The Salt Marsh in Early Autumn

Monday, December 19, 2011

At the French Embassy

In 1983 I attended a pan-Pacific meeting called the Nuclear Free and Independent Pacific Conference, held in the three-year-old nation of Vanuatu, formerly the New Hebrides.

The New Hebrides had been a condominium colony - its people were under the colonial yoke of both Great Britain and France at the same time. This resulted, among other things, in three criminal justice systems - one New Hebridean, one British, and one French. When I visited, people still referred to the Condominium as The Pandemonium.

Vanuatu's tiny new government, led by Prime Minister Walter Lini, was composed of a very small core of young men who had studied - courtesy of the Council of Churches - in the US. They had read Fanon and other voices of the post-colonial world. They were sharply aware of their responsibility to create a new black nation using what they had learned in college, including avoiding the pitfalls they saw in other newly decolonized states.

A sign in the airport reminded a visitor that tipping was a federal crime: from the very start, Vanuatu included the dignity of its people in the idea of their new country. I attended a "pre-conference conference" at a fancy resort on an otherworldly island in a tropical lagoon. The wife of the New Zealand resort manager told me that in many years of such work, her husband had never experienced anything nearly as trouble-free as running that resort. When I asked why, she said that law in Vanuatu restricted the ownership stake of their New Zealand company to 49%. The remaining shares were owned collectively by the two villages on either side of the lagoon. The resort was entirely staffed by its owners, and there were few labor issues and no absenteeism. If a maid or cook couldn't come to work, she got her cousin or neighbor to cover.

Anyway the occasion of this post, aside from fitting in after the Chinese Power Projection posting, is to show you a photo that appeared while my daughter was storing some of her things in my attic.

Traveling around the world as I did in the 70s and into the 80s, I was accustomed to a "Yanqui Go Home" attitude - or worse - in many places. But in Vanuatu, people remembered American sailors arriving in World War II, building solid roads out of crushed coral and shells, spending lots of money, and departing - leaving only James Mitchner behind to write Tales of the South Pacific. Americans were greatly appreciated.

The Brits stayed and ran the place as a colony, and were consequently not liked nearly as much. Real enmity was reserved for the French, because they were still conducting nuclear tests in the Pacific Ocean. This was not only a massive affront to the sovereignty of Pacific peoples, but an environmental threat, since the tests leaked into the ocean.

Me at the French Embassy, 1983


So the conference organized a demonstration at the French Embassy. No Vanuatu police appeared - they must have been busy elsewhere that day, in a capital city of 17,000 people, in a country with an army of 65 soldiers, most of them comprising the band. So we had a great day messing up the lawn of the French Embassy and listening to anti-French speeches. Nothing was broken, no one was injured. The food was great.