veranda. When the weather cooperated, we ate outdoors at a wooden platform near the shed; otherwise, our dining quarters were on the veranda’s floor.
Judging by job titles, Americans might well describe Mark’s family as middle class. The household includes a physician; a blue-collar laborer with a dependable, steady position; a nurse; and two taxi drivers, one of whom is also a part-time musician. Two currently attend the Solomon Islands National University. One hopes to work as a schoolteacher; the other is studying business and accounting.
By U.S. standards, the family’s physical surroundings are meager. Space is cramped; electrical outages are common; the bedroom has just one small moveable light; and the shower and kitchen sink have running water about six hours per day. When the water does run, family members collect it so they can “shower” and wash dishes with a bucket and a cup. For emergencies, they collect rainwater in an outdoor tank.
While household members are conscious of their limited resources, personal relationships are warm and supportive. Anutans are all devout Christians; most are Anglican, but our immediate hosts are Seventh Day Adventists. As such, they follow the prohibitions in the Old Testament’s Book of Leviticus, avoiding alcohol, tobacco and betel nut as well as pork and shellfish. Occasional disagreements about someone’s judgment inevitably arise, as is true anywhere. Still, we heard lots of laughter, and household members were always available to lend one another a hand.
On the day that we arrived, Mark arranged a welcome ceremony involving over a dozen community members. Two days later, Providence took us on a hike down a mountain through pouring rain to a spectacular waterfall. That was followed by a picnic lunch at the mountaintop, overlooking much of northern Guadalcanal.
I brought with me several publications documenting Anuta’s history and culture. One was a book of oral traditions written in the Anutan language, with English translation. Another was a volume on the island’s social structure, published in 1981 and now out of print. It includes a detailed genealogy of everyone who had lived there, from the initial settlers over 20 generations ago through the time of my first research. After dinner one evening I got out those books and, immediately, everyone in the house gathered to examine them, debating historical episodes and recalling long-lost kin. It was the most enthusiastic response I’ve ever seen to anything I’ve written and filled me with an indescribable sense of gratification.
The highlight of our visit was a feast (kaikai) and meeting (pono) organized for us by the community, both to connect personally and to discuss logistical problems involving the Scholarship Fund. I reconnected with longtime acquaintances, including my namesake, Richard Feinberg Avatere. Years ago, a close friend decided to cement our bond by naming his first child after me!
We enjoyed such delicacies as poke manioka: balls of manioc, baked in an earth oven and drenched with stone-boiled coconut cream. That was accompanied by baked taro and fish from a nearby market. We were also treated to fresh-picked bananas, pineapple and watermelon. After the meal, I was asked if I remembered any Anutan dance songs (mataavaka). Keeping rhythm by beating the floor with my pocket knife, I began to sing “Te Teuru Koopui,” which I had learned in 1972. Before I knew it, the entire group joined in singing, and I felt transported back a half-century.
The feast was followed by a productive conversation in which we addressed ways to make my ethnographic writing more readily available to the community. And we resolved some logistical hurdles which had been making administration of the Scholarship Fund unnecessarily complex.
Aside from all the stirring moments I’ve depicted here, the opportunity to spend a week with cherished friends was gratifying beyond words. I was reminded that Anutan life, even for the highly educated and professionally accomplished, contrasts sharply with anything I have experienced at home. At the same time, it’s a challenge to envision a more rewarding way of life. No one I have ever met, regardless of material prosperity, is more generous, considerate and welcoming than my Anutan family.
As we in the U.S. debate DEI and how to understand diversity, it may be helpful to remember the Anutans’ illustration of the varied ways our brethren have discovered to pursue fulfilling lives. Who among us couldn’t benefit from learning about human differences, along with what connects us all?
