People and Culture in Oceania, 35: 85-108, 2019

From Kastom to Developing Livelihood: Cruise Tourism and Social Change in , Southern

Eijiro Fukui*

The purpose of this paper is to consider the social impact of tourism using data from fieldwork in Aneityum Island, southern Vanuatu. Previous research has discussed tourism in Oceania from the perspective of “sustainable development.” This series of discussions was very relevant to those on “glocalization,” in which expanding Westernization or globalization is reinterpreted by local people. However, we must bear in mind that the impacts of tourism on small societies cannot easily be localized and reinterpreted. The social impact of tourism is changing people’s notion of tradition (kastom in Melanesian pidgin). In anthropology in Japan, unlike in Europe and America, it has been argued that kastom and skul (the Western element) cannot be syncretized, but coexist. In light of this, Melanesian societies have been referred to as “bicultural,” and “immutability” has been viewed as the characteristic of kastom. However, with the influx of cash to islanders working in tourism, life on Aneityum is changing dramatically. The islanders themselves understand that their livelihood (numu) is not as it was before, but do not know whose lives they are currently living. Therefore, it is dangerous to unilaterally judge these situations as good examples of glocalization or “developing tradition.” Instead, we must accurately assess the social impact of tourism.

Keywords: tourism, kastom, Vanuatu, Aneityum, livelihood, social change, cruise ship, anonymity

1. Introduction

For almost 20 years, I have been researching Aneityum, the southernmost island of Vanuatu, and each time I visit the island, I am asked how much the airfare from Japan costs. Reluctant to discuss money, I respond vaguely that a round trip costs somewhere between 200,000 and 300,000 vatu.1 When I began conducting fieldwork in 2000, the response of the islanders was

* Faculty of Law and Literature, Shimane University, Japan. [e-mail: [email protected]] 1 Vatu is Vanuatu’s currency. 1 vatu is approximately 1 yen. 86 E. Fukui generally the same: “Wow, that’s expensive. There’s no way we could go to Japan.” In recent years, however, their response has changed to “Huh, 200,000 to 300,000 vatu. In that case we might be able to go.” While living lives of self-sufficiency on an outer island, they have been able to procure this much cash through tourism. The aim of this paper is to describe in detail developing tourism on Aneityum and the practices of its residents, as well as to consider the great social changes that the island is currently facing.

2. Tourism and Kastom

As is true with many developing countries, tourism is important to Pacific Island countries, which lack the means to acquire foreign currency. In tourism and development studies, tourism is typically seen as a way to address “poverty” that grips developing countries (Erbes, 1973; Diamond, 1977; Sinclair, 1998; Pratt and Harrison, 2015). For example, using statistical data, Cheer and Peel described Vanuatu’s “poverty” as follows:

Approximately 40% of the population have an income of less than $1 a day, with 16% living under the poverty line. While the rural sector contributes only 8% of Gross Domestic Product (GDP), 80% of the population are dependent on agriculture for their livelihood. Increasing urbanisation in the two main centres of and Luganville, where employment opportunities are scant, is a growing concern because of escalating crime and tensions between the newly urbanised and their urban compatriots. Only 25% of the economically active are reported to be in paid employment, 67% are engaged in subsistence farming, and the remaining 8% are unemployed. (Cheer and Peel, 2011: 257)

The authors insist that the development of tourism will eliminate this purported problem of “poverty”: the necessity of tourism to the economy of Vanuatu is often a topic of discussion (Milne, 1990; de Burlo, 1996; Cheer et al., 2018). However, can well-being be measured by GDP? Regenvanu, a member of Vanuatu’s Parliament, has emphasized the advantages of a traditional (subsistence) economy:

A principal reason why the traditional economy does not feature in our current economic policies is that we are not measuring or quantifying the contribution of the traditional economy to national well-being. Unfortunately, the only measure of national well-being that seems to matter to many policy-makers these days is that of Gross From Kastom to Developing Livelihood 87

Domestic Product (GDP) per capita—a crude measure of only the cash value of activities or production. GDP per capita is a misleading measure of economic activity and well-being not only because it masks inequalities, but also because it often counts environmentally and socially destructive practices that undermine people’s well-being. (Regenvanu, 2010: 32)

According to this view, the people of Vanuatu are by no means “poor.” Metrics like GDP or number of people in paid employment only show certain aspects of a nation’s status; they cannot comprehensively describe national well-being. A series of development studies have adopted the premise that tourism stabilizes the country’s economy, generates jobs, and benefits local communities that have no notable commodities to sell. However, in Hosts and Guests, the classic text in the anthropology of tourism, Smith (1977) has warned us repeatedly about the danger of underestimating the negative impact of tourism upon local communities. Such warnings do not only come from the anthropology of tourism; tourism studies, too, often warn of the negative impacts of tourism. Analyzing the cases of Tanna and South Pentecost, Tabani has discussed the process through which rural communities come into conflict regarding the distribution of tourism income and emerging inequalities (Tabani, 2010, 2017). In the case of Vanuatu, traditional songs and dances, which have been inherited from their ancestors, are often sold as commodities to tourists (Lindstrom, 2015). These traditions are called kastom (from the English word “custom”) in Bislama (a Melanesian pidgin that is the national language of Vanuatu). In other words, community splits arise from the problem of who owns kastom (Trask, 1991; Sofield, 1991; Jolly and Thomas, 1992; Friedman, 1992; Tonkinson, 1993; Shirakawa, 2005). The actors involved in tourism are diverse—traditional chiefs who want to preserve kastom, local elites hoping for development (in Bislama, developmen), local residents who want cash, and overseas agents who want to broadly develop tourism—and this problem is not easily solved. Lindstrom, who has conducted fieldwork in Tanna for many years, states that the island’s kastom is changing as locals adjust it to suit the tourists’ exotic gaze: “Tourism’s currencies now powerfully define and confine Tanna as other. Island lifeways and product are rewritten and transformed by these demands as particular themes come to identify the island within the global market” (Lindstrom, 2015: 185). A study by Movono et al. (2018) revealed the damage that tourism development has inflicted upon Fiji. Vatuolalai village, which is located in the southwest of Fiji, lost its ecosystem as the result of the 40-year-long development of a large-scale resort. The damage significantly affected not only the ecosystem, but also villagers’ totemic associations, livelihood approaches, and traditional knowledge structure. Thus, tourism can have a negative effect on local communities 88 E. Fukui as well as environment. The more tourism penetrates a community, the more people fear that their traditional culture and way of life will perish. If so, then anthropological studies should consider not how tourism becomes established as part of a community but rather a more fundamental question: Do the people want tourism in the first place? We can find the answer by looking at how tourism has changed the people’s lives. In Bislama, the people of Vanuatu call objects (cash, concrete buildings), institutions (elections, school education, churches), and values (diligently working from morning until evening, individualism) introduced since contact with the West skul (from the English “school”), and often speak of such phenomena in contrast to kastom.2 For example, Port Vila life is categorized as skul, while life on the outer islands and in villages is categorized as kastom. In this paper, by analyzing the impact of tourism on local culture, I will explore changes in perceptions regarding kastom and skul. From the 1980s onwards, in the anthropology of Oceania, discussions surrounding kastom flourished (Jolly, 1982; Tonkinson, 1982; Keesing, 1982; Philibert, 1986). This was prompted by the traditional cultural discourse produced by national elites and nationalists. Around the time that Vanuatu gained independence in 1980, young nationalists attempted to unite a strong nation-state under the banner of kastom. Father Walter Lini,3 the first prime minister, asserted that kastom, Christian values, and development were not contradictory, but that all were necessary for Vanuatu to become a modern nation-state (Lini, 1980). With the appearance of this elite discourse, in the 1990s, scholars discussed tradition and modernity as historically entangled (Thomas, 1991, 1994) or syncretized (White, 1992; White and Lindstrom, 1997) rather than opposing concepts. For example, Lindstrom and White stated: “Melanesians have a tradition of developing tradition. Change is normal, expected, and valued in island societies” (Lindstrom and White, 1994: 17). By emphasizing the idea of developing tradition, they were attempting to “break up persistent and simplifying dichotomies of tradition/ modernity or indigenous/Western that may be found in much of today’s political rhetoric” (Lindstrom and White, 1997: 3). In the 2000s, some started criticizing the very idea of “developing tradition” as a solution to the dichotomy of tradition/modernity, questioning whether the notion actually exists in the minds of ordinary people as opposed to the minds of elites. The writings of Yoshioka (2000a, 2000b), who led this critique, as well as the special issue of The Japanese Journal of Ethnology

2 In many areas, including Aneityum, the word skul is not often used. “Ways of the white man” (fasin blong waetman) is more common. 3 He was a priest of the Anglican Church. From Kastom to Developing Livelihood 89

“Reconsidering Kastom: Beyond the Politics of Culture,” which he edited, can be seen as the fruits of this critique (Yoshioka, 2001). In his set of articles, he harshly criticized Thomas and Lindstrom’s idea of “developing tradition” as nothing more than anthropologists appropriating the assertions of national elites, saying that this was greatly detached from ordinary people’s perceptions of kastom (Yoshioka, 2000a: 25). However, Yoshioka’s arguments have not necessarily reached non-Japanese anthropologists, as these articles have been published in Japanese: the thrust of the articles are that Melanesian society is approximately divided into 2 parts, “kastom/skul,” in contrast to Thomas and White’s argument. Yoshioka clarifies people’s ways of thinking about kastom by analyzing the responses of societies in Vanuatu that came into contact with the West from the 19th century onwards. Their responses can be divided into 3 types. First, areas that “responded by firmly rejecting the new world and adamantly protecting the world of kastom,” examples of which can be found in inland Malekula and in South Pentecost (Yoshioka, 2005: 80). Second are areas that “rejected but were unable to prevent the incursion of the new world, giving rise to great disturbance” (Yoshioka, 2005: 80). In and Tanna, cargo cult movements occurred sporadically due to this disturbance. Third, areas where “the intruding new world was accepted with relative ease and it came to coexist with kastom. While people in these areas converted to Christianity and became enthusiastic about Western education, they lived lives in which they were proud of their kastom” (Yoshioka, 2005: 81). This applies to the majority of areas in Vanuatu. Calling this a “bicultural society,” Yoshioka criticized the claim of “cultural syncretism” made by White and others.4 Almost 20 years after his argument, however, the lives of the Melanesians are changing day by day. As I will show below, tourism and the cash economy are also deeply rooted in their lives, and thus, more realistic social analysis is needed. According to Ishimori (2016), the study of kastom after the 2000s can be broadly divided into 2 categories.5 The first group of study focuses on the structural processes and historical aspects of kastom (Lindstrom, 2008; Lawson, 2013). The second group of study focuses on the

4 It should be noted that Yoshioka’s argument is not representative of Oceania studies in Japan. While his arguments have had a great impact on the debate on kastom in Japan, some anthropologists have developed arguments for cultural syncretism. Shirakawa, for example, reported the case of traditional medicine (kastom meresin) on Island, Vanuatu. The people of the island believe that it is also effective against “disease of white man,” such as cancer and HIV/AIDS (Shirakawa, 2001). On the basis of these cases, Shirakawa, like Thomas and White, criticized the conventional argument that kastom and skul are clearly separated. 5 Ishimori advocates Yoshioka’s argument and proposes a focus on the concept of the vernacular language and the case of skul as the development of the debate on kastom in the future (Ishimori, 2016). He himself analyzes the case of New Georgia Island, Solomon Islands and suggests that there is a way of thinking “locol stael (local style)” that is neither kastom nor skul. This perspective is partially related to this paper. 90 E. Fukui more global role that kastom plays (Alivizatou, 2012; Otto, 2014; Hviding and White, 2015). In each category, anthropologists aim for broad analysis of the Melanesian region as a whole, rather than focusing on a specific region or community. Tourism studies are generally of the latter sort. An important issue is how people start reinterpreting their kastom when global concepts and practices like sustainable tourism and Pro- Poor Tourism (PPT) penetrate their local communities. Discussions regarding “glocalization,” in which expanding Westernization or globalization is reinterpreted by local people, are highly compatible with those regarding cultural syncretism. For example, Trau, who researched Roi Mata Cultural Tours (registered as a World Heritage Site) in Lelema communities6 of the northern part of island, asserts that the way of thinking about globalization and tourism development is localized and (re)interpreted.

It is clear that the Lelema communities are not only translating the globalised discourse of PPT (Pro-Poor Tourism) development into local cultural terms, but through Roi Mata Cultural Tours are attempting to (re)interpret these very notions so that the business is synchronically reflecting both global and local values. [...] The experience of Roi Mata Cultural Tours illustrates the fact that there is clear cross-fertilisation between western and indigenous ideas about how PPT development is organised, and that indeed the success of glocalised ventures is best gauged by the extent to which they are simultaneously both global and local. (Trau, 2012: 160)

In fact, Lelema communities have adopted the goal of hiring as many villagers as possible in the tourism industry and redistributing profit for health and educational services. This can be interpreted as people localizing tourism. However, Trau does not show how bicultural society changed due to tourism. According to his data, “[i]mmediately after inscription (as a World Heritage site), between July and December 2008, 31 tours were undertaken with a total of 323 tourists” (Trau, 2012: 157). The actual economic and social influence of tours with an average of 10 tourists visiting Lelema communities, which have a population of 700, might not be that large. Therefore, he readily turns to a discussion of glocalization without mentioning the negative impact. However, we must bear in mind that impacts that are excessively large certainly cannot be localized and reinterpreted by local societies. According to Cheer (2010), the effects of tourism at both the macro and the micro levels

6 “Lelema communities” refers to the Mangaliliu village in the northern part of the island of Efate as well as the island of Lelepa to its north. From Kastom to Developing Livelihood 91

Table 1. International Tourist Arrivals to Vanuatu (Created by the Author Based on VNSO (n.d.)) Air Arrivals Cruise Arrivals Total 2012 88,085 215,836 303,921 2013 89,253 233,097 322,350 2014 86,239 220,205 306,444 2015 63,625 199,619 263,244 2016 71,088 254,489 325,577 2017 83,407 234,141 317,548 have not been properly assessed. In this article, I examine from a micro perspective how Aneityum’s traditional way of life has changed and how the islanders perceive these changes.

3. Tourism in Vanuatu

The Republic of Vanuatu is a small island country in the South Pacific. In the 2016 mini- census, its total population was 272,459, with 67,749 people living in urban areas (Port Vila and Luganville (Espirits Santo)), and 204,710 people living in rural areas (Vanuau National Statistics Office (VNSO), 2016: 1). From 1906 to 1980, Vanuatu, then the New Hebrides, was jointly administered as the Anglo-French Condominium. Almost all of the inhabitants are Christian, although denominations vary to include Anglican, Presbyterian, Catholic, and others. Vanuatu’s languages are also diverse, with over 100 vernacular languages currently in use. When communicating with people from other islands or in urban areas, the national language of Bislama is used, while in school education and in government documents, the official languages of English and French are used. Vanuatu’s primary industry is tourism. In the capital of Port Vila, there are many lodging facilities, ranging from inexpensive guest houses to luxury resort hotels. Table 1 shows the number of tourists that came to the country from 2012 to 2017.7 There are 2 major ways of reaching Vanuatu: airplane or cruise ship. Currently there are regular flights from Australia (Sydney and Brisbane), (Noumea), Fiji (Nadi and Suva), Solomon Islands (Honiara), and New Zealand (Auckland). Approximately 50 to 60% of tourists to Vanuatu come from Australia, 10 to 20% from New Zealand, 10 to 20% from New Caledonia, 5% from Europe, and 2 to 3% from North America. Approximately 30% of tourists come to Vanuatu by plane and

7 There is a similar Table in Cheer (2017). However, the values are greater than those found in Table 1 above. This is because Cheer includes in the category of “Air Arrivals” people who selected the items “Visiting Friends and Relatives,” “Business, Meetings, Conferences,” “Stop Over,” and “Others, Education, Sports.” In Table 1, I have excluded such individuals and only shown those coming for “Holidays.”  92 E. Fukui

Figure 1. Aneityum Island   they remain, on average, for approximately 2 weeks. Cruise ships primarily bring tourists from Australia. While cruise ship groups make up approximately 70% of tourists overall, they spend only 1 or 2 nights on Port Vila or another island. Since their meals and lodging are all provided on ship, they spend little cash on the island, apart from souvenir purchases, etc.

4. Cruise Tourism on Aneityum Island

Aneityum Island (Figure 1), where I conducted my fieldwork, is Vanuatu’s southernmost island.8 It has a population of approximately 900 people, who speak a language specific to the island. There are churches of 3 Christian denominations: Presbyterian, Catholic, and Seventh Day Adventists (SDA). They engage in self-sufficient farming of taro, manioc, and yam. While there are electricity generators at schools, the dispensary (aid post), and so forth, the infrastructure is not sufficient for each household to have electricity, gas, running water, etc. However, since joining the route of large cruise ships, this island has been inundated by tourists. As I have discussed in another article (Fukui, 2005), conversion to Christianity progressed on Aneityum at an early stage (mid-19th century), and it is therefore known as an area where

8 I have conducted ongoing anthropological fieldwork in Aneityun since 2000. To date, I have stayed a cumulative 28 months on the island. Most of the data I use herein came from fieldwork I conducted in January and February 2018. I interviewed a total of 35 individuals, including those who work in tourism and those who do not. The interviews were conducted in the Aneityumese language and in Bislama. From Kastom to Developing Livelihood 93

Figure 2. A Cruise Ship at Aneityum (Main Island) kastom is weak (Spriggs, 1985). Furthermore, from the latter half of the 19th century, social structures were devastated by population decrease due to multiple epidemics (Buxton, 1926: 442; McArthur, 1974: 60–106). Therefore, many people, including the elderly, do not know their own kastom (Fukui, 2008) and, unlike Tanna and Pentecost, where kastom is strong, people on Anietyum cannot sell a kastom that manifests a deeper, more “authentic” connection with their pre-Christian traditions. Instead, they offer tourists an image of Oceania as “savage” and “paradisiacal” (Fukui, 2006, 2007, 2012). The provider of cruise tourism is Carnival Australia, which operates under the P&O brand.9 The company’s Pacific Ocean cruises depart from Australian and New Zealand cities such as Sydney, Melbourne, Brisbane, and Auckland, and tour around Fiji, New Caledonia, Tonga, Vanuatu, and other Pacific Island countries before returning to their port of departure. Courses, itineraries, and room levels are diverse, and prices differ greatly depending on these factors. In addition to food and lodging, there are a variety of facilities and services on the ships, including bars, pools, fitness rooms, hairdressers, and movie theaters. Cruise ships usually arrive with between 1,500 and 2,000 tourists. They generally bypass the main island and instead go to a small island called Iñec (or ) which lies southwest of the main island in the bay of Anelcauhat. The entire circumference of Iñec can be walked in approximately 30 minutes. Its shoreline is marked by beautiful coral reef beaches and palm trees, which, together with its white sandy

9 Royal Caribbean also operates in the region. 94 E. Fukui

Figure 3. Tourists Disembarking from a Small Ferry beaches, create a scenic landscape. Memorializing Queen Elizabeth II’s round of visits to the New Hebrides in 1974, then-president Frederick Karlomuana Timakata named this seashore “Queen Elizabeth II Beach, Mystery Island” in 1990, although this name is not in common use today. However, the moniker “Mystery Island” has been favorably adopted to appeal to tourists. While Iñec is uninhabited, it does have an airfield and when planes arrive or depart, outboard motorboats run to and from the main island (approximately 10 minutes each way) carrying people and luggage. In the Aneityum community, islanders have formed the “Mystery Island Tourism Association,” which manages general tourism-related work.10 While the heads of this association are highly educated islanders who can speak English, it is the regular islanders who actually communicate with tourists. Islanders who can speak English are assigned as tour guides and to provide information, but even those who are less skilled in English can work: women as employees at souvenir shops, and men as cleaners and guards. Generally speaking, 1 visiting cruise ship provides work for approximately 150 islanders. Cruise ships anchor to the south of Aneityum early in the morning. Due to their large draft, the ships are unable to come to shore, therefore multiple small ferries go back and forth between cruise ships and Iñec, dropping off large numbers of passengers. Once they arrive on Iñec, tourists may spend the day freely until their ship departs in the evening. Some enjoy sunbathing

10 The association works out itineraries with P&O, oversees landing fees, does maintenance work on items rented out (such as canoes and snorkeling gear), pays wages to islanders who clean the island, and so on. From Kastom to Developing Livelihood 95

Figure 4. Tourists Swimming in the Ocean and swimming in the ocean, while others go shopping and head to the island’s various attractions. Apart from sunbathing and swimming, which tourists do on their own, there are generally 3 types of attractions in which islanders are involved: (1) souvenir sales; (2) attractions on Iñec; and (3) optional tours. With regard to (1), there are approximately 60 booths in the “Marketplace” to the south of Iñec where islanders sell souvenirs from stalls. Popular items are handmade folk crafts such as fans woven from palm tree leaves, pandanus bags, and necklaces made from tree nuts. Some people also sell premade souvenirs (playing cards, towels, T-shirts, and postcards with “Vanuatu” written on them that are acquired from Port Vila). Although sellers may haggle a bit with tourists over prices, this does not require much English-language skill. There are also (2) store-type services on Iñec, such as those in which tourists may have their photographs taken. One very popular such attraction is “Mystery Island Cannibal Soup,” in which tourists are photographed being attacked by islanders dressed up as “cannibals” and “boiled” in a large pot (5 AUD11). Also popular are the multiple “hair plaiting”12 and massage parlors. Lastly, there are (3) various optional tours. Tourists can rent canoes, sailboats, and

11 1 Australian dollar (AUD) was approximately 80 vatu in 2018. 12 Island women thinly braid the hair of female tourists (often children). Currently, there are multiple shops providing this service, and they are all popular. While prices change depending on the shop, length of hair, and braiding style, they generally run between 10 and 15 AUD. 96 E. Fukui

Figure 5. The Marketplace

Figure 6. Mystery Island Cannibal Soup From Kastom to Developing Livelihood 97 snorkeling gear for use along the shore, or take offshore boat trips to see sea turtles. Until a few years ago, islanders would perform traditional dances (recognized by the islanders as authentic kastom of Aneityum), but these were not very popular with tourists and stopped almost immediately (Fukui, 2006). Instead, tourists are drawn by the promise of beautiful natural landscapes and savageness, which embody Oceania’s “paradise” and “savage” image (Fukui, 2007, 2012; cf. Lindstrom, 2015: 185).

5. Experiencing Rapid Lifestyle Changes

When a cruise ship is due to arrive, the island springs into intense activity. On the day before the ship’s arrival, cleaners arrive on Iñec to clean and prepare, and some stay overnight for night duty. On the day that tourists arrive, locals arrive on Iñec beforehand to prepare the attractions and shops. Boats go back and forth multiple times between the main island and Iñec, carrying islanders and luggage. According to islanders, cruise ships began stopping at Aneityum in 1983, but at first they only came several times a year, with no major influence on the island’s daily life or economy. In 2001 and 2002, when I stayed on the island for long-term fieldwork, cruise ships arrived approximately 10 times. However, the visits continued to increase, to approximately 20 times in 2005, 33 times in 2006, 43 times in 2011, 70 times in 2013, and 81 times in 2018.13 The January and February 2018 schedule is shown in Table 2. Cruise ships came 11 times in January and 12 times in February of that year. With the increase in tourists, islanders’ incomes are also increasing. A day of island cleaning pays 1,500 to 2,000 vatu, while shop sales bring in approximately 250 to 1,000 vatu per day. Tables 3 and 4 show the price list for a massage parlor and sales per day over the course of 8 days. This massage parlor is not always open when tourists come to the island, and the number of massage therapists ranges from 6 to 10 at any one time. 10% of sales are paid to the Mystery Island Tourism Association, while the remainder of the money is divided up equally among the massage therapists. Sales vary depending on factors such as weather, but on average massage therapists make 80 AUD per day, increasing to up to 170 AUD on good days. If a massage therapist works 5 days a month, this works out to 400 AUD (32,000 vatu), which is an adequate income for life on the island.

13 These figures are from my own fieldwork. While Cheer’s article also includes figures for cruise ship visits (Cheer, 2017: 416), they differ slightly from mine. My figures are generally calculated based on the yearly schedule shown to me by islanders. While Cheer’s figures are larger, our figures both indicate a rapid increase starting around 2010. 98 E. Fukui

Table 2. Cruise Ship Schedule from January to February 2018 January 2018 SUN MON TUE WED THU FRI SAT 1 2 3 4 5 6 ○ ○ ○ ○ 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 ○ 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 ○ ○ ○ 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 ○ ○ ○ 28 29 30 31

February 2018 SUN MON TUE WED THU FRI SAT 1 2 3 ○ ○ ○ 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 ○ ○ 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 ○ ○ 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 ○ ○ ○ ○ 25 26 27 28 ○

Before the tourism industry began to flourish, the principal wage labor on Aneityum was teaching. There are currently 3 elementary schools and 1 secondary school on the island. The starting salary for elementary school teachers is 96,000 vatu per month, while for secondary school teachers it is 104,000 vatu, which is sufficient income to live on the island. However, in more than a few cases, teachers from other islands take up posts at Aneityum schools. For example, at Teruja Secondary School (southwest Aneityum), there are currently 7 teachers, only 2 of whom are from Aneityum, while the other 5 are from other islands. Due to the lack of wage jobs on the island, until recently, at least one family member would go to Tanna or Port Vila to make money to send back to Aneityum. Currently, however, with the number of tourists increasing, many islanders can be directly involved in cash income work. Some even say that one can make more money on Aneityum than in Port Vila. With the increase in islanders’ income, various changes are arising in their lives. In 2010, for example, a cellphone antenna was installed on Iñec, with its signal partially covering the From Kastom to Developing Livelihood 99

Table 3. Massage Parlor Price List 60 mins 45 mins 30 mins 20 mins Full Body 40 35 30 20 Back/Shoulder/Neck/Feet 35 30 25 15 Back/Shoulder/Neck/Head 30 25 20 12 Feet/Legs/Knees 25 20 15 10 (AUD)

Table 4. Massage Parlor Sales (8 Days) Date Revenue Number of Massagers Unknown (2017) 420 AUD 8 Unknown (2017) 445 AUD 7 Unknown (2017) 1480 AUD 8 Unknown (2017) 830 AUD 6 1 January 2018 1800 AUD 10 8 January 2018 1680 AUD + 305 USD + 2000 VT 9 23 January 2018 1485 AUD + 70 USD + 5500 VT + 1500 XPF 10 24 January 2018 1915 AUD 10 * Since cruise ships bring people from a variety of countries, tourists have various currencies. Some tourists pay in US dollars (USD) or the Pacific Franc (CFP).

Anelcauhat village area. In 2014, a handsome concrete bank opened and in the same year, the island’s only dispensary (aid post) was renovated with a donation from P&O Cruises. With islanders’ individual incomes increasing, they can purchase various modern commodities. For example, some people have bought electricity generators with expensive solar panels. Due to this (and Iñec’s antenna), islanders can now use cell phones like people in urban areas. The few general stores (selling food products, clothing, stationery goods, and items for use in daily life) are chronically in short supply of goods. While previously there were only 4 or 5 outboard motorboats on the island, this number has doubled. It has become popular to purchase a bicycle in the capital and have it sent to Aneityum. This is significant as bicycles are fairly superfluous to life on the island—there are no paved roads and most pathways comprise either steep mountain roads or sandy beaches. Above all, islanders have become busy. Regardless of whether it is Christmas or a day of worship, the cruise ships come, and while in the past, women would make souvenirs while chatting amongst themselves, it is now not uncommon for them to work by oil lamp at night after the children have gone to sleep. Another emerging phenomenon is the neglect of daily farming work and church services, which is frequently criticized by older people (Fukui, 2017: 199–203). A young person (male in his 20s) enthusiastic about the tourism industry says, “Today we need money even for school fees, and there are even elderly people working because of this. Now, one can make money on the island without going to Port Vila. Everyone loves money. I just wish the number of tourists would increase.” 100 E. Fukui

On the other hand, during my 2018 fieldwork, I often heard the discourse of “Living is not easy” (Et itiyi top upni numu), a concept that is new on the island. To date, people have perceived life there as “easy” (top upni) because, unlike Port Vila, cash was unnecessary, and people did not need to work. For this very reason, they used to say that “island life is kastom and Port Vila life is skul.” This discourse has now shifted, and islanders are aware of the great changes that have occurred in their lives.

6. Anonymous Livelihood

Cheer points out several problems regarding Aneityum cruise ship tourism. For example, the income managed by the Mystery Island Tourism Association is not transparent, and there are economic disparities between islanders. Cheer makes several proposals regarding the community and cruise ship companies jointly engaging in projects to improve medical, educational, and other public services (Cheer, 2017: 418–421). However, while these problems do exist, and people often complain about them, they are not especially important from the islanders’ perspective. For example, a male islander who was in his 20s and actively working in tourism said the following:

I don’t really understand their [the Association members’] activities. There should be plenty of money coming into the island from the company [P&O], but we don’t see much in return. We haven’t received much of an explanation on that score. However, my own income has certainly risen following a rise in numbers of tourists visiting. When I’ve saved up a little more, I’d like to get a boat. I’d never even have thought about buying a boat before. I want them to get more tourists coming.

Here is another example, this time from a woman in her 30s, also actively working in tourism.

For some time, they [the Association members] have been bad at financial management. They’d never give us a proper explanation no matter how much we asked. That said, we were never really that upset about it. Some people don’t want to work, but they don’t complain about having no income, as it is down to their own choice. If anything, there’s people who complain that they want to work more but that they barely get a chance to do so.14 It’s good that there’s a new dispensary, but it doesn’t concern me much.

14 In the past, islanders would volunteer to do cleaning work on Iñec. Nowadays, the different sections of the communities take turns to do the cleaning. From Kastom to Developing Livelihood 101

As I have shown in another paper, in the vernacular language there is a way of thinking referred to as akro, which refers to mutual aid via sharing and distribution (Fukui, 2017). In other words, the cash made by one person is shared among kinship, and as a result it is distributed to many people. While it is a fact that tourism divides people into the “haves” and “have-nots,” it is also the case that even if one does not work in tourism, due to the practice of akro, many people are benefiting from the influx of cash. Cheer’s proposals are intended to solve the problem of tourism, which is not unfolding in a sustainable, community-led fashion. In other words, he thinks that sustainable development is possible on Aneityum, and perhaps holds that it and kastom can be syncretized. Alternatively, he might be a proponent of the idea of “glocalization,” which holds that local people can easily reinterpret the impacts of globalization. However—the discourse of political elites aside—he does not understand development and kastom as essentially phenomena that cannot be syncretized. He laments the current situation in which people buy canned fish and rice and neglect farming (Cheer, 2017: 418). Yet, this is precisely what happens when wage labor is introduced on a large scale on an island with a self-sufficient economy. It is impossible for traditional social structures and self- sufficient farming to be maintained while a large number of islanders work multiple times a week in the tourism industry, earn a considerable amount of money, and are recipients of generous public services. Therefore, the greatest issue related to cruise ship tourism on the island is neither the opacity of how income is managed nor economic disparity, but that the lifestyle of local people is changing from its roots. The problem stems from the ideals of “developing tradition” or “sustainable tourism” being brought to the island, rather than sustainable tourism not being realized. Indeed, an islander in his 70s and not working in tourism said the following:

You need cash, but just a little is enough. In the past, when we’d finish the farm work, we’d chat and take it easy. Nowadays, everyone’s busy and has no time to go to the farm. Cash spoils (awahas) our kastom. On the island, we should preserve our kastom, but tourism and cash spoil it. That’s not a good thing.

Another islander, a man in his 60s who works in tourism occasionally said something similar:

Some on the island say that a hotel should be built. However, doing that would spoil our lives. We have our kastom. We have to treasure it. I sometimes work in tourism. I need the money. But kastom should not be spoiled. That’s why I don’t want more tourists to come. 102 E. Fukui

Yoshioka lists “immutability” as a characteristic of kastom. “People are attached to things ‘originally existing’ and always understand ‘change’ negatively. Each time I [Yoshioka] visit North Raga, I am asked, ‘What changed from before?’ They hope for an answer of ‘it hasn’t changed.’ People are satisfied if I reply, ‘It’s like it was before’” (Yoshioka, 2000b: 167). It is certainly true that the concept and practice of kastom exist in Aneityum and include the mutual aid way of thinking, management of land tenure, and various rituals. These ways of thinking and practices are understood as things that do not and should not be changed. However, their “livelihood” (numu), which is now described as “not easy,” is no longer unchangeable. A massive amount of money has flooded the island, buildings have appeared, and new electronic products are being introduced. Nowadays the islanders can now earn enough to purchase air tickets to the capital and easily send elderly people to the hospital and their children to school. They go less often to the taro fields, and the number of days they engage in paid work has increased. They frequently share updates on Facebook, and even send messages to family on the island. Some young people even bragged to me about their newly purchased boats and solar panels. This situation differs considerably from that in North Raga, as reported by Yoshioka. It is no longer “immutability” that characterizes village life in Aneityum. While it is unclear whether people understand such trends as “progress” and “development,” at the very least their lives are changing daily, and they are unable to resist. Yoshioka depicted North Raga (and many other local communities) as bicultural societies in which kastom and skul coexist. In fact, the people of Vanuatu also see these concepts as coexisting and understand that if one increases, the other decreases. However, the current changes occurring on Aneityum have implications beyond this kind of inversely proportional relationship. When they speak of skul, typical examples are school education, T-shirts, and cash. These are institutions and physical phenomena that white people have introduced in recent times. What is important is not that this massive influx has occurred in a stable society; rather, it is that the way of thinking that “society is irreversibly changing” was introduced and that society is in fact changing in this way. Cash itself is certainly skul, as are the canned fish and rice purchased with it. However, a lifestyle in which one does not need to go to the taro garden due to the daily consumption of fish and rice is a very new experience. It is interesting that islanders understand kastom as “our thing” and skul as “the white man’s thing.” These are inseparable from the issue of “whose thing is this?” In the Aneityum language, there is no single word for expressing “tradition.”15 However, there is the phrase “our way of doing things” (nedou u ja). While nedou means “way of doing things, behavior,

15 In the Aneityum dictionary there is no translation for the English word “tradition.” Instead, we find the Bislama word kastom (Lynch and Tepahae, 2001: 356). From Kastom to Developing Livelihood 103 or path,”16 when referring to “tradition,” possessive pronouns often follow.17 This is also the case with the Bislama word kastom, which in conversation is generally used in phrases such as “their kastom” or “our kastom.” For example, “Tanna’s kastom is that but Aneityum’s kastom is this,” or “Malekula’s kastom is strong but Aneityum’s kastom is weak.” While it does not necessarily have to be compared with something else, kastom always has the connotation of someone’s kastom. Whose lives, then, are the islanders living? This becomes clear if one compares their lives with those in Port Vila. As noted above, islanders describe life on Aneityum today as “not easy” (top upni) and “rough” (ehka). In fact, this kind of discourse was previously used with regard to Port Vila’s lifestyle, where the cash economy spread, infrastructure developed, and many Westerners, including tourists, are found. Many Aneityum residents there do not engage in agriculture, but in wage labor. The most striking difference from village life is that the land on which they are living and that forms the foundation of their lives is only leased to them—it is not their own. It is certainly true that kinship relations and rituals exist; however, these form only a very small part of people’s overall lives. Therefore, life in Port Vila is classified as skul. The discourse used frequently adheres to the following example: “To do anything in Port Vila cash is necessary, and we have to work every day because of this. This is why life is hard. However, life on the island is easy, with kinship helping each other.” In 2015, a man gave the speech below during a ceremony. The man is still in his 50s, but he is trusted by other islanders because, despite never graduating from elementary school, he receive a “gifted education” about the island’s kastom from his grandfather and knows more about it than anyone else on the island.

We are in the middle of a major change. Tourist numbers continue to rise and our lives are transforming. However, is this really a good thing? Some young people no longer go to the farming work; they are just after money. This is not Port Vila. This is not Sydney. We should value our kastom. However, our kastom today is not our true (atoh18) kastom. Whose kastom is it?

The life of self-sufficiency on Aneityum differs from that in Port Vila. The islanders engage in reciprocal exchange and kinship relations, and, above all, own their land (nopohtan).

16 In the Aneityum dictionary, we find “behavior, conduct, custom, way” (Lynch and Tepahae, 2001: 198). 17 “There is one subclass [of Aneityum nouns] which consists of those which cannot occur alone but which must be marked as being possessed by some other noun or pronoun” (Lynch, 2000: 44). For example, “hand” is expressed as “my hand” (nijima-k), “your hand” (nijima-m), “John’s hand” (nijima-i John), and so on. Nijima- alone is meaningless (there is no general term for “hand”). However, nedou is not of this type. It has meaning even without a possessive pronoun. 18 Atoh means “straight,” “right,” “correct,” and “true.” 104 E. Fukui

Therefore, even if skul elements were introduced to the island to some extent, overall life there was categorized as kastom. Islanders could declare with confidence that it was “their own.” However, as I have demonstrated in this paper, daily life on this island has changed considerably in recent years, and as long as tourism continues to flourish, will probably continue to change. Therefore, while life on the island is not yet skul, it is also no longer kastom. The islanders themselves cannot adequately define who their current lives belong to.

7. Conclusion

To summarize, my argument is that there are limitations to understanding life on Aneityum from the bicultural viewpoint of skul and kastom. A characteristic of kastom is that it does not change. Therefore, the current ever-changing life does not fall under this concept. Kastom now refers only to certain practices, such as specific songs and rituals, and not to life on the island overall. In other words, we can conclude that the most pronounced characteristic of island “livelihood” (numu) is an anonymity in which relationality is stripped away and in which it is unclear to whom things belong. In my 2018 fieldwork, I frequently heard another discourse aside from “It is not easy to live”; “In the near future China is going to build roads and a wharf for us.” Indeed, a large road was built on Tanna with development aid from China. Therefore, many people of Aneityum hope that in the near future a wharf will also be built on their island and that tourist numbers will increase. Islanders experience surprise, joy, hope, and distress regarding the daily changes to their lives. In other words, they themselves have not yet been able to properly evaluate such changes, and it is dangerous for researchers to unilaterally judge such situations as good examples of glocalization. Globalization is not something that local culture can easily reinterpret: rather, it has sufficient power to eradicate local cultures. The biggest concern is that by the time such communities can fully evaluate the power of globalization themselves, their traditional culture might have changed completely.

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