A Little Taste of Culture

One of the biggest disappointments about my experiences here in Chuuk has been the lack of traditional culture that I hoped I would find. When I discovered that I was going to spend 2 years in one of the most remote locations on the planet, I kind of expected that the culture would also be remote and untouched. I thought I might be living in a grass hut, wearing a loincloth and listening to the rhythmic beat of tribal drums. I imagined women in coconut bras and men with painted faces and fish bones through their nose. To my dismay, I quickly found out that these ancient traditions are long forgotten and have been replaced by transplanted western practices. A chief no longer wears a colorful headdress and elaborate jewelry to important occasions. It is more common to wear a T-shirt with a marijuana leaf and 2pac’s face along with a pair of Nike sandals and a NY Yankees hat. Group singing and dancing are relatively commonplace, but have nothing to do with traditional island life. The only songs I hear are either praising Jesus or promoting thug life.

I cannot blame the local people for changing their lifestyles and I cannot blame the westerners for abolishing the old belief system. The locals are in search of a better life and the westerners are trying to provide it. Their ideals may be noble, but their actions are misguided in my opinion. It is questionable whether or not any of the outside “benevolent” influences have actually brought greater happiness to the islanders. Some things like small bits of health care and infrastructure have been helpful, but other things like imported food, dependence on money, and obsession with American style have had deleterious effects.

 In addition, Christianity has dismantled all pre-colonial beliefs and practices. Songs can no longer honor the ocean or the warrior. They can only be sung in praise of God and the Church. Conservative morality has made the showing of skin taboo and the old form of local clothing is non-existent. Despite the scorching sun and stifling humidity, the women wear ankle length skirts or dresses with their shoulders well covered. Even though the heat is suffocating, it is not acceptable for most men to walk around shirtless. I spend more time with a shirt on than in America and my skin has become a pasty white hidden under my clothes.

I could go on and on about things that have frustrated me about the loss of “traditional culture” and the implementation of “global culture”. And I don’t want to just blame the church. Food corporations, media, government and a myriad of other influences have done just as much to alter the lifestyle of these islands.  The people have accepted everything that has come their way in hope of attaining a higher level of happiness and life satisfaction, but I am not sure that it has had that effect. In my opinion, these isolated island people and their ecosystems might have been better off without the influx of the outside world.

My disillusioned spirits were brightened last weekend when I attended the Cultural Day at Xavier High School. The students at Xavier come from all over the greater Micronesian area of the Pacific and represent a wide variety of cultures. The point of the cultural day was for each group to showcase its traditions through the performance of dance. My fellow Peace Corps volunteers and I were invited by our Jesuit volunteer friends to attend the festivities. The main reason I was excited was to see the men’s Chuukese Stick Dance that I had heard rumors of. This dance is supposedly one of the only relics that remain alive from a bygone era, but I hadn’t heard or seen a trace of it during my 18 months in Chuuk.

We arrived at the campus right as the performances were beginning. First, a group of Japanese teachers and students did a circular dance portraying the acts of farming. Next, the Pohnpeian girls came in huge numbers and did a slow call and response dance that involved small sticks tapping on wood. The Pohnpeian boys soon accompanied their friends and performed a rhythmic warrior dance. Some of the Philipino teachers and staff then did a fast paced exhibition of tippy toed prancing through long moving bamboo poles. I really enjoyed the peppy music and nimble feet of this dance. The Marshallese girls were clad in wide dresses that depicted their national flag and flailed their arms to the words of the national anthem. The Marshallese boys did something called the Mosquito Dance, where they insanely slapped all parts of their body at a dizzying pace to ward off the invisible pests.

Then the Chuukese finally did their famous stick dance. The boys worked in groups of four and smacked their sticks in a controlled pattern that was indicative of battle.  Chuuk Lagoon was infamous for a being a place of horrible warfare before colonization. The missionaries skipped over the lagoon islands for a long period of time because the warrior tribes were too fierce and scared away oncoming ships. Eventually the German warships arrived with powerful cannons and decreed a permanent peace amongst the warring tribes. Surprisingly, the canon-backed declaration was enough to convince the Chuukese to throw down their spears and abandon war forever. Now the dance is the only remnant of the hardened warrior culture that once thrived.

            The women from Yap came onto the stage with fabulous costumes adorned with bright yellow, green, red and blue. They had colorful grass skirts and island accessories draping from their necks. Their ornate outfits shook in a hypnotic motion as their hips swayed back and forth across the floor. A few boys joined them quickly and they performed a different version of a stick dance with the interaction between male and females. Their dance was wonderful and it seemed like each group was getting better and better as the show rolled on.

            The Palauans came next. The Palauns were one of the smallest ethnic groups at the school, but their presence was powerful. Powerful, exotic, energetic and wonderful in every way. The women went first and shimmied onto the stage in yellow body paint that they made from a mixture of coconut oil and turmeric. Their shiny banana colored skin was scandalously covered with pointy pandanus leaf bras and flowing palm frond skirts. The leader of the dance troupe bellowed out commands and her dancers perfectly followed every one of her moves. The woman at the center was pulsing with life and her excitable energy was transferred to her fellow performers and all the people in the audience. They did a ten-minute dance of pulsating movements and engaging wiggles before passing the torch onto their boys.

            The Paluan boys came out in a lined up in two straight lines off to the side of the stage. They wore only a thin loincloth that fell in the front and the back. Their legs were tattooed from hipbone to ankle. They each carried one jagged spear and a wooden paddle. The smallest boy in the group approached the microphone, and meekly said, “This is a Palauan war dance…and now I am going to say a few words to get my boys ready”

            He stepped away from the microphone with his head down and then suddenly burst into wild screams. He yelled at the top of his lungs in Palauan and the noise echoed to the clouds. The little man leaped in the air like a crazed monkey and came down smacking the floor with both hands. His face contorted with anger and intensity, his eyes surged with fury. Every sinew in his muscles was tensed and his veins popped to the surface of his skin. His frenzied war cry and unparalleled ferocity shook the crowd to attention.

            He straightened up, faced his regiment of warrior boys and shouted marching commands. The two lines of dancers began their thunderous march and pounded the ground with their feet and spears. The synchronized beat of angry stamps shook the ground and seemed to vibrate the chair I was sitting in. Then they assumed their positions on stage and began their savage battle dance. They smacked their thighs and chest so hard that hand prints were imbedded on their flesh. They stamped so hard that their heels were bruised. They yelled so loud that their throats were red with pain. The dancers continued this raging storm of fighting animation without a single lapse in intensity. These little boys gave the impression that they were spirited warriors ready for a deadly battle. They moved in perfect unison and pulled everyone into their trance of furious energy. Some of their moves were hip thrusts and air humps that caused uproarious laughter from the audience, but it never took away from the seriousness of the performance. The finale ended with a feigned surprise attack on the audience in the front row. The dancers picked up their spears and jumped towards the innocent spectators in a faked ambush. Then they got back in their straight lines and powerfully marched with a booming authority off the stage.

            The Kosraens did a couple of dances afterwards that were admirable in their musicality and choreography, but were unfortunately overshadowed by the amazing show from the Palaun girls and boys. We took a long intermission afterwards and ate dinner while awaiting the final performance. The end of the day was to be capped off by the most renowned dance in all of Micronesia. The Yapese Men’s Dance. Usually the dance is only performed in the men’s houses on their home islands of Yap. Most of those islands are highly stratified societies and men hold a special position in the culture. These dances are only to be seen by the eyes of mature men, and woman are barred from taking part in the festivities. The high school boys had to request special permission from their local chiefs back in Yap in order to be able to share this sacred dance with others.

            We had to wait until the sundown to see the performance because it is supposed to only be done at dusk. It is a dance of manhood and portrays manliness in the most literal way. It is an exhibition of man’s energy and shows his sexual power. Woman are not supposed to expose their eyes to such obvious sexual displays by Yapese men, but an exception was made in this situation for the sake of cultural awareness.

            A beautiful orange sunset faded into darkness and the boys were finally ready to start their show. They were dressed in elaborate costumes with colorful sashes and small loincloths. They had a hanging swoop of intertwined coconut husk that hung between their legs and attached in a clump at their lower back. The purpose of this would soon become apparent. The costume had many different parts, but it only covered a very small part of their bodies.

            The Yapese put on a fabulous performance with energetic movements and well organized steps. They would start a certain move at the center of the line and it would spread outwards to all the other dances like ripples from a wave. They hollered fiercely and worked their muscles to showcase their strength. Their display of warrior characteristics was impressive, but it didn’t quite stack up to the Palauns intensity. What really separated the Yapese from the other groups were their hips. These guys humped and thrust and twisted and shook in every direction possible. There was no mistaking what they were representing. It was an animalistic portrayal of copulating youngsters. Their hanging sash of frayed cloth accentuated every movement and swung high into the air with every thrust. After fifteen minutes of spirited humping and screaming, the Yapese marched off stage in a pool of sweat and the day of cultural performances had come to an end.

            I was invigorated after watching all these dances and felt a renewed sense of optimism for the preservation of traditional practices. Seeing all these differences performances was a great experience to compare the different cultures and remember that they all come from a rich history of ancient traditions. I was jealous that I wasn’t on stage with them shaking around in an incensed furor of cultural importance. We now live in a world where things like this are only done as spectacles and no longer hold the communal or religious significance of the past, but I am happy that they are still alive somewhere.