Migrating feminisms

Women’s Studies International Forum, Vol. 21, No. 6, pp. 665–680, 1998 Copyright © 1999 Elsevier Science Ltd Printed in the USA. All rights reserved 0277-5395/98 $–see front matter

Pergamon

PII S0277-5395(98)00080-6

MIGRATING FEMINISMS: MALIGNED OVERSTAYER OR MODEL CITIZEN? Selina Tusitala Marsh University of Auckland, Private Bag 92019, Auckland, New Zealand

Synopsis — Since the 1960s, migration throughout the South Pacific has accelerated creating a fusion of peoples and ideas. This article explores how feminisms have been received, rejected, reworked, and, in some cases, reclaimed in order to better the position of women and their societies in the South Pacific. © 1999 Elsevier Science Ltd

I am not a bra-burning person; I never wore a bra, so, I do not know why bra-burning is so important to the feminist. —Participant in “Women, Development and Empowerment” workshop, Naboutini, Fiji, 1987 (Griffen with Yee, 1989, p. 8).1 Women’s Liberation or Women’s Lib is a European disease to be cured by Europeans. What we are aiming for is not just women’s liberation but a total liberation. A social, political and economic liberation. —Excerpt from a speech delivered at the First National Conference of Vanuaaku Women of Efate in 1978 by Ni-Vanuatu political activist and poet Grace Mera Molisa (quoted in Jolly, 1991, p. 6). “Womens Lib” If we always knew Where we were going We’ll never take a step; So come with me sister Let’s take a chance and make the break After all, we cannot all go back To the land. —Konai Helu Thaman, Tongan poet, scholar, and educationalist (Thaman, 1974, p. 13).

I would like to thank Kalpana Ram and J. K e haulani Kauanui for their encouragement, patience, and valuable critique of this article; and Ria van de Zandt for her editorial work.

In 1997, the question of whether feminism is relevant or has any use in the Pacific may seem redundant. However, my personal experience with many Pacific Islands women, regardless of educational, social, or cultural background, indicates that there still exists a very real suspicion of feminism and that any reworking of it necessitates caution, deliberation, and time. Their comments, quoted above, seem just as relevant today as when they were first said. For these Pacific Islands women, the term feminism has had very definite meanings. Let me contextualize each of the above excerpts in turn. In 1987, a “Women, Development and Empowerment” workshop was organized with the aim of forming “a feminist framework for changes and ideals that women would like to see in the future” (Griffen with Yee, 1989, p. 2). Twenty-six women from 11 Pacific Island countries took part in the workshop—the first of its kind recorded and published in the Pacific.2 However, there were many comments like this first anonymous one. Though the days of notorious bra-burning made famous in the United States during the 1960s have come to an end, stereotypical notions of feminism remain embedded in much of the Pacific psyche. The fact that events and images of feminism historically located in American history should come to symbolize an entire ideology, and reach a woman half a world away in the South Pacific, speaks volumes for the power of media representation and the institutionalization of

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certain concepts. Some feelings expressed at the workshop regarding feminism—particularly the sense of its irrelevancy stemming from its different social context—are a widespread theme in the Pacific. On this occasion, organizers found that before a feminist framework could be developed, popular notions of “feminism,” specifically Western feminism, had to be discussed and critiqued. The second comment expresses Molisa’s anger at a feminist movement which, in its quest for “global sisterhood,”3 refuses to see its positionality, despite being embedded in a different and dominant political and social context. For Molisa, such feminism professes the liberation of women, but in actual practice, liberates only one race and one class of women. Oppressive political and social realities of Ni-Vanuatu women are not only ignored but, Molisa argues, are perpetuated by European women “libbers.” As Jolly (1991) points out, although there are politically diverse forms of feminism— such as radical feminism, as well as Marxist and socialist variants—Molisa only addresses one type, namely, white liberal middle-class feminism, and that, too, at its most stereotypical. The last poem was penned by Thaman, a Tongan scholar and poet currently residing in Fiji. Her poem reveals a more ambiguous relationship with feminism. It was published in 1974 at the height of the 1960s/1970s cultural upheaval in the United States, when American feminism reached its public peak.4 “Women’s Lib” promises daring adventure into a unrestrained and undetermined destiny full of possibilities. The speaker and her “sister” (suggestive of a camaraderie of “sisterhood” bonded by vision rather than blood) will leave behind the “land,” Pacific symbol of culture and communal responsibility, and “take a chance and make the break.” This carefree dash for freedom involves individually stepping out and away from communally and culturally predetermined futures. Twenty years later, Thaman displays a distinct reserve toward feminism, firmly rejecting the label, stating unequivocally: “I am not a feminist.” When further questioned about the relevance of feminism in Pacific women’s lives, Thaman stated: “Pacific Islands women are too busy surviving, working and playing roles . . . traditions still play a very important role in the life of Pacific Islands women in the islands and the cultural constraints are much stronger there.”5

This article gathers an array of reactions and responses to feminism from the Pacific and asks: Can feminism be transplanted and used as a “productive ground for struggle”? (Mohanty, 1991a, p. 7). What will the process involve? Will it help or hinder the various oppressive situations of women throughout the globe? Conversely, as revealed by Thaman’s seemingly contradictory stances—on the one hand, invoking female liberation in her poem but rejecting the “feminist” label—need “feminism” monopolize any movement by women toward empowerment? Has the concept of feminism always existed in the Pacific? This article uses the voices of Pacific women and other women of color6 in literature, interviews, workshops, conference proceedings, and theoretical publications to map some of the reactions and responses surrounding feminism.7 It investigates the fresh initiatives that have gone beyond a rejection of feminism as “Western,” to a reconceptualization of locally relevant and culturally resonant feminism. It contends that in order for feminism to successfully migrate into the Pacific, it must be a continually migratory body of thought, a critical framework that adapts, adopts, and rejects old, new, and different ideological environments. Reactions of women from all over the Pacific to feminism are similar—negative and suspicious. These women are by no means alone in describing Western feminism in alienating terms. Women of color the world over have critiqued mainstream Western feminism on the grounds of cultural imperialism and ethnocentricity.8 This pervasive feeling of difference and irrelevancy hinders many Pacific Island women from even considering different forms and definitions of feminism—when the term is familiar at all. However, to argue that feminism is totally unrelated to Pacific Islands women’s lives is problematic. There is no typical Pacific woman. Colonization, independence, self-government, rural to urban drift, modernization, employment, and reliance upon a cash economy has altered many Pacific realities in varying degrees. More Islanders today are exposed to foreign ideas via education, business, and modern media than several decades ago. Thaman herself represents the “modern educated Pacific Islands woman,” who may well find herself encountering feminism while away from the island context.9 Educated in Tonga, Fiji,

Migrating Feminisms: Maligned Overstayer or Model Citizen?

New Zealand, and the United States, her multiple migrations have been accompanied by an influx of foreign ideas and influences that have had an impact on her life and work. Most women whose voices are heard in this article have encountered feminism outside of their island context. Like Thaman, they have, at least temporarily, “lived outside of the more traditional ‘cultural constraints’ to which she refers.” Most of the women noted in this article, including myself, have, at one point or another, “migrated” from their home of origin for purposes of further education and training. Many are active in local and/or international activism, education, and politics. Most speak and write English fluently, in addition to their own languages. It is exposure to these wider foreign environments that have allowed these women to experience new and different ideas. These ideas create varying degrees of tension upon the return home, or to an island community. In my own experience I never left home—“home” (or half of it) left me. My mother emigrated from Western Samoa after marrying my Palagi father in Apia. I was born and raised in Aotearoa/New Zealand—another site of mixed blood “contestation.” As a New Zealand-born Samoan/New Zealander, educated with Western knowledge systems, I have spiritually and mentally migrated between islands of ideology in an endeavor to voyage to a “home” that was both English and Pacific Island. It was in one particular course at university that my “feminist” consciousness was raised. When I encountered ideas about feminism (and later, about postcolonialism), I saw that the education I had been receiving was largely patriarchal and Eurocentric in nature. These discoveries were both troubling and exciting. They challenged my political inertia and caused me to question my assumptions. However, when I returned to my ‘ a¯ iga,10 and nonuniversity friends, I soon realized that those within my community saw little need for such ideas—indeed, many found them hostile and divisive to the familiy. I was made to feel as though I were too educated, too cheeky, or even worse “fiapapalagi!”11 In such cases, I found that many theories simply did not apply to me or my family. Feminism had to painfully filter through my many selves as: daughter, sister, wife, Pacific Islander, New Zealander, woman, heterosexual, working class, Christian, student.

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Women the globe over have chosen to deconstruct popular notions of feminism in order to explore alternative definitions based on their specific political, social, economic, and religious realities. This has been occurring increasingly within the Pacific. But first, what does the face of our perceived and unwanted “overstayer” look like? Rather than outlining the origins of Western feminism (and further canonizing its claim to feminism), I want to explore some of the ways Pacific women have critiqued and deconstructed its offending principles. While initial reactions of anger and exasperation may validate personal realities, to merely voice them without any development or critical analysis ultimately seems unfruitful. Within these responses lies the key to how Pacific Islands women may negotiate and pluralize their own forms of feminism.

FEMINISM AND THE WESTERN MONOPOLY OVER DISCOURSE Since the 1960s, several catchphrases have become popularized to the extent that (with or without justification) they have come to represent the essence of Western feminism. Some of these include “Bra Burning,” “Women’s Lib,” “Women’s Rights,” and “Fight for Equality.” Although these somewhat token phrases have led to false notions of one homogenous body of Western feminism, it is useful to gauge popular interactions with these concepts because, like most generalizations, each yields certain insights if properly contextualized. The “Bra Burning” quote I began with has become more than an act—it has become representative of an entire movement. For many, it symbolizes the specific political and cultural context of Western feminism as defined by white middle-class America. Folese, a Western Samoan woman who has resided in the United States for the last 11 years and had been educated at an American university, expressed her view that American feminism, emerging from a very different cultural context, was at odds with Pacific Island communities: The origins of western feminism arose out of suburbia [sic] depression and the need women felt to “get out of the house,” leave the kids behind, burn bras, overcome depression and addiction to things like valium et-

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ceteras. In life in a Samoan village, the extended family acts as a support system for mothers. The trap of the nuclear family simply doesn’t exist in the village situation.12

This Western monopoly over feminist discourse,13 or more specifically, over the power to define its meaning, is necessarily subtle, often invisible and pervasive. The philosophy of feminism, if we define it in simple terms as a framework that seeks to redress women’s oppression, is increasingly incorporated into the works of Pacific Islands women. In the evidence we look at in this article, we find Pacific women critiquing patriarchy, questioning revitalized traditions that empower only men, and airing questions regarding the double standards surrounding male and female sexuality. Despite this, the women feel very uncomfortable about having the term feminism applied to themselves or their work. The reaction I experienced from Pacific Islands women to “feminism” was similar to that of Laura from Guam, who shared her interview experience at the “Women, Development and Empowerment” workshop. Interviewing 82 people in Guam in order to gauge their thoughts on feminism, Laura made the same mistake that I had made in my interview with Thaman.14 We had both used the term feminism without first defining it. Laura recalls asking “Are you a feminist?” “What do you think of feminism?” “Without exception,” she states, “they said: Please don’t call me a feminist” (Griffen with Yee, 1989, p.8). Laura, having been deeply influenced by feminism while studying in the United States, returned only to discover that none of the women were interested in “feminism.” The realization that the only feminism she had been learning was politically, racially, and historically specific, occurred slowly: It took me many years—maybe, about 10 years—before I began to understand that the white woman’s feminism, the First World woman’s feminism, if you will, was a feminism that came out of their personal experience. They did not have to live in extended families or have to fight colonialism, imperialism, cultural imperialism and dominance, in the way that we had to. They did not have such a dramatic presence of the church and religion in their lives. Their personal experiences from which their feminism came was

different from my personal experience. (Griffen with Yee, 1989, p. 9).

Why was this specificity of the First World woman’s feminism never formally acknowledged? The uncritical application of outside ideologies ensures that, to borrow the metaphor used by African American feminist theorist bell hooks, the oppressive political configuration of centre versus margin, remains intact.15 Pacific Islands cultures are very different from those of the West. Indeed, they are very different from each other, as I explore later in the article. However, there are some commonalties that bind the peoples of the Pacific when faced with Western ideologies. Two that seem imperative when pacificizing feminism, are a shared history of colonialism, and a preference for communalism over individualism.16 In this article, I explore the argument that if specifically Pacific developments and understandings of feminisms are going to effectively migrate, then these aitu, these “evil spirits” of popularized Western-based feminism, need to be exorcized.17 In a later interview, Thaman’s position on feminism was less absolute and more exploratory. Arguing that “feminism” was a loaded term, she posited that it needed to be qualified before being used or applied: “when people ask, are you a feminist, if feminism is about equality, equal worth, then, yes, I am a feminist” (Wood, 1997, p. 7). This type of ideological “exorcism” increases the chance for acceptance of specifically qualified and defined feminisms.

THE GENDER AGENDA Any pacificizing of feminism must be based upon the recognition that colonial history in the Pacific has irrevocably altered Pacific Island lives in varying degrees. Eighteenth century contact, Christianity and subsequent capitalism have, in some cases, all but decimated entire peoples and their ways of living (Campbell, 1992, p. 154). Through physical and spiritual warfare, and the introduction of fatal diseases, many were left defenseless against imperialist attacks. The sovereignty of indigenous peoples in their own land was disregarded. Capitalism created economic and cultural dependency, and introduced modern-day diseases of militarism, nuclearism, and tourism, which

Migrating Feminisms: Maligned Overstayer or Model Citizen?

often ensured that the realization of sovereignty would remain out of indigenous hands—at least until the 1960s for some islands. The subject matter taken up by most Pacific women poets tends to focus on these important social and political issues. The most salient of these includes neocolonialism, urban drift, cultural and economic poverty, the growth of individualism with its accompanying conflict between tradition and modernity, an increasing reliance upon a cash economy, political corruption, unsustainable development, nuclear testing, and the persistence of an alienating eurocentric education. These issues are dealt with just as much, if not more, than oppressions dealing exclusively with gender. Solomon Islands poet Jully Makini devotes as much attention to the ills of a “postcolonial” society as much as she does to issues such as domestic violence. Her powerfully candid poem “Development” is a case in point: Big word Lotsa meanings Staka dollar Magnetic circle Entices me Urban drift Empty villages Customs forgotten Loose living Lost identity Rat race Dollar talks Values change Wantoks ignored Every man for himself I want to develop too! (Sipolo, 1986, p. 13)18

Makini critiques the Western influence on local “development” as well as the cycle of native complicity in desiring things foreign. In most cases, the competition for Western development fostered by material and spiritual dependency, creates a neocolonial class that proves to be just as exploitive as its colonial forebearers. Molisa observes a similar phenomenon in Vanuatu with her poem “Neocolonialism”: Neo-Colonialism a parasite accommodated by hosts

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open and susceptible to external influences usually certain well-trained Colonial civil- servant and weak politicians; our bunch of dissidents a classic case. (Molisa, 1983, p. 37)

An exclusive focus on gender begs such questions as: What would equality with men achieve in society still heavily under colonial and neo-colonial influence and control? What does equal access and opportunity for women mean when a country that has been self-sufficient for the last millennium finds itself crippled by dependency upon foreign investment or foreign aid? What does “Women’s Lib” mean when entrance into the “rat race” requires relinquishing an island-based identity? Odim-Johnson notes that in “underdeveloped” societies “it is not just a question of internal redistribution of resources, but of their generation and control; not just equal opportunity between men and women, but the creation of opportunity itself” (Odim-Johnson, 1991, p. 320).19 Makini (Sipolo, 1986, p. 13) thus uses the term “development” paradoxically, for such promised opportunities to “develop” have led to conditions increasingly associated with “under-development” and have proven to be illusory for many islanders. Ironically, the only real “development” occurring continues to be enjoyed by the expanding power and influence of the West and multi-national corporations. Does this mean that the addressing of women’s oppressions must be shelved until a mythical postcolonial era has been achieved?20 In her poetry collection, Colonised People, Molisa proclaims the inhumanity of creating pedantic hierarchies of concern. She forcefully argues that despite Vanuatu having achieved Independence in 1980, until Vanuatu women are free from the shackles of a dehumanizing patriarchy, the country will remain colonized: In a state of oppression Women are multiply oppressed compared with Men. Such is clear

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in Vanuatu. Vanuatu is now free of foreign colonial domination but NiVanuatu Women are still colonised. (Molisa, 1987, p. 7)

The more feminism is allowed to keep the stamp of its eurocentrism, the more it allows a male discreditation of feminism outside the Western world. Undefined, imposed definitions of feminism become transformed into their opposites—sources of disadvantage for women rather than tools of empowerment. A classic instance of this can be found in my disciplinary field of literature. Regis Stella’s (1990) review of the work of the first Papua New Guinean woman playwright, Nora Vagi Brash, is a case in point. Her play Which Way Big Man? critiques neocolonial elites in newly independent Papua by grotesque parody. Stella asserts that he is using a “feminist analysis” (p. 46) to critique Brash’s work, but fails to define his use of the term or what it entails. However, it quickly becomes apparent that whatever his notion of feminism is, Brash’s work does not “measure up.” Stella’s opening line betrays the type of sweeping patriarchal/ paternal authoritarianism that he accuses Brash of not critiquing in her work: “Many women writers in the South Pacific seem unaware of the fact that before becoming writers, they are first of all women” (Stella, 1990, p. 46). How can one forget one’s gender? In the context of his argument, Stella indicates that women’s double role as women and as writers should adhere to what he dictates as their purpose: “laying bare and unashamedly highlighting the subordinated and oppressive positions they occupy in society” (Stella, 1990, p. 47). This aim is commendable. What is not commendable is the obvious power differential in the critic/author and male/female relationship. This reading is not only based on Stella’s imposed agenda (the playwright remains voiceless, apart from “damaging” parts of her text used for Stella’s purpose), but it is measured by Stella’s imposed methodology, that is, if he does not see it, it is not there! Furthermore, it becomes apparent that Stella’s definition of good “feminist” literature conveys an essentializing authenticity: Brash’s plays are flawed because she does not allow her female characters to engage in the exposition and inversion of the oppressive position of PNG women truthfully and

realistically, but rather takes us to Disneyland with the mythical elevation of her female characters. (Stella, 1990, p. 46 [italics added])

Unfortunately, Stella’s preoccupation with “authenticity” or “a true portrayal” (Stella, 1990, p. 46) of the social position of Papua New Guinea women, which includes “documenting faithfully the true cultural matrix of traditional societies” (p. 48), prevents him from appreciating a myriad of interpretations and techniques in Brash’s creative writing . He is blind to Brash’s use of subversion, her deconstruction of society through parody and her use of powerful mythic women to critique existing oppressive structures within society and the family. In a Bakhtinian (Bakhtin, 1981) sense, Brash’s carnivalesque figures “turn the world upside down” as roles are playfully reversed and thus subject to analysis. Stella takes Brash’s characters and situations and deflates the fun and irony by his realist “logical” approach. What seems more akin to “myth,” is Stella’s search for the authentic Papua New Guinea woman. What is perhaps most disturbing is that Stella not only undermines and silences Brash, but attempts to do the same for the generic “woman writer,” when he narrowly defines not only what their “feminist” agenda should be, but also how it should be narrowly executed. If done otherwise, the work is judged as not “feminist.” As seen at the end of his critique, Brash fails in a feminist agenda that she neither defined nor, unsurprisingly, executed.

’AIGA: EXTENDED FAMILY The other major issue of contention concerns the clash between indigenous values of communalism and Western values based on individualism. Often, Western feminism is perceived as being hostile to communal values, the foundation of most Pacific societies. To return to the popularized rhetorical jargon, the self-empowerment inherent in “Women’s Liberation” and “Women’s Rights” has largely been perceived as being gained to the detriment of the family and of the Nation as it omits one half of the population.21 Laura from Guam notes that the predominant perceptions her interviewees had of femi-

Migrating Feminisms: Maligned Overstayer or Model Citizen?

nists was that they were antifamily, and thus anti-Pacific: . . . “feminists” do not want babies and yet women’s lives are defined in terms of their children. Some respondents did not want to have anything to do with women who wanted to live only with other women, or who rejected the family. In their view, the base of women’s lives was the family. (Griffen with Yee, 1989, p. 8)

The kinship-oriented viewpoint contrasts with the Western emphasis upon individualism and the nature of capitalism. The emphasis mainstream liberal feminism places on “personal freedom” threatens a cherished interconnectedness with family and community. For many Pacific Islands women, Western feminism poses a threat to what has been argued as women’s traditional seat of power— the family. In addition, it could also be seen as a rejection of genealogy. Bloodlines and observances of community-defined notions of respect dictate relationship and social status, use of land and one’s place in the holistic order of the world.22 In this light, Thaman’s evocation of “Women’s Lib” in her poem, and the emphasis placed on liberal individualism is a move away from the “traditional” power base of land and a rejection of communal obligations necessary to maintain culture. Conciliatory discussions of feminism in the Pacific are often quick to distance themselves from derogative meanings associated with such terms. Claire Slatter, part of the planning committee for the 1976 Pacific Women’s Conference, noted women’s reactions to the idea of the conference that sought to address women’s oppressions in the Pacific: Immediate reactions and responses were sometimes received, others remain unclear about the aims and objectives of the conference, tending to think it was some plot to do with “Women’s Lib” (Griffen, 1976, p. iii [italics added]).

In the previous year, similar sentiments were noted by Vanessa Griffen (1975) in a more specific investigation of women’s roles in Fiji. But this time negative notions about “Women’s Lib” are used as a form of social control against women:

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It is difficult to raise the subject of women nowadays without getting a response reflecting the numerous prejudices and misconceptions that exist on the part of both men and women. Increasingly, “women’s lib” is the loose term often used to label any ideas which counter or question these common prejudices. Unfortunately for women in Fiji and elsewhere in the Pacific, they are thus labelled with aspiring for changes associated with the women’s movement in the western world, without having had the chance to describe their situation and the changes that they want. (p. 11)

Thus, Pacific Islands women find themselves restricted by popular notions of feminism when wanting to implement changes in society for women, or raise some kind of antipatriarchal, anticolonial consciousness. Distancing themselves from common feminist terminology becomes in this context, a protective strategy for achieving subversive ends. Similarly, the “fight for equality” debate, is strongly associated with the “battle of the sexes.” The adjectives of war suggest that only through antagonistic gender relations and perhaps even separatism, can “equality” be achieved. It assumes that gender relations are also universally oppressive. As culture-sensitive research reveals, gender roles/divisions need to be specifically researched and defined, as do terms like equality and power. For example, in Hawai’i, different and separate gender spheres were often read by outsiders as “oppressive” in the Pacific (Ralston, 1988, pp. 71–80; Linnekin, 1990).23 The separation of women during their menstrual cycle is a prime example where women’s position in society can either be read by the outsider as “sacred member of society” or derogatively “polluted.” Usually the latter was presumed because “Third World” women were “perceived to have been more oppressed by an indigenous patriarchy than women in the West” (Etienne & Leacock, 1980, p. 17). Others have disputed the thesis that egalitarian gender relations were a “western import.” While precolonial gender relations may have been far from ideal, Polynesian anthropologist Penelope Schoeffel-Meleisea argues that gender roles were drastically exacerbated and rigidly defined with Western contact (SchoeffelMeleisea, 1995, pp. 107–123). The influence of the West has, in many cases, also weakened cultural “norms” where

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women held power. The introduction of Christianity and the church had complex effects on indigenous peoples the world over. The manipulation of Christianity24 and the institutionalization of the church as both a patriarchal and colonial tool saw the ideological formalization of patriarchal hierarchies and practices. For example, a general trend in the Pacific has seen an insistence on Western-style domesticity and patterns of mothering, which has led to the devaluation of women’s lives and contributed to a markedly increased workload in more isolated, private situations than communal work environments (Ralston, 1988, pp. 71–80). The real and perceived exclusion of men in the feminist cause is also a deterrent for many Pacific women. Griffen (1994) notes that a feminism relevant to the lives of Pacific Islands women, “Although centrally about women, their experiences, their conditions and environment . . . is . . . also fundamentally about men, and about positive social and developmental change” (p. 284). The issue of a division of the sexes was seen to disrupt purposes of strengthening and uniting the family, the community, and ultimately, the nation in the face of divisive and annihilating forces as colonialism (Griffen with Yee, 1989, pp. 25–30). With Western feminism perceived as so antagonistic to many of the beliefs and lives of women of color over the globe, we need to ask: Is there a need (or any room) for feminism to migrate into the Pacific? Do we already possess our own “feminism” and just need to recognize it in a world that has increasingly taken away women’s power? Western Samoan poet and politician, Noumea Simi25 poignantly illustrates the need for a framework of thinking to analyse wider issues of women’s struggles, including all forms of dominance, social inequalities, and the role and influences of institutions in her poem “I cannot”: I cannot free myself from the clutches of poverty firmly grasped in the skeletal touch of my malnourished children I cannot escape the inescapable trappings of my husband’s dominance and cultural bindings I cannot understand why I cannot (Simi, 1992, p. 35)

Ultimately, we need to know why “we cannot” in order to question, challenge, and change situations that contribute to our oppression so that “we can.” Feminisms developed for our specific situations, can become a “productive ground,” not only for struggle, but for fresh solutions.

PACIFICIZING FEMINISM26 One of the first published attempts at formalizing a critical framework regarding the oppressive positions of women in the Pacific occurred in 1975 at a conference that . . . demonstrated the very real concern women in our region had for examining their role and status in their societies, particularly the conflicts between the traditionally defined role and status of women, and the new impetus for women to develop to their full potential (Griffen, 1976, p. iii).

Twelve years later, concepts of feminism entered the framework of thinking about women’s positions in the Pacific. The 1987 “Women, Development and Empowerment” workshop in Fiji, defined a collective vision of Pacific feminism. Its first major objective was to . . . enable Pacific women to assess developments in the region affecting them and to consider strategies for the empowerment of women in a real sense—socially, economically and politically. . . . A second major objective . . . was to attempt to arrive at a feminist perspective that would be meaningful and relevant to women’s lives in the Pacific, and contribute to their activities and work (Griffen with Yee, 1989, Introduction)

The Vision Statement included empowering women by activating specifically defined feminisms to critique and affect institutions of the family, education, religion, economy, environment, and politics aiming for an egalitarian, humanitarian world with equal opportunities, “equal rights,” equal status for women. Following the Vision Statement were strategies for advancing Pacific feminism to empower women in each of these areas. In my attempts to formulate relevant feminisms, I began by reading the work of feminists

Migrating Feminisms: Maligned Overstayer or Model Citizen?

of color and was often struck by resonances with the situation of women in the Pacific. However, little did I realize that there was a model of my attempts to “pacificize” feminism, much closer to the Pacific—indeed, literally under my nose.

Mana Wahine Just as my body is a contested site, so is the land in which I was born. Both are “chiefly” comprised from two distinct identities, two main blood lines: Polynesian and Pakeha. 27 From Cook’s arrival in 1769, to the signing of the Treaty of Waitangi in 1840, 28 to presentday overrepresentation of Maori in prisons, unemployment, and overcrowded housing (Awatere, 1984), Aotearoa, the “land of the long white cloud”29 is a contested site in which tangata whenua [people of the land] have been dominated by Pakeha. Colonization has seen Aotearoa become, as one grafitti artist witfully put it, the “land of the wrong white crowd.”30 The recognition of this historical reality (with its political, social, and economic effects), and the assertion of Maori sovereignty as declared in the Treaty, neccessarily forms the basis of any movement seeking to redress injustices suffered by tangata whenua. Mana Wahine, a Maori women’s movement, argues that the full realization of women’s mana is dependent upon the legal realization of the Treaty (Brown, 1994, p. 40). Mana is a term found throughout the South Pacific. It is commonly used today to connote respect, power, privilege, and honor (Barlow, 1991, pp. 60–63). In many contexts it cannot be conceived of outside its context of proud, dignified indigeneity that stems from a supernatural relationship with the land and with each other (Pukui, 1972, p. 149). Wahine is Maori for “woman,” who is seen as the “house of mankind” from which all humanity is born. Papatuanuku is the mythological mother of all things. Through her union with the god Ranginui, they created all living things (Barlow, 1991, p. 144). The general principles of Mana Wahine, sometimes referred to as Toa Wahine, or Whakamana Wahine (Brown, 1994; Smith & Hohepa, 1990), run contrary to many precepts of Western feminism. The contemporary conception of Mana Wahine as a defined (and

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written) body of thought was perhaps initiated at the first Huihuinga Wahine Maori Anake (Maori Women’s Conference), held in Aotearoa, in 1978 (Tea, 1978; Te Awekotuku, 1991, pp. 52–59). Maori women gathered from around the North Island to discuss such issues as: housing, education, health, legal services, interracial relationships, abortion and contraception, political representation, pre-European contact, Maori women’s roles, domestic violence, police apathy, and separatism. This was the beginning of a sense of a contemporary Maori women’s movement—defined, organized, and attended by Maori women only. The fact that Mana Wahine was self-defined by Maori wahine was pivotal to its success. Taki and Smith (1993, p. 39) note how the call to an indigenous women’s feminism has often been under a Pakeha impetus, where indigenous women are rarely equal partners in power sharing. Often Maori women are used for liberal Pakeha feminists’ ulterior motives: When Pakeha women attempt to capture the term indigenous for themselves, they conveniently absolve themselves from any responsibility in the colonisation process. They position themselves beside Maori women but assume they will provide the vision and direction of the indigenous women’s movement (Taki & Smith, 1993, p. 39)

Although Smith recognizes (as does Molisa [1987] in Colonised people),31 that Pakeha women’s subordinate positions in a patriarchal society need redressing, she argues that Maori women’s experiences are different. Some advocates of Mana Wahine argue that it is not the fight for an equality with men never before achieved, but the re-establishment of traditional women’s value and power that they are concerned with. Arguably, this can only arise when Maori and Pakeha relationships are righted in relation to the recognition of Maori Sovereignty. However, in order for this to be realized in the present, aspects of traditional Maori society and its values need to be revisioned and reclaimed from superimposed patriarchal, colonial histories (Irwin, 1988, pp. 30–38; Te Awekotuku, 1991). In this context, feminism equates with decolonization (Paraha, 1993, pp. 13–16; Whaitiri, 1993, pp. 5–7). Importantly, Mana Wahine is also based upon an acknowledgment and recognition of

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“foremothers”—past and present. Many advocates of Mana Wahine find their strength and source of inspiration in valued kuia (elderly women),32 as well as powerful and intelligent Maori goddesses. For Aotearoa’s first Maori woman filmmaker Merata Mita, Mana Wahine is . . . a Maori concept that exceeds the boundaries of feminism and incorporates a dimension of spirituality emanating from the primary element of Hine-ahu-one.33 I am Maori, I am woman, I am family, I am tribe, and only one of the facets of who I am, fits comfortably under the label of feminism (Mita, 1994, p. 37).

These reclamations of a precolonial female past are important, but more significantly, problematic. “Traditional” gender roles have universally been structured around and defined by custom and tradition. Maori activists/ feminists Donna Awatere and Rebecca Evans (Awatere & Evans, n.d.) argued in the mid1970s that traditional Maori society was highly patriarchal, where women occupied revered but passive positions while men monopolized the active roles. Most women remained dependent upon men because chiefly status could only be achieved through male activities (Awatere & Evans, n.d., pp. 1–3). Conversely, Linda Tuhiwai Smith (Smith & Whaitiri, 1993, p. 3) argues that, historically, women have always held political power within Maori society and that this historical mana needs to be further realized today. While the first view argues for rejecting precolonial gender relations, the second argues for a return to the status and respect accorded Maori women before the advent of colonialism. While both views hold validity, and may reflect iwi or tribal affiliations (Biggs, 1995, p. 207), it seems even more significant that they mark the beginning of a critical and powerful discourse on the Maori women, past and present. Unlike mainstream Western feminism, the holistic nature of Mana Wahine works against prioritizing gender over race, or iwi, or other social determinants (i.e., social class, urban/rural location, occupational status, sexual preference). For example, when Maori author and artist, Ngahuia Te Awekotuku (1991, Introduction) speaks of Mana Wahine, she does so from the turangawaewae [standing place] of her iwi Te Arawa. She speaks not only as

“woman” but as Maori, local and international activist, lesbian, art-critic, and author. Arguably the most important difference between indigenous feminisms and Western feminism is its emphasis on both culture and gender. By integrating aspects of feminism and applying it alongside cultural issues, a more holistic analysis is created where the complexity of whanau (kinship) relationships are not overshadowed by antagonistic gender relationships. For Margie Hohepa (1993, p. 24) of Ngapuhi descent, Mana Wahine importantly “also recognizes and incorporates mana tane [Maori men].” Mana Wahine recognizes Maori as a distinct community from Pakeha, as tangata whenua of Aotearoa, as a nonhomogenous people consisting of diverse iwi, and specifically, as Maori women reclaiming self-definition and empowerment from Maori men and Pakeha. Mana Wahine is more than just a postcolonial, feminist theoretical creation. Indeed, in many ways is it “antitheoretical” because theory is popularly seen, in Mita’s words, as the “objective approach to that subject matter” while Mana Wahine for her is the “subjective distillation of my experience” (Mita, 1994, p. 37). As theory is created from the inside out, we move from “margin” to “center” (see hooks, 1984), where our lives, with all its complexities are embraced and validated.

Mana Tama’ita’i: Samoan specificities and colonial comparisons The notion of Mana Tama’ita’i was inspired by Mana Wahine. While the word mana is universally Pacific, there seems to be no such universal term for woman. Determined to forge through with a pan-Pacific feminist framework that was based upon cultural “metaphors” as opposed to imposed “models,”34 I simply (and problematically) chose a term for “woman” from the Samoan language. 35 Despite important parallels between the two frameworks (i.e., indigeneity to the Pacific, cultural, social, and linguistic convergences, a shared history of colonialism) important differences warranted a slightly different theoretical approach in Mana Tama’ita’i. Unlike Aotearoa, many of the islands in the South Pacific have recognized sovereignty or some level of self-governance. 36 Thus, situations reflected in Pacific Island literature concentrated less on anti-colonial issues,

Migrating Feminisms: Maligned Overstayer or Model Citizen?

and more on neo- and postcolonial concerns: How does a society cope with the remnants of colonialism, with decolonization of the mind, society, culture, and politics? I knew that one of the primary principles in my exploratory framework, had to be its basis upon communal relationship and obligation. The individual “I” is almost inseparable from the communal “we.” This foundational relationship is passionately conveyed and critiqued in Sia Figiel’s first novel Where We Once Belonged:37 “I” does not exist. I am not. My self belongs not to me because “I” does not exist. “I” is always “we,” is a part of the ‘aiga a part of the Au a teine, a part of the Aufaipese, a part of the Autalavou, a part of the Aoga a le Faifeau, a part of the Aoga Aso Sa, a part of the Church a part of the nu’u, a part of Samoa (Figiel, 1996, p. 135)

In many Pacific societies, power lies in the Samoan concept of the va—the space in-between, the relationship that exists between two people, or groups of people. 38 Western Samoan poet Noumea Simi creatively debunks notions of equality for their reliance on individualism. Instead she embraces the Pacific way of communalism and sense of interconnectedness in a poem entitled “Equality”: It matters not that I am woman or man It matters not that you are she or he It matters only that in life there is We (Simi, 1992, p. 34).

For many Maori and Pacific Islands women, the emphasis is on complementary rather than competitive gender roles. This is the aim of gender relations according to Tupu, a Western Samoan woman currently residing in New

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Zealand: “We don’t seek a social structure of total “equality”—we don’t want to do the same things as men. We have a social structure that has reciprocal power relations in different forms.”39 According to Folese,40 feminism and its “fight for equality” is redundant in Samoa because institutionally men and women have their separate but equal spheres that reflect the complementary, “reciprocal power relations” 41 desired by many women: . . . while the men have the matai42 system of power (predominantly), women have their socially reinforced women’s organisations which act as grassroots organisations that often, in the end, affect political policy. While the minister has a primary position of importance in the village, the minister’s wife also has prominence in the women’s circle.43

Another example of equalizing cultural institutions can be seen in the Samoan custom of feag‘aiga, the sacred covenant between brother and sister.44 However, Mana Tama’ita’i, in order to function as a critical framework of thought for my work, must question such institutions, like that of feag‘aiga and ask: Is it the same today as 20 or 200 years ago? Does the influence of the sister benefit woman as a potentially oppressed group? The often proclaimed strength and sanctity of women from this cultural practice becomes problematic with the advent of colonialism and varying doctrines of Christianity. For example, the church’s patriarchal endorsement of the nuclear family structure and Western-styles of domesticity and mothering, emphasizes primary dependence upon one man (Ralston, 1988, pp. 71–80). The relationship with the husband takes priority over multiple relationships with members of the immediate and extended family. This restructuring and redefinition of “family” has greatly weakened sibling ties and dependencies. Such Western-based ideologies often undermined the power and influence of the extended family, and decreased sources of support for women. Similarly, Folese’s comment on the separate but equal gender power positions in Samoan custom must be subject to such questions as: How is power measured in each group? Why are women’s positions in these organizations determined by men?45 Is it then a matter of women being powerful in the arenas

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that culture or men allow them to be? How is “equality” defined and how is it to be measured? Does equality mean having the choice to be able to do and receive exactly the same things as men socially, politically, economically? Does equality mean equal power sharing? And if so, how is power to be measured? For example, in Western terms, power is often measured by one’s visibility in the public and political sphere. In Samoa, power is measured by influence— often unseen. While men are commonly the public heads of family, they are also the mouthpiece for the family, and women may strongly influence decisions. Is this as true today? These are complex and provocative issues and beyond the scope of this article. Indeed, my notion of Mana Tama’ita’i is still in its formative stage, open to development and debate. This article is one way of posing the notion in a wide social and cultural space. Formalized bodies of thought and organization like Mana Wahine, informal and individual exploratory notions like Mana Tama’ita’i and other indigenous groups finding voice in the “postcolonial” era, often call for a renewal of cultural traditions previously devalued through colonialism. This return to “culture” is typical of the general reaction against colonialism. As is evidenced, critical readings stemming from questions surrounding issues of both gender and culture proffer such questions as: Can culture be reclaimed from all the effects of colonialism? Who chooses what is [retrievable] “culture”? How can culture be used in a feminist conceptual framework? Some of the women at the “Women, Development and Empowerment” workshop argued that they did not experience oppression at a personal level. This is not the only way to conceive of oppression, however. Embedded institutional inequalities, born of the partnership of colonialism and patriarchy, need to be uncovered and addressed. A poignant example was given by “Amelia from Fiji” (Griffen with Yee, 1989, p. 24), who believed that feminism was about being critical and questioning. Especially important to Amelia was the area of women and the often uncritical acceptance of what constituted “culture.” The example used was an imposed system of land ownership that occurred when colonial governments refused to recognize the validity of matrilineal lines of heritage and of communally occupied land. The only authority “officially” recognized was

that of one male “owner.” In Fiji, this imposed foreign system of land ownership was uniformly declared as “traditional”—often with the support of other indigenous men. Fijian “culture” thus disempowered women. In the Kingdom of Tonga (unique because it retained its monarchy throughout colonialism)46 Western-influenced legalities also undermined women’s power, via access to land by undermining the influence of the extended family. Precontact, Tongan women had access to land.47 However, the 1875 Constitution declared that women could no longer own land. Land given to a married couple would then only be registered under the husband’s name. In the case of divorce, the land would belong to the husband.48 In this light, perhaps the urge in Thaman’s poem, “Women’s Lib” to leave the land, is not such a sacrifice after all. The call back to precolonial “tradition” is problematic. Molisa’s poem, “Custom,” provokes such questions as: Who defines what is “tradition” and is it retrievable? Are “custom” and “tradition” inherently oppressive to women? “Custom” misapplied bastardised murdered a frankenstein corpse conveniently recalled to intimidate women (Molisa, 1983, p. 24)

Molisa’s poem argues that with the advent of colonialism, traditions that were preserved tended to supported imposed indigenous and/ or European patriarchal “status quo.” As seen in the imposition of patriarchal land ownership, sometimes indigenous men were complicit with colonial men in preserving or slightly altering “traditions” that served to doubly victimize women. Like Mana Wahine, Mana Tama‘ita‘i recognizes and acknowledges prefeminist consciousness that existed in women of the past (Te Awekotuku, 1991, pp. 60–65), and present. Simi reiterates this point in the last stanza of “I remember,” a poem written as a tribute to the women of Western Samoa on the 25th anniversary of Independence in 1987:

Migrating Feminisms: Maligned Overstayer or Model Citizen?

I remember seeing you rise to lead and guide while the world cried for equality I remember that in the global awakening of womanhood development for you was already a passing tune (Simi, 1992, p. 39)

It seems apparent that many women have always engaged with “feminism,” even if the label had been rejected. Thaman notes: “I was a feminist long before the movement came along, and my grand-aunts were feminists before the word feminist became part of my vocabulary” (Wood, 1997, p. 7). The rise of Pacific Women’s conferences and publications aimed toward the betterment and empowerment of women’s positions within the Pacific point beyond the question of whether there is a need for feminism in the Pacific. It looks toward developing relevant definitions and agendas for such feminisms such as Mana Wahine and Mana Tama’ita’i. Similar movements have occurred throughout the globe (Braxton & McLaughlin, 1990, Introduction; Mohanty, Russo, & Torres, 1991, Introduction). As seen in the larger colonial context, selfdefinition entails realizing one’s own power and that of larger family/community/nation. This article has argued that for some women of the Pacific, feminism has become (and is becoming) a worthy seafarer and a knowledgeable traveler. Those who share “a common context of political struggles against class, race, gender and imperialist hierarchies” (Mohanty, 1991b, p. 58), are able to show that feminism can voyage the cultural and historical specificities of the 10,000 islands in the Pacific, travel through the veins of Pacific oppression without rendering blanket victim status and ignoring contradictions and potentially subversive strategies. The degree to which the philosophy of feminism has been embraced or rejected as a political tool has a great deal to do with the severity of colonialism in the particular part of the Pacific. The poetry of Thaman and Western Samoan poet Momoe von Reiche, takes a milder stance on the oppression of women, producing poems that are characteristically more personal in tone, than the deeply politicized forceful poetry of Ni-Vanuatu Molisa or Solomon Islands poet Jully Makini, whose islands realised independence much later. Adapting/adopting feminisms can sight/

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cite Pacific peoples as subjects, not merely objects passively acted upon by the winds and storms of unquestioned universalized oppressions. It can navigate different oceans of thought, charting its way between interconnected islands of culture, class, religion, and other ideological institutions and frameworks, mapping solutions embedded in specific, contextualized understandings. If feminism as a philosophy is going to migrate successfully around the globe, including the Pacific, if it is going to be a “model citizen” rather than maligned overstayer, it needs to be used fearlessly and self-consciously if its potential power is to be fully realized. ENDNOTES 1. Vanuatu obtained Independence in 1980 and had the core of wresting itself not from one but two colonial powers—England and France. In addition, there were individual secessionist parties also impeding a united indigenous front. Molisa was head secretary to Father Walter Lini (Vanuatu’s first Prime Minister). 2. The consequent publication refers only to first names of participants and their island of origin. 3. One strategy of reclaiming the term global sisterhood from its common homogenizing connotations is to explore “common differences” (Mohanty et al., 1991, Preface). A good example of this is Robin Morgan’s (1984) anthology where women worldwide speak for themselves with a common purpose. 4. Thaman lived in the United States for several years during this time earning an MA in Education. 5. Based on personal interview with Konai Helu Thaman, 7 April, 1994. 6. In this article, the term, women of color, includes those commonly deemed as “black,” that is, women of African and African American origin. 7. Due to my language limitations, I have used only publications written in English. For many years now English in the South Pacific has been a language of mediation in an area boasting over 1,500 different languages and dialects. The references to poets and their work reflect my research field. 8. Some important works in this area include: hooks (1984); Braxton and McLaughlin (1990); Davies and Fido (1990); Gunew and Yeatman (1993); Hildalgo and Patajo-Legasto (1993); Mohanty et al. (1991); Ogundipe-Leslie (1984a, 1984b). 9. Born and raised in Tonga, Konai Helu Thaman carried out her tertiary education in New Zealand under a government scholarship. She then attended Teacher’s Training College in Auckland, before returning to Tonga to teach. She earned a Master’s degree in International Education at the University of California. She returned to Fiji where she became Director of the University of the South Pacific’s Institute of Education for 2 years. In 1988, Thaman graduated from the University of the South Pacific with a doctorate in Education. She continues to live in Suva, Fiji with her husband and two children. 10. Samoan term for extended family.

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11. A commonly used, often comically derogatory Samoan phrase to mean that someone is acting like a European, or desires to possess stereotypical European traits, such as an upper-class manner, boasting intelligence, an air of superiority, and so forth. 12. Personal interview, 30 July 1995. 13. See hooks (1981); Moraga and Anzaldúa (1983). 14. I refer to Thaman’s earlier statement—on page 190. Personal interview with Konai Helu Thaman, 7 April, 1994. 15. See the extended use of this metaphor in hooks (1984). 16. For a more detailed study of shared Pacific Island values see Hau’ofa (1984). 17. Western Samoan novelist Albert Wendt (1976) uses the Samoan concept of aitu (ghosts, evil spirits) as a metaphor of the effects of colonialism in his landmark essay “Towards a new Oceania.” For Wendt, the chief aitu engendered by colonialism in the Pacific and needing exorcism was racism. This article is also republished in Sharrad (1993, pp. 9–19). 18. Makini’s two collections of poetry are published under her married name Sipolo. She has since divorced and remarried. 19. See also Emberson-Bain (1994). 20. See Kunapipi (1984, pp. 36–37). The criticism surrounding Malawian poet Mnthali’s poem Letter to a Feminist Friend is thought-provoking about the pitfallls of unilinear thinking. Mnthali takes part in a discussion considering which issue should take priority: the fight for female equality or the fight against Western cultural imperialism? The last stanza in his infamous poem follows: “When Africa / at home and across the seas / is truly free / there will be time for me / and time for you / to share the cooking / and change the nappies—/ till then, / first things first!” Nigerian lecturer Molara Ogundipe-Leslie (1984b, p. 499), to whom the poem was addressed, argues that cultural liberation cannot be separated from women’s liberation. 21. This generalization stems from workshop proceedings quoted in this article, and a questionaire issued in 1995 that asked people of Pacific Islands origin “Do you think feminism has a place in Pacific Islands societies? Explain.” Also from my own experience within the Pacific Islands community. 22. Genealogy is important in Pacific cultures and their epistemologic ordering of the world. See for example, Lilikala Kame‘ eleihiwa (1992, p. 8) and her introduction to the first detailed, native written account of the Mahele, the historical colonially imposed transition from traditional Hawaiian communal land tenure systems to private ownership. 23. See also Ralston (1992). 24. See the Book of Galations 3:28: “There is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus.” Holy Bible, New International Version (1984). Colorado: International Bible Society. Also Kelly-Johnston (1995). 25. Simi is currently the Minister of Tourism. 26. Distinct from the term pacification, I use the term pacificization to describe the active process of adapting and redefining foreign concepts that influence the Pacific. It is a regionally specific term that is generally equivalent in meaning to the increasingly used postmodernist term indigenization. See Wendt (1995), p. 3. 27. Maori term for “foreigner,” commonly used to refer to people living in New Zealand of European descent. 28. See Smith and Whaitiri (1993); Taki and Smith (1993).

29. 30. 31.

32.

33. 34. 35.

36.

37.

38. 39. 40. 41.

42.

43. 44.

45. 46.

The Treaty of Waitangi, signed in 1849, was a legally binding document between Maori and the British Crown aiming to create one nation. The document is rife with controversy for several fundamental reasons: differing versions of translation and thus different meanings of tino rangatiratanga—Maori sovereignty. Only some Maori tribes signed the document. See Orange (1987); Walker (1990). This is the English translation of “Aotearoa,” the indigenous term for New Zealand. Observed by myself on an Auckland inner-city wall. Molisa (1987, p. 7) argues that because nonnative women citizens in Vanuatu are “Free from the forces oppressing Native Ni-Vanuatu women,” they enjoy certain privileges (choice of employment, access to education and training). However, Molisa, also acknowledges that white women “too have their problems which are of a different nature.” Past childbearing age, kuia are candidates for aiding the sacred rituals and rites of passage ceremonies. Kuia also have the unique responsibility of performing the karanga (the ritual call of welcome) to vistors to the marae (sacred Maori meeting house) (Barlow, 1991, p. 59). Hine-ahu-one, is the Maori mythological Earth Maiden and wife of the god Tane (Barlow, 1991, p. 147). See Kame’eleihiwa’s (1992) reference to Dening’s (1980) use of the “cultural beach” metaphor. Milner (1993, p. 240) defines tama’it’i as a noun for “Lady, princess . . . woman” and it was used for this general connotation. However, it is commonly used by Samoans to refer only to unmarried women. Of particular relevance to my doctoral research was Western Samoa (the first island to gain Independence in 1962); the Kingdom of Tonga (which never officially relinquished its sovereignty, although the United Kingdom did take formal control of its affairs); the Solomon Islands (Independent from Britain in 1978); and Vanuatu (Independent from a British/French Joint Condominium in 1980). Sia Figiel, Western Samoan performance poet and author, won the 1997 Commonwealth Prize for Best New Book for the Asia/Pacific Region for her first novel. Personal communication with Albert Wendt, 20 August 1995. Personal interview, 3 August 1995. Personal interview, 30 July 1995. See Pacific Islands Monthly, with special feature on women: “Pacific Women of the Year,” January 1991; “Women,” August, 1992; October 1992. The Samoan matai system is based upon chiefly rank. The head of each extended family, or one worthy of leadership position, is bestowed a family title that is recognized as being synomous with authority. The matai of each family represents that family at both local and national levels where decisions are made. Personal interview, 30 July 1995. Commonly in Samoa, it is seen as the brother’s responsibility to take care of his sister. Her needs and desires can take priority over those of his wife. She can influence the decisions her brother makes (see SchoeffelMeleisea, 1987, pp. 174–193). Often the internal hierarchy of the group is determined by whose wife, daughter, or sister you are. Tonga was never officially colonized. It was, however, placed under a British Protectorate from 1900 until the 1950s (Campbell, 1992, p. 177).

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47. If a woman marries outside her village, and the man comes to stay with her village, her family would give them land. This land would stay within her family (personal correspondence with Tongan education lecturer, Lita Foliaki, April 1995). 48. Personal correspondence with Tongan education lecturer, Lita Foliaki, April 1995.

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