colonialism

/kə'loυniəlızm/ n. 1 the extension of a nation’s sovereignty over territory beyond its borders by the establishment of either settler colonies or administrative dependencies in which indigenous populations are directly ruled or displaced. 2 a set of beliefs used to legitimise or promote such a system.

It’s been a bit up-and-down the past two weeks. Partly because of the weather. (I know I wrote about the weather last time, and that it is perhaps one of the most mundane topics of conversation you could ever want to chat with someone about … still, this is kind of significant, so just bear with me). About a fortnight ago, it rained non-stop for a week. I’m not exaggerating. Non-stop. This past week hasn’t been any better. All the Fijians I work with are asking, “What’s going on with the weather?” so it’s not really something that you could call usual. It started to get me down. There was a break in the clouds a day or so ago, so that was some welcome relief. But anyway … I’m still hopin’ for some good ol’ sunshine.

Contributing to my “down-ness”, I heard two brief anecdotes recently that really got me thinking about the nature of things here in Fiji. The first one went like this:

I was having a cup of tea with my friend Ruth, and she mentioned that a native Fijian was talking to her about the cultural differences between Fijians and Anglo-Saxon people. “We think it’s so great, Ruth, that you’ve really tried hard to bring yourself down to our level,” they commented. This speaks volumes. At our pre-departure training programme (which I thought was fantastic; a real eye-opener) we were really encouraged to make an effort at bridging the cultural gap, and trying to demonstrate interest in the language, mannerisms, and beliefs of the people we work with. I’m glad that when such an effort is made, it’s appreciated. But think about what it means. It means that if Ruth hadn’t tried to behave in a culturally sensitive way, and integrate herself into the community, there would be an automatic assumption that she was in some way “better” than the native Fijians in their own country. It means that Fijians believe (or at least, this one Fijian believes) that Fijians aren’t as good, or worthy, as white people.

The other story came as one teacher I work with, Claudette, was talking about her childhood. She mentioned that her father had served in the British Army, and she was telling about how — because of the influence the regimentation of army life had on him — he ran a fairly strict household. She remembers being taught how to eat her food “properly”, by using a knife and fork.

I guess these short, fairly simple stories might not mean much to many people. But they really got me thinking about the Fijian culture, the nature of the Anglo-Saxon way of life, and my role here.

I generally walk down the street carrying an umbrella under my arm, just in case it starts to rain. There have been several occasions recently where I have imagined how I must look to people. If I was wearing a suit, and maybe a bowler hat, I’m sure I would look like “the perfect English gentleman”. When I catch a taxi, I usually sit in the back seat, smiling mildly out at the locals walking along as we zoom past … “Home, James.” It could just be me, but sometimes I feel like I’m being stared at on the bus, or at least sense curious glances that stray over me just a moment too long. The fact that we have an indigenous Fijian living in our so-called “maid’s quarters”, who comes in to clean our house once a week and “do some work in the gardens” smacks of the “master-servant” relationship.

In some ways, it’s futile. No matter how many Fijian language lessons I take; no matter how many Fijian friends I make; no matter how much I wear a sulu (the traditional wrap-around “skirt” worn by men in Fiji); no matter how many other American, British, Australian, and New Zealander expatriates live and work in Suva; my skin is still white, and I stand out. I’m a kai valagi, /kai βa'laŋi/, a white person — albeit one who is genuinely interested in the people and culture of Fiji.

This is very closely connected to the idea of international “aid”. The “help” that we as Australian volunteers are supposed to be offering the people of Fiji. The very reason we’re here. I have met kai valagi people who are so keen to “make a difference” and “improve the chances” of the Fijians. But I have been asking myself where this motivation comes from. Is it genuine desire to advance the quality of life of Fijians in ways that might otherwise not be available? Or is it trying to make Fijians more “Western”, and less “uncivilised”? (Is there even a distinction between the two questions?) Why do Aussies want to come and volunteer here? Is it to provide better services, or to show the locals “how it should be done”? How close does it all come to racism?

Sometimes I have wanted to scream. “You aren’t beneath us! What are you talking about? You can’t eat properly unless you’re holding cutlery?! Don’t listen to me! What do you think?!” Is there anything inherently wrong with sitting on the floor while you eat your dinner? (What if you can’t afford furniture?) Is there anything wrong with using traditional herbal medicines? (What is the average life expectancy here?) Why do you need to own your own car? (What’s the current level of taxi- and bus-generated pollution?) Who needs a TV? (How much time do people spend here drinking kava and leaving their children to wander round the streets? Is owning a TV a better option?)

I’ve seen some really genuine white people, who are interested in what’s happening, who want to learn, who are sensitive, and act “appropriately”. I’ve also seen some pretty patronising stuff. Like the episode when I was in the supermarket, and the following interaction took place between the Fijian guy working in the shop and the older (I’m embarrassed to say, Australian) female customer:
“Are you sure these cushions will be available if I come back tomorrow?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I don’t want to come back here and find out they’ve all been sold.”
“No, ma’am.”
“Maybe you can keep them aside for me?”
“I’ll do that for you.”
“Well, you just make sure I’ll be able to pick those up tomorrow …”
And then she turned and rushed off down the aisle. But before she disappeared, she realised she’d forgotten something. So, she flicked her head around and said, “… Please!” while the storeperson was left standing, staring at the empty space where she’d just been hurling cursory manners at him.

It’s all very interesting. It makes me sound extremely cynical, and I’m sure (as with most things) these remarks are just sweeping generalisations. I don’t have any answers. But I don’t apologise. These are just things I’ve seen and thoughts I’ve had. Maybe one day it will all make sense.

Tomorrow, I’m going to Caqalai /ðaŋga'lai/ with Wes, Alex, and Kath. It’ll be nice to have a bit of a relaxing time away from the city; I was hoping to finish off the book I’m reading: Life of Pi by Yann Martel (although it sounds like Wes has got a fair bit of activity planned … walking, swimming, snorkelling … Life’s tough, but I’ll struggle through!)

Cheers,
Andy