Marshall Islands (Republic of the Marshall Islands, RMI)

Marshallese chiefs held authority over land and labor to the degree that they fulfilled their duty to protect the people and perform sacred duties. German and Japanese rule increased chiefly power by extending their rights in the copra trade and limiting commoners’ ability to constrain or depose them, though Japanese law recognized commoners’ rights in land, established the legal equality of chiefs and commoners, and settled traders, teachers, and police on each atoll. The ideal of reciprocity continued, with chiefs receiving copra income and first fruits and supplying their followers with food, tools, and medical care.^{Footnote 16}

The Marshall Islands were invaded at the start of the Allied counter-offensive in January 1944. At this stage, U.S. forces badly needed local cooperation, including recruiting Marshallese as scouts and laborers, and access to land for military bases. Awed by the ferocity of the battles, Marshallese welcomed the safety offered by U.S. forces. The U.S. military saw Marshallese as pro-American and helpful; early interactions were strongly positive. Nineteenth-century mission schools run by American and Hawaiian Congregationalists had created a small reservoir of English speakers, and Marshallese identified as Christians, creating an immediate bond with Americans as distinct from Japanese.

During the invasions, the U.S. Navy worked largely through chiefs to manage the Marshallese population. Any hesitation about antidemocratic aspects of chiefly power was overcome by the usefulness of chiefs, who assisted MilGov in organizing labor, relocations, schooling, and other activities. Like Germans and Japanese, Americans in the Marshall Islands found chiefly governance too convenient to ignore.^{Footnote 17} In addition, they were able to call on their own familiar trope of the romance of aristocracy validated by a limited understanding of “native custom” to justify dependence on chiefs to achieve U.S. objectives. U.S. Navy public relations celebrated Marshallese “royalty,” for example, in an official photo of a dinner party at Majuro Air Base celebrating “the recoronation of the Native King and Queen,” in February 1944.^{Footnote 18}

Yet in the first years of U.S. administration, the navy also took steps to modify chiefs’ power. Municipal boundaries were not drawn to match existing chiefly jurisdictions (as they were elsewhere in Micronesia). Officials confirmed the chiefs’ authority over copra production but did not standardize their share of income. When the opportunity offered, traditional leaders were ready to use new avenues to assert their authority: chiefs complained to a 1950 UN Visiting Mission that municipal councils were attempting to “destroy” their rights.^{Footnote 19}

Carucci points out that all of the Marshall Islands’ colonial rulers failed to understand the reciprocal duty of chiefs to their workers. Mistaken ideas that chiefs “‘owned’ the land” empowered chiefs and limited commoners’ ability to resist imposition or compel reciprocity.^{Footnote 20} In this way, early U.S. interactions with chiefs actually perpetuated the consolidation of chiefly power. Most significantly for the postwar years, official confirmation of chiefs’ economic rights combined with military uses for Kwajalein, Enewetak, and Bikini to privilege chiefs as landowners, with important consequences for their wealth and influence.

From its first meeting in 1950, the Marshall Islands legislature saw heated debate over land rights, with paramount chiefs’ claims “that as of right they owned all the land” set against commoners “stating that land was held in common.” The issue escalated as Marshallese demanded payment from the United States for occupied and damaged land. Chiefs exerted influence by serving, or by selecting members to serve, in both upper (chiefly) and lower houses. Viewing the chiefs as stymieing democracy, the USTT High Commissioner’s office instigated the change to a unicameral congress in 1958, but chiefs continued to hold seats and select candidates.^{Footnote 21} From this point on, chiefly families dominated political life. A new elite developed —fluent in English, trained in American schools and colleges—yet many were children of the old elite. Despite predictions that the American-educated elite would supersede the hereditary system (e.g., by anthropologist Alexander Spoehr),^{Footnote 22} in fact the modern Marshallese government is one in which chiefs have considerable economic and political power.

The modern government of the RMI consists of an advisory Council of Irooj (chiefs) and the Nitijela, the thirty-three-member elected legislature. The president is elected from the Nitijela; the first president, elected in 1979, was paramount chief Amata Kabua, reelected in 1983, 1987, 1991, and 1996. Of the six presidents to date, five have held high chiefly titles; their biographies reflect traditional rank as well as education and long records of government service.

Much of the RMI’s wealth comes from the U.S. lease of Kwajalein Missile Base and compensation payments for nuclear testing—payments that originated in the war and postwar era. Colonial-era confirmation of chiefs’ rights in the copra trade has become a multi-million-dollar income stream, as chiefs now claim a share of all income from land under their jurisdiction.^{Footnote 23} Carucci calls these “bourgeoisified” chiefs—“chiefs who are powerful and distant from commoners as a result of differences in worldly wealth” rather than sacred status.^{Footnote 24} The postindependence RMI, then, has seen traditional leaders and their allies solidifying and codifying chiefly power, within the framework of a parliamentary democracy and supportive courts. Their very success, though, has altered what it means to be a chief in the Marshall Islands.

Pohnpei (Federated States of Micronesia, FSM)

Pohnpei during early European contact consisted of three, then eventually five, independent chiefdoms, each governed by a hierarchy headed by a paramount chief who distributed land and chiefly titles. Chiefs were supported by food, goods, and services contributed in annual cycles of feasts; in turn, they managed public works, the tribute economy, and sacred activities. Germany recognized local rulers but restricted their authority, especially after the Sokehs Rebellion of 1910–11; chiefs’ rights in land were terminated and landholdings assigned to individuals. The Japanese colonial government further appropriated communal land that had been under chiefly control. Despite colonial constraints, the central role of chiefs in community ceremonial life continued, and public sentiment supported them as leaders.

During World War II, Pohnpei was not invaded but was blockaded and bombed for eighteen months as the front shifted from the Marshall Islands to the Western Pacific. The U.S. Navy accepted the surrender of Pohnpei’s Japanese garrison only in mid-September 1945. This timing had important consequences. First, since occupation took place after the war ended, the U.S. military had little need for land, labor, or cooperation (beyond that for basic services). Second, once the Japanese were removed, Pohnpeians had adequate food and did not need extensive assistance, so they did not see the overwhelming U.S. generosity experienced in the Marshall Islands. Also, though Pohnpeians had suffered hardships, scarcity, and forced labor during the war, local communities and family leaders functioned well once Japanese military control was lifted; U.S. MilGov assigned only a small detachment to the island.

As in the Marshall Islands, the U.S. Navy on Pohnpei expressed respect for local customs, meeting with paramount chiefs and inviting them to ceremonies, but unlike in the Marshalls, the Navy did not use chiefs in administration. Anthropologist John Fischer, who served on Pohnpei from 1949 to 1953, described American attitudes as “ambiguous,” poised between allowing Pohnpeians to exercise custom freely and opposing chiefs as undemocratic; the result was that “the American government has officially ignored the traditional chiefs, but has given them considerable informal recognition from time to time.”^{Footnote 25} In addition, very few people on Pohnpei spoke English. The result was mutual disengagement. Americans respected “local custom” and left chiefs alone, pursuing minimal official goals by working with helpful Islanders regardless of rank; chiefs focused on the traditional political system.

Young Pohnpeian leaders who emerged in the 1960s and 1970s as the first generations to come of age under American rule were not usually part of the old nobility but were selected for English fluency, education, and experience with the administration.^{Footnote 26} Democracy multiplied new roles, and salaries and businesses gave the new leaders financial resources well beyond those of traditional chiefs.^{Footnote 27} Yet even while the new elite gained strength, chiefs retained and even expanded their influence at the local level through the feasting and title system, which had been constrained under German and Japanese rule but was not limited in the American era. At first this difference had little impact, but when the Kennedy administration dramatically increased economic aid, the ceremonial economy boomed. Writing in 1974, Fischer reported that “nearly all adult Ponapeans hold some kind of traditional title”—and holding a title means hosting and attending numerous feasts honoring chiefs. Chiefs also innovated, creating new titles and bestowing them on prominent people, a mutual benefit to the new elite (who gained prestige) and the chiefs (who gained additional feast income as well as some influence over the new leaders).^{Footnote 28}

Over time, Pohnpei has developed a dual system in which elected officeholders and traditional nobility operate in separate spheres, but they are linked through the title/feast system. Yet the first attempt at an elective body on Pohnpei returned mainly traditional leaders, which American officials thought showed the need for separate houses for chiefs and commoners. The bicameral Pohnpei Island Congress was established in 1951, and high-ranking chiefs attended the House of Nobles from 1951 to 1958. However, within a decade, chiefs removed themselves from national and state politics to focus on nonelective influence. Meller describes how high-titled chiefs initially controlled the Congress, but withdrew as they no longer saw it as a threat to their status. In fact, chiefs themselves took the initiative to abolish the upper house in favor of a unicameral legislature. The 1958 charter for the new district legislature does not mention chiefs, and only a minority of high-titled people were subsequently elected.^{Footnote 29} Even after the creation of the Federated States of Micronesia, Pohnpei State’s constitution includes no body for chiefs, though the five paramounts meet as a council in the governor’s office.^{Footnote 30} The absence of an official role for chiefs may actually strengthen their position as symbols of cultural continuity and community spokesmen.^{Footnote 31} In short, Pohnpei’s chiefs withdrew from modern democratic forms of government, but they embraced their authority and status as community leaders.

Kosrae (Federated States of Micronesia)

Kosrae’s precontact leadership was similar to that of Pohnpei: a set of ranked chiefs in a single chiefdom. Depopulation by disease and intensive Christian missionary activity ended the traditional political system, substituting a church organization in which religious leaders took the role previously held by titled chiefs. When almost all of Kosrae had converted by the 1870s, the church itself selected the paramount chief. The position of “king” survived only because the German authorities required it, but the church controlled Kosrae.^{Footnote 32} Church leaders retained power while economic development and colonial services expanded (with German and then Japanese Protestants replacing American missionaries). During the war, the Japanese military restricted church activities, as the island suffered from occupation, forced labor, and food shortages, but church-based leadership survived.

After the war, Kosraeans welcomed American rule. Like Pohnpei, Kosrae was not occupied until after the war ended, and the U.S. military had no need for large areas of land or for intensive administration, allowing the island to reestablish its prewar governing system of extended families and church organization. Missionary work by American Congregationalists, including half a century of hosting the regional mission training school, gave Kosraeans a strong sense of affiliation with Americans and some familiarity with English. The navy’s Civil Affairs Handbook named “numerous” Kosraeans as “trustworthy” or “pro-American.” As in the Marshall Islands, Kosraeans saw shared religion as a link with Americans.

Here, American officials did not face questions of how to deal with chiefs. Aside from region-wide problems of reconstruction and economic hardship, the main issue on Kosrae was church control of almost every aspect of life. Americans introduced a new concept of “freedom” and opened avenues for bringing issues to magistrates or U.S. officials, rather than solely to church leaders.^{Footnote 33} The melding of community with church leadership shifted into the American-imposed electoral system in a distinctive way. New elective offices (magistrate, municipal council, state legislature, and FSM Congress) expanded leadership roles beyond the church, yet the church still plays an important role on Kosrae and most political leaders have held church offices. While ranked clans no longer exist, several extended families are considered more important and supply most of the elected officeholders.^{Footnote 34}

Kosraean government officials consciously speak of the loss of the title system, and that absence itself is part of modern politics. Kosrae’s state constitution includes only a single statement concerning the protection of tradition, but the absence of chiefs does not deny Kosrae a role in discussions about traditional leaders in the modern state. In fact, Kosrae’s lack of traditional chiefs gave it a distinct voice in the 1990 FSM Constitutional Convention, when its delegation argued against including a provision for a national Chamber of Chiefs.^{Footnote 35} When political meetings or events call for representation by “traditional leaders,” Kosrae participates, with an asterisk—as it were—sending church leaders or government officials, thus continually problematizing that concept.^{Footnote 36}

Chuuk (Federated States of Micronesia)

Chuuk’s traditional leaders had the most limited scope of authority in Micronesia, with some researchers preferring not to classify them as “chiefs” at all (though the term is widely used). Matrilineage leaders planned subsistence activities and warfare but had little power beyond the lineage. Lineages within villages cooperated and competed with one another, but no higher-level authority existed to resolve disputes or organize public works. Colonial rule established broader authorities. First the German, then Japanese, administration created “flag” chiefs to govern islands in the lagoon, the latter often bypassing lineage leaders to appoint younger, Japanese-educated men. During the war, when Chuuk served as headquarters of the Japanese Combined Fleet, those appointed chiefs served as intermediaries with the military.

Chuuk, a stronghold for the Japanese military, experienced eighteen months of bombing and near-isolation from blockade by Allied forces. Islanders suffered from the destruction of aerial attacks, oppressive Japanese military labor demands, and increasing food scarcity, amounting to famine by late 1944. Though Chuuk’s garrison surrendered on September 2, 1945, U.S. forces did not occupy Chuuk Lagoon until November, leaving the Japanese military in control. The end of war negated Chuuk’s military importance, and the U.S. Navy’s reduced budget, combined with lack of language and cultural knowledge, made the widely dispersed islands of Chuuk costly and difficult to manage. By December 1945 only about thirty officers and 150 enlisted men were based in Chuuk, cut to fifty-five men in 1946–47. The tiny American presence, where thousands of Japanese civilians and military had earlier lived and worked, left Chuukese facing an economic and political vacuum.^{Footnote 37}

American attempts to identify chiefs were frustrated by the decentralized Chuukese polity—where was the “local custom” American officials were enjoined to respect? In initial elections, the majority of magistrates chosen were lineage heads. Above that level, though, navy administrators faced organizational difficulties, since there was no customary political structure beyond the village and lineage level. They addressed the problem by using the Japanese model of appointed chiefs, creating a bureaucracy that became unwieldy, including weekly meetings between the U.S. military governor and fifty to sixty chiefs. Because Chuuk’s traditional leaders did not constitute an organized hierarchy, response to U.S. initiatives was varied and personal. Those individuals who could access incoming resources did so quickly, using personal contacts and proximity to the new navy base on the island of Weno. Anthropologists criticized the outcome, as these early appointees took advantage of the inflow of U.S. supplies and funds to benefit themselves, and the lack of shared language meant that other Chuukese could not complain to navy officials, nor could the Americans independently check up on those they appointed.^{Footnote 38} The few English speakers, especially, got an early edge: “They were, in effect, at the top of the native administrative hierarchy. . . .They were the ones who were told to get things done, and they got them done, rapidly and effectively, acquiring in the process considerable personal property and a great deal of power.”^{Footnote 39} The unintended consequence was that certain families, localities, and individuals got a leg up in the bureaucracy, influence that persisted for decades. As in Japanese times, some of those holding leadership positions were from prominent local families and were well regarded for their character and ability.

Because traditional leadership was decentralized, access to district-wide power depended on individual qualities rather than inherited position. When in the 1950s the United States organized democratic representation, the shift to representative democracy on Chuuk was complete, with no protected role for chiefs. Meller writes that Chuuk showed both how “the American administering personnel helped perpetuate an ‘invented’ chiefly structure and how that structure disappeared from the legislative scene with the chartering of a congress for the district.”^{Footnote 40} U.S. officials formed a council of atoll chiefs and later the Truk Magistrates Conference, but these bodies had little power. When Chuuk’s elected legislature was established, “it was relatively easy for a group of younger leaders to come to the fore.” Traditional lineage leaders had little influence on the legislature, and few were chosen for new legislative positions.^{Footnote 41}

When, after FSM independence, Chuuk State wrote its state constitution, a proposal for a body of traditional leaders was voted down in a public referendum. While many holding elective office claimed to be traditional chiefs, other Chuukese disputed such claims, even denying the continued existence of chiefs.^{Footnote 42} Unlike the rest of the FSM, the Marshalls, or Palau, modern Chuukese politicians cannot draw on customary authority in governing. Personal achievement and negotiating skills—not appeal to higher authority—is the only way to get things done, and the idea of public interest is limited to the lineage or village. In fact, observers have concluded that the lack of a traditional hierarchy is one explanation for problems Chuuk faces today, most significantly its fragmented and chaotic political scene.^{Footnote 43} Ironically, the locale where traditional leaders had the least influence, finds its current political system the least workable.

Yap (Federated States of Micronesia)

In Yap, landholdings, villages, and municipalities (and the people born in them) are ranked in a complex blend of kinship and land rights. The land-tenure system meant that the colonial practice of issuing individual deeds did not threaten chiefs’ authority so directly as elsewhere in Micronesia.^{Footnote 44} Yap’s colonial experience was long but not intensive. Spanish rule had little impact beyond Catholic missionaries and trade. German control in 1899 pacified Yap and set up administrative units. Japan intensified health care, education, and an import/export economy while severely constraining customs and religious activities, working through appointed Japanese-speaking village headmen rather than traditional leaders. Yap was unusual in that the Japanese did not acculturate an indigenous elite; instead, Chamorro immigrants filled that role. As a result, few Yapese cultivated ties with Japanese settlers or officials.

Yap was not invaded by American forces, but it was blockaded and bombed, like Pohnpei, Kosrae, and Chuuk, until its Japanese garrison surrendered in September 1945. The U.S. Navy quickly established headquarters in Colonia but had only a light presence beyond the city. With almost no Yapese English speakers, officials had only limited access to information about what was happening beyond Colonia Town. Chamorros dominated MilGov jobs until the navy relocated them to the Marianas in 1948.^{Footnote 45}

One story of the initial U.S.-Yap encounter is telling: members of the occupying force found themselves frustrated as they sought the “chief” or “King of Yap”—an impossible expectation, since Yap had never been governed by a single leader. “Having become somewhat accustomed to this sort of request, a couple of the more astute elders framed it so that one would say he was chief of all Yap and have the other men confirm this fact for the Americans.”^{Footnote 46} This might be seen as the Yapese preserving chiefs’ roles in the face of American ignorance of local culture, yet we can also see in this story the navy’s desire to find an authoritative leader to help govern Yap. MilGov at first worked through the existing Japanese-appointed headmen; when the 1946 election voted in traditional high-ranking chiefs, the navy governed through them. The limited U.S. presence and stated respect for “local custom” allowed chiefs significant latitude, and they resumed customary activities banned or discouraged under Japanese rule. They complied with American orders when they easily could, and negotiated or delayed action on difficult policies, a strategy that proved effective for two decades.^{Footnote 47} However, not all Yapese agreed with the postwar expansion of chiefly power; younger and lower-status Yapese protested that the hands-off U.S. policy let conservative leaders regain control, restricting their own opportunities.^{Footnote 48}

The high-ranking chiefs comprising the Council of Magistrates (renamed the Yap Islands Council in 1955) formed an effective unit in the 1950s and early 1960s, but the scope of chiefly authority later declined in the face of democratic structures. Yap’s charter prohibited magistrates from standing for Congress, leaving the chiefs’ role separate from the legislature.^{Footnote 49} Younger, English-speaking men also took on the new leadership positions in police, courts, public works, business, and education. The elected Congress of Yap, with the assistance of American advisers, transformed Yap’s politics into a representative system, fostering a new elite at the district-wide and (later) national levels.^{Footnote 50}

Lingenfelter argued that the American model barring chiefs from the legislature conflicted with the reality of their role as culturally legitimate and effective leaders.^{Footnote 51} When Yap achieved political autonomy as part of the Federated States of Micronesia, it returned chiefs to an important role. Of all the FSM states, Yap has gone farthest in integrating traditional leadership into its legal structure. Yap’s state constitution includes two Councils of Traditional Leaders (one for chiefs of Yap proper, one for its Outer Islands) as a fourth branch of government, responsible for “tradition and custom.” Despite this vague wording, chiefs wield considerable power at the village and municipal levels; for example, they approve land projects, and “have veto power over any legislation proposed in the Yap state legislature that they, the councils themselves, decides falls within the realm of authority over tradition.” And the “widely held” idea on Yap is that the traditional chiefs control who runs for elective office.^{Footnote 52} In sum, while Yap’s chiefs expanded their power in the first years of U.S. administration, their focus shifted to local affairs as district-wide and national democratic structures emerged. Their role in Yap’s modern political life continues to evolve.

Belau (Republic of Palau)

Palau’s basic political unit was the village, governed by a council of high-ranking clans and led by the highest-ranking clan leader. Ranked villages formed districts and ranked districts formed confederations. Palauan social organization was nested and hierarchical, but it was also a complex network of balanced pairs, competition and reciprocity; this network, and the role of councils, circumscribed any single leader’s powers.^{Footnote 53} Spanish pacification and colonial rule crystallized the rankings, freezing Koror and Melekeok paramount chiefs (Ibedul and Reklai) at the highest rank, a position they still hold today. Spanish Catholic missions eliminated religious leaders, removing another force constraining chiefly power. However, under German and Japanese regimes, paramount chiefs became both more functional—expected to carry out colonial orders, replaced when they resisted—and increasingly dependent on foreign support.^{Footnote 54} Japanese constraints on traditional currency and other customs dramatically reduced chiefly power by the late 1930s. As capital of Japan’s South Seas Mandate, Palau became a Japanese-dominated society in which a generation of acculturated youth gained status as the chiefs’ authority waned.

War abruptly altered this scenario. Palauans at first supported the Empire’s war effort, but after Japan abandoned defense of Palau, Palauans were largely ignored by the Japanese. They turned to chiefs and to Modekngei, a traditionalist religious movement that had resisted Japanese colonialism, making Modekngei leaders significant players at the time Americans arrived. U.S. forces invaded Peleliu and Angaur in September 1944. The rest of Palau was isolated and bombed, occupied by U.S. forces only months after the end of war.

The United States had no military need for Palau and did not build bases or install a large occupation force. In a significant change from its status under Japanese rule, Palau was no longer an administrative center, as the United States established Trust Territory headquarters elsewhere. Koror struggled with its demotion from a cosmopolitan Japanese urban center to a backwater of the new American territory. The fact that there were only a handful of English speakers in Palau in the 1940s points not to a lack of education or to isolation but to strong cultural and economic links with the Japanese Empire.

U.S. MilGov arrived with a familiar inquiry: “The first question put to the Palau people by the American naval administrator was, ‘who is the chief?’”^{Footnote 55} But with the authority of Palau’s chiefs sapped by thirty years of Japanese policies, acculturated lower-status young men and Modekgnei leaders joined the competition for postwar influence. In the end, as in Yap, Palau’s chiefs regained power after the war, as Americans gave them scope to renew traditional cultural practices and as Modekngei’s influence dwindled.^{Footnote 56} While Japan had sought to constrain caste and raise up a meritocratic group of young leaders, the U.S. approach meant that over time many positions, both elected and appointed, were dominated by high-status Palauans, including the High Court and the Palau Congress. While this brought effective leaders into new roles, it also allowed for personal aggrandizement and complaints from ambitious lower-rank men who saw themselves losing power despite American claims of freedom and equality.

But while the hands-off approach allowed chiefs to gain authority, American officials had little interest in their political potential at the district level. They saw the widespread election of commoners in the first municipal elections as a sign that the power of chiefs was lessening. Robert McKnight, who became district anthropologist in 1958, saw it instead as revealing how chiefs and the U.S. administration ignored one another, as officials failed to include chiefs in political decisions, and chiefs declined to get involved with elections for “lowly” positions—though they vetted the nominees.^{Footnote 57} By favoring a unicameral legislature for Palau, the United States in fact created a structure that effectively—but not officially—put chiefs in control. Shut out of the new system, chiefs had no way to express their opinions formally, yet they retained significant cultural legitimacy, creating political stalemate.

Both Roland Force and Norman Meller, writing in the 1960s, predicted that the Palauan chiefs’ power would decline as a new American-educated elite emerged, but events turned out differently.^{Footnote 58} In the 1970s, high-ranking chiefs played a visible role in the Compact of Free Association negotiations, and met with the U.S. Ambassador and the UN Visiting Mission.^{Footnote 59} When Palau voted for independence and wrote its own national constitution, it gave chiefly authority legal standing. Today, councils of chiefs exist at national, state (formerly municipality), and village levels, totaling several hundred positions. The 1994 constitution gives traditional authority equal weight with constitutional law. The national legislature consults with the Council of Chiefs; chiefs comment formally on government actions; chiefs control public lands, sometimes drawing charges that they profit personally from leases for foreign investments. Legal arguments about the scope of traditional chiefly power often rise to Palau’s Supreme Court. What is most interesting in Palau is not that holders of chiefly titles are elected to legislative and executive offices (though they often are), but that the two forms of governance are engaged in an ongoing dialogue and contest in managing Palau’s political life. Their influence is also transnational; Palau’s chiefs initiated the Micronesian Traditional Leaders Conference.