Pacific Ways: Government and Politics in the Pacific Islands [2 ed.] 9781776560264, 1776560264

Citation preview

VICTORIA UNIVERSITY PRESS Victoria University of Wellington PO Box 600 Wellington vup.victoria.ac.nz Copyright © editor and contributors 2016 First published 2016 This book is copyright. Apart from any fair dealing for the purpose of private study, research, criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright Act, no part may be reproduced by any process without the permission of the publishers National Library of New Zealand Cataloguing-in-Publication Data Pacific ways : government and politics in the Pacific Islands / edited by Stephen Levine. Second edition. ISBN 978-1-77656-068-4 (print) ISBN 978-1-77656-026-4 (EPUB) ISBN 978-1-77656-027-1 (Kindle) 1. Islands of the Pacific—Politics and government. I. Levine, Stephen I. 320.995—dc 23 Ebook conversion 2016 by meBooks

Contents Front Cover Title Page Copyright Dedication Map of the Pacific Preface to the second edition Stephen Levine Introduction Stephen Levine Country Studies American Samoa J. Robert Shaffer & Cheryl Hunter Australia Nigel S. Roberts Cook Islands Phillipa Webb Federated States of Micronesia Glenn Petersen & Zag Puas Fiji Robert Norton French Polynesia Lorenz Gonschor Guam Kelly G. Marsh & Tyrone J. Taitano Kiribati Takuia Uakeia Marshall Islands David W. Kupferman Nauru Max Quanchi New Caledonia Nic Maclellan

New Zealand Stephen Levine Niue Salote Talagi Northern Mariana Islands Frank Quimby Palau Wouter Veenendaal Papua New Guinea Vergil Narokobi Pitcairn Peter Clegg Rapa Nui / Easter Island Forrest Wade Young Samoa Iati Iati Solomon Islands Gordon Leua Nanau Timor-Leste / East Timor Michael Leach Tokelau Kelihiano Kalolo Tonga Steven Ratuva Tuvalu Jack Corbett & Jon Fraenkel Vanuatu Marc Lanteigne Wallis and Futuna Hapakuke Pierre Leleivai West Papua Gregory B. Poling Conclusion Political Institutions in the Pacific Islands Jon Fraenkel

To my granddaughter Paige, child of the Pacific

Preface to the second edition Stephen Levine Although the islands of the Pacific are popularly viewed as a tropical paradise, which fortunate outsiders (largely from Western countries, Japan and China) are briefly able to experience, a more prosaic reality regards Pacific Island countries and territories as entities with governments, rivalries, limited resources – in short, with politics, for better or for worse – situated on the same scale or continuum as all other nations and peoples, tranquil at some times, riven with divisions at others. In this sense the lovely photograph on the cover – a pristine scene of ocean, sandy beaches and palm trees, a glorious vision of a never-ending spring – is in stark contrast with the content and character of a book such as this. For Pacific Ways, first published in 2009, is about political reality – people and communities as they are, in this world of ours, where a beautiful backdrop is no guarantee against inequality, poverty and ethical shortcomings of one kind or another. Politicians in Pacific countries do not become heaven-sent simply by virtue of living in dramatically beautiful settings. And so this book, Pacific Ways, strives to discuss and document, in a clear and readable fashion, the political predicaments and institutional settings in which the residents of Pacific Island states and communities live together, organising themselves for the purposes of governance and nationhood. While this book, since published, has gone through reprintings, it was recognised that in due course a revised second edition would be necessary if it were to continue to achieve its broad purposes: to provide a reasonably up-to-date political narrative, and to convey information about governments, state institutions, political parties and political leadership that would be

useful and accurate. A decision was taken, however, to defer putting together a second edition until Fiji had made its transition from military rule (instituted in 2006) to an elected government. In 2013, Fiji’s new constitution was approved and in 2014 elections were duly held; a new Parliament was inaugurated; and an elected government, with majority support in Parliament, was introduced. By these steps the Government of Fiji acquired greater legitimacy; the people of Fiji returned to elected government and constitutional rule; and – less dramatically – efforts to organise a new edition of Pacific Ways, its first edition’s chapter on Fiji now well and truly superceded by events, were set in motion. While much of the first edition of Pacific Ways retains its validity – background information about each country and territory, their political history and circumstances, and in most cases their institutional arrangements – seven years separate the two manuscripts. During that period each country and territory has experienced political changes of one kind or another: elections; leadership changes; new issues and emerging challenges. Accordingly, each chapter in the first edition of Pacific Ways – not merely the chapter about Fiji, but every other chapter as well – has been revisited, revised and rewritten, in some cases more substantially than others. In fact, the second edition of Pacific Ways is, in reality, an almost entirely new and different book: the same title, but a new work of research, scholarship and interpretation. The book has the same motivation and purpose, but the specific contents are separate and distinct. The first book retains its usefulness as a work to be drawn upon and consulted. It exists side by side with this second edition, a view of Pacific Islands government and politics from a group of authors writing during 2015. The distinctiveness of the second edition can be appreciated when it is noted that most of the contributors to this new book were not represented in the first edition. Of the chapters about the 16 full member states in the Pacific Islands Forum – Australia, the Cook Islands, the Federated States of Micronesia, Fiji, Kiribati, the Marshall Islands, Nauru, New Zealand, Niue, Palau, Papua New Guinea, Samoa, the Solomon Islands, Tonga, Tuvalu and Vanuatu – 12 have been written by new participants in this project. Of the three French-affiliated territories – French Polynesia, New Caledonia and Wallis and Futuna – one (Wallis and Futuna) has a new contributor. Each of

the chapters on the three American-affiliated territories – American Samoa, Guam and the Northern Mariana Islands – is from authors new to Pacific Ways. Finally, each of the three remaining chapters – on the very lightly populated territories of Pitcairn, Rapa Nui/Easter Island and Tokelau – is the work of an author specially selected to participate in this book’s second edition. A further distinguishing feature of the second edition of Pacific Ways is the addition of two further chapters to the book. One looks at the politics and government of East Timor/Timor-Leste. This will please one of my former students from that country, who insisted in class, on several occasions, that his country was a Pacific Island state and that it was entitled to seek, and to obtain, membership in the Pacific Islands Forum (it became an ‘observer’ in 2002). The other entity involves perhaps even greater controversy as to its appropriate status. Indonesia regards West Papua as an integral part of its territory. Other states (such as Vanuatu) see the territory in terms of a land and a people – or peoples – waiting to be redeemed. In any event, following a unique and altogether remarkable consultative process in 1969 that fell far short of accepted norms surrounding acts of self-determination (though it was blessed at the time by the United Nations, an act of complicity which that organisation has never retreated from nor renounced), a low-level insurgency has persisted ever since. That this insurgency has been almost altogether ignored by international news media does not make it any less real, ongoing or significant. In terms of this book’s approach, the challenge for the authors of the East Timor/Timor-Leste and West Papua chapters has been the same as for the book’s other authors: namely, to focus on the government and politics of each of the two entities – an independent country (freed first from Portugal, and then from Indonesia) in one case, a territory within another country (Indonesia) in the other. The political history and challenges to sovereignty and independence are significant contextual features in each case, but the chapters nonetheless address the same issues as found elsewhere, describing the way in which government is carried out and the various aspects of political life of which an informed observer might be expected to be aware.

The two new chapters bring the total of new authors in the second edition to 23 (of the 27 ‘country studies’). The second edition is, therefore, very substantially a fresh look at the government and politics of a wide range of Pacific Island countries and territories, providing an opportunity for a large number of new contributors to gaze anew at islands and communities that have long held for many people an inherent fascination and attractiveness. To those qualities this book adds new perspectives, underpinned by information, insight and informed understanding. As editor I acknowledge the contributors to the two editions of this book. Their generosity in sharing their expertise is warmly appreciated. The interest and support for this book from Victoria University Press and its publisher, Fergus Barrowman, is gratefully acknowledged. The copy-editing from VUP’s Kyleigh Hodgson is its own testimonial. A special thanks is recorded here to several individuals who assisted in various ways in the task of contacting the second edition’s cast of characters (i.e., its contributing authors), including Dylan Chambers, Kavita HeijstekZiemann, Jon Fraenkel, David Kupferman, Glenn Petersen, Amata Coleman Radewagen and Terence Wesley-Smith. Further words of appreciation are extended rightfully to my colleague Jon Fraenkel, who not only gave of his time (and enthusiasm) but also (notwithstanding a characteristically crowded work schedule) agreed to look through the entire manuscript and update his invaluable concluding chapter: for which, much thanks.

Introduction Stephen Levine The South Pacific Forum held its first meeting in 1971 with only seven member states participating – New Zealand, Australia, Fiji, Samoa (then known as Western Samoa), Tonga, Nauru and the Cook Islands. In the 21st century, this organisation, now known as the Pacific Islands Forum and no longer confined to the ‘South Pacific’, includes 16 member states as well as a handful of associate member and observer member countries and organisations. The Forum’s annual conference now provides not only an opportunity for Pacific leaders to meet with one another to discuss regional issues and matters of common concern and opportunity, but also an occasion for representatives from nations from beyond the islands themselves to meet with island leaders to discuss political, security, trade, cultural, environmental and economic issues. These developments are a reflection of a growing interest in the Pacific Islands among policy-makers, business groups, non-governmental organisations, scholars, the media and the general public. At the same time, the literature on the politics of the Pacific Islands remains much slimmer than for other regions. The number of island states and territories, and their distance not only from one another but also from Europe, Asia and the Americas, are obstacles to an ongoing fami-liarity with political developments or a basic knowledge of government institutions. It is perhaps not flattering to Australian and New Zealand sensibilities to note, furthermore, that ignorance about the politics of these two countries is not much less widespread than for other Pacific Island countries.

This book aims to redress this balance by providing the kind of information for the Pacific that is readily available for nations in other parts of the globe. This volume provides expert chapters examining the politics of each Pacific Island state and territory, discussing its historical background and colonial experience, its constitutional framework, political institutions, political parties, elections and electoral systems, and problems and prospects. The book is comprehensive, covering all regions – Polynesia, Melanesia and Micronesia – and all countries, irrespective of their size or political status. The states and territories covered range in size from Australia and Papua New Guinea on the one hand, to Tokelau, Rapa Nui/Easter Island and Pitcairn on the other. The book includes a specially produced map of the entire Pacific Islands region, providing a visual reference point for each of the states and territories. The map, which also illustrates the dimensions of states’ exclusive economic zones, is reproduced in colour on the inside front and back covers. The region comprises 16 independent states, each a full member of the Pacific Islands Forum. These countries include: Australia and New Zealand; Papua New Guinea, Solomon Islands, Vanuatu and Fiji – members, as well, of the Melanesian Spearhead Group; Tonga, Samoa and Tuvalu; Niue and the Cook Islands, self-governing ‘in free association’ with New Zealand; the Federated States of Micronesia, the Marshall Islands and Palau (Belau), independent ‘in free association’ with the United States; and Kiribati and Nauru. To these may be added three island groups considered to be part of ‘metropolitan’ France but evolving, steadily, towards greater degrees of political autonomy consistent with their geographic, demographic and cultural distinctiveness. In 2006, French Polynesia, New Caledonia, and Wallis and Futuna were given the opportunity by the Government of France to participate in the affairs of the Pacific Islands Forum. The first two were admitted to the Forum as ‘associate members’, while Wallis and Futuna was admitted as an ‘observer member’. While each has subsequently sought to upgrade their status, their positions have remained unchanged (as at 2015), a matter for further consideration in due course. The Pacific Islands region also includes a further group of territories affiliated to the United States but not fully incorporated into the union (in the

manner of Hawaii, admitted in 1959 as the 50th state). These include Guam, the Commonwealth of the Northern Mariana Islands, and American Samoa. In each case, full participation in Pacific affairs (through Forum membership) is precluded by their political status and the stance taken by the US Government, but they nevertheless participate more broadly in the cultural, economic, security and political life of the Pacific region. A further three territories are also part of the Pacific Islands region, each distinctive and memorable in its own right. Pitcairn is, of course, renowned for its history, the Bounty mutiny the subject of literature and film. The statues of Rapa Nui/Easter Island, unique and extraordinary, are sufficiently well known to have become part of the heritage of humanity, as well as of those who live on that island. As for Tokelau, less well known, it remains a distinctive and in some ways inconvenient challenge, as a territory that continues to resist formal ‘decolonisation’, maintaining links to New Zealand while preserving valued indigenous traditions and lifestyles. Finally, a further two polities are also included in this volume: TimorLeste/East Timor, a country which became independent from Portugal in 1975 and then had to regain its independence following Indonesia’s annexation of the territory in 1976; and West Papua, likewise incorporated into Indonesia, a Pacific territory in which indigenous groups continue to strive for recognition and independence. Both Timor-Leste/East Timor and West Papua represent entities aspiring to a full sense of ‘belonging’ to the Pacific Islands region and the relationships taking place among its various nations and governments. The purpose and ambition of this book was to have a chapter about the politics and the institutions of government of each of these states and territories, and this has been achieved. The authors are well qualified to describe, discuss and analyse the government and politics of each of these countries. Each has had extensive experience with their subject matter, either personally or professionally. Most of the authors are scholars, from a range of disciplines including political science, law, history and anthropology. Not all of the authors are academics; the group includes diplomats, politicians, public servants (and part-time advisors), and a journalist. Some were born in the Pacific; others have lived or worked in the region for considerable periods.

Scholars teaching about the Pacific and its politics have not had the benefit of a comprehensive work encompassing all of the political entities in this diverse region. This work closes this gap and in doing so it bridges some other rifts, both academic and political. The focus in Pacific politics sometimes depends on language; the French-speaking territories have not always been as accessible, for English-speaking students and scholars, as territories previously governed by Australia, New Zealand, Britain or the United States. The chapters on the French-affiliated territories are intended to make their systems, their politics, more accessible and familiar than they have previously been. Application as text: This book will be of value in undergraduate and graduate courses dealing with the Pacific region – its politics and international relations. The information about each island entity provides a backdrop against which subsequent developments can readily be understood. The political, governmental and institutional information, territory by territory, state by state, also lends itself to comparative study, particularly as each potential Pacific ‘case’ is contained within a single volume. The information on the politics and political institutions of the Pacific will also be useful to Pacific policy-makers and to others with professional interests in the island states and territories of the Pacific. This work makes an important contribution by providing readers with a means of understanding developments in societies which generally receive little sustained attention from the media. The book includes a map of the region, and each chapter includes a brief guide to further reading. The overall objective has been to provide a lucid, thoughtful account of political life in a region normally overlooked by political scientists and international relations specialists. Some of the chapters discuss small, single-island territories – Niue and Nauru, for example. Others describe multi-island states, their oceanic territory far exceeding their land mass – as in Kiribati, the Cook Islands and French Polynesia. The book includes analyses of what might be described as ‘ethnocracies’ – countries whose population essentially comprises one ethnic group (as in Tonga). Others are multi-ethnic – Papua New Guinea, Vanuatu and the Federated States of Micronesia, for instance. Some have postcolonial histories characterised by considerable political stability – Samoa,

for example – while others have experienced crisis and upheaval – Fiji and the Solomon Islands among them. The ‘case studies’ in this book, in other words, though situated in one region – the Pacific Islands – reflect a diversity of experience just as great as, and perhaps greater than, any of the other regions on this planet. While interacting with each other in international forums (such as the United Nations) and in regional institutions, and taking part in often significant encounters with other states (as in island states’ somewhat competitive relations with China and Taiwan, for instance, as well as with the United States, France and Japan, among others), each island state and territory has its own distinctiveness, its own integrity. It is the complexity and diversity of the Pacific, as well as its interconnectedness, that makes an in-depth examination of each state and territory both meaningful and difficult. Pacific Island nations are often overlooked by larger states except for self-interested purposes, such as seeking their votes at the UN or other international bodies. One goal of this book is to remove the Pacific Island political experience from out of the shadows of the ‘exotic’ and into the more prosaic world of comparative political analysis and commentary. It may be argued – indeed, it has been – that the politics and political institutions of Pacific states and territories are irrelevant not only because the islands lack power, numbers and resources, but because Western-derived values, forms and procedures have an artificiality in island settings that make them meaningless for all practical purposes. This view does not seem to be shared by Pacific peoples as a whole, however; they take part in elections, participate in rallies and demonstrations, join governments (and protest against them), form political parties (and dissolve them), develop attachments and antagonisms towards leaders and those who put themselves forward for leadership. There is, as noted, considerable diversity in the Pacific region, but in our time the organising framework for this region, as in the rest of the world, continues to be built upon the existence of nation-states and organised political communities. Providing a sense of the overall pattern by which these are organised in Pacific Island nations, states and territories, and why this is so, has been the principal aim of the 27 chapters brought together in this book.

The result is an informative and useful set of analyses of Pacific political experience – political institutions, constitutional processes and electoral systems – providing a basis for evaluating the quality of governance, and the durability of commitments to constitutionalism and democratic values. There may once have been a singular ‘Pacific way’ – or at least the ideal of one. As the chapters in this book demonstrate, however, the details of governance around the Pacific are perhaps now better described as ‘Pacific ways’, diverse approaches to the fundamental problems, common to all nations, of how a society is to be organised for the purposes of responsive, representative government.

Further reading Corbett, Jack, Being Political: Leadership and Democracy in the Pacific Islands, Honolulu, University of Hawai‘i Press, 2015. Fraenkel, Jon and Bernard Grofman (eds), ‘Special Issue: Political Culture, Representation and Electoral Systems in the Pacific Islands’, Commonwealth & Comparative Politics, vol. 43, no. 3, November 2005. Fraenkel, Jon and Bernard Grofman, ‘Introduction – Political Culture, Representation and Electoral Systems in the Pacific Islands’, in Fraenkel and Grofman (eds), ‘Special Issue: Political Culture, Representation and Electoral Systems in the Pacific Islands’, Commonwealth & Comparative Politics, vol. 43, no. 3, November 2005, pp. 261–275. Levine, Stephen and Nigel S. Roberts, ‘The Constitutional Structures and Electoral Systems of Pacific Island States’, in Fraenkel and Grofman (eds), ‘Special Issue: Political Culture, Representation and Electoral Systems in the Pacific Islands’, Commonwealth & Comparative Politics, vol. 43, no. 3, November 2005, pp. 276–295. Levine, Stephen, ‘The experience of sovereignty in the Pacific: island states and political autonomy in the twenty-first century’, Commonwealth & Comparative Politics, vol. 50, no. 4, November 2012, pp. 439–455. Mara, Ratu Sir Kamisese, The Pacific Way: A Memoir, Honolulu, University of Hawai‘i Press, 1997. Powles, Michael (ed.), Pacific Futures, Canberra, Pandanus books, with the assistance of the Pacific Cooperation Foundation, 2006. Powles, Michael (ed.), China and the Pacific: The View from Oceania, Wellington, Victoria University Press for the New Zealand Contemporary China Research Centre, 2016. Revue Juridique Polynesienne, http://www.upf.pf/IRIDIP/RJP/RJP.htm The Contemporary Pacific, http://www.uhpress.hawaii.edu/journals/cp/ The Journal of Pacific History, http://www.tandfonline.com/loi/cjph20 Melanesian Spearhead Group Secretariat, http://www.msgsec.info/ Pacific Community [formerly South Pacific Commission], http://www.spc.int/

Pacific Islands Forum Secretariat, http://www.forumsec.org/ Pacific Islands Report, http://pidp.eastwestcenter.org/pireport/

American Samoa J. Robert Shaffer and Cheryl Hunter J. Robert Shaffer has been a longtime resident of American Samoa, where he served as an assistant to four of the territory’s governors. Cheryl Hunter, former newspaper editor and feature writer, has for the past 25 years been a student of Samoan history and culture as collaborator with Mr Shaffer on writings about the Pacific Islands.

Welcoming palms and white sandy beaches are common sights for sea-weary mariners navigating South Pacific waters. The Samoan Islands are no exception when it comes to providing this type of inviting scenery. From prehistory to present day, Samoa’s palm-lined shores have welcomed seafaring adventurers – the first arriving from Fiji, 1,200 kilometres to the west, about 3,500 years ago. As the ancient mariners’ double-hulled sailing vessels glided into a wide and deep harbour sheltered by deep green, steeply rising, densely vegetated mountains, little did they suspect they were seeing what would eventually come to be known as the South Pacific’s largest and best natural harbour; or that possession of it in the late 1800s would become a sharp point of contention, leading to a political parting of ways for their descendants. Today this harbour is a focal point of activity and commerce for the territory known as American Samoa. Formed over millions of years by volcanic activity, followed by thousands of years of refinement by nature before being inhabited, Pago Pago harbour cuts a 3-kilometre-long, 120metre-deep, L-shaped swath out of the mid-section of Tutuila, the largest island and seat of government for the territory. Flanked on the east by steeply rising Mount Pioa (523 metres) and Mount Alava (491 metres) and to the

west by Matafao Peak (653 metres), it is naturally well-protected from harsh winds and potentially hostile visitors alike. Mount Pioa, more commonly known as ‘Rainmaker Mountain’, functions as its name implies, attracting heavy rainclouds carried along by southeasterly flowing trade winds, which unload an average of 4.6 metres of rain annually. Tutuila is home to 96 per cent of the territory’s population. Within its mountainous 142 square kilometres, 56,000 persons reside (as of 2014). The village of Fagatogo has the distinction of being the official seat of government, with the territorial legislature – the Fono – located here. Nearby Utulei village houses the governor’s office and executive branch offices. Tafuna, 16 kilometres west of the harbour, is home to Pago Pago International Airport, where one major airline and one commuter airline handle all flights into and out of the territory. American Samoa’s additional 57 square kilometres of land include Aunu‘u island, the three islands of the Manu‘a group, and two coral atolls. Aunu‘u is a small islet positioned 0.4 kilometres off the southeast tip of Tutuila. Its population averaged 511 in 2014. The islands of Ta‘u, Ofu and Olosega make up the Manu‘a group, located about 100 kilometres east of Tutuila. All three of Manu‘a’s islands rise steeply from the ocean and are densely vegetated. Ta‘u, largest of the three, boasts the highest peak in American Samoa, Mount Lata, rising 5,102 metres above sea level. Ten kilometres west of Ta‘u are the twin islands of Ofu and Olosega, separated by a narrow strait of about 90 metres. Manu‘a once housed about 6 per cent of American Samoa’s population, but numbers have been dwindling in recent years due to lack of educational and employment opportunities. Swains Island, one of the two coral atolls, lies about 320 kilometres northeast of Tutuila. Geographically part of the Tokelau group, governmentally it is within American Samoa’s jurisdiction. Swains consists of 461 acres on a flat piece of coral that includes a central lagoon. Historically, its population has varied between 30 and 40 inhabitants of Tokelauan descent. More recently the island has been periodically uninhabited. Uninhabited Rose Atoll is a designated National Marine Preserve, situated at the easternmost point in the territory, about 100 kilometres east of Ta‘u. It is monitored and protected by the US National Park Service.

History Initial settlement in Samoa is believed to have occurred between 1500 and 800 BCE. Lapita pottery discovered at Mulifanua on the western tip of Upolu is indicative of pottery originating in the Lau Island Group in Fiji which dates from that period. The sites of To‘aga (Ofu) and ‘Aoa (Tutuila) appear to have been inhabited in the same general time period as Mulifanua. The first known sightings of the islands by Europeans were by Dutchman Jacob Roggeveen in 1722 and French explorer Louis-Antoine de Bougainville in 1768. Bougainville named the archipelago the Navigator Islands. On 11 December 1787, another French explorer, Jean-François de La Pérouse, sent a landing party ashore at A‘asu village to collect fresh water. A short battle ensued, resulting in the death of a number of French sailors, giving Tutuila a reputation of ferocity that lasted for decades. In 1829, John Williams of the London Missionary Society (LMS), who had been teaching Christianity in Tahiti and Rarotonga, turned his attention to the Navigator Islands. Not having access to any ships capable of getting him there, he used his previous training as an ironmonger, fashioned some tools with scraps of metal and wood, and built a 60-foot brigantine by himself in three months. Accompanied by another English minister, a group of Tahitian teachers and their families, and a Samoan they met in Tonga on the way, they dropped anchor in Sapapali‘i, Savai‘i, in 1830.1 Williams’ party was wellreceived by the most powerful chief of the day, Malietoa, who readily facilitated Christian instruction throughout the islands. Williams spent 17 more years spreading Christianity throughout Polynesia. The LMS Church, as well as most other Christian denominations, thrives in the Samoas today. Samoa during the latter half of the 19th century was wracked by civil war, due to commercial and military rivalry on the part of Germany, Britain and the United States. Germany and Britain were looking to expand their colonies and influence in the South Pacific. The United States had become focused on Pago Pago harbour as a potential coaling station. Tension grew between the countries, with Samoan chiefs and villagers taking sides as well. In March 1889, British and American warships faced off against a German naval fleet in Apia harbour. Before the first cannons were fired, however, the most devastating hurricane in 100 years swept

ashore, sinking every ship in the harbour except a British frigate. The Samoans, regardless of which country they sided with, worked tirelessly to rescue as many people as possible. The international rivalry over Samoa was settled in 1899 with the Treaty of Berlin, which established two separate Samoas. Germany desired, and was granted, control over Savai‘i, Upolu and their neighboring islets. They had established coffee and coconut plantations on the gradually sloping, fertile acres of those islands, and were shipping those products (and byproducts) throughout Europe. The US achieved the rights it sought over Tutuila and Pago Pago harbour, along with the eastern islands and atolls. Britain relinquished all claims in Samoa, opting to focus attention on Tonga. In 1900 the US Navy began to formally occupy Tutuila and Aunu‘u on behalf of the United States, and the existing coaling station in the harbour was expanded into a full naval station under Benjamin Franklin Tilly, appointed Commandant of the United States Naval Station Tutuila. In April of that year a deed of cession was signed, and the American flag was officially raised on Tutuila on 17 April 1900. A deed of cession for Manu‘a was signed in 1904. On 17 July 1911 the US Naval Station, Tutuila, was officially renamed American Samoa. During World War II, both US Navy and Marine Corps units occupied American Samoa. Roads and housing for the troops were built to accommodate the influx of military personnel and to move equipment around the island. These roads and many of the structures are still in use today. Military administration of the territory ended in 1950. On 1 July 1951, administration of American Samoa was formally transferred to the US Department of the Interior (DOI), and in 1956 DOI appointed American Samoa-born Peter Coleman as the territory’s first Samoan governor. Coleman served in that capacity until 1961. He was followed by a series of governors appointed by DOI. In 1977, 17 years after leaving office, Coleman became the first locally elected governor in the territory. He was re-elected twice more, serving a total of 11 years as the popularly elected chief executive.

Politics

American Samoa’s politics include three categories that often intertwine. The executive and legislative branches make up the first category within a framework of representative democracy. Executive power is placed with the governor, who heads up a non-partisan system. Legislative power is vested in two chambers, an upper (Senate) and a lower (House of Representatives). US political parties (Republican and Democrat) exist in the territory, but few local politicians are aligned with either one. The second category involves traditional village politics. This level of political interaction centers around two Samoan cultural institutions – fa‘a matai (chiefly system and protocol) and fa‘a Samoa (the Samoan way of life, language, customs). The fa‘a matai includes all levels of the Samoan body politic: from family, to village, to fono, to district, and finally to national matters. The third category centers on the village matai (chiefs). Matai are elected by a consensus in a fono (gathering, meeting) of the ‘aiga, the key unit of social organisation in Samoan culture. The ‘aiga refers to the ‘extended family’ or ‘clan’, a group of people related by blood, marriage or adoption. The head of an ‘aiga, or a branch thereof, is the matai. Depending upon the traditional nature of a chiefly title, a matai can be either an Ali‘i (chief) or a Tulafale (orator). The matai and fono (which is itself made up of matai) decide the distribution of family exchanges and tenancy of communal lands. A matai can represent a small family group or a much larger extended family reaching across islands in American Samoa and independent Samoa.

Government American Samoa’s government consists of three branches modelled after the US Constitution: Executive, Legislative and Judiciary. The territorial government is defined under the Constitution of American Samoa, which was drafted under the direction of Governor Coleman in 1961. The final draft of this constitution took effect on 1 July 1967. As an ‘unincorporated’ and ‘unorganised’ territory, American Samoa is administered by the Office of Insular Affairs, Department of the Interior, based in Washington, DC. In order for American Samoa to be considered an ‘organised’ territory, the US Congress must pass an Organic Act. It has yet to do so. This means

that American Samoans born in the territory are considered US ‘nationals’, the only such designation among all US possessions and territories. However, if one parent is a US citizen, a child born in American Samoa is also a US citizen. Under the ‘national’ designation, American Samoans are issued US passports and can freely travel to, or establish residence in, the United States, with only their birth certificates (i.e., passports and visas are not required). American Samoans have all the rights and privileges of US citizens except the right to vote in state or national elections. Should they choose to become US citizens, the process is less burdensome than it is for foreigners.2 The governor and lieutenant governor are elected on the same ticket by popular vote for four-year terms. They are limited to two terms of office. Gubernatorial elections coincide with US presidential elections, held on the Tuesday following the first Monday in November. The document establishing the Fono of American Samoa was drafted in 1948, primarily by the attorney general of the territory, John D. Maroney. In drafting the original document, Maroney consulted very closely with territorial Chief Justice Arthur A. Morrow and orator matai Tuiasosopo Mariota, considered the primary Samoan ‘founder’ of the modern American Samoa legislature. Because the matai system of government is so deeply ingrained in Samoan culture, drafters of the Samoan bicameral legislature set up a Fono that is sensitive to, and in keeping with, this system. It is made up of an upper and a lower house. The Fono’s upper house, the House of Ali‘i (Senate), consists of 18 members, elected for four-year terms by matai of each district as designated by traditional Samoan custom. The House of Representatives consists of 20 members, one from each district, elected for two-year terms. One additional non-voting member is elected from Swains Island in a public meeting. Candidates for House seats are not required to hold a matai title and all registered voters can vote for them in their districts, thereby following the traditional democratic principles of a representative democracy. The judiciary branch, like the US model, is independent. Its High Court is the highest court below the US Supreme Court in American Samoa, with district courts below it. The High Court is located in Fagatogo, and consists

of a chief justice and an associate justice, appointed by the Secretary of the Interior. One of the uniquely Samoan aspects of politics in American Samoa is that not all elected officials, including the governor and lieutenant governor, are required to hold a matai title. However, because the importance and relevance of matai titles remains paramount in the territory on all political levels, the chances of an individual being elected governor without holding a matai title are slim. Government officials, including the chief justice, also are not required to hold a matai title in order to serve.

Administrative Divisions For traditional governance, American Samoa is divided into three major districts – Eastern, Western and Manu‘a. Each is administered by a district governor who is appointed by the territorial governor. To be qualified as a district governor, an individual must hold a matai title within the district to which he/she is to be appointed.

Delegate to the US House of Representatives Delegates to the US House of Representatives are elected by registered voters of the territory. American Samoa does not have the right to elect a United States senator, but elects a single, non-voting delegate to the House. The right to elect this delegate was granted on 31 October 1978. The first delegate, Fofó Iosefa Fiti Sunia, was elected in November 1980 and took office in January 1981. Delegates serve two-year terms (as do all members of the House) and can participate and vote in committee, but not on the House floor. The delegate may also serve as a committee chair, if they have earned the necessary seniority to hold that position, and may also make amendments to proposed legislation during discussion on the House floor. Since 1993, rules governing the rights of non-voting delegates from US territories have changed several times – either limiting or increasing voting rights of the delegate. Amata Coleman Radewagen (daughter of the first appointed and elected Samoan governor, Peter Coleman) defeated incumbent Faleomavaega Eni

Hunkin on 4 November 2014, becoming the first woman to represent American Samoa in the House of Representatives. She was sworn into office on 6 January 2015. (Hunkin was American Samoa’s second delegate, serving since January 1989.) Amata also became the first Republican to be elected as American Samoa’s delegate. Traditionally, Samoan candidates do not campaign as members of either of the major political parties, or as ‘liberal’ or ‘conservative’. Campaign issues for candidates in the territory are ‘local’, with little attachment to national parties in Washington, DC. However, it is recognised that if a delegate’s alignment is with the party in control of the House of Representatives – the majority party – then that delegate may have more political influence than if they were a member of the minority party. The fact that Amata is a longstanding member of the Republican National Committee (RNC), and that Republicans gained control of the House in 2012 and increased that majority in 2014, means that she finds herself in the unique position of having more influence as a member of the House majority. With that influence there is the potential to accomplish more for the territory and its residents. Amata has been an RNC committeewoman since 1986 and ranks number one in seniority within that 168-member committee. Along with her other committee assignments she has been named vice chairperson of the Subcommittee on Indian and Native Alaskan Affairs, which has legislative jurisdiction over US-affiliated areas. Both the Republican and Democratic parties are now officially organised in the territory. American Samoan members in each party are allowed to send delegates to national party-nominating conventions to vote for presidential nominees.

Toa o Samoa (Warriors of Samoa) American Samoans have been serving in the United States military since 1900. The very first enlisted in the navy or as marine guards for the US Naval Station Tutuila in a special programme proposed by Commander Tilley and approved by the Secretary of the Navy. This local military unit

was known as the Fita Fita Guard.3 Their function was to provide security for naval equipment and facilities. The first Samoan battalion of Marine Corps reserves was organised in July 1941 and served for nearly ten years. After transitioning to civilian administration in 1951, the Navy Department offered Samoan marines and navy personnel who had served during World War II an opportunity to join regular branches of each service. Those who joined were sent to military bases on Oahu (in Hawaii) for further training. Shortly thereafter, spouses and dependents were sent to join them, thus beginning the first major outmigration of American Samoans to the United States. Many of these young Samoans, within just a couple of years, found themselves fighting in Korea. Within ten years, many returned to Asia as the war in Vietnam began to significantly expand. By the mid-1960s, young American Samoans had started looking to the US military as an opportunity to learn skills that would increase career opportunities; hundreds left the islands to enlist. By 1972, more American Samoans per capita had been killed or wounded in action than service members from any other American community. One soldier from Tutuila was a prisoner-of-war in North Vietnam for four years, returning home when American POWs were released in 1973. A US Army Reserve unit was established on Tutuila in 1980. Deployed to Iraq in 2004, the unit returned home minus one member, killed in a battle with insurgents. This unit remains an important, active component of the US Army’s Pacific Command. As of 23 March 2009, ten American Samoans had died in Iraq and two in Afghanistan.

Fa‘a Samoa in the 21st century Necessity may have guided those first voyagers to seek a new home – escape from drought, perhaps, or invasion of their homeland by brutal enemies. But recognition of something extraordinary most likely met the sun-and-windburned eyes of those first mariners to see the Samoan archipelago. Potential for sustaining lives within a great and noble civilisation captured them irrevocably. Over millennia, seeds of a refined culture were sown, out of which the fa‘a Samoa grew and spread throughout the island chain. The

Samoan way established order and standards of living for all those under its influence. Fast forward to the beginning of the 20th century: it is commonly believed that the matai who signed the deed of cession for Tutuila and islands to the east were, remarkably, able to integrate the tried and true principles of fa‘a Samoa and fa‘a matai into the American democratic system of government. In doing so they were able to provide citizenship options and expand educational and career choices for American Samoans. That ancient volcanic caldera, Pago Pago harbour, has proven to be the valuable asset to US military strategists that those first naval commanders sought out. Add to that the thousands of strong, loyal, courageous men and women of American Samoa who have served and are serving in various branches of the military or who contribute to commercial enterprises beneficial to both sides of the partnership, and a pattern of symbiosis emerges that continues to be woven into the distinctive fabrics of both societies.

Further reading Gray, J. A. C., Amerika Samoa: A History of American Samoa and its United States Naval Administration, Annapolis, Maryland, US Naval Institute, 1960. Shaffer, J. Robert, American Samoa: 100 Years Under the United States Flag, Waipahu, Hawaii, Island Heritage, 2000 (first edition). Shaffer, J. Robert, Samoa: A Historical Novel, New York, Ithaca Press, 2011. Faleomavaega, Eni F. H., ‘American Samoa’, in Stephen Levine (ed.), Pacific Ways: Government and Politics in the Pacific Islands, first edition, Wellington, Victoria University Press, 2009, pp. 17–25. United States Congresswoman Aumua Amata, ‘Aumua Amata Coleman Radewagen, Proudly Representing American Samoa’, https://radewagen.house.gov/ Samoa News, www.samoanews.com

Notes 1. Savai‘i is one of the two main islands in what is now the independent state of Samoa [ed.]. 2. Beginning in 2012 and continuing through 2015 a court challenge was made to current practice, asserting that the citizenship clause of the 14th amendment to the US Constitution – ‘All persons born or naturalized in the United States, and subject to the jurisdiction thereof, are citizens of the United

States and of the State wherein they reside’ – should be interpreted to mean that persons born in American Samoa (a US territory) should automatically be citizens. The opposing argument, thus far upheld by the courts, is that granting citizenship (from birth) to persons born in American Samoa is a matter for the US Congress, which has thus far not legislated for this to occur. Representatives of American Samoa’s government have also argued that a change in policy, extending US citizenship to all those born in American Samoa, should be a matter for American Samoans (and their government) to request, and not a choice to be made by individual litigants and the courts. (See Tuaua v United States [ed.].) 3. Fitafita is Samoan for ‘soldier’ [ed.].

Australia Nigel S. Roberts Nigel S. Roberts is an Emeritus Professor of Political Science at Victoria University of Wellington. His areas of specialisation include comparative politics and electoral systems. He has lived in Australia (his undergraduate education was at the University of Tasmania) and visits the country frequently.

Australia is the giant of the South Pacific: the island continent has a far larger land mass and a much bigger population than all the other states in the Pacific Islands Forum added together. The country’s area (7,686,850 square kilometres) is almost ten times that of the other 15 states in the Pacific Islands Forum; and with a population in excess of 21 million – almost twice that of the rest of the Pacific Islands Forum countries – Australia is unique in the region.

Background: old and stable Inhabited only by its indigenous aboriginal population for more than 40,000 years, Australia’s isolation was briefly interrupted by seafaring explorers such as Abel Janszoon Tasman (in 1642 and 1644) and James Cook (in 1770, when he claimed the east coast of Australia for the British Crown), and then permanently breached when a British fleet arrived in Botany Bay on Australia’s east coast in January 1788 to establish a penal settlement. Over the course of the following century, European settlement (which, at that stage, was predominantly British settlement) saw six colonies established on the continent: New South Wales (where civil government was established in 1823), Tasmania (1825), South Australia (1834), Victoria (1850), Queensland (1859) and Western Australia (1889). The facts that the

six colonies shared what Professor L. F. Crisp has called ‘common British origins, language, and social institutions’ and that – in comparison with Americans or Canadians – ‘the people’s homogeneity was extraordinary’ (to quote Crisp again) led inevitably to calls for political amalgamation. Constitutional conventions were held in 1891 and 1897–98. A federal constitution was drafted, then redrafted on several occasions, and eventually approved by voters in each of the six separate colonies in a series of referendums held in 1899 and 1900. In July 1900, the British Parliament passed the Commonwealth of Australia Constitution Act, and on 1 January 1901 the six colonies became a single independent federal state. The system of government established by the Australian Constitution more than a century ago is still in existence. No new states have been created or admitted to the federation (known, more formally, as the Commonwealth); the country is still a monarchy in which the Crown is represented on a dayto-day basis by a governor-general; and Australia’s bicameral federal Parliament, consisting of a House of Representatives and a Senate, still looks like and functions very much along the lines of the Parliaments that were initially elected in the first years of the 20th century. Geologically, Australia is an old and stable country; politically and constitutionally, it is too.

The head of state Australia’s head of state is the British monarch. In a small but significant move dating from the mid-1970s, one of Queen Elizabeth II’s formal titles is now Queen of Australia (just as she is also Queen of Canada and Queen of New Zealand). She does not live in Australia and is thus represented there by a governor-general. From 1901 until 1965, all but two of the governorsgeneral were British; since 1965 all have been Australian. However, while Canada has had three and New Zealand has had two female governorsgeneral, Australia’s first female governor-general, Quentin Bryce (formerly a law lecturer and, later, governor of Queensland), took office only as recently as 2008. While the Australian head of state’s role is primarily ceremonial and symbolic, it also contains ‘reserved powers’ – such as the power to appoint and dismiss prime ministers, and the power to refuse a prime minister’s

request to dissolve Parliament. The first of these powers was dramatically exercised in November 1975 by the then governor-general, Sir John Kerr, when – as a result of an impasse between the House of Representatives and the Senate – he dismissed the Labor prime minister, Gough Whitlam, and appointed Liberal leader Malcolm Fraser prime minister instead. Sir John Kerr’s actions, as well as the fact that Australia is now an extraordinarily multi-cultural country – peopled during the second half of the 20th century by waves of immigrants from places such as Italy, Greece, the Middle East, China and Southeast Asia – have contributed to a heightened degree of anti-monarchical sentiment in Australia. Nevertheless, proposals to amend the Australian Constitution and for the country to become a republic were soundly defeated in a referendum in late 1999, and the issue is no longer as prominent or as divisive as was the case in the last quarter of the 20th century. Looking ahead, however, even the conservative prime minister, John Howard, noted that while he did not believe Australia would become a republic while Queen Elizabeth II was on the throne, ‘Beyond that, I don’t know’. His successor’s view of the future was slightly clearer. In 2008 Kevin Rudd affirmed, ‘I’m a life-long republican. It’s absolutely clear in the Australian Labor Party platform that’s where we intend to go … [although] it is not a top order question.’ In 2014, in a move that surprised many Australians, Liberal Party prime minister Tony Abbott reintroduced dames and knights into the Australian honours system, and his subsequent decision in January 2015 to appoint the Queen’s husband, Prince Philip, as an Australian knight was widely criticised and ridiculed.

The federal Parliament The Australian federal government and the governments of the six Australian states, as well as the governments of Australia’s two main territories (the Australian Capital Territory [the ACT] and the Northern Territory), are all parliamentary democracies – that is, their governments must not only come from but must also have the confidence of their legislatures.

The House of Representatives

The federal Parliament is bicameral. The House of Representatives (like the US House of Representatives) consists of members elected from singlemember districts with roughly equal-sized populations. The distribution of seats in the Australian House of Representatives is slightly distorted by the fact that the smallest state, the island state of Tasmania, is entitled to five seats in the lower house of the federal Parliament, but the remaining 145 seats in the 150-member House of Representatives are distributed reasonably fairly across the five states and two territories on the ‘mainland’ on the basis of their populations. At the time of the 2013 federal elections, New South Wales had 48 seats in the House of Representatives, Victoria 37, Queensland 30, Western Australia 15 and South Australia 11, while the ACT and the Northern Territory had two seats apiece. Australia has a long history of democratic innovation. For example, universal adult suffrage in Australia dates back to 1902 (compared with 1920 in America and 1928 in Britain), and internationally the secret ballot is still sometimes referred to as ‘the Australian ballot’. The voting system used for the Australian House of Representatives – known as ‘preferential voting’ in Australia (it is also known as ‘alternative voting’ in much of the political science literature about electoral systems and as ‘instant run-off voting’ in the United States) – is another instance of Australian innovation. So too is the fact that voting in Australia is compulsory. At both the federal and state levels, citizens can be fined for not voting. Preferential voting has been used in Australia for House of Representatives elections since 1918. As in the system it replaced (namely, the first-past-the-post or the ‘winner takes all’ system), voters elect only one member per House district, but electors have to give their rank-ordered preferences for all the candidates on their ballot paper. In order to win a seat, a candidate must have an absolute majority (i.e., at least 50 per cent plus 1) of the valid votes cast in his or her district. If on the first count no candidate has won more than half the votes in a district, then the second preferences of the lowest polling candidate are distributed to the remaining candidates. This process is repeated until a candidate has the support of a majority of the voters. In the September 2013 federal elections, candidates in only 53 seats in the House of Representatives were elected with an absolute majority of the votes on the first count, while preferences had to be

distributed in order to determine the eventual winner in the remaining 97 (namely, 65 per cent of the seats). Other than Australia, Fiji and Papua New Guinea are two of the very few countries in the world ever to have used preferential (or alternative) voting for parliamentary elections. Australian federal governments must have the confidence of the House of Representatives. This invariably means that Australian federal governments command the support of a majority of the members of the lower house. When in power, the Australian Labor Party (the ALP) usually manages to govern on its own, whereas Labor’s rivals on the opposite side of the political spectrum – the Liberal Party and the National (formerly the Country) Party – have governed as a coalition on almost every occasion since 1922 that the right has been in power. The term of the Australian House of Representatives is three years, which is short by international standards. Nevertheless, governments have not gone full term and early elections have been held on eight different occasions since the end of World War II (early elections were held in 1951, 1955, 1963, 1974, 1975, 1977, 1984 and 1998). Compare this with New Zealand, which also has a three-year parliamentary term, but where only one election – the 1951 election – was held a year or more early during the same period of time.

The Senate The Australian Constitution stipulates that the House of Representatives should have ‘as nearly as practicable, twice the number of senators’. As a result, the Australian Senate currently has 76 members (which makes it almost exactly half the size of the House). Again as is the case in the United States, each state – regardless of size (either in terms of area or population) – is entitled to an equal number of senators. However, whereas each US state elects just two senators, each of the six Australian states elects 12 senators. The two territories have two senators apiece. The 72 senators who represent the six states serve six-year terms. A little bit like the United States, where one-third of the 100 senators are elected every two years for six-year terms, in Australia six senators per state are elected every three years, unless there is a ‘double-dissolution’ – i.e., unless both houses of the federal Parliament are dissolved at the same time – when all 12 senators per state are elected

simultaneously (but, in an instance like this, which last occurred in 1987, the first six senators elected in each state have six-year terms, while the last six serve only three-year terms). The four senators representing the ACT and the Northern Territory (two per territory) are all elected for only three-year terms. The electoral system for the Australian Senate is a form of proportional representation known as ‘single transferable voting’ (STV). It, too, requires voters to rank-order their preferences, but – unlike the preferential voting system used for the lower house of the Australian Parliament – STV takes place in multi-member districts (namely, in states where either six or occasionally 12 senators are elected at a time; and in territories where two senators are elected on each occasion).1 As the House and the Senate not only have different constituencies but also different electoral systems, it is not surprising that they usually contain noticeably different political groupings. Consequently, governments of both the left (i.e., ALP governments) and the right (Liberal-National governments) have often lacked majorities in the Senate. For example, it was only in mid2005, after more than nine years in office, that John Howard’s LiberalNational government was finally able to muster a small (and somewhat shaky) majority in the Senate. While few governments have suffered the fate of Gough Whitlam’s and lost power as a direct result of upper house hostility, many have seen their policy proposals modified or, occasionally, even defeated by the Senate.

Executive and judicial branches of government The federal government has a wide range of specific powers, including the conduct of the country’s foreign affairs and defence policies, control over trade and commerce between the states and with other nations, taxation, and control of the country’s currency. As is common in many federal countries, all powers not specifically granted by the constitution to the federal government remain the preserve of the state governments. However, not only do federal laws prevail if they conflict with state laws, but the power and influence of the federal government grew enormously during the 20th century even in areas such as education and health, which were formerly considered

the prerogative of state governments. One scholar, Professor Geoffrey Sawer, has summed up the situation succinctly: ‘the federal government has steadily increased in power and importance since 1901’. Decisions by the Australian High Court (which has the power of judicial review) have helped to reinforce the pre-eminent place of the federal government in Australia’s constitutional structure. But it is also important to understand that – in contrast to the role of the US Supreme Court – the High Court in Australia is, as Sawer has also pointed out, ‘not mainly occupied with interpreting the Constitution … it is a general court of appeal from the State Supreme Courts’. The High Court has seven members: of those in office in mid-2015, one had been appointed while John Howard was prime minister; two (including the chief justice, Robert French) were appointed when Howard’s successor, Labor’s Kevin Rudd, was prime minister; two were appointed when Julia Gillard, Rudd’s successor, was prime minister; and two were appointed by the Liberal-National government led by Tony Abbott, which took office in September 2013. In mid-2015, three members of the seven-person court were women. Despite the fact that, on the surface at least, the requirements seem simple, the Australian Constitution is, in fact, very difficult to amend. Proposed amendments must initially be passed by an ‘absolute majority’ in both houses of the federal Parliament, and then (not less than two months and no more than six months later) receive more than one half of all the votes cast in a referendum – but this must include majorities ‘in a majority of the States’. As there are only six states in Australia, this last requirement means that, in addition to gaining an overall majority, all proposals for constitutional reform must be approved by more than half the voters in each of at least four states. Not surprisingly, therefore, only eight of the 44 proposals put to Australian electors to amend the country’s constitution have passed.

Political parties Australia’s politics have been dominated by two major parties for more than 70 years. The older of the two, the Australian Labor Party, was founded in the late 19th century, but at the federal level it has spent considerably more

time in opposition than in power. The most successful ALP governments were those led by John Curtin and Ben Chifley during World War II, and by Bob Hawke and Paul Keating from 1983 until 1996. The Liberal Party was created by merging various anti-Labor groupings in the late 1930s. Its first leader was Robert Menzies. Initially, he was only briefly prime minister (namely, from 1939 until 1941), but after leading his party to victory in 1949, he then dominated Australian federal politics for nearly 17 years until he retired in 1966. The Liberal Party’s John Howard was in office from early 1996 until late 2007 and was thus (after Menzies) Australia’s second-longest serving prime minister, but in November 2007 Howard also became only the second prime minister of Australia ever to lose his seat in a federal election when he and his party were swept from power by Kevin Rudd’s Labor Party. The ALP’s triumph was comparatively short-lived: Rudd and his successor, Julia Gillard (Australia’s first female prime minister), each held office for only three years apiece before the Liberal Party, led by Tony Abbott, regained control of the government in 2013. On 14 September 2015, following poor opinion polling and dissatisfaction with aspects of Abbott’s leadership – including the decision to honour Prince Philip as a Knight of the Order of Australia – Malcolm Turnbull was elected Liberal Party leader by the party’s caucus, being sworn in as prime minister the following day. Formerly chairman of the Australian Republican Movement, on 2 November 2015 Turnbull announced that Queen Elizabeth II had approved the government’s request that the titles of Knights and Dames no longer be awarded in the Order of Australia, the country’s Cabinet having agreed that the titles were no longer appropriate – thus making Prince Philip in all likelihood the last person to receive such a title. Of the minor parties in Australian politics, the most successful by far has been the National Party (formerly the Country Party). Its crucial alliance with the Liberal Party has ensured the protection of rural interests in Australian affairs despite a declining rural population and growing proportions of urban dwellers. Other small parties usually find it almost impossible to gain a foothold in the House of Representatives, but because the Senate is elected by proportional representation, they have – by comparison – thrived in the upper house. In mid-2015, for example, in addition to 25 Labor, 27 Liberalaffiliated and six National-affiliated senators, there were ten Green Party

senators, four independents, and one senator apiece representing the Family First, Liberal Democratic, Motoring, and Palmer United parties.2

Politics at the state level In contrast to the situation at the federal level (where the Liberals have clearly been Australia’s predominant political party), during the first decadeand-a-half of the 21st century the governments of the six states, as well as of the two territories, have largely been the preserve of the Labor Party, which – overall – held office in the six states for more than three-quarters of those 15 years. Just as the ALP was frequently in disarray at the federal level, many of the state Liberal parties displayed similar degrees of defeatism and disorganisation. Each of the six states has a governor who holds a position akin to that of the governor-general at the federal level. Like the governor-general of Australia, all the state governors are Australian (the last British governor to be appointed was in the early 1980s in Western Australia). Whereas Australia’s first female governor-general was only appointed as late as 2008, Dame Roma Mitchell became the first female to be appointed a state governor in 1991, and 15 years later the governors of half the states – New South Wales, Queensland and South Australia – were women. Tasmania’s appointment of a former law professor as its first female governor in late 2014 meant that all six states have now, at one time or another, had women serve in this post of constitutional and symbolic significance. Reflecting the strength of Australia’s sports-oriented culture, it is also worth noting that two of the state governors appointed in 2001 (i.e., shortly after Sydney hosted the 2000 Olympic Games) had previously been prominent athletes. John Landy was made governor of Victoria, and Marjorie Jackson-Nelson governor of South Australia. (Jackson-Nelson won gold medals in the women’s 100- and 200-metres races at the Helsinki Olympics in 1952, while Landy was the second man in the world to break the four-minute mile, in 1954, and won the bronze medal in the 1500-metres race in the 1956 Melbourne Olympics.) Like the Australian federal Parliament, the six state Parliaments have – on the surface at least – remained structurally very similar for more than a hundred years. All were initially bicameral; all but Queensland still are.

(Queensland abolished its upper house in 1921.) Likewise, following in the footsteps of the federal Parliament, elections to five of the lower houses of the six state Parliaments are by preferential voting. Tasmania, though, uses a form of proportional representation (namely, the Hare-Clark version of STV) for elections to the lower house of its Parliament, as does the Australian Capital Territory for elections to its unicameral Legislative Assembly. Like the bulk of the states, the Northern Territory’s unicameral Legislative Assembly elections also use preferential voting. Mirroring the federal Senate, there is also greater experimentation in the use of voting systems for elections to the states’ upper houses. New South Wales, Victoria, Western Australia and South Australia all employ some form of proportional representation for their upper house elections, which has the effect of again making Tasmania an exception to a rule, because its upper house elections are, ironically, conducted using preferential voting. As is the case at the federal level, smaller parties fare better in elections to state upper houses (primarily because of their predominantly proportional electoral systems) than in elections for the lower houses of the state Parliaments. To take but one example, in mid-2015, the 42-member New South Wales upper house consisted of 12 Labor, 13 Liberal, and seven National Party members of the Legislative Council (MLCs), as well as five Greens, two Shooters and Fishers, two Christian Democratic Party, and one Animal Justice Party MLC. State courts adjudicate state laws. Not surprisingly, the court structure in most states consists of district courts and a supreme court, with a variety of specialist courts and tribunals. There is a considerable degree of movement from state courts to the federal courts. Indeed, of the seven federal High Court judges who held office at the start of 2015, four had previously served on state supreme courts.

Conclusion: ‘extreme gradualness’ The degree of stability in any political system and in the structures of any government can be measured by posing a simple question. It asks what would happen if the founding fathers of (in this case) the Australian Constitution were to come back and view their creation more than a hundred years after

the formal proclamation of the Commonwealth of Australia. Would they recognise the Australia of today as the nation that they had established? The answer is, surely, ‘yes’. As Professor Geoffrey Sawer has cogently argued, the degree of change in Australian political structures and systems illustrates two things very well: the inevitability of gradualness, and the extreme gradualness of inevitability.

Further reading Australian Electoral Commission, http://www.aec.gov.au/Elections/federal_elections/2013/. Australian Government, http://www.australia.gov.au/about-australia/our-government. Crisp, L. F., Australian National Government, 5th edition, Melbourne, Longman Cheshire, 1983. Dixon, Rosalind and George Williams (eds), The High Court, the Constitution and Australian Politics, Melbourne, Cambridge University Press, 2015. Johnson, Carol and John Wanna (with Hsu-Ann Lee), Abbott’s Gambit: The 2013 Australian Federal Election, Canberra, ANU Press, 2015 (an Open Access book). Lumb, R. D., The Constitutions of the Australian States, 5th edition, Brisbane, University of Queensland Press, 1991. Parliament of Australia, http://www.aph.gov.au/About_Parliament/Parliamentary_Departments/Parliam entary_Library/pubs/BriefingBook44p/FedElection. Moon, Jeremy and Campbell Sharman (eds), Australian Government and Politics: The Commonwealth, The States and The Territories, Melbourne, Cambridge University Press, 2003. Sawer, Geoffrey, Australian Government Today, 13th edition, Melbourne, Pitman, 1987. Singleton, Gwynneth, Don Aitkin, Brian Jinks and John Warhurst, Australian Political Institutions, 10th edition, Sydney, Pearson, 2012. Smith, Rodney, Ariadne Vromen and Ian Cook (eds), Contemporary Politics in Australia: Theories, Practices and Issues, Melbourne, Cambridge University Press, 2012. Australian Government, http://www.australia.gov.au Parliament of Australia, http://www.aph.gov.au The Sydney Morning Herald, http://www.smh.com.au The Age, http://www.theage.com.au

Notes 1 The electoral district is, of course, the state (or territory) as a whole. 2 The way in which preferences are transferred in Senate STV elections is the primary reason why very small parties – such as, for example, the Australian Motoring Enthusiast Party (with 0.5 per cent

of the total votes cast in the 2013 Senate elections) and the Family First Party (1.1 per cent) – have been able to able to win seats in the upper house of the federal Parliament.

Cook Islands Phillipa Webb Phillipa Webb, a 2013 graduate of Victoria University of Wellington’s political science and international relations programme, has been a political affairs reporter for Cook Islands News.

Me e raurau tetai kapiki iatu, me kare e raurau akaoki iatu. If he has a basket, welcome him, if there is none, send him back. Cook Islands saying In the South Pacific Ocean, the Cook Islands comprises 15 islands spread over 2.2 million square kilometres, with Tonga to the west and French Polynesia to the east. Most people are familiar with the capital of Rarotonga, while the Pa Enua, the outer islands, are lesser known and less accessible. A successful, well-recognised tourist destination, the Cook Islands is affectionately described as similar to Hawaii in the 1960s. In fact, it is a nation with one of the most complex political histories and make-up of all the Pacific Island states.

The Vakas to the Cooks Pre-European – Life on the Vaka As a Polynesian people, Cook Islanders are Pacific voyagers, known for travelling across vast waters in search of new land. Overpopulation on many of the islands of Polynesia led to these oceanic migrations. Tradition has it that this led to the expedition of Ru (from Tupua‘i in what is now French Polynesia), who landed on Aitutaki, north of Rarotonga, and Tangiia (also

from French Polynesia), who are believed to have arrived on Rarotonga around 800 CE. It is believed that the northern islands of the Cook Islands were settled by expeditions from Samoa and Tonga. Cook Islanders are also convinced that Māori migrations to New Zealand began from Rarotonga, possibly as early as the fifth century. It is believed that seven canoes left from Ngatangiia on the eastern side of Rarotonga, near Muri Beach, to voyage to New Zealand.1

Early European contact According to government records, the written history of the Cook Islands began with the sighting of Pukapuka (in the northern group of islands) by the Spaniard Álvaro de Mendaña y Neira in 1595, followed by a landing on Rakahanga (also in the northern group) in 1606 by a Portugese explorer (in the Spanish navy), Pedro Fernandes de Queirós. The British arrived off Pukapuka in 1764, naming it Danger Island because they were unable to land. Between 1773 and 1779 Captain James Cook sighted and landed on many of the southern group islands but never came within sight of Rarotonga. Captain Cook named the islands the Hervey Islands in honour of a British admiral, Augustus Hervey. He gave this name to the first island he discovered – Manuae (in the southern group). The name ‘Cook Islands’ was given to the group by the Russians in honour of the great English navigator when the islands appeared for the first time on a Russian naval chart in the early 1800s.2

A Godly arrival The missionaries were next to arrive. John Williams of the London Missionary Society landed on Aitutaki in 1821. The missionaries were extremely successful in their goals (which included bringing an end to any remaining cannibalism). They introduced schools and a written language so that locals could read the scriptures. The early missionaries estimated the population of Rarotonga at between 6,000 and 7,000. As elsewhere in the Pacific, however, the impact of contact with the wider world was devastating, particularly on Rarotonga. Disease spread dramatically, reducing the population in the mid-19th century to an estimated fewer than

2,000 people. Since then, outer island migration to Rarotonga, and improved health, has built Rarotonga’s population back to about 11,000.3

British protection The French takeover of Tahiti in 1843 caused apprehension among the Cook Islands’ Ariki (chiefs) and led to requests from them to the British for protection in the event of French attack. The call for protection was repeated in 1865 in a petition to Governor George Grey of New Zealand. During the 1870s the Cooks enjoyed prosperity and peace under the authority of Queen Makea – Makea Takau Ariki (1871–1911). In 1888 she formally petitioned the British to set up a protectorate to counter what appeared to be an imminent French invasion. Continued pressure was applied to the British from New Zealand, and from European residents of the islands, to pass the Cook Islands over to New Zealand. The first British Resident was Frederick Moss, a New Zealand member of Parliament (1878–90), who tried to help the local chiefs form a central government. In 1898 another New Zealander, Major W. E. Gudgeon, a veteran of the New Zealand Wars, was made British Resident with the aim of paving the way for New Zealand to take over from Britain, a prospect met with anxiety by locals (i.e., Cook Islanders).4

New Zealand annexation The Cook Islands was formally annexed by New Zealand on 7 October 1900 when a deed of cession was signed by five Ariki and seven lesser chiefs without any debate about its ramifications or implications for the people of the Cook Islands. The Cook Islands remained under New Zealand’s protection – alternatively described as ‘benign neglect’ – until 1965. Attempts were made by New Zealand authorities to upgrade facilities such as schools, roads and hospitals, but the Cook Islands colony was not at the forefront of New Zealanders’ minds. In 1946 a Legislative Council was elected, a step towards allowing the Cook Islands to exercise their rights to self-determination.5

Self-government

The development of democracy in the Cook Islands, and in the Pacific more generally, has been regarded at times as a somewhat delicate flower. Criticism of colonial rule (and what it has brought) remains a part of the thought processes of this Pacific nation. Pointedly, one Cook Islander has observed that ‘during the colonial administration little was taught to us except to follow instructions given by various expatriate officers: “dos” or “do nots” with little explanation as to “why” or “wherefore”.’6 The end of World War II saw the beginning of the end for the old colonial system, although self-government was slow to come to fruition. The New Zealand Government introduced the notion of self-government, although there was no demand for it from within the Cook Islands, only mild pressure from the United Nations, which regarded the colonial system as an obsolete anomaly. Full internal self-government was discussed, planned and approved in both the 1963 and 1964 sessions of the Cook Islands Legislative Assembly, and by the New Zealand Parliament in 1964. The islands became self-governing in free association with New Zealand, after the status was confirmed by the new Cook Islands Legislative Assembly elected in April 1965.7 This special relationship between the two countries is recognised by New Zealand in the form of aid to the Cook Islands and in Cook Islanders’ automatic right to New Zealand citizenship. The New Zealand High Commission to the Cook Islands remains highly active and diplomatic ties are strong. The Cook Islands also uses the New Zealand currency. For all practical purposes, such as governance and administration, the Cook Islands is fully responsible for its own internal affairs, while New Zealand officially has responsibility for external affairs and defence, exercised in consultation with and on behalf of the Cook Islands.8

At a glance Geography The Cook Islands consists of two main groups, one in the north and one in the south. The southern group comprises nine ‘high’ islands, mainly of volcanic origin; others are essentially atolls. The northern group includes Penrhyn,

Suwarrow, Pukapuka, Nassau, Manihiki and Rakahanga; the southern group comprises Rarotonga (with the capital, Avarua), Aitutaki, Atiu, Mauke, Mitiaro, Mangaia, Palmerston, Takutea and Manuae. The overwhelming majority of the population lives in the southern group. Despite the Cook Islands’ geographical proximity to its island neighbours, direct commercial flights depart from Rarotonga to only three locations – Tahiti, Auckland and Los Angeles.

Population The Cook Islands’ December 2011 census gave the population as 14,974: the northern group with 1,112 (6.2 per cent); and the southern group, excluding Rarotonga, with 3,290 (20.2 per cent). Three islands have no permanent resident population: Manuae, Takutea and Suwarrow. The majority of resident Cook Islanders live on Rarotonga (10,572 people, 73.6 per cent of the total), while a much larger number of Cook Islanders now live in New Zealand and Australia.9 The people are of Cook Island Māori ethnicity, very closely linked in culture and language to the Māori of New Zealand, the Mā‘ohi of French Polynesia, the Maori of Rapa Nui/Easter Island, and the Kānaka Maoli of Hawaii. Today the Cook Islands uses three languages: Māori (which has different dialects from different islands), English and Pukapukan.

People Cook Islanders, like Tahitians and other Polynesians, are a warm and friendly, conservative and generally religious people. The most recent census (in 2011) highlights that motorbikes are the Cook Islands’ most common form of transport, with 6,186 across the country. While fishing and farming continue to be an important part of the nation’s life, the main industry is ‘trade, restaurants and accommodation’: more than a third – 36.6 per cent – are employed in this area. Sixty-five per cent of all work is in the private sector; 19 per cent of employees on Rarotonga work for the public sector. On Nassau everyone does.10

Systems of government

More than 115 years on from annexation (and 50 years since selfgovernment) the systems of government in the Cook Islands still closely resemble the executive, legislative and judicial systems of New Zealand.

Queen’s Representative The 1965 Constitution of the Cook Islands11 (Article 2) clearly states: ‘Her Majesty the Queen in right of New Zealand shall be the Head of State of the Cook Islands’. The Cook Islands is not a separate ‘Realm’, instead forming part of the Realm of New Zealand; accordingly, there is no ‘Queen of the Cook Islands’, the Cook Islands sharing the monarch with New Zealand.12 In the same way that New Zealand appoints a governor-general, the Cook Islands appoints a queen’s representative, by recommendation of the prime minister of the Cook Islands.

House of Ariki The Cook Islands Constitution (Article 8) allows for some traditional leadership to continue through a House of Ariki, comprising up to 14 Ariki (chiefs) appointed by the queen’s representative (on advice from the prime minister). On an official level, the function of the House of Ariki is to consider matters relating to the welfare of the people of the Cook Islands; the House of Ariki may submit relevant recommendations to Parliament. Unofficially, the House of Ariki is respected in Cook Islands society and is often looked to for the final say on matters of land and welfare. The Koutu Nui is a similar organisation made up of sub-chiefs.

Executive government Similar to New Zealand, the constitution (Article 13) provides for a Cabinet comprising the prime minister and between six and eight other ministers, who have the general direction and control of government and are collectively responsible to Parliament. The prime minister, appointed by the queen’s representative, is the head of the government. The constitution (Article 22) also establishes an Executive Council, made up of the queen’s representative and members of Cabinet, to consider decisions as required.

Parliament

Under the constitution, the Parliament of the Cook Islands has 24 members, an increase (in 1981) from the 22 members in 1965; there were 25 members from 1981 until 2003, when the one-member overseas constituency (intended to represent Cook Islanders living overseas) was abolished. Members of Parliament are elected by voters under a secret ballot. The original threeyear parliamentary term (as in New Zealand) was increased to four years in 1969 and five years (as in the UK) in 1981, until being brought back to four years in 2004.13 As in New Zealand, bills passed by Parliament only become law when they are approved at the first, second and third readings, and given assent to by the queen’s representative. Parliament is presided over by a Speaker, nominated by the prime minister or by ‘the member of Parliament who commands or is likely to command the confidence of a majority of the members of Parliament’ (Article 31(2) of the constitution). The person nominated for the position may be an MP who is not a minister or a person who is not an MP (but would be qualified to be so). Since 1965, there have been ten Speakers, beginning with Marguerite Story (1965–79) – sister to the Cook Islands’ first Premier, Albert Henry – who was the first woman elected to the Cook Islands Parliament and the first woman in the Commonwealth to become Speaker of a national Parliament. In 2012 Niki Rattle became the second woman to serve as Speaker of the Cook Islands Parliament. Article 46 of the constitution originally enabled the New Zealand Parliament to pass laws for, and with the advice and consent of, the Cook Islands. This allowed the Cook Islands, with insufficient legal resources in 1965, to benefit from New Zealand legislation in often complicated areas. By 1980, however, it was considered by the Cook Islands Parliament that local resources and conditions had developed enough that this arrangement was no longer necessary. As a result, the constitution was amended in 1980–81 so that, except when authorised by the Cook Islands Parliament, ‘no Act, and no provision of any Act, of the Parliament of New Zealand passed after the commencement of this Article shall extend or be deemed to extend to the Cook Islands as part of the law of the Cook Islands’ (Article 46). At the same time, the constitution was amended to change the name of the ‘Legislative Assembly of the Cook Islands’ to the ‘Parliament of the Cook

Islands’ (and the name of the head of the Cook Islands Government from ‘Premier’ to ‘Prime Minister’).14

Judiciary For the administration of justice in the Cook Islands, the High Court was established to hear all civil, criminal and land matters as determined by the chief justice. The chief justice of the High Court is appointed by the queen’s representative. The judicial system in the Cook Islands (Articles 47–63 of the constitution) has not been established without difficulty. Because of the costs involved and the shortage of requisite human and other resources in the Cook Islands at the time, the constitution recognised a right of appeal from the High Court of the Cook Islands to the Court of Appeal of New Zealand. By the early 1980s, domestic resources had improved and a constitutional amendment did away with this initial arrangement. Instead, a Court of Appeal of the Cook Islands was established as a ‘superior Court of record’ (i.e., presided over by judges, not magistrates, and with all proceedings recorded, published and available to the public), in most cases presided over by three New Zealand judges (normally retired New Zealand judges or senior New Zealand lawyers). Day-to-day criminal matters are heard and judged on a weekly basis by local justices of the peace, a process which has been heavily criticised due to their inexperience and, at times, inadequate knowledge of the criminal and legal system.

Elections and electoral system The Cook Islands has a Westminster-style system of parliamentary government, with 24 members in a unicameral legislative chamber. There is no provision in law for ‘Cook Islands citizenship’ – only New Zealand citizenship, which is held by Cook Islanders. All Cook Islanders, permanent residents and New Zealand citizens aged 18 years or older, who have lived in the Cook Islands for at least 12 months and at their current residence for the last three months are eligible to register to vote. For those who are eligible, it is compulsory to register. Each registered voter is entitled to vote for their preferred candidate in their constituency.

Electing members of Parliament is done through a ‘single-member’ constituency system; the candidate who receives the most votes – a plurality (i.e., a majority is not required) – wins the election. The system used is thus ‘first past the post’, where the winning candidate may not necessarily have more votes than the combined total of the other candidates.

The 2014 general election The 2014 general election highlighted some of the complications that can arise in Cook Islands elections, influenced as they are by party politics and by political competition in small island settings. On 16 April 2014, the queen’s representative dissolved Parliament and appointed 9 July 2014 as the day for the general election, as recommended by Prime Minister Henry Puna. The overall result was not very favourable for the governing Cook Islands Party (CIP), which won 42.3 per cent (3,499 votes) as against 46.1 per cent (3,811 votes) for its arch-rival, the Democratic Party, with the newly formed One Cook Islands Party receiving 9.6 per cent (790 votes), potentially putting it in a pivotal position. By contrast, in 2010 the CIP won 44.5 per cent (3,753 votes) – 16 seats – and the Democratic Party 39.2 per cent (3,302 votes) – 8 seats – with independents and two small parties taking the remainder (but no seats). The numbers of votes cast in the 24 constituencies varied consider-ably: from 977 in Tupapa-Maraerenga and 701 in Titikaveka – both of them among the ten constituencies on Rarotonga – to 100 in Mitiaro, 61 in Rakahanga and 55 in Tamarua. There were several changes in seats: the Democrats and One Cook Islands each took two seats from the CIP; and the CIP picked up three seats, among them Penrhyn, ousting the Democrats’ leader, Wilkie Rasmussen (78–68 votes). One candidate – former prime minister Jim Marurai (Democrats) – was elected unopposed, having won 60 of 65 votes cast in the Ivirua constituency four years earlier. There were 10,394 people enrolled to vote and voter turnout was 80.5 per cent. To gain a majority and form a government, a political party or a coalition needs at least 13 seats. Once in office, in order to propose changes to the

constitution (without opposition support) the government needs a two-thirds majority (i.e., 16 seats). Because initially no party had won an outright majority, the 2014 election outcome proved anything but straightforward. Allegations of ‘dirty tactics’ were made on all political fronts and electoral petitions had to be considered by the High Court before official decisions on disputed seats could be announced, delaying formation of a government. The election appeared to leave the CIP with eleven seats, the Democrats nine seats and One Cook Islands two seats; the fate of the government – and of the opposition parties – depended, in the end, on several problematic constituencies: Mitiaro, Avatiu-Ruatonga-Palmerston, and Vaipae-Tautu.

Mitiaro On election day, the CIP’s candidate, Tuakeu Tangatapoto, and the Democratic Party’s candidate, the incumbent MP Tangata Vavia, each received 50 votes. Vavia lodged a petition with the High Court, claiming that Tangatapoto had committed acts of bribery and ‘treating’15 in the election run-up. Before the petition could be heard in the High Court, the Democratic Party signalled their intent to withdraw it. The CIP then asked the court to consider their own petition and also filed a court action to appeal the Democrats’ last-minute withdrawal, arguing for the original petition to be heard. On 21 November 2014 the Court of Appeal decided that the appeal should be allowed. The ruling meant that the Mitiaro election petition hearing had not been completed and it was sent back to the High Court for a hearing. A week later, on 28 November 2014, counsel for both parties agreed that one of Mitiaro’s voters did not meet the voter qualifications. The chief justice did not specify who the person had voted for. A recount conducted on 28 November gave Vavia 50 votes and Tangatapoto 49. This was not, however, the end of the matter. On 16 December, at the High Court hearing, Judge Hugh Williams dismissed the three voter eligibility challenges made by the CIP counsel, ruling that there was no case to be heard. This meant that the recount on Mitiaro was valid, allowing the Democrats’ candidate Tangata Vavia to retain the Mitiaro seat.16 The CIP appealed against the High Court decision,

counsel arguing that a vote should be excluded as the voter had chosen to leave Mitiaro (for medical reasons). On 3 March 2014 a Court of Appeal decision was released dismissing the CIP petition, confirming that Tangata Vavia had indeed retained the Mitiaro seat.

Avatiu-Ruatonga-Palmerston After the election, rumours swirled around the island about ‘vaka-jumping’ – changes of party affiliation – by two Democratic Party MPs thought to be about to cross the floor to join the government. On 13 March one such rumour came to fruition, as Democratic Party MP (for Avatiu-Ruatonga-Palmerston) Albert Nicholas was sworn in as a minister in the Cook Islands Party government17 – increasing the number of CIP seats to 12. The 2007 Electoral Amendment to the 2004 Electoral Act dealing with issues of ‘party integrity’ was enacted to try and curb party-hopping in the Cook Islands. The law states that an MP’s seat will become vacant if the MP votes against the majority of their party on issues of confidence, such as the government’s budget. On this basis, if Albert Nicholas were to support the government’s next budget, the Democratic Party could ask for his seat to be declared void, leading to a by-election in his constituency.18

Vaipae-Tautu In the Aitutaki constituency of Vaipae-Tautu, after a petition was made to the Court of Appeal, the win of CIP candidate (and incumbent MP) Mona Ioane was declared void as a result of allegations of bribery and treating in his electorate. A by-election was ordered; however, after the sudden death of the Democrats’ candidate, Kete Ioane, the by-election was delayed, finally taking place on 31 March 2015. In a landslide victory Mona Ioane won the Vaipae-Tautu by-election with 174 votes, followed by One Cook Islands Party candidate Amiria Davey with 98 votes. The Democratic Party’s candidate (and widow of Kete Ioane) Teinakore Ioane finished third, with 96 votes. The by-election result gave the CIP 13 seats, the Democrats nine and One Cook Islands 2, consolidating the CIP’s position as the government – an outcome confirmed almost seven months after the 2014 general election had been held.

However, as the Court of Appeal had found Mona Ioane guilty of bribery under the Electoral Act, it was their duty to pass this on to the police for further investigation. If police were to bring charges against Mona Ioane, he could lose his Vaipae-Tautu electorate seat, leading to another by-election.19

Petitions, kaikai and vaka-jumping Overall, there were nine electoral petitions – out of only 24 constituencies – filed with the High Court following the 2014 election. These mainly pertained either to voters (their qualifications) or to candidates (their campaign behaviour, involving allegations of bribery, treating, and the improper influencing of voters). Of the nine petitions, seven were from constituencies outside of Rarotonga. The petitions raised legal issues in relation to qualification challenges and the court recognised that Section 7 of the Electoral Act had a number of flaws and difficulties. Issues also arose from the bribery allegations, leading Chief Justice Weston, in his judgment on one electoral petition, to say that ‘perhaps it is time that there was a cross-party agreement about how birthday gifts, kaikai [food and drink] and other culture practices are to be regarded during the course of an election’. Following the by-election and court cases, rumours persisted that other MPs were about to cross the floor from all directions, potentially either strengthening the government or unseating it. For many this proved an unsettling time, and far from the perfect start to the Cook Islands’ celebrations of 50 years of self-government.

Island politics Politics in the Cook Islands – at both national and local levels – is a complex mixture, with tensions reflecting underlying cultural features as well as factors associated with the country’s political institutions and practices.

Political parties and leadership The CIP and the Democratic Party have dominated Cook Islands politics since the 1970s.20 This record of the same two parties continuously controlling a nation’s electoral politics reflects structural aspects of the Cook

Islands political system. Third parties and independent candidates have been a periodic feature of Cook Islands politics as well. The CIP has been a significant part of Cook Islands’ political life since independence, initially under the country’s first Premier, Albert Henry. Head of the government since 1965, he was forced to resign from that post in a 1978 voting scandal for which he was later convicted of fraud.21 Henry was the founder and first leader of the Cook Islands Party. During his long reign in Cook Islands politics, Henry was accused of various improper practices and nepotism. At the same time, he is remembered as one of the most animated Pacific Island leaders. The Henry family continue to have an important place in the Cook Islands today.22 Tom Davis, founder of the Democratic Party, became Premier of the Cook Islands after the High Court ruling in July 1978, having been leader of the opposition for six years. While these two men are now gone, the parties they founded continue to dominate Cook Islands politics; as in many twoparty systems, their party manifestos are often similar, and their policies focus on the same developing issues. In 2014 a further party, the One Cook Island Movement, was formed by Teina Bishop, a former Cabinet minister in the CIP Government.

Local politics Under the Outer Island Local Government Act 1987, there are island councils on all of the inhabited outer islands except lightly populated Nassau, which is governed by Pukapuka. Each council is headed by an elected mayor. Three island councils on Rarotonga, established under the Rarotonga Local Government Act 1997, were abolished in 2008, the then minister of internal affairs saying that the councils had not been meeting their responsibilities.23

Referendums There is legal provision for referendums to be held in the Cook Islands (under the Constitutional and Other Polls Act 1993), but they happen infrequently. This makes the process an adjunct to normal legislative processes, an occasional direct-democracy oddity within an otherwise Westminster-style parliamentary system. On 17 November 2010, alongside the general election, a binding referendum on reducing the number of

members of Parliament was held; the proposal – supported by an organisation known as the Group for Political Change – failed, falling short of the required two-thirds majority (with 63.8 per cent of valid votes in favour). On 22 April 2015, a controversial referendum on flights to Aitutaki was held, fulfilling the prime minister’s promise (given during the VaipaeTautu by-election campaign).24 The dispute over whether Air Rarotonga should operate Sunday flights to Aitutaki had been long running. The airline had operated the flights since June 2008, boosting the number of tourists visiting the island. Opposition came from those considering Sunday a sacred day of rest, when businesses should not be permitted to operate. Voters were asked to consider two opposing questions, drafted by the government: ‘All flights to Aitutaki are allowed to fly on all days?’ and ‘All flights to Aitutaki are banned from flying on Sundays?’ The result was clear-cut: 56 per cent of voters wanted an end to flights on Sundays.25 At the time, the chief electoral officer said that there had been a low turnout of voters – 61 per cent compared to the 79.5 per cent turnout at the July 2014 parliamentary elections.26 Although the result was non-binding, Prime Minister Henry Puna had said that the government would be guided by a simple majority of votes, and that Cabinet would make a subsequent policy decision following that result. This has not happened, however, leading to Opposition criticism of the government for making a false election promise in order to gain support in the Vaipai-Tautu by-election.

Looking ahead The Cook Islands has come a long way in its 50 years of self-government. However, the young nation still has many hurdles to cross.

Political reform The Cook Islands held its fifth annual Development Partners Meeting on Rarotonga from 9 to 12 February 2015. In the opening panel session, rather than beginning a discussion about further development aid, the dialogue quickly turned to the topic of reforming the electoral system, a consequence of the unsettled post-election environment. National Council of Women president Vaine Wichman linked the two, saying that political reform was

necessary for development. ‘We need to have national seats, not just constituency seats, and then just watch the political reform happen. We also need more women at the table – that is when the best decisions will be made.’27 Over the years Cook Island women have been strong leaders at both the political and grassroots level; many believe, however, that there remains room for improvement. In 50 years only nine women have been elected to the Cook Islands Parliament. One of them, the Democrats’ Ngamau Munokoa – known as ‘Aunty Mao’, she is MP for the Nikao-Panama constituency – has been in Parliament since 1996. In 2003 she became the first woman to hold the post of deputy prime minister, being reappointed in 2005 and remaining one of the most respected participants in Cook Islands politics. Following the 2010 general election only three of the 24 MPs were women. In 2014, there were only seven women candidates (out of 52) and only four of them were elected. There has never been a female prime minister in the Cook Islands and no woman has ever been the leader of either major political party. A publication supported by the National Council of Women, The Cook Islands Family Health and Safety Study,28 noted that one in three Cook Island women had experienced physical or domestic abuse. In order to combat this, the Speaker of Parliament, Niki Rattle, has said that more women are needed in decision-making positions. Another panellist at the 2015 Development Partners Meeting, Air Rarotonga chief executive Ewan Smith, who has lived in the Cook Islands for 42 years, recalled being chairman of the Chamber of Commerce in the 1990s: ‘This was a time of economic challenges and I remember that we made the comment then that as long as the political system remained unstable so too would the economic sector’.29 Political reform is not a new concept to the Cook Islands. Discussions about the possibility of changing the electoral system, for instance, have been raised over time by both parties. The Democratic Party has suggested that Pa Enua constituencies be joined together, as the CIP has often dominated elections in these smaller islands. Doing so, however, would deprive the outer islands of their own direct representative in Parliament.

Infrastructure and the Pa Enua As a developing nation, the Cook Islands continues to face considerable infrastructural challenges, particularly in the less populated Pa Enua (outer islands). At the moment, international standard roads and a supply of safe drinking water are not universally present on any of the Cook Islands. The sheer cost of transport to the Pa Enua has made infrastructure projects difficult. However, a recent New Zealand aid funded project in the northern Cook Islands has seen the lights come on in the outer islands. In May 2015 the New Zealand and Cook Islands governments officially opened solar arrays on the islands of Penryhn and Manihiki, bringing solar-powered electricity to residents’ homes and public buildings and ending their reliance on diesel generators – an example of a successful, life-enhancing development project, of which more are needed in the Pa Enua and the Cook Islands as a whole.30 Another major project, involving water infrastructure – Te Mato Vai – is a joint partnership between the Cook Islands, New Zealand and the People’s Republic of China. The project – to be completed in 2016 – involves rebuilding the entire water main system around Rarotonga in order to bring fresh, healthy drinking water to all residential and commercial properties connected to the network.

Foreign aid and fishing licences Like many Pacific Island nations the Cook Islands has received substantial infrastructural aid from the People’s Republic of China. The Ministry of Justice and the Police National Headquarters, for instance, were both built through grants from China (although there have been issues with rust and leaks in these buildings). China Civil Engineering Construction Corporation is building the Te Mato Vai ring main system, using a predominantly Chinese labour force. More than NZ$10 million worth of heavy machinery and pearl farming equipment has also been sent to the Pa Enua, another generous gift from China. In 2015 the Chinese Government also provided additional financial assistance intended, at least in part, to be used by the Cook Islands Government for the construction of a new school. Simultaneously, the number of Chinese fishing companies gaining licences to fish in Cook Islands waters has increased, with depleting tuna

stocks a growing concern. When the Chinese ambassador to New Zealand visited the Cook Islands in August 2015 (for the Cook Islands’ 50th anniversary constitutional celebrations) he noted his intention to meet the minister of seabed minerals and natural resources. These activities – and possible links between aid, commercial access and political influence – have raised questions about the nature of this ‘special relationship’ and the possible risks as well as benefits to the Cook Islands in the long term.

Depopulation The number of Cook Islanders now living in Australia and New Zealand far exceeds the number remaining at home. Depopulation is not a new issue to the nation, but it continues to have a significant impact on the country and its economy, particularly in the Pa Enua. Finding a way to attract educated Cook Islanders back to their Pacific home – or, if abroad, to harness their talents for the good of the country back home – will become of increasing importance as the nation continues to develop.

An independent Cook Islands? National Constitution Day – 4 August – is often celebrated as a kind of independence day, although the country’s strings remain firmly attached to New Zealand. Many Cook Islanders are fearful that full independence would lead to the loss of New Zealand citizenship and rights to a New Zealand passport, enabling residence in New Zealand and access to the wider world. Fifty years on from the decision to accept self-government, the Cook Islands maintains a political structure and business environment of its own, with a public, private and tourism sector. Whether the next 50 years will see this small island nation go its own way remains to be seen. In 2015 Prime Minister Henry Puna addressed the possibility of UN membership for the Cook Islands, apparently believing that this would enhance the country’s ability to attract international development assistance. The New Zealand prime minister’s response – that UN membership would require a review of the New Zealand–Cook Islands relationship, including citizenship31 – suggested that a further move to raise the Cook Islands’ profile internationally was not likely to be achieved without considerable soulsearching.

Further reading Crocombe, Ron (ed.), Cook Islands Politics: The Inside Story, Auckland, Polynesian Press, 1979. Hancock, Kathleen, Sir Albert Henry, His Life and Times, Auckland, Methuen, 1979. Henry, Howard, Tatou Ipukarea: Cook Islands: “Road to Self-Government”: 4 August 1965, Cook Islands, Sovereign Pacific Publishing Company, 2015. Jonassen, Jon Tikivanotau M., ‘Cook Islands’, in Stephen Levine (ed.), Pacific Ways: Government and Politics in the Pacific Islands, first edition, Wellington, Victoria University Press, 2009, pp. 35–45. Scott, Dick, Years of the Pooh-Bah: A Cook Islands History, Auckland, Hodder and Stoughton, 1991. Stone, David, ‘The Rise of the Cook Islands Party’, Journal of Polynesian Society, vol. 74, no. 1, pp. 80–111. Government of the Cook Islands, http://www.ck/govt.htm Office of the Prime Minister, Cook Islands, http://www.pmoffice.gov.ck/ Parliament of the Cook Islands, http://www.parliament.gov.ck/ The Cook Islands Herald, http://www.ciherald.co.ck Cook Islands News, http://www.cookislandsnews.com

Notes 1 Cook Islands Government, ‘The Cook Islands: What is in our past’, 4 January 2014, http://www.ck/hist ory.htm. 2 Ibid. 3 Ibid. 4 Dick Scott, Years of the Pooh-Bah: A Cook Islands History, Auckland, Hodder and Stoughton, 1991. 5 See Richard P. Gilson, The Cook Islands, 1820–1950, Wellington, Victoria University Press in association with the University of the South Pacific, Institute of Pacific Studies, 1990, p. 200. 6 Mana Strickland, ‘Self-Government and the New Colonialism’, in Ron Crocombe (ed.), Cook Islands Politics: The Inside Story, Auckland, Polynesian Press, 1979, p. 7. 7 The 1965 elections were observed by UN representatives and, following the Cook Islands Legislative Assembly’s approval of the constitution, the country became self-governing (on 4 August 1965), leading to its removal from the UN’s list of Non-Self-Governing Territories. See David Stone, ‘Parties and politics in Polynesia: Political trends in the self-governing Cook Islands’, Journal of the Polynesian Society, vol. 79, no. 2, pp. 123–179. 8 In a joint declaration signed in June 2001, the prime ministers of New Zealand and the Cook Islands confirmed that ‘Any action taken by New Zealand in respect of its constitutional responsibilities for the foreign affairs of the Cook Islands will be taken on the delegated authority [of] the Cook Islands’. The statement supplements section 5 of the Cook Islands Constitution Act 1964 (enacted by the New Zealand Parliament), which states: ‘Nothing in this Act or in the [Cook Islands] Constitution shall affect the responsibilities of Her Majesty the Queen in right of New Zealand [i.e., the New Zealand

Government] for the external affairs and defence of the Cook Islands, those responsibilities to be discharged after consultation by the Prime Minister of New Zealand with the Premier of the Cook Islands’. 9 See ‘Up Close and Personal: A view from the census’, http://www.cookislands.org.uk/2011census; and Ministry of Finance and Economic Management, ‘Vital Statistics and Population Estimates’, htt p://www.mfem.gov.ck/population-and-social-statistics/vital-stats-pop-est. See also Ministry of Finance and Economic Management, ‘Cook Islands Census 2011 of Population and Dwellings’, http://www.mf em.gov.ck/docs/Stats/2012/Census/2011%20Cook%20Islands%20Population%20Census%20Report. pdf. 10 Ministry of Finance and Economic Management, ‘Vital Statistics and Population Estimates’. 11 Constitution of the Cook Islands (as of 1 July 2004 including amendments 1 to 28), http://www.parlia ment.gov.ck/Constitution.pdf. 12 Whether the Cook Islands would still be able to have the British monarch as its head of state were New Zealand to become a republic is a matter for speculation. 13 In June 1999 a referendum to reduce the parliamentary term to four years failed to gain the necessary two-thirds majority, receiving 64.5 per cent support; a second referendum in September 2004 easily passed that threshold, with 82.3 per cent support. 14 Other symbols of national identity and status proved more resistant to change. In March 1994, nonbinding referendums were held with respect to possible changes to the country’s name, flag and national anthem (the latter two being stipulated in the Cook Islands Constitution: the flag in Section 76c and the document’s Third Schedule; and the anthem, ‘Te Atua Mou E’, or ‘God is Truth’ – with music by Prime Minister Tom Davis and lyrics by his wife, Pa Tepaeru Terito Ariki Lady Davis – in Section 76d and the Fourth Schedule, which gives the words). Despite the then prime minister Geoffrey Henry’s support for a new name, Avaiki Nui (‘Homeland’), 69.8 per cent voted to retain ‘Cook Islands’ (and 80.2 per cent to keep the national anthem). While there was a slim majority in favour of a new flag (51.5 per cent) no action was subsequently taken. On independence the Cook Islands retained the New Zealand flag until a green flag with 15 stars – for the country’s 15 islands – was adopted in 1973. In August 1979 it was replaced by the current blue flag, with the UK emblem (the Union Jack) at one side and the 15 stars at the other. 15 ‘Treating’ involves giving or providing food, drink, entertainment or anything else in order to corruptly influence any voter to vote or refrain from voting. 16 Phillipa Webb, ‘Mitiaro saga long and slow-moving’, Cook Islands News, 18 February 2015, http://w ww.cookislandsnews.com/item/50536-mitiaro-saga-long-and-slow-moving/. 17 Phillipa Webb, ‘Nicholas jumps to the other side’, Cook Islands News, 16 March 2015, http://www.c ookislandsnews.com/item/50890-nicholas-jumps-to-the-other-side/. 18 Phillipa Webb, ‘Party-hopping futile’, Cook Islands News, 18 March 2015, http://www.cookislandsne ws.com/item/50995-party-hopping-futile-says-opposition/. Subsequently, in November 2015, Nicholas was expelled from the Democratic Party: see Phillipa Webb, ‘Nicholas kicked out of Demos’, Cook Islands News, 18 November 2015, http://www.cookislandsnews.com/national/politics/item/55125-nich olas-kicked-out-of-demos/. 19 Phillipa Webb, ‘No comment on MP’s case’, Cook Islands News, 2 April 2015, http://www.cookisla ndsnews.com/item/51196-no-comment-on-mp-s-case/51196-no-comment-on-mp-s-case. 20 The Cook Islands’ prime ministers have been: Alfred Henry (Cook Islands Party [CIP], 1965–78); Tom Davis (Democratic Party, 1978–83; 1983–87); Geoffrey Henry (CIP, 1983; 1989–99); Pupuke Robati (Democratic Party, 1987–89); Joe Williams (CIP, 1999); Terepai Maoate (Democratic Alliance Party [DAP], 1999–2002); Robert Woonton (DAP, 2002–04); Jim Marurai (DAP, 2004–05; CIP, 2005–06; Democratic Party, 2006–10); and Henry Puna (CIP, 2010– ).

21 The scandal related to payments made to Cook Islanders to return to the country to vote in the 1978 general election. See Louise Graham, ‘Registration of Cook Islanders abroad’, Norman George, ‘Organizing the exiles’, Iaveta Short, ‘The 1978 Election Petitions’ and Ron and Marjorie Crocombe, ‘The saga of tension’, in Ron Crocombe (ed.), Cook Islands Politics: The Inside Story, Auckland, Polynesian Press, 1979, pp. 164–166, 167–186, 227–242 and 243–260. One consequence of the controversy over the effort to fly in voters was the establishment of a seat in Parliament to represent Cook Islanders living overseas. The seat was disestablished in 2003. 22 For instance, the deputy Speaker, John Henry, is a nephew of former prime minister Geoffrey Henry, himself a cousin to Albert Henry. The 2015 50th anniversary celebrations were chaired by Nick Henry, Albert Henry’s grandson. 23 Radio New Zealand International, ‘Cook Islands govt abolishes Rarotonga Vaka councils’, 11 October 2007, http://www.radionz.co.nz/international/pacific-news/173220/cook-islands-govt-abolishe s-rarotonga-vaka-councils. The government’s inten-tion to abolish the councils was implemented the following year. 24 Phillipa Webb, ‘Aitutaki voters air views on Sunday flights’, Cook Islands News, 22 April 2015, htt p://www.cookislandsnews.com/national/outer-islands/item/51447-aitutaki-voters-air-views-on-sundayflights/. 25 Phillipa Webb, ‘Aitutaki votes to ban Sunday flights’, Cook Islands News, 24 April 2015, http://ww w.cookislandsnews.com/national/outer-islands/item/51479-aitutaki-votes-to-ban-sunday-flights/. 26 Ibid. 27 Phillipa Webb, ‘Political reform key to country’s future’, Cook Islands News, 11 February 2015, htt p://pidp.eastwestcenter.org/pireport/2015/February/02-12-04.htm. 28 See Te Marae Ora, Cook Islands Ministry of Health, Te Ata O Te Ngakau – Shadows of the Heart: The Cook Islands Family Health and Safety Study, 2014, http://countryoffice.unfpa.org/pac ific/drive/CIFHSSReportweb.pdf. 29 Webb, ‘Political reform key to country’s future’. 30 ‘Cook Islands solar energy projects opened’, May 2015, http://www.beehive.govt.nz/release/cook-isl ands-solar-energy-projects-opened. Another solar power project – Te Mana o te Ra (‘Power from the Sun’) – was built in 2014 on Rarotonga, part of the Cook Islands’ goal of being powered almost entirely by renewable energy by 2020. 31 See, for example, TVNZ, ‘New Zealand blocks Cook Islands’ bid for UN membership’, One News, 10 June 2015, https://www.tvnz.co.nz/one-news/new-zealand/new-zealand-blocks-cook-islands-bid-fo r-un-membership-6335010; and Radio New Zealand International, ‘Key says Cooks UN seat inappropriate’, Pacific News, 5 August 2015, http://www.radionz.co.nz/international/pacific-news/280 518/key-says-cooks-un-seat-inappropriate. See also Phillipa Webb, ‘Strong case for UN seat’, Cook Islands News, 9 September 2015, http://www.cookislandsnews.com/item/53782-strong-case-for-un-s eat/.

Federated States of Micronesia Glenn Petersen and Zag Puas Glenn Petersen is Professor of Anthropology and International Affairs at the City University of New York and was a member of the FSM’s Permanent Mission to the United Nations from 1999 to 2002. Zag Puas is a doctoral student at the Australian National University.

Once part of the former US Trust Territory of the Pacific Islands, the Federated States of Micronesia (FSM) is now an independent state tied to the United States through a relationship of ‘free association’. In geographical terms it comprises the Eastern and Central Caroline Islands. One of its constituent ‘states’, Kosrae, is a single high island of volcanic origin, while each of the others, Pohnpei, Chuuk and Yap, includes both larger high islands and atolls. Chuuk State, with more than 50,000 people, represents just slightly more than half the FSM’s population; Pohnpei includes about twothirds of the remainder. The FSM’s constitution was written in 1975 as the United States was in the midst of carving the Trust Territory into a series of separate political entities: the Commonwealth of the Northern Mariana Islands, and the Republics of Belau (Palau), the Marshall Islands, and the FSM. The original Constitutional Convention (ConCon) included participants from all the island groups and as crafted there the constitution represented an attempt to keep the various island groups from pursuing separate political status negotiations with the US. While this course of action ultimately proved unsuccessful, its legacy is to be seen in the great emphasis the FSM Constitution lays upon a genuinely federal and decentralised system of government.

At the same time, however, the FSM’s overwhelming political and economic dependency upon the US has served to channel nearly all its financial resources – i.e., transfer payments from the US amounting to more than US$100 million per annum – through the central government, which of course serves to enhance and preserve the central government’s authority. The four FSM states seek continually to assert their relative autonomy from the central government even as they depend upon it for nearly all their revenues.

A ‘hybrid’ political system The FSM Government has been described as a ‘hybrid of the U.S. presidential system and the Westminster parliamentary system’.1 Its president is both the country’s chief of state and head of government; he is the chief executive and there is no prime minister. The president is elected by the FSM Congress from among its own members, not by a popular vote. This system has precursors in traditional Micronesian politics but its creation at the 1975 Constitutional Convention was largely a consequence of political bargaining. Few have much positive to say about it, many have sought to abandon it in favor of something more conventional (most commonly, direct popular election), and there were major efforts to revamp it at the 1990 and 2001 Constitutional Conventions, yet it has remained unchanged.2 Its origins and persistence can best be explained in terms of Micronesian notions of effective checks and balances, and their specific relevance to both the FSM’s relationship with the United States and its internal political tensions. It was adaptive when it was first hammered out and, however much it is disparaged, it is still perceived as protecting Micronesia from both internal abuses and external interference. The system’s somewhat unorthodox character, however, has led, ironically, to arguments that there are insufficient checks and balances on the Congress’s authority; that Congress, and not the president, is the primary focus of political authority in the FSM; and that it has been failing to provide the country with adequate leadership.3 Because this system was patched together by Micronesian leaders employing Micronesian political theory to resolve what seemed at the time to be nearly intractable problems of

decolonisation, both traditional Micronesian political culture and colonial history are relevant to any consideration of its character. In 1965 the Micronesians organised the first Trust Territory-wide representative body, the Congress of Micronesia (COM), which began immediately to pursue self-government and an eventual end to American trusteeship over the islands. At the time of the 1975 ConCon the US was engaging in political status negotiations with individual island groups as a means of overcoming COM resistance to American demands for perma-nent control over Micronesia’s lands. Some delegations to the ConCon insisted that if their islands were to join a self-governing Micronesian federation it would have to be organised around a weak central government. This, they said, was the only means of assuring that they would themselves be in control of their islands. But others feared that a weak central government would not enable Micronesians to successfully challenge the US for control of the region. Lengthy debates over unicameral and bicameral legislatures, a single chief executive versus a governing council, and a range of other concerns all turned over this central conundrum.4 It seemed that the Convention was deadlocked and about to conclude without a completed draft when the delegates decided to abandon, for a time, the parliamentary procedures under which they had been working and shifted instead to a Micronesian format. They went into informal, closed ‘executive’ session, which allowed for indirect, vague and unlimited discussion. They quickly determined that while a single executive (as opposed to a council or some other format) was widely favoured there was considerable disagreement concerning how the national legislature should be constituted. They then appointed a smaller Special Committee with two delegates from each district, including a chief from each, thus allowing for traditional Micronesian political processes to prevail. Working in this way, the committee devised a solution to the question of how to structure authority in their future government. Starting with the premise of a single chief executive, they sought a means other than popular election through which to choose this leader. They had previously considered a proposal that there be two categories of representatives to a unicameral legislature: one representative with a fouryear term from each state, and others apportioned by population for two-year

terms. The category of four-year representatives was then adapted as a means of furnishing a pool of nominees, one from each state, from which the national congress could name the president and vice-president. When the Special Committee brought this proposed solution to the Convention there was significant opposition to it. The time allotted for the ConCon was about to expire, however, and there seemed to be no alternative other than failure, which would have meant, in the minds of most Micronesians, that negotiations to end US trusteeship, and thereby secure Micronesian selfgovernment, would be side-tracked, if not brought entirely to a halt.5 Consensus was achieved, the proposal was accepted, the constitution was completed, and the Micronesians had a format for their government. As a consequence of these political compromises, the FSM Congress, though unicameral, has two membership categories. Each state has, as originally determined, one four-year-term senator representing it plus a number of two-year-term senators established by population apportionment: Chuuk has a total of six representatives, Pohnpei four, and Yap and Kosrae two each. Congress elects the FSM president and vice-president from among its four-year senators. The senators elected president and vice-president are then replaced in local by-elections. Since the outset an informal ‘gentleman’s agreement’ has existed, stipulating that the presidency – for a four-year term, with a limit of two consecutive terms (Article X, Section 1) – be rotated among the states.6 In an early incident that continues to have repercussions, one state was passed over in this sequence, though its people believed it should have provided the president, because its four-year senator was perceived by his colleagues to be too independent of the Congress. This in part explains the widespread discontent with the system for selecting the president – there is a clear sense that the president is far too beholden to Congress to be able to act independently of it. While the 1990 and 2001 Constitutional Conventions worked hard to revise the current system, a viable alternative has yet to be found.7 This appears to be largely because a great many Micronesians fear that in the absence of a powerful legislative body, a strong executive would pose the threat of channelling US influence and interference.8

‘Checks and balances’ in the FSM

The Supreme Court is the FSM’s national judiciary. While the constitution provides for a chief justice and a maximum of five associate justices, there are currently only three associates, and for most of the country’s history there have been no more than two associate justices. Appointments to the Supreme Court are made by the president and are for life terms; Congress must approve these appointments and exercises this prerogative closely. The constitutions of the FSM’s component states are all designed along lines similar to the national constitution, with each state having its own executive, legislative, and judicial branches. While the FSM Constitution provides for the same ‘checks and balances’ delineated in the US Constitution, Congress does exercise considerably more influence than either of the other branches. Because Chuuk’s delegation is so large, it in turn wields proportionately more influence than the other states. Chuuk’s relations with the rest of the FSM lie near the centre of most internal FSM political dynamics. On one occasion an attempt by Chuuk senators to legislate a halt to legal actions brought against members of their delegation in response to charges of malfeasance generated particular animosity.9 The FSM exhibits most of the political currents and cross-currents common to the Pacific’s small island states. What are perhaps the two most salient sets of issues shaping day-to-day politics derive from the historical trajectory of the country’s efforts to achieve self-government and sovereignty. On the one hand, the US had initially refused to consider independence as a possibility for Micronesia. After successfully achieving free association (commencing in November 1986 with the Compact of Free Association with the US, renewed in June 2004) the FSM’s United Nations Trusteeship was officially terminated by UN Security Council Resolution 683 (22 December 1990), with membership in the United Nations being achieved on 17 September 1991. While the US acknowledges this independence, it also maintains tight control over anything that might be construed as the FSM’s foreign affairs through the terms of ‘security’ (i.e. military) codicils to the Compact of Free Association. These documents permit the US to exercise a significant degree of control over Micronesia by means of the funding it provides, which constitutes an overwhelmingly large portion of the country’s income. The power of America’s purse strings explains Micronesian resistance to the establishment of a powerful executive branch.10

On the other hand, the historical importance of preserving unity in the face of American pressures forces the states’ leaders constantly to work at overcoming their peoples’ hostilities toward Chuuk state’s overwhelmingly large influence on internal affairs. The FSM’s current political system draws heavily both upon traditional Micronesian cultural sensibilities and upon American influences on the individuals who wrote the 1975 Micronesian Constitution. There is, however, one significant breach in the continuum between American and Micronesian political processes. Although they were steeped in American constitutionalism, which has been driven from its outset by a two-party system, leaders of the Congress of Micronesia never developed a system of political parties. While there is nothing in the US Constitution referring to parties, the American political process relies upon them, and they are an outgrowth of antecedent British traditions of court and country and Whig and Tory oppositions. It is not entirely clear why the COM never developed or acquired a system of political parties, but the crucial point is that at its outset the FSM had no party tradition, and it has yet to develop one. The COM’s district (under the Trusteeship) and now state delegations have always functioned as caucuses, and partisan politics in the Micronesian Congress have always been state-centred (rather than partycentred) in nature. It is thus the case that the Chuuk delegation, which is far and away the largest, wields de facto control of the Congress. Under the FSM, the Speaker has frequently been from Chuuk, and the president of the 1975 Constitutional Convention (and first president of the FSM) was Tosiwo Nakayama, a member of the Chuukese COM delegation and president of the COM’s upper house. At every juncture in contemporary Micronesian political history the primacy of state delegations, rather than political parties, has been paramount. The 1975 drafting of the constitution, the initial organisation of the FSM Government in 1979, the 1990 and 2001 Constitutional Conventions, and subsequent events all turned almost entirely upon differences between and alliances among the state delegations. No matter what format might have been chosen for selecting a president at the 1975 or subsequent Conventions, or might in the future be agreed upon, the simple

fact remains that differences between the states vastly overshadow any commonalities of interest across their boundaries.

Contemporary politics and traditional Micronesian concerns Traditional Micronesian concerns, processes and structures do have their places in contemporary political life, however. While Pacific Island political systems organised around hereditary chieftainship have been portrayed by some as undemocratic,11 this perspective reflects their reality only if nothing more than their surface features are considered (e.g., an individual is elevated to absolute rule over a community based on nothing more than primogeniture). In actual operation Micronesia’s chiefly politics entail many, perhaps most, of the qualities commonly attributed to the best democratic systems.12 They incorporate numerous means of assuring both checks and balances and popular participation. There are multiple sorts of chiefs and numerous councils at which lengthy deliberations take place. The matrilineal character of Micronesia’s clans ensures the inclusion of women in decisionmaking processes. Chiefs are required to be generous and there are wellestablished means of redistributing land and most other goods. And cultural commitments to equality leaven the overtly hierarchical character of chieftainship. While leaders can and do abuse their positions, the multiple checks and balances and the inclusive and participatory nature of decisionmaking mean that Micronesians continue to regard traditional political forms as both relevant and admirable. This explains why they have strongly resisted having the chiefs incorporated into national government: many Micronesians fear that were chiefs to be given a formal role they too would find themselves at the mercy of the Congress.13 Although Micronesians inherited their current system of government as a colonial legacy from the United States, their perspectives remain Micronesian. Micronesian patterns of political behaviour are the only common ground they have had to work with. While both the Congress and the rest of the FSM Government were originally organised and structured according to Euro-American parliamentary principles and procedures, they have been occupied and operated by Micronesians, who run them largely,

though by no means entirely, according to Micronesian principles, precepts and presumptions.

Citizenship issues14 Independence for Micronesians in 1986 meant a total break from their colonial past. The constitution signified a reassertion of Micronesian historical rights to their island home within the current international legal order, recognising Micronesian territorial space and its citizens as fundamental to the stability and survival of the FSM as a nation. The sustainability of the FSM as a whole was reinforced by Article XIII, Section 3, which states: ‘it is the solemn obligation of the national and state governments to uphold the provisions of this Constitution and to advance the principles of unity upon which this Constitution is founded’. Article III, Section 2 defined Micronesian citizenship: ‘a person born of parents one or both of whom are citizens of the Federated States of Micronesia is a citizen and national of the Federated States by birth.’ Article III, Section 3, in effect, demanded the total loyalty of FSM citizens by prohibiting dual citizenship: ‘a citizen of the Federated States of Micronesia who is recognized as a citizen of another nation shall, within 3 years of his 18th birthday, or within 3 years of the effective date of this Constitution, whichever is later, register his intent to remain a citizen of the Federated States and renounce his citizenship of another nation. If he fails to comply with this Section, he becomes a national of the Federated States of Micronesia.’ The constitution thus recognises dual citizenship for the children of Micronesian citizens, but only temporarily – i.e., such a person must declare, before the age of 21, whether they wish to remain an FSM citizen. A person who fails to declare their intention by that time loses their citizenship while remaining a ‘national’ of the FSM.15 A ‘national’ is a Micronesian by heritage, with limited rights to own land or reefs (as outlined in Article XIII, Sections 4 and 5). Restrictions on dual citizenship have been challenged by Micronesians overseas, particularly those with ancestral connections to the FSM. Four referendums (2005, 2007, 2009 and 2010) have been conducted on the issue of allowing dual citizenship; all such proposals have been defeated. The issue will not

disappear, however, with claims that restrictions on dual citizenship are handicapping Micronesia’s development, given the importance of Micronesians living overseas – as citizens of the US, for instance – for the FSM’s future.

Chuuk and the challenge to FSM unity The FSM Constitution has also been tested on many occasions relating to questions about the division of power between the states and the federal government. In 2014, new and intense pressures developed. At issue was the question of whether the FSM Constitution prohibits a state – in this case, Chuuk – from seceding from the federation. The state of Chuuk has been dissatisfied for many years over the federal government’s distribution of funds, arguing that the present formula is constitutionally unfair and defeats the purpose behind how the federation was organised. The federal government was established to coordinate the distribution of funds to the states; in practice, however, the federal government withholds the majority of funds received for itself.16 This is an outcome for which Chuuk has blamed the FSM Congress, asserting that it has become too powerful and has engaged in political processes that have undermined the integrity of the nation. Chuuk insists that it should receive a greater share of the funds allocated by Congress because it is the FSM’s most heavily populated state. A shortfall of several million US dollars forecast in Chuuk’s budget when Compact funding ends in 2023 has also motivated Chuuk to seek new financial support arrangements through separation. To address Chuuk’s financial problems, the Chuuk Political Status Commission (CPSC) was created by the state’s legislature to conduct a study on Chuuk’s alternative political future.17 After only a few months of ad hoc study, the CPSC recommended secession from the FSM as the state’s best option.18 It further outlined a time frame on how to achieve independence prior to 2023. Independence as suggested by the CPSC would provide many advantages to Chuuk. They include stimulating new economic opportunities through increased foreign fishing licenses in its perceived economic exclusive economic zone, as well as partnerships with foreign investors and new tax regimes.19

The Chuuk movement towards independence has created political debate within both the state and the nation. Looked at nationally, advocacy of secession represents a challenge to the FSM Constitution. Supporters of the federation argue that fragmentation would be almost impossible since the constitution was framed specifically to disallow secession, with Article XIII, Section 3, committing state governments ‘to advance the principles of unity upon which this Constitution is founded’. Proponents of Chuuk independence argue that the state and its people have the right to determine their own future based on inherent human rights principles in international law. The then president, Manny Mori, a Chuukese, also participated in the debate, arguing against Chuuk’s independence and characterising the CPSC as a body made up of the failed leaders of the defunct Faichuk separation movement20 who were now using the CPSC (and the Chuuk secession idea) for their own purposes.21 In response, the CPSC accused the president of misleading his own people and suggested that he not meddle in Chuuk’s domestic affairs. The US has also been highlighted in the political imbroglio. It was claimed by the CPSC spokesperson that the US would support Chuuk’s secession and would negotiate a separate Compact of Free Association with Chuuk.22 The US Ambassador to the FSM denied the claim, however, citing the US policy of non-interference in the FSM’s internal affairs.23 A referendum on Chuuk’s independence was set for 3 March 2015 – the date when voters were going to the polls to elect the members of the 19th FSM Congress – but was postponed in late February, with Chuuk’s Public Affairs Office stating that Chuuk’s governor (Johnson Elimo) had concluded that more time was needed for consultation and public awareness.24 If a referendum ultimately proceeds and the Chuukese people vote for independence, the next legal battle will be whether the FSM Constitution allows a state to secede. The issue of secession involves not only the people of Chuuk but the Micronesian people as a whole. Further obstacles to Chuuk state achieving independence include a lack of unity within the state itself, the undetermined constitutionality of independence, and the stance of the US towards a separate Chuuk nation. The process will undoubtedly prove to be complex, unlikely to be resolved quickly through either litigation or negotiation.

Part of the preamble to the FSM Constitution declares: ‘with this Constitution we, who have been the wards of other nations, become the proud guardian of our own islands, now and forever’. Looking to the future, what can be said is that the outlook for the states and peoples comprising the FSM, and for the country as a whole, remains linked to the question of the FSM’s ability to maintain its existence and territorial integrity in light of the pressures of the 21st century.

Further reading Constitution of the Federated States of Micronesia, http://fsmsupremecourt.org/fsm/constitution/index.ht m Haglelgam, John, ‘Federated States of Micronesia’, The Contemporary Pacific, vol. 19, no. 1, 2007, pp. 178–182; vol. 20, no. 1, pp. 192–198; and vol. 21, no. 1, 2009, pp. 114–118. Hanlon, David, Making Micronesia: A Political Biography of Tosiwo Nakayama, Honolulu, University of Hawai‘i Press, 2014. Kluge, P. F., The Edge of Paradise: America in Micronesia, New York, Random House, 1996. McHenry, Donald F., Micronesia, Trust Betrayed: Altruism vs Self-interest in American Foreign Policy, New York, Carnegie Endowment for International Peace, 1975. Nevin, David, The American Touch in Micronesia, New York, W. W. Norton, 1977. Nufer, Harold F., Micronesia under American Rule: An Evaluation of the Strategic Trusteeship, Hicksville, New York, Exposition Press, 1978. Petersen, Glenn, ‘On Checks and Balances Within the Federated States of Micronesia’s Presidential System’, Journal of Pacific Studies, vol. 29, no. 1, 2006, pp. 25–49. Petersen, Glenn, ‘Strategic Location, Sovereignty, and Cash in the Federated States of Micronesia’, in Judith M. Fitzpatrick (ed.), Endangered Peoples of Oceania: Struggles to Survive and Thrive, Westport, Connecticut, Greenwood, 2001, pp. 93–106. Congress of the Federated States of Micronesia, http://www.fsmcongress.fm/ Government of the Federated States of Micronesia, http://www.fsmgov.org/ Office of the President, Federated States of Micronesia, http://www.fsmpio.fm/ Permanent Mission of the Federated States of Micronesia, http://www.fsmgov.org/fsmun/ Chuuk Reform Movement, http://www.chuukstate.org/ Chuuk State Legislature, http://www.chuukstatelegislature.fm/ Pohnpei State Governor, http://www.pohnpeimet.fm/ Pohnpei Legislature, http://www.fm/PohnpeiLeg/welcome.htm Yap State government, http://www.yapstategov.org/ The Kaselehlie Press, http://www.kpress.info/ Micronesia Forum, http://www.micronesiaforum.org/

Notes 1 Micronesian Seminar, ‘Is the Congress of FSM Becoming Too Powerful?’, Monthly Discussion Topic no. 2, 1993, p. 1, http://www.micsem.org/pubs/conferences/congpower.htm. 2 Glenn Petersen, Ethnicity and Interests at the 1990 Federated States of Micronesia Constitutional Convention, Regime Change and Regime Maintenance Discussion Paper Series, no. 12, Research School of Pacific Studies, Australian National University, 1993; Glenn Petersen, ‘Calm Before the Storm?: The 1990 Federated States of Micronesia Constitutional Convention’, The Contemporary Pacific, vol. 6, no. 2, 1994, pp. 337–369; John Haglelgam, ‘A Close Look at the Proposed Amendments to the FSM Constitution’, Micronesian Counselor, no. 41, April 2002. 3 Micronesian Seminar, ‘Is the Congress of FSM Becoming Too Powerful?’, p. 1. 4 Norman Meller, Constitutionalism in Micronesia, Laie, Institute for Polynesian Studies, 1985, pp. 295–296. 5 Ibid., pp. 300–302. 6 The presidents of the FSM have been: Tosiwo Nakayama (Chuuk, 1979–87); John Haglelgam (Yap, 1987–91); Bailey Olter (Pohnpei, 1991–96); Jacob Nena (Kosrae, 1996–99); Leo Falcam (Pohnpei, 1999–2003); Joseph J. Urusemal (Yap, 2003–07); Manny Mori (Chuuk, 2007–15); and Peter Christian (Pohnpei, 2015– ). Each president/vice president team has involved office-holders from two different states: Nakayama’s first vice president was Petrus Tun (Yap), his second Bailey Olter (Pohnpei); Haglelgam’s was Hirosi Ismael (Kosrae); Olter’s was Jacob Nena (Kosrae); Falcam’s and Urusemal’s was Redley A. Killion (Chuuk); Mori’s was Alik Alik (Kosrae); and Christian’s is Yosiwo P. George (Kosrae) [ed.]. 7 Petersen, Ethnicity and Interests at the 1990 Federated States of Micronesia Constitutional Convention; Sohnel L. Johnson, ‘The Federated States of Micronesia’s Presidential Election System and Proposed Constitutional Changes: An Analysis’, Journal of South Pacific Law Working Paper, Port Vila, University of the South Pacific, 5 December 2002. 8 Glenn Petersen, ‘On Checks and Balances within the Federated States of Micronesia’s Presidential System’, Journal of Pacific Studies, vol. 29, no. 1, 2006, pp. 25–49. 9 Francis X. Hezel, ‘FSM Amnesty Bill’, Micronesian Counselor, no. 49, March 2004; Francis X. Hezel, ‘The Chuuk Problem: At the Foot of the Political Pyramid’, Micronesian Counselor, no. 50, April 2004. 10 Glenn Petersen, ‘Why is Micronesian Independence an Issue?’ in Brij Lal and Hank Nelson (eds), Lines Across the Sea: Colonial Inheritance in the Post-Colonial Pacific, Brisbane, Pacific History Association, 1995, pp. 69–81; Glenn Petersen, ‘Strategic Location and Sovereignty: Modern Micronesia in the Historical Context of American Expansionism’, Space & Polity, vol. 2, no. 2, 1999, pp. 179–205. 11 See, for instance, Stephanie Lawson, Tradition versus Democracy in the South Pacific, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1996. 12 See Glenn Petersen, Traditional Micronesian Societies, Honolulu, University of Hawai‘i Press, 2009. 13 Glenn Petersen, ‘A Micronesian Chamber of Chiefs?’, in Geoffrey M. White and Lamont Lindstrom (eds), Chiefs Today, Stanford, Stanford University Press, 1997, pp. 183–196. 14 From this point the chapter is the work of Zag Puas; the earlier material was provided by Glenn Petersen. 15 The rights of Micronesian ‘nationals’ are defined in FSM Public Law No. 17–54. 16 ‘Compact Impact’, Pacific Daily News, 23 February 2015.

17 The Chuuk Legislature, ACT No. 11–18. 18 Personal communication, Inos Walter, Legislator of Chuuk representing the Lower Mortlocks, 6 November 2014. 19 Ibid. 20 Faichuk is a group of four islands situated in the western part of the Truk Lagoon (in Chuuk state). Faichuk has persistently sought separation from the rest of Chuuk state. In 2000, a referendum among Faichuk’s voters produced a 96 per cent vote in favour of secession (from both Chuuk and the FSM). See, for instance, Bill Jaynes, ‘Faichuk Renews Its Intent To Stand Alone As A Sovereign Country’, Kaselehlie Press, 8 August 2011, http://www.fm/news/kp/2011/aug11_6.htm. In 2005 a bill ‘to approve the admission of the State of Faichuk as the fifth state of the Federated States of Micronesia’ was introduced into the FSM Congress, but was subsequently defeated. 21 President Mori’s comments during an interview in Chuuk Reform Movement, 21 December 2014, can be found at: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JNpeASDdrHc. 22 Bill Jaynes, ‘Chuuk Puts the Question of Secession on March 3 Ballot’, Kaselehlie Press, 6 February 2015, pp. 1 and 5. 23 Ibid., p. 5. 24 Radio New Zealand International, ‘Chuuk independence vote postponed’, Pacific News, 27 February 2015, http://www.radionz.co.nz/international/pacific-news/267264/chuuk-independence-vote-postpone d.

Fiji Robert Norton Robert Norton is a Senior Research Fellow in Anthropology at Macquarie University, in Sydney, Australia, specialising in the study of ethnicity and politics in Fiji.

Historical background Leading Indigenous Fijian chiefs ceded their islands to the British Crown in 1874 in the expectation that the British would promote good government and economic development and safeguard indigenous interests at a time of worsening internal conflict aggravated by white settler ambitions. Colonial rule, lasting until 1970, was marked by official efforts to protect indigenous village society and lands (now about 90 per cent of all land) through institutions in which chiefs were given administrative authority over most indigenous Fijians confined to subsistence living in rural villages. To enable the development of a modern economy, indentured workers were brought in from India, most to labour in sugar production, the principal industry, which was eventually monopolised by the Australian CSR Company.1 A majority chose to remain in the colony after their contracts expired and by the 1960s their descendants outnumbered indigenous Fijians, 51 per cent to 43 per cent. By then many Indians (Indo-Fijians) were succeeding in the market economy as small farmers, businessmen and professionals; many others were civil servants, but more were labourers. Most indigenous Fijians remained subsistence farmers with little access to money. But many others had become urban labourers, and there were increasing numbers in the urban middle class as civil servants, teachers, health workers, army and police officers, and

church officials. There are pronounced cultural differences between indigenous Fijians and Indo-Fijians, including those of religion, language (although English is generally spoken), family organisation and diet, and intermarriage is still very uncommon. Many Indo-Fijian farmers and businessmen are tenants of indigenous clans, and the negotiation of reforms to leasing conditions has long been a major political issue. Since colonial rule ended, ethnic differences in the workforce have been reduced to some extent, with nearly 50 per cent of both indigenous Fijians and Indo-Fijians now being urban dwellers. The change has strengthened the potential for inter-ethnic cooperation in trade unions and political parties, although there has also been a tendency for more ethnic competition and antagonism. While multi-ethnic trade unions have long been a feature of the industrial relations scene, this has not given rise to a strongly multi-ethnic political party.2 The colonial governors viewed indigenous Fijian interests as ‘paramount’, and in preparing Fiji for independence, the British3 were beset by the dilemma of how to accommodate the indigenous conviction of entitlement to political privilege, which they had encouraged, with a commitment to devising a constitution that would also be fair to the IndoFijians and others. This dilemma continued to be the major source of political instability long after independence, despite the large decrease of the Indo-Fijian population over the last three decades due to emigration.

From colonial to post-colonial Fiji, 1875–1987 Until 1966 Fiji was governed by an executive council of officials appointed by the governor; officials also predominated in the legislative council. Political representation on the non-officials side of the legislature was ethnically based (‘communal’), with Indo-Fijians, indigenous Fijians, and Europeans holding reserved seats. The Indo-Fijian leaders’ call for a common franchise, without reserved seats, to affirm equality with Europeans, was refused on the grounds that it would eventually allow Indo-Fijians to dominate. From 1937 until 1966 reserved seats were allocated in equal numbers despite Europeans forming only a tiny proportion of the population; from 1966, Europeans, Part-Europeans, and Chinese were grouped together

as General Electors (representing only 5 per cent of the population). While European and Indo-Fijian men had elected their delegates from 1904 and 1929 respectively, indigenous deputies were chosen by the Great Council of Chiefs until 1963, when indigenous Fijians were enfranchised.4 The vote was then also extended to women and property qualifications were abolished. From 1967 to 1970, elected political leaders of the mainly indigenous Fijian Alliance Party shared executive authority with colonial officials in a council of ministers, the precursor to party-based Cabinet government. The council was headed by Ratu Mara, the Alliance Party president. When the British began to prepare Fiji for self-government, they hoped to replace communal representation with a common franchise. This goal was soon abandoned in the face of vehement opposition from indigenous Fijian and European leaders, despite the push for the reform from the most popular Indo-Fijian leaders. The indigenous leaders’ opposition raised fears of the possibility of violent upheaval, especially in the event of disaffection in the predominantly indigenous Fijian army. The constitution for an independent Fiji, based upon conciliatory dialogue between opposed political parties, gave equal representation to indigenous Fijians and Indo-Fijians by reserved seats in a House of Representatives, along with a limited veto power for Great Council of Chiefs delegates to an upper house (Senate). General Electors’ seats were reduced. From 1966 to 1987 all voters were members of large multi-ethnic (‘crossvoting’ or ‘national’) electorates in addition to their membership in the more numerous communal electorates. However, with the seats in the former also ethnically reserved, the outcome of elections could not affect the ethnic proportions in Parliament. There were no ethnic restrictions for the appointment of the prime minister or the governor-general. Elections have been contested by political parties mainly since 1966. Although most political associations have been ethnic in composition, or almost exclusively so, coalitions have sometimes brought such groups together. The Alliance Party, which under Ratu Sir Kamisese Mara ruled Fiji from 1970 to 1987, is the outstanding example, though it was supported mainly by indigenous Fijians. Another inter-ethnic coalition, only briefly successful, was the alliance between the predominantly Indo-Fijian Labour

Party and several mainly indigenous Fijian parties, which in 1999 defeated a coalition of Sitiveni Rabuka’s indigenous SVT party and Jai Ram Reddy’s almost entirely Indo-Fijian National Federation Party. In the 25 years before independence, colonial officials strengthened the indigenous Fijian position in two arms of the state: the Fijian Administration and the Royal Fiji Military Forces, linked by several chiefs who had served in both. The Fijian Administration, in close relationship with the Council of Chiefs, supported a political elite of high-ranking chiefs who, in the context of ethnic tension, preserved their dominance of indigenous leadership after the advent of party politics and the indigenous Fijian franchise. Their lieutenants in the Fijian Association, the dominant body in the Alliance Party, campaigned in the villages to persuade acceptance of the Alliance as the means by which indigenous Fijians would secure political power when colonial rule drew to an end. It was in the electoral arena that the ability of these leaders to accommodate the interests of non-indigenous groups, especially the IndoFijians, was eventually weakened by the emergence of the Fijian Nationalist Party (FNP). Formed in 1974, the FNP protested that the independence constitution did not guarantee that indigenous Fijians would always hold political power. The nationalists denounced Ratu Mara and his fellow leading chiefs for having betrayed their people’s trust, both on the constitutional issue and by their neglect of indigenous economic development. The extremist pressure, together with economic and social changes transforming indigenous Fijian needs and expectations, worsened ethnic tension and began to erode the strength of the chiefs in national political leadership. Mara cut back his efforts to broaden his modest IndoFijian support in order to better secure his indigenous following; Indo-Fijian votes for the Alliance fell from 24 per cent in 1972 to 16 per cent in subsequent elections. By contrast, the army was strengthened from the early post-colonial decades, in size, weaponry and the experience of its personnel. Major ingredients were UN peacekeeping work and political interventions in Fiji. The military has sometimes been led by high-ranking chiefs, and has had strong affinities with traditional indigenous society and the colonial Fijian Administration in its hierarchical structure and communal values. It has also

long been a domain in which commoners can achieve status and career advancement, or at least economic security, and thus many indigenous families have army ties. Although the army is open to recruits from any ethnic background, it continues to be an overwhelmingly indigenous body. While attempts by indigenous Fijians, chiefly and non-chiefly, to become leaders for a multi-ethnic Fiji have been frustrated by extremist challengers, indigenous extremism helped to strengthen the army as a political force by providing a springboard for the seizure of power, initially in support of ethno-nationalist demands, but later in opposition to them. The combination of an indigenous Fijian conviction of entitlement to political power and an indigenous army has obvious potential for the creation of an oppressive ethnocentric regime, which eventuated with Sitiveni Rabuka’s coups in 1987.

The impact of coups d’état, 1987–2006 From 1987 onwards, the political process went beyond competition and decision-making within the limits of constitutional rules. Coups d’état influenced by militant indigenous nationalism, giving rise to crises and attempts to resolve them, became a familiar feature of political life. The army, the Great Council of Chiefs, the head of state (president), and the law courts all became key actors in the political arena, engaged in the management of the crises and the restoration of political order. The advent for the first time of an elected government based mainly on Indo-Fijian votes provoked an aggressive indigenous protest movement, and the first military coup, in May 1987, in defence of indigenous political paramountcy. In 1990 the coup leader, Rabuka, and the Great Council of Chiefs approved a new constitution that established indigenous political dominance. This constitution was replaced in 1997 by an ethnically more balanced and liberal document in a reform process led by Rabuka, acting in response to economic and political difficulties in Fiji and to Western diplomatic pressures. The 1990s was a period of astonishing change, from ethnic nationalism triumphant to liberal democratic reform. Under the 1997 constitution, the third for post-colonial Fiji, 25 of the 71 members of the House of Representatives held non-reserved (‘open’) seats in multi-ethnic electorates.

The 1999 elections were Fiji’s first experience of a partial common franchise for parliamentary elections.5 However, 46 members of the House continued to be elected on a communal basis: 23 indigenous Fijians and 19 Indo-Fijians, proportions that, in relation to Fiji’s population, slightly favoured the Indo-Fijians. Three members were elected by General Electors, now including Pacific Islanders not native to Fiji as well as Chinese, Europeans and part-Europeans; in addition, one member represented the island of Rotuma.6 Every elector had two votes: one in a communal electorate and one in a larger multi-ethnic division. Voting was now compulsory for citizens aged 21 and over, although the rule was not strenuously enforced. A preferential voting system (the ‘alternative vote’) allowed an elector to favour more than one candidate for a seat by ranking them; most did so by endorsing a political party’s preferences. This voting method encouraged strategic alliances even between ideologically opposed parties, which cooperated in persuading their supporters to endorse preferences for the allied party under the principle that ‘our enemy’s enemy is our friend’. Such alliances often did not survive conflict over legislative proposals and leadership rivalries, a weakness that contributed to the overthrow of Prime Minister Mahendra Chaudhry’s Labour Party government in May 2000. Members of the Senate were appointed by the president of Fiji, who was chosen by the Great Council of Chiefs. Nearly half the Senate members were appointed on the advice of this body and most of the remainder on the advice of the prime minister and leader of the opposition. Qualifications for the offices of president, vice-president and prime minister were not restricted by ethnicity. However, the president and vice-president have always been highranking Fijian chiefs. The 1997 constitution provided for a multi-party Cabinet. Parties winning at least 4 per cent of seats in the House of Representatives were entitled to Cabinet seats in proportion to their strength in the House. The deep ethnic and ideological political divide made this rule a very contentious issue, leading to acrimonious disputes about which portfolios should be assigned to minority parties. In 2004, the principal opponent of the indigenous Fijian-dominated government, the Indo-Fijian leader of the Labour Party, Mahendra Chaudhry, refused minor portfolios offered by Prime

Minister Laisenia Qarase. After the 2006 elections the Labour principals were divided when, despite their leader’s opposition, several accepted Qarase’s offers. The split was one of the factors that encouraged the army takeover in December that year. Although a decade after his coup Rabuka reinvented himself as an enthusiastic restorer of multi-ethnic democracy, his failure to convince most indigenous Fijians of the wisdom of his broadened vision contributed to the electoral defeat of his government in May 1999. The new ‘open’ seats and the preferential voting method, together with an unprecedented degree of rivalry among indigenous Fijians, enabled victory by a multi-ethnic political coalition based predominantly on Indo-Fijian votes, repeating the outcome of the 1987 elections (when the largely Indo-Fijian Fiji Labour Party, led by an indigenous Fijian, Timoci Bavadra, won the election). For the first time Fiji had an Indo-Fijian prime minister, Labour Party leader Mahendra Chaudhry, with an election win based mainly on Indo-Fijian votes; a majority of his Cabinet appointees, however, were indigenous Fijians. A year later the new government was overthrown by an indigenous civilian, George Speight, supported by several members of a small army unit. However, the expected strong military backup did not eventuate. While the coup makers held government leaders hostage for two months, the army commander, Voreqe Bainimarama, endeavoured to manage the crisis. He overcame incipient division within his army, claimed to abrogate the constitution, and persuaded the president (Ratu Sir Kamisese Mara) to step aside. He then appointed an acting president and a governing council composed almost exclusively of indigenous Fijians, and eventually arrested the coup perpetrators. Bainimarama’s mentor, the previous commander Ratu Epeli Ganilau, had endeavoured to instil in his army a professional ethos opposed to political partisanship and intervention. Appointed army commander early in 1999, Bainimarama was resolved to continue with this mission. The crisis of 2000 confronted him with a traumatic test as indigenous nationalism threatened both his command and his life. The worst threat came several months after the release of the hostages and the arrest of Speight, when members of the small army unit that had executed the coup attempted a mutiny. It was quickly

crushed, but eight soldiers were killed and Bainimarama was fired on as he fled the barracks with loyal officers. The prolonged violent instability in 2000 dramatised the destructive force of indigenous extremism. Bainimarama realised his vulnerability but also his capacity to manage the crisis. The upheaval was the crucible that shaped his determination to use his army to prevent a recurrence and to monitor future government. Although initially sympathetic to the objectives of advancing indigenous interests, including further constitutional reform to secure their political pre-eminence, he resolved to ensure prosecution of all who had been involved in the 2000 coup effort and mutiny. Toward the end of 2000, Fiji’s courts began to play a major part in the political process. The High Court, acting on an Indo-Fijian farmer’s petition, defended by local and international lawyers, ruled that the constitution remained in place and that therefore the pre-coup Parliament should be reinstated. In February 2001, the decision was upheld by the Court of Appeal, headed by a panel of five judges from overseas. However, the acting president, Ratu Iloilo, after consulting with the Great Council of Chiefs (GCC), and with the army’s support, authorised the interim government of Laisenia Qarase, installed in 2000 by Bainimarama, to continue until fresh elections could be held (within a few months). Re-instatement of the precoup Parliament, he argued, would lead to instability and violence. Several months later the High Court, under a new judge, dismissed a case against the president’s decision, asserting that ‘to turn back the clock … would create a legal and administrative nightmare … and a wholly unacceptable risk to the peace and welfare of the nation …’7 Elections in August 2001 confirmed in power the indigenous leaders of the interim government. Backed by their new political party, Soqosoqo Duavata ni Lewenivanua (SDL), they were returned to office in May 2006 by nearly 80 per cent of indigenous voters. Six months later they were deposed by the army commander on the grounds that they supported nationalist goals and amnesty or lenient treatment for coup activists. Bainimarama had claimed independent authority to monitor the performance of Qarase and had been in deepening conflict with him over several years. His mission, he declared, was to combat indigenous nationalism and to establish ‘good governance’. Soon after seizing power he was appointed prime minister by

the acting president Ratu Iloilo. He then embarked on a ‘clean up campaign’ against the alleged corruption and inefficiency of the deposed government. Bainimarama’s political takeover marked the ending of chiefly preeminence in Fiji’s political life. The GCC soon came into conflict with him over their rejection of his requests for their approval, particularly of his nominee for vice-president. In 1987 the military had taken power in defence of chiefly leadership after the defeat of Ratu Mara’s Alliance Party government, and Rabuka depended on the GCC and the leading chiefs for help in establishing a new government. But in the crisis of 2000, when Mara was 80 years old and ailing and the GCC was divided, the army held a central place in the political process. Following the 2006 coup, two years after the death of Mara – the last of the four high chiefs who had headed the Alliance Party – the military’s supremacy was dramatised by Bainimarama’s contemptuous dismissal of the GCC, the long hallowed body on which those chiefs had relied in their leadership of indigenous Fijians. He suspended the GCC and planned to reform its recruitment and functions to bring it under state control; ultimately he declared it abolished.8 The regime’s work over the next few years included a long-running project to produce a ‘People’s Charter for Change, Peace and Progress’, with proposals for improvements in different areas of national life, including guidelines for future elections, political parties and government.9 There was emphasis particularly on ending ethnic discrimination and indigenous extremism. Bainimarama’s stand on these issues was driven especially by the threat of indigenous extremism to his control of the army and to his life during the 2000 crisis. Other factors encouraging his commitment to reforms were the greatly decreased Indo-Fijian population over nearly 30 years and the regime’s need for a self-validating ideology and policy agenda. The People’s Charter and a new constitution decreed in 2013 prepared the way for the return to parliamentary elections. In October 2008 the High Court dismissed a case brought by deposed prime minister Qarase against President Ratu Josefa Iloilo’s actions in ratifying Bainimarama’s coup and appointing him as prime minister. The judges found that the president’s decisions were ‘lawful acts in exercise of [his] prerogative powers … to act for the public good in a crisis’. It is likely that the judges were influenced by fear of harmful consequences for Fiji were

they to rule that the regime was illegal: perhaps a stronger exercise of military power and termination of the steps being taken toward a return to democratic government. The overall impression conveyed by their report is of sympathy for the commander’s actions. Many pages are devoted to his self-justifications, but only two to a negative consideration of Qarase’s case. 10

That judgment set a dangerous precedent for the validation of future military interventions. In April 2009, however, the Court of Appeal, with judges from Australia, overturned the High Court’s ruling, finding that the interim government appointed after the 2006 coup was indeed illegal.11 Bainimarama declared that he accepted the new ruling and would await the decision of the president, an elderly and ailing chief widely viewed to be acting at the army leader’s direction. Within hours of the court decision, the president announced that he was abolishing the 1997 Constitution and appointing himself head of state under ‘a new legal order … to provide stability and the opportunity to carry out reforms which are crucial before true democratic elections can be held’.12 He would rule by decree through the reappointed Bainimarama regime until a return to elected government by September 2014. Members of the judiciary were dismissed, to be replaced by new appointments (including some of the dismissed judges), and all lawyers were required to declare their allegiance to the regime. The media were placed under tight censorship.

The 2013 Constitution The regime began the process of creating a new constitution by appointing a commission headed by an internationally respected constitutional law expert, Professor Yash Ghai. Their work was to be guided by ‘non-negotiable’ objectives and principles set out in a regime decree: the necessity for equality of citizen rights, the prohibition of discrimination, a common franchise, social justice, a secular state, an independent judiciary, and immunity from prosecution for all who had participated in the military takeover or in the resulting regime.13 Drawing partly on submissions from several hundred groups and individuals, the Commission produced a draft constitution in December 2012.

The regime leaders quickly rejected the document, ostensibly for having ‘non-democratic’ elements. The draft proposed a ‘People’s Assembly’ of representatives from civil society to broaden input into deliberations of Parliament and government. It would offer advice and suggestions and join with Parliament to elect the president of Fiji, intended to be a ceremonial office. The other ‘non-democratic’ element was the proposed resurrection of the Great Council of Chiefs. This body, too, would have no authority but simply advise ‘any state organ’ on indigenous Fijian culture and language and ‘promote understanding of i Taukei [indigenous] culture … in a manner consistent with the multicultural character of Fiji’.14 The new military commander dismissed the draft for not including a guardian role for the military as demanded in its submission, and for proposing a reduction in the size of the army.15 Also unacceptable were requirements that members of the security forces refuse ‘manifestly illegal orders’ and that, to secure immunity from prosecution for past involvement in establishing or maintaining a government ‘otherwise than in accordance with law’, people must renounce their actions and sign an undertaking to ‘bear true allegiance to the Republic of Fiji and uphold and obey the constitution’. Problematic, too, for the regime (though it did not publicly say so) was that the draft document allowed little political control over appointments to the civil service and judiciary. Declaring the Commission’s work ‘discredited’, the regime embarked on its own constitution design project. A long promised ‘Constituent Assembly’, representing ‘the diversity of the people of Fiji’, was to be appointed by the prime minister to review a new draft. This did not eventuate and early in 2013 a constitution was produced with the guidance of the regime’s legal experts. It incorporated some elements of the Commission’s draft, while excluding many other clauses, including those mentioned above. The major positive feature of the constitution is its emphasis on equality among Fiji’s citizens. All citizens are now called ‘Fijians’, and indigenous Fijians have been officially re-named ‘i Taukei’ (original owners of the land). Ethnic discrimination is outlawed, and there is a common electoral franchise for parliamentary elections. The army is recognised as an independent authority in governance with ‘the overall responsibility … to ensure at all times the security, defence and

well-being of Fiji and all Fijians’.16 Immunity provisions are well-secured against possible future legislative or judicial interference. Amendments to the constitution require the support of three-quarters of MPs, with the immunity clauses excluded from this possibility. A conspicuous feature of the constitution, in stark contrast with its abolished predecessor, is political control over appointments to key offices in the government and judiciary. The president of Fiji appoints these personnel in accordance with the advice of the prime minister and attorneygeneral, or of the Constitutional Offices Commission or the Judicial Services Commission, in both of which the prime minister and attorney-general enjoy strong influence. The offices so appointed are significant, including the chief justice, the president of the Court of Appeal, the High Court and Supreme Court judges; members of the Public Service Commission, the Electoral Commission and the Human Rights Commission; the Commissioner of Police and the Commander of the Military; the Auditor-General and the governor of the Reserve Bank. Appointments and removals of permanent secretaries must be approved by the prime minister. A ‘Bill of Rights’ recognises a wide range of citizens’ rights, but they are subject to more limitations than under the 1997 Constitution and the latter’s restriction on such limitation is absent from the new constitution: namely, the requirement that any abridgement must be ‘reasonable and justifiable in a free and democratic society’. The Citizens’ Constitutional Forum (a leading NGO in Fiji) asserts that ‘the protection of rights … is weak’ because Parliament is given ‘an almost unqualified right to limit the rights and freedoms which it confers’. In particular, labour rights are ‘severely restricted’ to an extent ‘rare in other democratic constitutions’, keeping in force restrictions ‘in existing decrees which have been strongly criticised by the International Labour Organisation’.17 Amnesty International concluded that Fiji’s new constitution ‘fails to protect fundamental human rights’.18 Many indigenous Fijians are troubled by the weakening of protection for indigenous interests in land, marine resources and customary law. The constitutions of 1970 and 1997 included strong protection, especially by giving a limited veto authority to Great Council of Chiefs representatives in the Senate. These institutions – the GCC and the Senate – have been abolished, and many indigenous Fijians view as inadequate the new ‘Bill of

Rights’ clause protecting customary land from permanent alienation other than to the state (in specified circumstances). The constitution established a Parliament of 50 members, elected for four years by a common franchise with a minimum voting age of 18. Voting is not compulsory. For the first time, there are no ethnically-reserved seats; all seats are in one nationwide constituency (in contrast to numerous constituencies in the past). There is, as noted, no longer an upper house. The president of Fiji, essentially a ceremonial office, is chosen by Parliament from two nominees: one proposed by the prime minister, the other by the leader of the opposition. The common franchise is the most radical change and also the most ironic. Once anathema to indigenous Fijians as the emblem of Indo-Fijian political ambition, the common franchise now takes central place in the ideology of a mainly indigenous Fijian government. The Indo-Fijian demographic decline by emigration since the first military coup (of 1987) favoured the reform, for in 2015 indigenous Fijians made up nearly 60 per cent of the population, in contrast to 43 per cent when Fiji was approaching independence. Also favourable was the strengthening of indigenous power in the state, independently of electoral politics, in the form of the military as a political agent. Under the new open-list proportional representation system, electors vote for individual candidates, marking a ballot paper that identifies candidates only by numbers which have been publicised with names and faces during the campaigning. Seats are allocated in proportion to the total votes received by political parties (or independent candidates). To gain a seat in Parliament a party or an independent candidate must win at least 5 per cent of the votes; a party candidate’s prospects for securing a seat depend on the total votes cast for the party’s candidates. Political parties must have a total of at least 5,000 signed-up members, drawn from each of Fiji’s four administrative divisions (with minimum numbers specified for each), and pay a registration fee of $F5005. An official ‘code of conduct’ requires party names to be in English and prohibits campaigning that encourages antagonism or discrimination against ethnic or religious groups. Parties must promote ‘national patriotism and national unity … human dignity, social justice, equality and nondiscrimination …’.19

The 2014 elections For the September 2014 elections, Fiji’s first since May 2006, there were 591,101 registered electors, or 95 per cent of people eligible to register; 84 per cent of them voted. Polling was completed in a single day. Of the 248 candidates, 246 were sponsored by political parties. By far the strongest of the seven parties was the one established by the Bainimarama regime, Fiji First. The Social Democratic Liberal Party (SODELPA) was the principal opposition party, led by one of Fiji’s highest ranking indigenous chiefs, Ro Teimumu Kepa, a woman, with the traditional title Roko Tui Dreketi. Fiji First, with a multi-ethnic slate of candidates and strongly multiethnic vote support, won a large majority (32) of the 50 seats, attracting 59.2 per cent of valid votes, with Bainimarama himself winning 70 per cent of the party’s votes and 41 per cent of all valid votes. Seventeen of its 29 indigenous candidates and 14 of its 17 Indo-Fijian candidates gained seats. One of the most striking features of the elections was the vast majority of Indo-Fijian voters rejecting their old parties (National Federation Party [NFP] and Labour) in favour of Fiji First. It is estimated that about 40 per cent of indigenous Fijian votes also went to Fiji First. Several factors contributed to the party’s success. Bainimarama’s military-based regime has often acted repressively against dissent and has rejected calls for greater transparency and accountability. However, it was able to exploit the resources of incumbency to strengthen its advantage over opponents. It is widely viewed in Fiji, even by its critics, as having achieved some positive changes for the country through its stand against ethnic discrimination; by infrastructure developments improving conditions in rural areas, particularly for Indigenous Fijians; and by various social welfare programmes implemented or promised. Also a factor was a fear of the consequences for political stability and economic progress were Fiji First to lose. SODELPA was led and supported mainly by indigenous Fijians and was concerned in its campaigning to appeal to indigenous interests, particularly discontent with certain actions of the regime, such as extending the name ‘Fijian’ to all citizens, abolishing the Great Council of Chiefs, and reforms to native lands management. The party drew 28.2 per cent of valid votes,

including around 60 per cent of all indigenous votes, mostly from older voters. All 15 of its successful candidates were indigenous Fijians. Of its 48 candidates, only four were Indo-Fijians; one was a Part-European. The IndoFijian candidates gained scarcely 1 per cent of the party’s votes. The NFP, with 49 candidates (30 Indo-Fijians and 19 indigenous Fijians), received only 5.4 per cent of the valid votes, enough for three seats (gained by two Indo-Fijians and one indigenous Fijian). No other political party was able to win a seat. The People’s Democratic Party, with 46 candidates (30 of them indigenous Fijians), won only 3.2 per cent of valid votes. The once strong Fiji Labour Party stood 37 candidates (22 IndoFijians and 15 indigenous Fijians) but won a mere 2.4 per cent of the vote. The remaining 1.6 per cent went to two independents and two party candidates. The new Parliament included 32 indigenous Fijians, 16 Indo-Fijians, and two other members. There were eight women MPs. Five of the 15 Cabinet ministers and two of the five assistant ministers were Indo-Fijians (in the 12member Cabinet of 2013 there had been only two). Six of the ten indigenous Fijian Cabinet ministers, and one of the two indigenous assistant ministers, were from the military. Two Cabinet ministers and two assistant ministers were women.20 A major feature of the election was greater multi-ethnic collaboration and multi-ethnic party support than in the past. For all the criticism justifiably levelled against it for many of its actions since the 2006 coup, the regime could claim success in making a start on reducing the ethnic polarisation that had long marred parliamentary elections. The Multinational Observer Group (MOG) saw no ‘significant irregularities in the counting process’, finding that the election ‘was conducted in an atmosphere of calm, with an absence of electoral misconduct or evident intimidation’. The MOG found that ‘the restrictive media framework, including potentially harsh maximum penalties, limited the media’s ability to rigorously examine the claims of candidates and parties’. It nonetheless concluded that the election outcome ‘broadly represented the will of the voters’. The six opposition parties together alleged that the elections had not been free and fair, claiming some malpractice in the management of ballot boxes, but did not take further action.21

Fiji’s return to constitutional democratic government led to the ending of international sanctions, imposed following the 2006 coup. The regime’s abolition of the former constitution had led to the country’s suspension from the Pacific Islands Forum (PIF) and from the Commonwealth, and regime members were banned from entering New Zealand and Australia. These sanctions have been lifted (although Fiji’s government declined to resume full participation in the PIF unless Australia and New Zealand, founding members, were excluded). In 2013, partly in retaliation for its exclusion from Forum meetings, Bainimarama announced the establishment of another group, the Pacific Islands Development Forum – including all Forum members other than Australia and New Zealand – with the objective of promoting stronger cooperation between Fiji and neighbouring countries.22 Bainimarama’s response to disapproval from Western nations for the coup, with the accompanying sanctions regime, had been to alter Fiji’s international alignment, promoting stronger relations with China (which welcomed the prime minister to Beijing and initiated a range of projects involving aid, trade and Chinese investment). These relations have continued to strengthen even with the removal of sanctions and renewed Western relations with Fiji in the wake of constitutional change and the holding of parliamentary elections. Fiji’s altered international outlook reflects other steps taken to distance the country from its colonial experience: becoming a republic in October 1987 (under the Rabuka-led coup regime), with Queen Elizabeth II removed as head of state; the redesign of Fiji’s currency (its coins and banknotes) in 2012–13, with the Queen replaced by images of indigenous flora and fauna; and moves to introduce a new flag, announced by the prime minister in February 2015, with the only clear design imperative being the removal of the Union Jack link to Great Britain.

Conclusion As in all modern Pacific polities, the continuing challenge for political leaders in Fiji has been to devise viable adaptations of Western models of political democracy suited to local conditions. Fiji’s political institutions have been evolving through the management of crises in which the indigenous Fijian Great Council of Chiefs and the army have played major parts, along

with Parliament, political parties, the head of state, and the courts. The dilemma at the centre of this process has been a legacy of colonial rule: the problem of reconciling an ideology of indigenous entitlement to political power with the reality of a multi-ethnic society in which economic power has been held largely in non-indigenous hands. This dilemma has repeatedly fractured Fiji’s constitutional order and was the major factor contributing to the army’s emergence as a political agent, initially in support of Fijian nationalism, later on in opposition to it. Past efforts to develop strongly multi-ethnic parties proved unsuccessful, obstructed mainly by indigenous nationalism. The possibility of a government committed to the welfare of the multi-ethnic society, to the limited extent that this was achieved, depended on the preservation of indigenous Fijian political control (as in Mara’s government, from 1970 to 1987). Ethnic Fijian power, in some institutional form, would seem to be the necessary keystone in Fiji’s political architecture. For many years leading chiefs and the GCC provided this. But they failed to reconcile the need to secure indigenous support with the task of building national political leadership. This failure contributed to the electoral success of the mainly Indo-Fijian based Labour Party–National Federation Party coalition in 1987, which provoked aggressive indigenous protests and the first military coup. Since that time indigenous power in the state has shifted from the chiefs to the ‘warriors’ – some of them also chiefs – via political and social disorder precipitated by militant ethnic nationalism. Rabuka’s military was deeply identified with that nationalism, which helped defeat his later attempt to retain government through an inter-ethnic political alliance. Bainimarama, provoked by ethno-nationalism’s threat to his command and his life, succeeded in reshaping the identity of the army as an autonomous political agent, taking upon itself authority as guardian for the government and the development of a multi-ethnic nation. The present military leadership places great value on its commitment to this mission for the army’s corporate identity. It is a commitment, which carries with it a disposition to possibly intervene again in the political process. Bainimarama has emphasised that the army is a crucial part of his regime. Senior officers have claimed an authority to monitor future government and defend the constitution. As the constitution was remade and

preparations were underway for the return to elections, military leaders indicated their readiness to take control if they believed national interests to be at risk. The potential for this has been strengthened by the status and prerogative accorded to the military in the new constitution. Although no longer its commander, Bainimarama continues to be the dominant political influence on the army. A government that, with army backing, continues to oppose ethnic discrimination and to promote economic development will be a strong positive factor for the country. There are no indications that the direction of Fiji’s government is likely to change. A negative factor for the future of democratic government in Fiji would be continuing restricted media freedom to investigate and comment on the actions, interests and failings of leading members of the government and the military. A free and fearless mass media remains essential for ensuring transparency and accountability by the holders of power who, over the last few years, have become comfortably accustomed to freedom from robust public scrutiny.

Further reading Alley, Roderic, ‘Fiji’s Coups of 1987 and 2000: A Comparison’, Revue Juridique Polynésienne, numéro hors série, vol. 1, 2001, pp. 217–234. Baledrokadroka, Jone, ‘The Super Confederacy: The Military in Fiji’s Politics’, The Round Table, vol. 104, no. 2, 2015, pp. 127–136. Firth, Stewart, ‘The Fiji Elections of 2014: Rights, Representation and Legitimacy in Fiji Politics’, The Round Table, vol. 104, no. 2, 2015, pp. 101–112. Fraenkel, Jon, ‘An Analysis of Provincial, Urban, and Ethnic Loyalties in Fiji’s 2014 election’, The Journal of Pacific History, vol. 50, no.1, 2015, pp. 38–53. Fraenkel, Jon, ‘The Fiji coups of December 2006: who, what, where and why’, in Jon Fraenkel and Stewart Firth (eds), From Elections to Coup in Fiji: The 2006 Campaign and its Aftermath, Canberra, Asia Pacific Press, 2007. Fraenkel, Jon, ‘The Remorseless Power of Incumbency in Fiji’s September 2014 Election’, The Round Table, vol. 104, no. 2, 2015, pp. 151–164. Fraenkel, Jon and Stewart Firth (eds), From Election to Coup in Fiji: The 2006 Campaign and its Aftermath, Canberra, Asia Pacific Press, 2007. Fraenkel, Jon, Stewart Firth and Brij Lal (eds), The 2006 Military Takeover in Fiji: A Coup to End All Coups?, Canberra, Australian National University Press, 2009. International Bar Association, Human Rights Institute, Dire Straits: A report on the rule of law in Fiji, March 2009, at www.ibanet.org.

Lal, Brij, Broken Waves: A History of Fiji in the 20th Century, Honolulu, University of Hawai‘i Press, 1992. Lal, Brij, Another Way: The Politics of Constitutional Reform in Post-Coup Fiji, Canberra, Asia Pacific Press, 1998. Lal, Brij, ‘In Frank Bainimarama’s Shadow: Fiji, Elections and the Future’, The Journal of Pacific History, vol. 49, no. 4, 2014, pp. 457–468. Lal, Brij (ed.), ‘Special Issue: Fiji: Elections and the Future’, The Round Table, vol. 104, no. 2, 2015, pp. 85–220. Larson, Erik, ‘Fiji’s 2014 parliamentary election’, Electoral Studies, vol. 38, 2014, pp. 235–239. Lawson, Stephanie, The Failure of Democratic Politics in Fiji, Oxford, Clarendon Press, 1991. Lawson, Stephanie and Elizabeth Hagan Lawson, ‘Chiefly Leadership in Fiji: Past, Present and Future’, Australian National University, SSGM Discussion Paper 2015/5. Nanau, Gordon Leua, ‘Representative Democracy, The Constitution and Electoral Engineering in Fiji: 2014 and Beyond’, The Journal of Pacific Studies, vol. 35, no. 2, 2015, pp. 17–34. Norton, Robert, Race and Politics in Fiji, 2nd edition, St Lucia, University of Queensland Press, 1990. Norton, Robert, ‘Reconciling Ethnicity and Nation: Contending discourses in Fiji’s constitutional reform’, The Contemporary Pacific, vol. 12, no. 1, 2000, pp. 83–122. Norton, Robert, ‘Accommodating Indigenous Privilege: Britain’s dilemma in decolonising Fiji’, The Journal of Pacific History, vol. 37, no. 2, 2002, pp. 133–156. Norton, Robert, ‘The Changing Role of the Great Council of Chiefs’, in Jon Fraenkel and Stewart Firth (eds), The 2006 Military Takeover in Fiji: A Coup to End all Coups?, Canberra, Australian National University Press, 2009. Robertson, Robbie and William Sutherland, Government By the Gun: The Unfinished Business of Fiji’s 2000 Coup, Annandale, New South Wales, Pluto Press, 2001. Scarr, Deryck, Tuimacilai: A life of Ratu Sir Kamisese Mara, Adelaide, Crawford House, 2008. Citizens’ Constitutional Forum, http://news.ccf.org.fj/ The Constitution Commission, http://www.c-r.org/downloads/ConstitutionCommission_Fiji_CivicEducati on_Flyer.pdf Constitution of the Republic of Fiji (2013), http://www.paclii.org/fj/Fiji-Constitution-English-2013.pdf Parliament of the Republic of Fiji, http://www.parliament.gov.fj/ The Fijian Government, http://www.fiji.gov.fj/ The Permanent Mission of Fiji to the United Nations, http://www.fijiprun.org/ Fiji Sun online, http://fijisun.com.fj/ The Fiji Times Online, http://www.fijitimes.com/

Notes 1 The company sold out to the Fiji Government in 1973. 2 The Fiji Labour Party has had a multi-ethnic leadership but predominantly Indo-Fijian popular support. 3 When speaking of ‘the British’ I refer to the UK officials in Fiji or London. The term ‘Europeans’ is used for white residents of Fiji.

4 The Council of Chiefs (later the Great Council of Chiefs: GCC) was established in 1876 as a consultative body by the first British governor, Sir Arthur Gordon, and influenced the formulation of regulations for indigenous administration and land. Commoners were eventually admitted as representatives of urban dwellers, the churches and trade unions. After independence, indigenous Fijians elected to Parliament, including many commoners, became ex-officio members. Following the coups of 1987 the GCC was remade as an assembly exclusively of chiefs. From the late colonial period until the 1990s, several high chiefs – leaders in the Alliance Party – enjoyed a dominant influence in the GCC. Most GCC members were deeply ethnocentric in outlook, and the GCC endorsed the coup demands for indigenous political power in both 1987 and 2000. Yet its strength as a protective authority linked to both traditional leadership and to the state sometimes aided efforts by indigenous leaders to achieve inter-ethnic accommodation, the GCC being persuaded to approve reforms that made compromises with non-indigenous interests, especially in relation to the leasing of land and to political representation. 5 The common franchise had been introduced for town government many years earlier. 6 The island of Rotuma, politically part of Fiji since 1881, is culturally distinct from the rest of the country, with Rotumans a recognised minority group within Fiji. 7 For the court reports for November 2000, February 2001, and July 2001, see www.paclii.org/database s.html. 8 Bainimarama continued to rely on two high chiefs and former army commanders: his mentor Ratu Epeli Ganilau and Ratu Epeli Nailatikau (Fiji’s president until 2015). 9 The People’s Charter was based partly on citizens’ submissions, research projects and public workshops: see www.fiji.gov.fj/Govt-Publications/PeoplesCharter.aspx. 10 For the court report, see www.paclii.org/databases.html. For commentaries on the ruling, see George Williams, Graham Leung, Anthony Regan and Jon Fraenkel, ‘Courts and Coups in Fiji: The 2008 High Court Judgement in Qarase v Bainimarama’, SSGM Discussion Paper 2008/10: ips.cap.anu.edu.au/s sgm. 11 For the Court of Appeal decision, see www.paclii.org/databases.html. 12 Fiji Sun, 11 April 2009, p. 27. 13 Decree No. 57 of 2012, Government of Fiji Gazette, 18 July 2012. 14 The Yash Ghai draft constitution – Constitution Commission of Fiji, Draft Constitution of Fiji, 2013, Sunday, 16 December 2012 – is available at: http://www.lowyinterpreter.org/file.axd?file=2013%2F 1%2FFiji+Draft+Constitution.pdf. On 22 December 2012, 600 copies of the draft constitution were destroyed by soldiers in front of Ghai to prevent, they said, unauthorised public distribution. 15 The military had insisted in its submission that it must have an ‘overarching role’ and be ‘the guidance of the governance of this country’. 16 Constitution of the Republic of Fiji (2013), 131 (2). The clause is almost identical to a clause in the 1990 constitution introduced after Rabuka’s coup. 17 Citizens’ Constitutional Forum (Fiji), ‘An Analysis: 2013 Fiji Government Constitution’, September 2013, www.cf.org.fj. 18 Amnesty International, ‘Fiji: New constitution fails human rights’, 5 September 2013. 19 Decree No. 4 of 2013, Government of Fiji Gazette, 15 January 2013. 20 Of the 22 permanent secretaries, 16 are indigenous Fijians; five are Indo-Fijians. There is only one woman. 21 The Multinational Observer Group’s 92 observers – from 13 countries, the European Union and the Melanesian Spearhead Group – divided into teams for local observations, visiting 31 per cent of the

several hundred polling stations. The MOG’s final report on the elections is available at http://pidp.eas twestcenter.org/pireport. 22 For more on Fiji’s foreign relations, see Stephanie Lawson, ‘Fiji’s Foreign Relations: Retrospect and Prospect’, The Round Table, vol. 104, no. 2, 2015, pp. 209–220.

French Polynesia Lorenz Gonschor Lorenz Gonschor is a graduate student in political science at the University of Hawai‘i, in Honolulu, currently completing his PhD.

Background French Polynesia consists of about 120 islands in the central eastern Pacific, spread over a vast maritime area comparable in size to central Europe, Australia or the United States (excluding Alaska). The territory is made up of six archipelagos: the Windward Islands (Nia Matai), Leeward Islands (Raro Matai), Austral Islands (Tuhaa Pae), Tuamotu Islands, Mangareva (Gambier Islands) and Marquesas Islands (Henua Enana or Fenua Enata). The main island of Tahiti in the Windward Islands, with the capital Papeete, lies near the centre of the Polynesian triangle. Overall, the territory has a surface of 4,167 square kilometres and had 268,270 inhabitants in 2012.1 Approximately three quarters or more of the population are native Polynesians, while Chinese and European (mainly French) immigrants each make up about half of the rest. Unlike most other modern Polynesian polities, French Polynesia is an artificial entity, created through French colonisation, that does not correspond to any pre-colonial political, cultural or linguistic unit. This is one of the reasons why the colonial name ‘French Polynesia’ is still in use, given the unavailability of an indigenous name for the entire country. While the main island Tahiti has been the core polity of the area for over two centuries and the Tahitian language serves as a lingua franca on many of the

outer islands, some of the latter, especially the Marquesas Islands, maintain a distinct cultural identity to this day. With the advice of English Protestant missionaries, the high chief Pomare II formed an independent kingdom on Tahiti in 1815. In 1842, France forced a protectorate over the kingdom, which endured until 1880 when it became a French colony under the name of Établissements français de l’Océanie (EFO, French Establishments in Oceania). The various outer islands, some of which had formed their own native kingdoms, were annexed and incorporated into the EFO between 1880 and 1901. The Leeward Islands as well as Rurutu and Rimatara in the Austral Islands retained a special political status with their own legal systems until 1945. In that year, the EFO was transformed from a colony into a French Overseas Territory, which gained limited autonomy in 1957, together with a name change to French Polynesia.2 Pouvanaa a Oopa, the main political leader of the 1950s, became the founder of modern Tahitian political culture.3 In 1958, however, the autonomy was revoked and an authoritarian, quasicolonial system was restored, in order to facilitate the 1962 installation of a nuclear testing centre on the Tuamotu atolls of Moruroa and Fangataufa, which was operational between 1966 and 1996. Besides permanent environmental and health damage, nuclear testing caused a tremendous change in the economic and social structure of the territory, as the traditional economic system largely based on subsistence became replaced with an artificial mass consumption economy based on monetary transfers from Paris. 4

After long years of struggle against an inflexible colonial bureaucracy, the territory achieved a status of limited ‘autonomy of management’ in 1977, followed by one of increased ‘internal autonomy’ in 1984. After the end of nuclear testing, a new organic law in 1996 further extended the autonomy of the territorial government.5

Constitutional framework In March 2003, France undertook a major revision of its constitution with regard to overseas possessions. The category of Overseas Territory was abolished, replaced by that of Collectivité d’outre-mer (COM, Overseas

Collectivity). As a COM under article 74 of the constitution, French Polynesia is part of the French Republic, but subject to special regulations and a specific political organisation outlined in an organic law, with an extensive range of powers to be devolved to them from the French national government.6 French laws do not apply automatically to the territory unless specific legislation is passed to extend French laws to it. In accordance with this constitutional amendment, an organic law for French Polynesia was enacted in 2004, and partially revised in 2007 and 2011. French Polynesia is therein defined as an ‘Overseas Country (Pays d’outre-mer, POM) within the French Republic’, which ‘governs itself freely and democratically’.7

Political institutions According to the organic law of French Polynesia, there exist three levels of political administration: the French State, the country (formerly called the territory) and the municipalities. The French State is represented through a High Commissioner appointed by the French Government. The High Commissioner heads an administrative apparatus that executes the responsibilities of the French State (i.e., those not delegated to the country government). On the country level, the executive consists of the president of French Polynesia and a government composed of up to ten ministers (including a vice-president) appointed by the president. The legislative branch includes the Assembly of French Polynesia and the Economic Social and Cultural Council (CESC). The Assembly consists of 57 representatives, elected by the population for a five-year term. Its responsibilities include the vote of the country’s budget and so-called ‘country laws’ which have a status similar, but judicially inferior, to French laws. The president of French Polynesia is elected by the Assembly, normally for its full five-year term of office, but can be overthrown and replaced with another candidate through a motion of no confidence, similar to a prime minister in a parliamentary system. The CESC is composed of representatives of various economic, social and cultural interest groups (employers’ associations, trade unions, civil society organisations, etc.). Its prerogative is to advise the Assembly in the lawmaking process.8

The country is subdivided into 48 municipalities, each headed by a mayor elected indirectly by a popularly elected municipal council. Some of the municipalities are subdivided into sub-municipalities, headed by delegate mayors. The responsibilities of the municipalities are generally similar to those in metropolitan France, including public infrastructure, utilities, elementary education and the lowest level of police.9 Since French law allows the holding of two elected offices concurrently, most leading politicians of the country are also mayors of their home municipality. The electoral conquest of a town hall thus often becomes the starting point for a political career.10

Relations with France, the European Union and the Pacific Islands Forum The relations between French Polynesia and France are of a complex nature. While the country is constitutionally part of the French Republic and its inhabitants are French citizens, its autonomy status gives it many attributes that make it look like a quasi-sovereign state, such as its own flag, anthem, order of merit, and internet domain code.11 Since French laws do not automatically apply to the territory, many domains of legislation, for instance taxation and social welfare, are vastly different from those in metropolitan France. Responsibilities of government are divided between the French State and the country government. Among the prerogatives of the former are citizenship, judiciary, foreign policy, defence, immigration, internal security, currency, civil aviation, oversight of municipal government, civil service, audio-visual communication and tertiary education.12 The country government is responsible for all other domains, except those exercised by the municipalities. As a part of France, the country is represented in the French Parliament by three deputies in the National Assembly, elected by the population in three single-member constituencies, and two senators in the Senate, elected at large by an electoral college of 714, consisting of the three deputies, the 57 members of the Assembly and delegates from all municipal councils.13 In addition, the country’s voters participate in French presidential elections.

Since France is part of the European Union (EU), French Polynesia has a relationship with that supra-state entity as well, which is even more complex and contradictory. The EU authorities do not consider the country to be part of the European Union, classifying it with other dependent territories of member states (e.g., Greenland, Curaçao or Bermuda) under the category of ‘Overseas Countries and Territories (OCTs)’.14 As such, French Polynesia does not receive funding from the EU’s domestic budget but rather from EU development aid funds. France, on the other hand, sees French Polynesia as part of its national territory and therefore implicitly as part of the EU as well. Unlike most other overseas possessions of EU member states, voters of French Polynesia therefore participate in the European Parliament elections as part of a three-seat constituency covering all French overseas entities.15 While this partial integration into the EU has been under way since the 1980s, cooperation with the neighbouring Pacific Islands countries was for a long time virtually non-existent, due to French policy orienting the territory uniquely towards Paris. During the later 1990s and 2000s, however, France’s attitude in that respect has changed, and the Government of French Polynesia is now authorised to deal directly with its neighbours, even though foreign affairs remains formally a prerogative of the French State.16 In consequence, the country became an observer of the Pacific Islands Forum in 2004, and an associate member in 2006.17 Two other recently founded regional organisations, the Polynesian Leaders Group and the Pacific Islands Development Forum, also count French Polynesia among their members.18

Elections and political parties Since most inhabitants of French Polynesia see their country as a quasi-state, and not really as part of France, elections on the country level are considered far more important than French national elections. As noted, the 57 members of the Assembly of French Polynesia are elected for a five-year term (but early elections have been frequent) in a system of proportional representation in a unitary constituency. While a proportional voting system has been in place since 1957, the number and repartition of seats has been modified multiple times.19 While previously the country was divided into five or six separate multi-seat constituencies (corresponding to the archipelagos), the

most recent organic law amendment of 2011 created a unitary constituency divided into eight sections.20 Of these sections, three are in the Windward Islands (with 13 assembly members each for two of the islands, and 11 for the third one), one comprises the Leeward Islands (eight assembly members) and the four others cover the outlying archipelagos (three members each). This very complex election system, first applied in the most recent elections of 2013, was designed to reflect the countrywide proportionality of votes cast and guarantee balanced regional representation, while at the same time generating a stable majority. Voting takes place in two rounds, with party lists receiving more than 12.5 per cent in all of French Polynesia in the first round being admitted to participate in the runoff poll. The highest scoring list throughout the country receives a majority bonus of one-third of the seats in each section, while the rest of the seats are proportionally assigned, according to votes received in each section, to all lists receiving more than 5 per cent of cast votes in all of the country.21 The political scene, which has often experienced abrupt and dramatic reconfigurations, currently comprises four major parties or party coalitions: Tahoeraa Huiraatira (People’s Unification) under the leadership of former senator Gaston Flosse, Tavini Huraatira (People’s Servant) led by Faaa mayor Oscar Temaru, A Tia Porinetia (Stand Up Polynesia) under the leadership of Teva Rohfritsch, and Tapura Huiraatira (Unification List) under the country’s current president Édouard Fritch. As of 2016, the latter two are to merge into one. In the period between 2004 and 2013, and once again since 2015, frequent floor crossings by individual Assembly members as well as changing alliances between the parties have led to unusually frequent changes of governments and resulted in considerable political instability.22 The oldest of the major parties is Tahoeraa, founded under its present name in 1977 but with predecessor parties going back to the late 1950s. Its leading political figures besides Gaston Flosse include current Assembly speaker Marcel Tuihani as well as former French senators Iriti Teura and Vincent Dubois and French National Assembly member Jonas Tahuaitu. With Flosse at the head of the territorial government, Tahoeraa held power for almost two decades from 1982 to 1987 and from 1991 to 2004. Often described as authoritarian,23 the party is centred on the personality of its leader Gaston Flosse, and was formerly staunchly pro-French and pro-

nuclear.24 In the 1980s, Flosse adopted the concept of autonomy, which he had previously opposed, and refashioned his image as an ‘autonomist’ (which in local political discourse implies a commitment to territorial autonomy while opposing independence from France).25 Until early 2008, Tahoeraa served as the local chapter of the French Gaullist party (RPR/UMP) of former French president Jacques Chirac. Recently, however, Gaston Flosse has become more ambiguous in his attitude towards Paris. Following Flosse’s removal from the presidency in September 2014 for corruption,26 French president François Hollande refused to grant him a pardon. Flosse publicly proclaimed that he felt himself entitled to such pardon, since he had served French national interests by supporting the nuclear testing programme. To protest against the way he was treated, he returned his Legion of Honour (the highest order of merit of the French Republic) back to France. Tavini Huiraatira was founded in 1977 by Oscar Temaru as a radical pro-independence party, but over time it has become more moderate. Political independence from France, however, remains its principal goal. Since 2004, it has been in a coalition with several small splinter parties, under the umbrella name of Union pour la Démocratie (UPLD, Union for Democracy). Besides Temaru, the leading political figures of UPLD include Antony Geros, Tea Hirshon, Tina Cross, Moetai Brotherson, former senator Richard Tuheiava and Jacqui Drollet of the small Ia Mana Te Nunaa (Power to the People) party.27 Tavini is officially allied with the French Socialist Party, but since the latter’s leader François Hollande became French president in 2012, relations with the French socialists have been rather strained, due to the Hollande government’s fierce opposition to French Polynesia’s reinscription on the United Nations decolonisation list, a move spearheaded by Temaru. While there had been a dichotomy of Tahoeraa as the pro-French and Tavini as the pro-independence party for decades, a major shift in the political landscape occurred in mid-2007 following the election of Nicolas Sarkozy as France’s president. At that time, Tahoeraa split into two factions, following a major disagreement between Flosse and his former lieutenant Gaston Tong Sang. The latter formed a new political party, while the

remaining party of Flosse loyalists entered a short-lived political alliance with their former arch-enemies of the UPLD. In October 2007, Tong Sang formed To Tatou Aia (TTA), a coalition of many small parties, mainly previous splits from Tahoeraa, but also some from UPLD. TTA’s ideology continued the ‘autonomist’, pro-French attitude of pre-2007 Tahoeraa, and it took over the latter’s role as the local chapter of the Gaullist UMP party, now led by Sarkozy. With massive support from Paris, TTA won a relative majority in the 2008 elections, but Tong Sang’s ability to form a stable government was severely limited due to continuing floor-crossings of Assembly members, so that the presidency during the 2008–13 term continued to alternate between Flosse, Tong Sang and Temaru. 28 Towards the end of the term, after TTA had almost completely fallen apart, its remnants merged with new splits from Tahoeraa as well as other small splinter parties to form A Tia Porinetia (ATP), under the leadership of former Tahoeraa Cabinet minister Teva Rohfritsch, which continues basically the ideological stance of TTA. ATP’s other major figures include, besides former president and Bora Bora mayor Gaston Tong Sang, Punaauia mayor Ronald Tumahai, Arue mayor Philip Schyle of the Fetia Api (New Star) party and Nicole Bouteau of the No Oe E Te Nunaa (For You, People) party. The most recent political group, Tapura Huiraatira, was formed in May 2015 by Édouard Fritch, Flosse’s former son-in-law and designated political heir, after the two had a falling out in late 2014. Disagreements over Fritch’s policies as president and especially his support of independent candidates in a senatorial by-election led to the expulsion of several leading Tahoeraa members on Flosse’s orders, which in turn led to further resignations from the party and the constitution of a new caucus of ex-Tahoeraa members in support of Fritch, with a political ideology virtually identical with that of ATP. Consequently, the two merged into one assembly caucus, called Rassemblement pour une majorité autonomiste (Rally for an autonomist majority) in December 2015.29 Leading figures in this new formation include Papeete mayor Michel Buillard, current vice-president and senator Nuihau Laurey, the other senator Lana Tetuanui, and two of the three National Assembly deputies, Maina Sage and Jean-Paul Tuaiva. As of February 2016

a merger between Fritch’s group and ATP into a new political party was being prepared. A look at the assembly election results over the last 22 years (Table 1) reveals the rise, fall and resurgence of Tahoeraa prior to the 2014–15 split. Between 1996 and 2004, it held an overall majority of seats, an extraordinary phenomenon in a proportional representation system. Supported at the same time by the French Government under President Chirac, Flosse was able to dominate the territory as a virtual autocrat, until the elections of 2004 brought him down.30 During the same period, Temaru’s party grew from a marginal splinter group to the leading opposition party.31 Alternative political formations (i.e., neither pro-independence nor proFlosse), which were still equal in seats to Tahoeraa in 1991, rapidly decreased in strength as Flosse virtually monopolised the ‘autonomist’ ideology.32 The elections of 2004, reinforced through a by-election in 2005, continued the process of eliminating third forces but gave Tahoeraa and UPLD almost equal representation. This marked the beginning of the 2004– 13 political instability.33 While UPLD was able to govern for some time with a bare majority in coalition with the splinters of the ‘third way’, Temaru’s government was twice overthrown in no-confidence motions. The 2008 election saw a massive collapse of the Tahoeraa vote following the party’s split in 2007. The majority of its support, together with some former UPLD voters disappointed with their party’s performance in government, shifted to Tong Sang’s To Tatou Aia, once more creating a massive presence of a ‘third way’, now facing the coalition of UPLD and Tahoeraa. Due to massive floorcrossing of Assembly members, however, party strengths in the Assembly soon did not correspond to the election results anymore, a common phenomenon in local politics.34 Table 1: Assembly of French Polynesia election results 1991–201335

With a majority of voters tired of this situation, the 2013 election brought Tahoeraa back into power, with its nearly absolute electoral majority converted into a two-thirds majority of seats thanks to the majority bonus of the new election system. UPLD and TTA’s successor ATP both lost massively, both bearing most of the blame for political instability in the previous term. The 82-year-old Gaston Flosse was thus brought back into the presidency as a near-absolute ruler, only to be removed due to a judicial conviction in a corruption case in September 2014 following France’s highest court’s upholding his 2013 conviction; Flosse was replaced with Édouard Fritch. Within a short time, Fritch and Flosse fell out of favour with each other, and Tahoeraa split, creating once more an unstable situation with no clear majority in the assembly. Fritch’s new Tapura Huiraatira entered into a coalition with ATP, but as of February 2016 the new majority only held an unstable one-seat majority. This has made UPLD a courted party that turns the scale, forming ad hoc alliances with either the Tapura-ATP government or the opposition Tahoeraa remnant depending on the circumstances. Flosse’s plan to use anti-colonial rhetoric to woo UPLD into a permanent coalition and overthrow Fritch in a no-confidence motion has not worked out so far.37

Problems and future prospects One of the basic problems of French Polynesia is the lack of full autonomy. Even though the amount of autonomy delegated to the country government looks remarkable and is quite unique within the French Republic, sovereignty rests clearly and unambiguously with France. In practice, this means that Paris can unilaterally modify the country’s political system. This was done in

2007, when the French Government imposed a modification of the organic law, including the new voting system in two rounds discussed above, even though a two-thirds majority of the Assembly of French Polynesia had previously voted against the modification.38 Another Paris-imposed amendment of the voting system with only minor local input took place in 2011. Besides this basic fault, the autonomy regime itself is imperfect as France still controls many policy areas that should preferably be exercised by the country government (for example, immigration). The massive and uncontrolled immigration of French nationals (who gain the right to vote in local elections after only six months of residence39) can lead to resentment among Tahitians against what many of them perceive as an invasion by French settlers. One factor that increases the problem is the absence of ethnicity in census reports since 1988, which makes it impossible to trace metropolitan French immigration, thereby opening the door to either exaggerated or understated speculations.40 With this and other issues unresolved, a new statute has been suggested that would anchor the country’s autonomy more clearly in the French Constitution, create a local citizenship determined by a long period of permanent residency, and set the country on a timetable for the transfer of the remaining French State prerogatives to the country government, as the Nouméa Accord is doing for New Caledonia. Proposals to enact a similar ‘Tahiti Nui Accord’ for French Polynesia have been made by Oscar Temaru, and more recently also by Gaston Flosse, but these suggestions have so far not found resonance with the French Government.41 On the international level, Oscar Temaru achieved a major breakthrough for the country when, following years of lobbying by himself as president and Senator Tuheiava, the United Nations General Assembly voted to relist French Polynesia as a Non-Self-Governing Territory eligible for decolonisation. The vote occurred on 17 May 2013,42 ironically the last day of Temaru’s presidency following the loss of the 2013 elections. Since the country had been unilaterally removed by France from the list in 1947 43 and no self-determination vote had ever taken place in the territory, reinscription is an important step to bring the country’s unresolved political status back onto the international agenda. This has also the potential to accelerate the

country’s move out of its unilateral dependency on France and the EU towards a more multilateral configuration in the future.44 Another important problem is the lack of an intermediate administrative level between the country and the municipalities. It seems odd that in such a geographically dispersed country there are no structures of self-government on the archipelago level, only technical subdivisions of the French State and country governments. The creation of Archipelago Councils was proposed in a 1990 organic law amendment, but this provision has never been implemented.45 The country government continues to be concentrated in Papeete, and this Tahitian centralism creates frustration on the outer islands. This is one of the reasons for the persistence of a secessionist movement in the culturally assertive Marquesas Islands that intends the creation of a separate French overseas entity for this archipelago. The intended future names for the country, Tahiti Nui (‘Greater Tahiti’), championed by Flosse, and Maohi Nui (‘Greater Maohi’, using a term that means ‘indigenous’ in Tahitian, but not in other archipelagos’ languages), championed by Temaru, might stir up further resentment among the people of the outer islands as they could be construed as denying them any importance.46 With an increasing renaissance and reassertion of Polynesian identity and culture, claims to traditional leadership have occasionally been discussed in recent years. In 2005, a ‘Customary Council’ was founded by descendants of the last Tahitian king, with the aim of promoting traditional land management and achieving recognition by the French Government as a political institution similar to the Customary Senate of Kanak chiefs in New Caledonia.47 While the overall impact of this initiative seems to be marginal at the moment, its long-range political implications might be more significant. Most important for the country’s future, however, will be its relationship to France, and this much more in financial than in political or jurisdictional terms. Currently, most of the country government’s budget consists of subsidies from France, which are the basis of the entire economy, a long-term consequence of the economic disruptions related to nuclear testing in the 1960s and 1970s. With France in a deep-seated financial and economic crisis, funds for overseas territories are likely to decrease in the near future.4 8 This will have far-reaching consequences for French Polynesia. In order to

overcome financial dependency and prepare the country to stand on its own, the development of a sustainable local economy is essential, but since local politics is preoccupied with power struggles, nothing substantial is being done in that sense. France recently closed down most of its remaining military bases in Tahiti and now retains only a token force,49 an indication that its long-term political interests in the area are limited. If French subsidies are reduced to a point that they are no longer essential for the country’s survival, some form of political independence seems likely to occur. In the most realistic scenario, the country will then follow the trend of other nations of the region and develop into a MIRAB (Migration, Remittances, Aid and Bureaucracy) economy, with large parts of the population working overseas and the main source of outside investment and aid shifting from the West to China. Both trends have already been visible in recent years, with increasing numbers of Tahitians migrating to New Caledonia, metropolitan France, francophone Canada, New Zealand and the USA, while the only prospective investment projects have been concluded with Chinese companies.50

Further reading Chappell, David, ‘French Polynesia’ [annual political review], 1 July 2003 to 30 June 2004’, The Contemporary Pacific, vol. 17, no. 1, 2005, pp. 193–203. Fisher, Denise, France in the South Pacific: Power and Politics, Canberra, ANU Press, 2013. Gagné, Natacha, ‘Brave New Words: The Complexities and Possibilities of an “Indigenous” Identity in French Polynesia and New Caledonia’, The Contemporary Pacific, vol. 27, no. 2, pp. 371–402. Gonschor, Lorenz, ‘French Polynesia’ [annual political review], The Contemporary Pacific, vol. 18, 2006 through vol. 28, 2016. Mrgudovic, Nathalie, ‘Evolving approaches to sovereignty in the French Pacific’, Commonwealth & Comparative Politics, vol. 50, no. 4, 2012, pp. 456–473. Regnault, Jean-Marc, L’ONU, la France et les décolonisations tardives: L’exemple des terres françaises d’Océanie, Aix-en-Provence, Presses Universitaires d’Aix-Marseille, 2014. Saura, Bruno, ‘Power Switching and Renewal in French Polynesia Politics: The importance of 2004’, The Journal of Pacific Studies, vol. 28, no. 1, 2005, pp. 1–22. Trémon, Anne-Christine, ‘Autonomist and Independentist Logics in French Polynesia’, Journal of the Polynesian Society, vol. 115, no. 3, 2006, pp. 259–288. von Strokirch, Karin, ‘Gaston Flosse: A Recipe for Longevity in Tahitian Politics’, in Don Shuster, Peter Larmour and Karin von Strokirch (eds), Leadership in the Pacific Islands: Tradition and the Future. Series Pacific Policy Paper no. 29, Canberra, National Centre for Development Studies, 1998, pp. 65–74.

Assemblée de la Polynésie française, http://www.assemblee.pf/en/ La Présidence de la Polynésie française, http://www.presidence.pf/ La Constitution (Constitution of the French Republic): http://www.legifrance.gouv.fr/html/constitution/co nstitution2.htm Loi Organique No. 2004-192 du 27 février 2004 portant statut d’autonomie de la Polynésie française (Organic Law No. 2004-192 of 27 February 2004 about the statute of autonomy of French Polynesia): http://www.legifrance.gouv.fr/affichTexte.do?cidTexte=JORFTEXT000000435515&fas tPos=1&fastReqId=873773048&categorieLien=cid&oldAction=rechTexte Code Electoral (French Electoral Code): http://www.legifrance.gouv.fr/affichCode.do?cidTexte=LEGIT EXT000006070239&dateTexte=20090203 Resolution adopted by the General Assembly on 17 May 2013. Self-determination of French Polynesia. UN General Assembly, sixty-seventh session, agenda item 60. A/RES/67/265. http://www.un.org/g a/search/view_doc.asp?symbol=A%2FRES%2F67%2F265&Submit=Search&Lang=E La Dépêche de Tahiti, http://www.ladepeche.pf Tahiti-Infos, http://www.tahiti-infos.com Tahiti News, http://www.tahitinews.co Tahiti Pacifique, http://www.tahiti-pacifique.com

Notes 1 Statistical figures and information: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/French_Polynesia; and http://www.worl dstatesmen.org/Fr_Polynesia.html. 2 For a more detailed description of the stages of political evolution, see Bernard Gille, Histoire des institutions politiques à Tahiti du XVIIe siècle à nos jours, Papeete, Ministère de l’Education, Centre de recherche et de documentation pédagogique de la Polynésie française, 2006. 3 For the importance of this politician in shaping the current political culture of the country, see Bruno Saura, ‘The Prophetic and Messianic Dimension of Pouvanaa a Oopa (1895–1977), the Father of Tahitian Nationalism’, Canadian Review of Studies in Nationalism, vol. 28, nos. 1–2, 2001, pp. 45– 55. 4 About nuclear testing, see Bengt Daniellson, ‘Under a Cloud of Secrecy: The French Nuclear Tests in the Southeastern Pacific’, in Ron Crocombe and Nancy J. Pollock (eds), French Polynesia: A Book of Selected Readings, Suva, Institute of Pacific Studies, University of the South Pacific, 1988, pp. 260–274. 5 For a discussion of these different stages of autonomy, see Gille, Histoire des institutions politiques à Tahiti du XVIIe siècle à nos jours, pp. 96–124. 6 Constitution of the French Republic, Article 74. 7 Loi Organique No. 2004-192 du 27 février 2004 portant statut d’autonomie de la Polynésie française (Organic Law No. 2004-192 of 27 February 2004 about the statute of autonomy of French Polynesia), [hereafter 2004 French Polynesia Organic Law]: Article 1. 8 For a discussion of the current political institutions, see Gille, Histoire des institutions politiques à Tahiti du XVIIe siècle à nos jours, pp. 125–134. 9 2004 French Polynesia Organic Law, Article 43. 10 Gille, Histoire des institutions politiques à Tahiti du XVIIe siècle à nos jours, p. 97.

11 Sémir Al Wardi, Tahiti Nui ou les dérives de l’autonomie, Series Portes Océanes No. 5, Paris, l’Harmattan, 2008, pp. 43–45. 12 2004 French Polynesia Organic Law: Article 14. 13 Tahitipresse, 20 September 2008. 14 See http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Special_member_state_territories_and_the_European_Union. 15 See http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/European_Parliament_constituency. 16 Articles 39–42 of the 2004 Organic Law allow the country government to participate in foreign affairs in coordination with the French Government. 17 Lorenz Gonschor, ‘French Polynesia’, The Contemporary Pacific, vol. 18, no. 1, 2006, p. 133; vol. 20, no. 1, 2008, p. 224. 18 Tahiti-Infos, 30 August 2013; Sémir Al Wardi, ‘Un people divisé ou les relations internationales dans le monde polynésien’, Journal de la Société des Océanistes, vol. 14, no. 1, 2015, pp. 75–87. 19 For a detailed discussion of these modifications, see Gille, Histoire des institutions politiques à Tahiti du XVIIe siècle à nos jours. 20 The amendment explicitly described the new system as ‘a unitary electoral constituency composed of eight sections’ (‘une circonscription électorale unique, composée de huit sections’ in the French original). Three elements make it a unitary constituency (rather than eight separate constituencies). First, the different sections do not have separate party lists; each party list has as many candidates as there are seats for each section, plus two extra candidates in each section. Previously, parties or party coalitions would file separate lists in each constituency, with regional parties (as in the Marquesas) filing lists in only one particular constituency. Secondly, the majority bonus of one-third of the available seats is given to party lists in all sections based on their overall vote (rather than their vote in each section), so that, for instance, a list that wins the most number of votes in all French Polynesia (40 per cent, for example) but comes only third in the Marquesas (receiving, say, 10 per cent of the votes), would still get one of the three seats in the Marquesas section. Thirdly, admission of a list to the run-off election is based on having achieved 12.5 per cent in all of French Polynesia, regardless of the results in each section; and likewise, admission to take part in the assignment of the remaining two-thirds of seats is based on having won at least 5 per cent in all of French Polynesia regardless of sectional results (whereas previously all these calculations were made within each constituency, independent from one another). 21 2004 French Polynesia Organic Law, Articles 104 and 105 (amended in 2011). 22 Al Wardi, Tahiti Nui ou les dérives de l’autonomie, pp. 20–27. 23 Ibid., pp. 125–28. 24 For a concise biography of Gaston Flosse and a history of his party, see Karin von Strokirch, ‘Gaston Flosse: A Recipe for Longevity in Tahitian Politics’, in Don Shuster, Peter Larmour and Karin von Strokirch (eds), Leadership in the Pacific Islands: Tradition and the Future, Series Pacific Policy Paper No. 29, Canberra, National Centre for Development Studies, 1998, pp. 65–74; and Jean-Marc Regnault, Taui. Oscar Temaru – Gaston Flosse: Le pouvoir confisqué, Moorea (French Polynesia), Les Editions de Tahiti, 2004, pp. 77–120. 25 For a discussion of the ideological dichotomy of ‘autonomists’ vs. ‘independentists’ see AnneChristine Trémon, ‘Autonomist and Independentist Logics in French Polynesia’, Journal of the Polynesian Society, vol. 115, no. 3, 2006, pp. 259–288. 26 Radio New Zealand International, ‘Tahiti’s Flosse removed from office’, 6 September 2014, http://w ww.radionz.co.nz/international/pacific-news/253937/tahitis-flosse-removed-from-office. 27 For a concise biography of Oscar Temaru and a history of his party, see Regnault, Taui. Oscar Temaru – Gaston Flosse: Le pouvoir confisqué, pp. 45–76 and 137–114.

28 On the formation and electoral performance of To Tatou Aia, see Lorenz Gonschor, ‘French Polynesia’, The Contemporary Pacific, vol. 21, no. 1, 2009, pp. 151–162. 29 La Dépêche de Tahiti, 9 December 2015. 30 Regnault, Taui. Oscar Temaru – Gaston Flosse: Le pouvoir confisqué, pp. 97–119; Al Wardi, Tahiti Nui ou les dérives de l’autonomie, pp. 109–182. 31 Regnault, Taui. Oscar Temaru – Gaston Flosse: Le pouvoir confisqué, pp. 45–76. 32 Al Wardi, Tahiti Nui ou les dérives de l’autonomie, p. 28. 33 For a discussion of the 2004 elections, see Regnault, Taui. Oscar Temaru – Gaston Flosse: Le pouvoir confisqué, pp. 137–154; and Bruno Saura, ‘Power Switching and Renewal in French Polynesia Politics: The importance of 2004’, The Journal of Pacific Studies, vol. 28, no. 1, 2005, pp. 1–22. 34 According to Al Wardi (Tahiti Nui ou les dérives de l’autonomie, p. 254), frequent floor crossings and shifts of majorities within legislative terms are common in most Pacific Islands, since in Oceanic political culture, ‘elections do not represent the capital moment of democracy, but only one moment among others’ (translation by the author from French). 35 Results after Regnault, Taui. Oscar Temaru – Gaston Flosse: Le pouvoir confisqué. For a more detailed discussion of the 2013 elections, see Lorenz Gonschor, ‘French Polynesia’, The Contemporary Pacific, vol. 26, no. 1, 2014, pp. 198–200. 36 The election of 2005 was a by-election covering only the 37 seats of the Windward Islands constituency. Results shown include the 20 outer island representatives elected in 2004. 37 Tahiti-Pacifique, December 2014. 38 Tahiti-Pacifique, November 2007. 39 Code Electoral (Electoral Code of France), Article L11. 40 Trémon, ‘Autonomist and Independentist Logics in French Polynesia’, pp. 273, 286 n. 272. The last census results of 1988 show 82.79 per cent Polynesians, 11.91 per cent Europeans and 4.69 per cent Asians: for details, see Jean Chesnaux (ed.), Tahiti après la bombe: Quel avenir pour la Polynésie?, Paris, L’Harmattan, 1995, p. 158. Observers estimate a substantial increase of the European and Asian percentages since then, due to continued immigration of these ethnicities and a decrease in birth rates among the Polynesian population. 41 Al Wardi, Tahiti Nui ou les dérives de l’autonomie, pp. 237–239. 42 Resolution adopted by the General Assembly on 17 May 2013. Self-determination of French Polynesia. UN General Assembly, sixty-seventh session, agenda item 60. A/RES/67/265. 43 Jean-Marc Regnault, ‘Après 1945, la France considère que la Nouvelle Calédonie et la Polynésie ne sont plus des territoires à décoloniser’, Tahiti-Pacifique, August 2008, pp. 28–29. 44 United Nations, ‘Non-Self-Governing Territories’, http://www.un.org/en/decolonization/nonselfgovterr itories.shtml. For a more detailed analysis of the problem of decolonisation, see Jean-Marc Regnault, L’ONU, la France et les décolonisations tardives, Aix-en-Provence, Presses Universitaires d’AixMarseille, 2014. 45 Gille, Histoire des institutions politiques à Tahiti du XVIIe siècle à nos jours, pp. 118–119. 46 Al Wardi, Tahiti Nui ou les dérives de l’autonomie, pp. 48–50. 47 Gonschor, ‘French Polynesia’, The Contemporary Pacific, vol. 18, 2006, p. 141; vol. 19, 2007, pp. 219–220; vol. 21, 2009, pp. 153–154. 48 Regnault, Tahiti malade: Malade de ses politiques, pp. 66–68. 49 La Dépêche de Tahiti, 25 July 2008, Tahiti-Pacifique, July and August 2008. 50 Tahiti-Pacifique, August 2010, January and March 2014.

Guam Kelly G. Marsh and Tyrone J. Taitano Kelly Marsh has served as Vice-chair for the Guam Historic Review Board and is an Adjunct Professor at the University of Guam. Tyrone Taitano and Kelly Marsh have contributed a series of annual reviews of political developments on Guam for The Contemporary Pacific.

Guahan1 (Guam) is the largest and southernmost of an island chain of 15 islands that are homelands to Taotao Tano' or Taotao Håya (indigenous Chamorro).2 Oral traditions – that I Manmofo'na (Chamorro ancestors) and the island chain were created by a sister Fu'una and her brother Puntan – and studies that identify I Manmofo'na as one of the earliest peoples in Oceania to call their islands home, settling them more than 3,000 years ago, agree that these islands are where ancestors became uniquely Taotao Tano'. Guahan sits in the Pacific northwest, just minutes or hours away by plane from its neighbours, the Northern Mariana Islands, Yap, Palau, Japan, the Philippines and Taiwan, while US states and territories such as Hawaii and American Samoa, situated in the eastern portion of the Pacific, may take several hours or days to reach. Currently, an estimated 180,000 people from various US states and territories reside on the 549-square-kilometre island alongside those who have travelled to the island from the Southeast Asia region, from other Micronesian islands, and from locales around the world. Owing to high levels of immigration and local emigration to other US areas, Chamorros on Guahan currently constitute only a plurality, at 43 per cent, with Filipinos the second highest ethnicity (at 27 per cent). As in many other Pacific islands, more Chamorros now live outside the Mariana Islands than in their homeland. Though the high level of non-Chamorros have had a significant impact in various ways, community members can still locate people within

traditional socio-cultural maps tracing familial ties, ancestral villages, histories of reciprocation, and the like. These continue to be the most meaningful way of identifying one another. The northern part of Guahan is the most developed, with high-rise buildings and four- and six-lane highways, while the southern part of the island retains many of the island’s more traditional village life.

I Manmofo'na (ancestral) government systems and the entrenching of colonialism Within ancestral Chamorro socio-cultural government systems, villages were relatively autonomous, composed of a number of matrilineal clans. Clans competed for social position amongst each other within the village and as a village against other villages. Both the maga'håga, the highest ranking woman of a clan, and the maga'låhi, the clan’s highest ranking male, led their clan as counterparts with differing realms of authority. The social position of one’s clan within the village depended on many factors, such as its gineftao (generosity), its displayed social responsibility, and the feats of its members in athletics, warfare, and in being witty and clever.3 These systems changed dramatically after I Manmofo'na, in 1521, had the ‘dubious distinction’ 4 of being the first Pacific Islanders to discover Europeans sailing through their waters. Spain claimed sovereignty over the island in 1565, and in 1668 the first Crown-sanctioned missionaries arrived, fighting factions of I Manmofo'na society for the next three decades to secure their missions and their claim. Chamorros therefore endured 230 years of intensive Spanish missionisation and colonisation, in stark contrast to the experience of other Micronesian Islanders, for whom the Spanish and other early colonial presence began centuries later and proved of much shorter duration.5 Spain’s claims to the I Manmofo'na homelands were fulfilled at first by priests as heads of the missions. After violence erupted, this soon evolved into a system of military governors administering the islands on behalf of the Spanish Crown. From the first contact through the War of Resistance6 the archipelago’s Chamorro population dwindled, from an estimated 35,000– 50,000 to 3,678 (as recorded in 1710) due to disease, death by execution,

and other factors.7 Subsequently Chamorro numbers fell even further, to 1,318 by 1786.8 Despite this, much of the Chamorro socio-cultural systems continued, as evidenced in the reports of frustrated colonial governors noting Chamorro resistance.9 Converted Chamorros of high social standing received Spanish titles at times and towards the end of the Spanish colonial reign (1885–98) could serve as government leaders at the village or inter-village level.10 This was a major shift, as for the first time in colonial rule, Chamorros had the opportunity (limited, however, to only those men considered of the elite principalia class) to elect local officials.11 The United States declared war on Spain on 25 April 1898 owing to geopolitical concerns, including the desire to develop into a world power, and the sinking of the USS Maine while in Havana’s harbour.12 Losing the four-month war, Spain ceded Guam to the US along with the Philippines and Puerto Rico. Neither Spain’s initial claim of the Chamorro homeland in 1565, nor the transfer of Guam in 1898, involved Chamorros in issues dealing with their sovereignty as a people. In this case, the spoils of war were divided without consideration of the Chamorros – people of one language and one culture.13 Thereafter, family members in the Marianas found themselves on either side of the colonial divide, unable to visit one another as over time each side closed its borders. The next several decades (1899–1945) saw Chamorros in Guam and the Mariana Islands to the north governed by different nations, learning different colonial languages, operating within different colonial government systems, and eventually finding themselves on opposite sides of World War II. When the Japanese bombed, invaded, and secured Guam in 1941 as part of a multipronged attack against the US, a number of Chamorros from the northern Mariana islands served as part of the Japanese wartime administration (1941–44), a fact that is sensitive still. For almost half a century (1899–1941 and 1944–50) an appointed US military officer was simultaneously military commander of the Guam naval station and civil governor of the people of Guam. These officers decided all executive, judicial and legislative matters, and yet these civil roles and responsibilities were ‘far outside the responsibilities of naval officers’.14

Chamorros in this system were wards of the nation, without guaranteed political rights or citizenship. Chamorros themselves noted that there were ‘[f]ewer permanent guarantees of liberty and property rights’ under US rule than had been the case during the Spanish administration, and the island government that had been instituted ‘violated numerous basic principles of American democracy’.15 One token concession was provided – an advisory body to the governor, which served at his pleasure, a situation in which ‘the governors of Guam have striven vainly to achieve an impossibility—a democratic government in which the governed do not participate’.16 Further, US Supreme Court cases in the early 1900s, referred to as the ‘Insular cases’, created a new designation, that of an Unincorporated Territory, one that would not be on the path to eventual full inclusion as a state within the US. The court ruled that these newly acquired territories of ethnically and culturally different peoples would not be afforded the inherent rights and protections of the US Constitution. Instead, they would only be covered by the portions of the constitution as determined unilaterally by the plenary authority of the US Congress, a legislative body in which the territories have no vote. Against such obstacles, Chamorros began a series of petitions, resolutions and protests as early as 1901, continuing up until World War II arrived on their doorstep.17 The forceful inclusion of Guam into Japan’s Greater East-Asia CoProsperity Sphere during World War II was, ideologically, proclaimed as a measure to end European colonialism over Asian peoples and develop a new Asian economic power, administered by Japan. However, put into place was a military-civilian government in which Chamorros had no real participation except as third-class subjects and were considered adversarial due to their loyalty to the US.18 The wartime occupation on Guam was one in which military goals were primary. Treatment of Chamorros was harsh, devolving into ever more brutal treatment which culminated in several massacres of large groups of Chamorros. After the re-occupation of the island by US forces, in which Chamorro accommodation of US military goals would be tested through increased land takings,19 the Chamorros’ decades-long efforts towards achieving civil rights and democratic government would continue until finally securing some progress in 1950.

Quasi self-governing20 Guam’s current political status and the dawn of self-government by the local population in the modern era began with the passage of the Guam Organic Act by the US Congress in 1950. In protest over the lack of true democracy in their island, members of Guam’s advisory legislature staged a highly publicised walkout in 1949.21 In response, President Harry Truman replaced the island’s naval governor with a civilian appointee, thus beginning the process of ending naval rule and the transition to a civilian government. The Organic Act confirmed Guam’s status as an Unincorporated US Territory but granted the local population US citizenship. It also established a civilian government of Guam along the lines of the US system, with three separate and equal branches (executive, legislative and judicial). The governor of Guam remained an appointee of the federal government, but the new unicameral 21-seat legislature was directly elected by the people of Guam. Inasmuch as authority for the Government of Guam stems from the Organic Act, this federal statute serves today as the de facto constitution for the territory. It can only be changed by a vote of the US Congress. Because the island remains a territory and not a state, the people of Guam have no voting representation in the US Congress even though they were provided with US citizenship. Furthermore, under the US system, the US president is voted into office by an Electoral College, members of which are elected by the voters in each of the states and (as a result of the 23rd amendment to the US Constitution) the District of Columbia (i.e., the US capital, Washington, DC). Because that system does not have a provision for US territories, citizens in Guam also do not have the right to participate in the vote for the US president. Rectifying the disparity between the democratic rights accorded US citizens in Guam and those held by US citizens elsewhere has been a major focus of Guam’s leadership since 1950. In the years following the enactment of the Organic Act and the creation of a democratic legislature with real law-making authority, there arose the first of Guam’s political parties: the Popular Party. The Popular Party dominated legislative elections in the 1950s and early 1960s, routinely winning all 21 seats in the Legislature (with the exception of the Third Guam Legislature, which comprised three independents and 18 Popular Party

candidates). By the 1960s the political landscape evolved further, as the Popular Party became affiliated with the US Democratic Party and was renamed the Democratic Party of Guam. By then, a second political party had arisen: the Territorial Party, thus ushering in a two-party system. In 1964, the Territorial Party captured the majority in the Legislature. It had as one of its concerns the involvement of the federally appointed governor in local partisan politics, which prompted a major effort to reform the federalterritorial relationship. In 1965, the Speaker of the Guam Legislature, Carlos P. Taitano, led a three-man delegation to Washington, DC, seeking the right for Guam’s people to elect their governor. The delegation also sought representation in the US Congress and the right to vote for president. As a result of this effort and others, the US Congress passed the Elected Governor Act in 1968, providing for elections of the governor of Guam, beginning in 1970. In 1972, Congress approved the election by Guam of a non-voting Delegate to the US House of Representatives. The Delegate has the right to sponsor legislation, serve (and vote) on congressional committees, and speak on the floor of the House of Representatives, but does not have a vote in the full House chamber. As the 1960s came to a close, the Territorial Party collapsed; a segment of the Territorial Party formed the Republican Party of Guam. This development completed the alignment of political parties on Guam with the national US political parties. Absent the right to vote in presidential elections, Guam residents are able to voice their preference for president in the primary contests conducted in the national parties for their respective nominations. Guam and other territories send voting delegations to both the Democratic and Republican Conventions, which select the nominees for president and vice-president. Guam’s governors are members of either the Democratic Governors Association or the Republican Governors Association. Similarly, Guam’s Delegate to the US House of Representatives caucuses with either the Democrats or the Republicans. Since the establishment of the elected governorship and the delegate to Congress, there have been periodic attempts to improve Guam’s political status. During the 1980s several plebiscites were held to arrive at a preferred political status for Guam. The end product was a document called the Draft Commonwealth Act which provided for a comprehensive reform of

Guam’s political status. Intensive lobbying by Guam leaders during the Bush and Clinton administrations, seeking federal agreement for Commonwealth status, was not successful. Guam continues to be included on the United Nations List of Non-Self Governing Territories in recognition of its need to be decolonised. The latest effort by Guam’s leaders to secure action on its political status is the planned decolonisation vote to allow the island’s native inhabitants (as defined by law)22 to exercise their collective right to self-determination in a vote on prospective political status options. The effort to prepare and eventually hold this vote has met with limited progress in recent years. However, in 2015 Governor Eddie Baza Calvo conveyed his strong commitment to move ahead with the vote during his current term of office. Even with the lack of fundamental change to the island’s political status, however, its governance has developed further with the establishment of the Guam Supreme Court in 1996.

Local government Local government on Guam is distinguished from its counterparts in US state governments by two features. Largely due to the small size of the community, the Government of Guam is the only level of local government on Guam. It combines the functions of state, county and municipal governments and in some respects holds some of the responsibilities of a national government as well. Secondly, the current Government of Guam, although democratically elected by the local residents, is the successor to a government that was largely an extension of the federal government in Washington, DC. Some of its current functions are a reflection of that history. For example, customs examinations at the airport and seaport are performed not by federal officials, but by the Customs and Quarantine Agency, a locally funded Government of Guam agency that has delegated authority to enforce US Customs law. The island is divided into 19 municipalities based largely on traditional village boundaries. Each municipality is headed by an elected mayor; in five villages there is an elected vice-mayor as well. These municipalities have no law-making or taxing authority and are funded and budgeted collectively as

an agency of the Government of Guam, namely the Mayor’s Council. Historically they have functioned as elected advocates for their communities. These positions have their roots in the Spanish colonial government in which each village had a representative, initially appointed by the Spanish and then later elected by local elites. In the subsequent American period, the Naval government essentially continued the system except for styling the village representatives as commissioners, appointed by military personnel. Several decades after the 1950 Organic Act, the titles of commissioner and assistant commissioner were changed to mayor and vice-mayor and additional responsibilities and resources were provided to them. Other elected offices have also evolved over the last few decades. Members of the Guam Legislature – known as senators – have been elected since its inception to two-year terms on an at-large basis (the entire island being one electoral district) except for a brief period when the island was divided into four electoral districts, with each district apportioned a share of the 21-seat Legislature according to population. The at-large system was reimplemented after a few terms but the size of the Legislature was reduced in 1996, from 21 senators to the current number of 15. The position of governor has always held great executive authority, exercised either through direct appointment of agency heads or, in the case of autonomous agencies, the appointment of the governing boards that in turn select the administrator of the respective agency. This authority has been curbed over the last 30 years with the expansion of elected positions to head government agencies. The most prominent of these positions is the office of attorney general, which prior to 2002 was appointed by the governor and is now subject to election for a four-year term. Also elected to a four-year term is the government’s Public Auditor. The island’s civilian power and water utilities—the Guam Power Authority and Guam Waterworks Authority—are run by an elected five-member Commission on Consolidated Utilities (CCU). Previously each agency had a governing board, appointed by the governor and confirmed by the Legislature. The island’s public school system is run by a board with a mixture of appointed and elected members, who select the school system’s Superintendent. All of these new elected positions are chosen in non-partisan elections. Similar to the Board of Education, the board of trustees of the

Government of Guam Retirement Fund has a mixture of appointees by the governor and trustees elected by active members of the Fund. The annual budget of the Government of Guam, as appropriated by the Legislature in 2014, was US$874 million, of which $43 million were federal matching funds and the remainder locally derived taxes and fees. The largest portion of the budget goes to education, funding the University of Guam, the Guam Community College, and the public school system providing education from kindergarten to grade 12. Also included is funding for the legislative and judicial branches, the Mayor’s Council, and executive agencies providing public safety, health, public works, social services, environmental protection, public administration, tax collection, regulatory, cultural, tourism, and other functions. Also covered by the annual budget are the government’s principal land agencies – the Department of Land Management, responsible for the public land records and land use planning; the Chamorro Land Trust, which administers the lease of Chamorro Homelands (public lands) for the benefit of the Chamorro people; and the Ancestral Land Commission, responsible for conveying excess federal property that had been transferred to the Government of Guam back to the families from which it was acquired by the federal government. Not included in the annual budget are agencies that are autonomous, deriving their revenues largely from fees for services. This includes transportation agencies such as the Guam International Airport Authority and the Port Authority of Guam, as well as the utilities supervised by the CCU. The Guam Memorial Hospital Authority is largely funded by hospital fees but normally receives periodic subsidies in the annual budget approved by the Legislature. The Guam Economic Development and Commerce Authority manages the Government of Guam’s bond financing and is the primary economic development agency. Two other agencies – the Guam Housing Corporation and the Guam Housing and Urban Renewal Authority – deal with moderate and low income housing needs. All these autonomous agencies, except for the utilities under the CCU, are run by governing boards appointed by the governor and confirmed by the Legislature. Public Holidays on Guam generally follow the American calendar of holidays (i.e. Thanksgiving, Labor Day, and Christmas). There are, however, additional public holidays reflecting the island’s particular history, including

the fact that Catholicism has been the predominant religion on the island for the last four centuries: Guam History and Chamorro Heritage Day,23 the anniversary of Guam’s liberation from Japanese occupation by US forces in WWII, All Souls’ Day, and the Feast of Santa Marian Kamalan (the Catholic Patron Saint of Guam).

An unsettled political future As much as public institutions have progressed over the last 115 years, governance on Guam remains an unsettled matter. This is a result of the island’s political status remaining unresolved. What is clear to Islanders is that Guam’s current status as a colony – an Unincorporated Territory in which US citizens have fewer political rights than elsewhere – is not acceptable in either moral or political terms. How this problem will be resolved is less clear.

Further reading Aguon, Julian, ‘An appraisal of self-determination under international law’, Overseas Territories Review, 2011, http://overseasreview.blogspot.com/2011/11/appraisal-of-self-determination-under.ht ml. Hale'-ta: Kinalamten Pulitikat, Issues in Guam’s political development, Agaña, Guam, The Political Status Education Coordinating Commission, 1996. Leibowitz, Arnold H., Defining Status: A Comprehensive Analysis of United States Territorial Relations, The Netherlands, Martinus Nijhoff, 1989. Marsh, Kelly G. and Tyrone J. Taitano, ‘Guam’, The Contemporary Pacific, vol. 26, no. 1, 2014, pp. 170–177. Rogers, Robert F., Destiny’s Landfall: A History of Guam, Honolulu, University of Hawai‘i Press, 1995. Shuster, Donald R., ‘Elections on Guam, 1970–2002’, Pacific Studies, vol. 27, nos. 1/2, 2004. Shuster, Donald R., ‘Guam’, in Stephen Levine (ed.), Pacific Ways: Government and Politics in the Pacific Islands, first edition, Wellington, Victoria University Press, 2009, pp. 83–93. Taitano, Carlos, ‘Guam: The struggle for civil and political rights’, in Politics in Micronesia, Fiji, Institute of Pacific Studies of the University of the South Pacific, 1983, pp. 133–145. Underwood, Robert A., ‘Guam’s Political Status’, Guampedia, http://www.guampedia.com/guams-polit ical-status/ Guam Election Commission, gec.gov.guam/ Government of Guam, http://www.guam.gov/ Guam Legislature, http://www.guamlegislature.com/

United States Congresswoman Madeleine Z. Bordallo, Representing the People of Guam, https://bordall o.house.gov/ Office of Governor [of Guam], http://governor.guam.gov/ Marianas Variety, http://mvguam.com/ Pacific Daily News, http://www.guampdn.com/

Notes 1 Governor Felix Perez Camacho (2003–10) issued Executive Order 2010-06 ‘Relative to Changing the Official Name of Guam to Guahan’ ordering all Guam government departments and agencies to use ‘Guahan’, while encouraging others (‘all local businesses and the community at large’) to do likewise (http://documents.guam.gov/wp-content/uploads/EO-2010-06.pdf). 2 Indigenous Chamorros refer to themselves as Taotao Tano' (‘People of the Land’) or Taotao Håya (‘People from the inward direction’). Non-Chamorros are Taotao Gi Lågo (‘People from the outward direction’, in reference to the sea). 3 Michael Lujan Bevacqua, ‘Mampolitiku: Politics’, Guampedia, www.guampedia.com/. 4 This phrase has been used over the years by various authors in regard to being the first Pacific Islanders to encounter or be colonised by Europeans. See, for example, Robert A. Underwood, ‘Excursions into inauthenticity: The Chamorro migrant stream’, paper presented at the 15th Pacific Science Congress, 1983, Dunedin, New Zealand. 5 See, for example, Francis X. Hezel, Strangers in Their Own Land: A Century of Colonial Rule in the Caroline and Marshall Islands, Pacific Islands Monograph Series no. 13, Honolulu, University of Hawai‘i Press, 1995, p. 3. 6 The war is also commonly referred to as the Chamorro-Spanish War or the Spanish-Chamorro Wars. 7 Jane H. Underwood, ‘Population history of Guam: Context of microevolution’, Micronesica, vol. 9, no. 1, 1973, pp. 20–21. 8 Ibid. 9 See, for example, Ann Perez Hattori, ‘Navy blues: US Naval rule on Guam and the rough road to assimilation, 1898–1941’, Pacific Asia Inquiry, vol. 5, no. 1, 2014, pp. 13–30; Robert A. Underwood, ‘Hispanicization as a socio-historical process on Guam’, unpublished paper, n.d., personal copy of manuscript; Laura Torres Souder, ‘Unveiling herstory: Chamorro women in historical perspective’, in Pacific History: Papers from the 8th Pacific History Association Conference, University of Guam, Mangilao, 1992. 10 David Atienza, ‘The Mariana Islands militia and the establishment of the “Pueblos de Indios”’, paper presented at the 2nd Marianas History Conference, University of Guam, Mangilao, 2013; Carlos Madrid, Beyond Distances: Governance, politics and deportation in the Mariana Islands from 1870 to 1877, Quezon City, Philippines, Vibal Publishing House, 2006, pp. 2–3. 11 Madrid, Beyond Distances, pp. 2–3. 12 Donald L. Platt, ‘Spanish-American War’, Guampedia, www.guampedia.com/. 13 Ann Perez Hattori, ‘The politics of preservation: Historical memory and the division of the Mariana Islands’, Micronesian Journal of Humanities and Social Sciences, vol. 5, nos. 1–2, 2006, pp. 1–4. 14 Hattori, ‘Navy blues’, p. 14. 15 Ibid., p. 15. 16 Roy James, in Hattori, ‘Navy blues’, p. 15.

17 Hattori, ‘The politics of preservation’, p. 58. 18 Keith L. Camacho, Cultures of Commemoration: The Politics of War, Memory and History in the Mariana Islands, Honolulu, University of Hawai‘i, Center for Pacific Islands Studies, 2011, p. 44. 19 Hattori, ‘The politics of preservation’, p. 60. 20 This label is provided by the Guam Historic Preservation Office for the island’s current time period. 21 Ann Perez Hattori, ‘Righting civil wrongs: Guam Congress Walkout of 1949’, in Hale'-ta: Kinalamten Pulitikat, Issues in Guam’s political development, The Political Status Education Coordinating Commission, Agaña, Guam, 1996. 22 Native inhabitants are defined by law as ‘those persons who became US citizens by virtue of the authority and enactment of the 1950 Organic Act of Guam and descendants of those persons’; see Victoria-Lola Leon Guerrero, ‘Chamorro Registry and the Decolonization Registry’, Guampedia, ww w.guampedia.com/. 23 For many decades the holiday was named ‘Discovery Day’, commemorating the day that Guam was discovered by Ferdinand Magellan in 1521. Over time it has evolved to become a broader commemoration of Guam’s heritage.

Kiribati Takuia Uakeia Takuia Uakeia, formerly a member of the Kiribati Public Service (including three years as a Clerk of Parliament), is a Lecturer in Education at the University of the South Pacific, Kiribati Campus.

Kiribati is a small island nation composed of 33 islands in the Central Western Pacific lying astride the equator. It has three island groups: the Gilbert Islands (16 islands), Line Islands (9 islands), and Phoenix Islands (8 islands). The country extends 800 kilometres from north to south and 3,200 kilometres from east to west. The islands, situated on top of extinct undersea volcanic mountains, are made up of limestone, sand and rubble, with a soil very poor in plant nutrients. The highest point above sea level is around three metres, apart from Banaba, formerly known as Ocean Island, which is a raised coral atoll. Although Kiribati has a land area of only 810 square kilometres, the great distances separating the islands comprising the nation have generated a vast Exclusive Economic Zone (EEZ) of more than 4.8 million square kilometres, one of the world’s largest.

Background Before contact with Europeans the people (I-Kiribati) lived in extended family groups on isolated islands, with a subsistence, communal lifestyle and limited contact with the outside world. The values embraced in these poorly resourced islands included sharing, helping one another and moderation of needs within the community. The people lived in clans where the old men were (and still are) regarded as leaders of the family and custodians of the

traditional culture. Individual members of the family held different assigned roles to be carried out for the proper functioning and continuity of the culture. In 1604, islands of the Gilbert Group were first sighted by the Spanish explorer Pedro Fernandes de Queirós; however, British Captain Thomas Gilbert was the first European to document these islands in 1788 and the islands were named after him. Three decades later, the islands were visited by beachcombers, whalers, traders, blackbirders, missionaries and, finally, British administrators. The contact with Europeans was a period of wonder but caused feelings of both hatred and acceptance. On the positive side, outsiders were accepted for introducing beneficial ideas; missionaries invented the alphabet of the Kiribati language and traders introduced modern tools. On the negative side were firearms, new diseases, and practices such as smoking and prostitution. The introduction of a new government system by British administrators was seen by the elderly as in conflict with local culture and tradition. The appointment of a younger generation to posts such as island magistrates and constables was contrary to traditional practices. Consequently, it took quite a long time for people to fully participate. The ‘contact’ events showed IKiribati how a stronger foreign power can interfere with political, social and economic life. This lesson can still be seen with the domination of larger and more powerful countries over small island states.

The traditional political system The maneaba, a multi-purpose meeting hall, is the centre of the traditional political system in the village. It is here that the old men, by virtue of their status, come and occupy their sitting positions and make decisions about the affairs of the community. These discussions and decisions are intended to promote the well-being of the people and the strengthening of order and peace in the community. The decisions from the maneaba, based on lengthy discussions, are taken by consensus among the Unimwane (old men) and are then passed on to the community for implementation. While families have the right to decide matters in their homes, the maneaba system exists for the purpose of making just decisions for the benefit of everyone in the community.

There are no political parties in the maneaba system; every old man has to contribute to framing decisions for the people’s benefit. The system reflects a consciousness of limited resources and illustrates a monoculture in islands where the people speak only one language, the Kiribati language (Te Taetae-ni-Kiribati). By tradition, young men and women are never involved in the decision-making but are regarded as central in the implementation of decisions coming out from the maneaba. The importance of the maneaba can never be underestimated in the current Western political system because it represents the entire life of the community. The maneaba system can effectively facilitate order and stability in the society, as well as the dissemination and implementation of government policies by the community.

The new political system The acceptance by the I-Kiribati of a Western, democratic political system for the government of the nation was evidenced in the adoption of the country’s constitution at independence on 12 July 1979. The constitution marked a turning point: from traditional, isolated, island-oriented government by a Council of Unimwane through the maneaba system, to citizenship in a nation under a central government. The new system differed enormously from the traditional system as it was based on formal, structured institutions, procedures, rules and laws, requiring capable citizens with specified Western knowledge and skills, and huge resources for its effective operation. Some of the concepts relating to the new political system remain too complex to be understood by those with limited education, requiring greater community engagement and inclusion in the country’s senior secondary school curriculum. The new political system was based on the ‘separation of powers’ between the three arms of government: the legislature, the executive and the judiciary. The division of powers is stipulated in the constitution and clearly emphasises the notion that a government under a democratic system cannot exist without true independence of the legislature, the executive and the judiciary. Checks and balances are provided when power is divided: the legislature makes the laws; the executive enforces them; and the judiciary interprets them.

Despite this model, there are times where people feel that the executive extends its jurisdiction for political purposes and reaches the boundaries of the legislature and judiciary. This reflects the executive’s dominance over both the legislature and the judiciary, in part through the election of the Speaker and the appointment of the head of the judiciary (the chief justice) by the Beretitenti (president). More broadly, the executive can be influential by taking steps that suit the Cabinet’s political agenda. Most elected governments in Kiribati are stable, surviving three consecutive four-year terms (in accordance with mandatory term limits), governing the nation with a parliamentary majority. Figure 1: The Three Constitutional Organs of the Government of Kiribati

Source: Takuia Uakeia, Governance issues Affecting Development in Kiribati, PhD thesis, 2012

The election process The election structures and processes employed follow the usual forms found in Western democratic countries. These include the establishment of an electoral bureaucracy to run elections, including procedures for nomination of candidates and the conduct of voting with proper supervision and safeguards. Multi-member constituencies are defined based on the latest fiveyearly census. There is one elected member for islands with fewer than 1,500 people, two members for islands with between 1,500 and 5,000 people, and three members for constituencies with more than 5,000 people.

There are 46 members of the legislature: 44 elected for a four-year term; one appointed member from the Banaban community on Rabi Island (in Fiji); and the attorney-general. Kiribati has a two-round voting system. A candidate who receives more than 50 per cent of the valid votes is declared elected. When no candidate receives a majority, a second round is conducted, restricted to the leading candidates. Citizens are eligible to vote if they are at least 18 years old and registered. Despite legislation designed to prevent vote-buying by candidates, cultural values and family ties still have a strong influence on voting behaviour. In most outer islands, during campaigns it is normal for candidates to visit each household and bubuti (plead) with members of close-knit families to vote for them. Some candidates could be said to commence their campaigns years before an election, making ‘donations’ and providing other forms of assistance to an island or village in the hope and expectation of attracting votes. Local issues, rather than national policies, are a powerful influence on remote islands where voters have had limited educational opportunities. Following the announcement of election results, the 44 successful candidates will commence consolidation of political groupings based on shared interests.

Political parties Political parties exist in the Parliament but do not have entrenched ideologies connecting to the wider population. The culture has long nurtured consensual decision-making in the maneaba system rather than the adversarial approach so evident in Western countries. In addition, the strong traditional lifestyles in villages on scattered isolated islands pose difficulties for efforts to mobilise nationwide political party movements. Emulating democratic governments in developed nations, elected members in Kiribati have adopted ways to form groupings based on ‘shared interests’ rather than deep-rooted political ideologies (such as socialism, liberalism or capitalism). The priority of political parties is, first, to strengthen the number of party members in Parliament in order to win a majority and form a government, securing the party’s candidature for the election of the Beretitenti. There are normally two groups: the government, which holds a majority, and the opposition. Other parties can also emerge as new factions. Thus far there is

no legislation regarding formation of political parties. Informal political parties include Boutokan Te Koaua (‘Pillars of Truth’), Karikirakean Te IKiribati Party (‘Improving I-Kiribati Welfare Party’) and Maurin Kiribati Party (‘Protect Kiribati Party’), with other MPs remaining as independents.

Election of the Beretitenti Prior to the election of the Beretitenti, the Speaker of the Parliament has first to be elected. The chief justice presides over the election of the Speaker, carried out at the first session after the newly elected members have been sworn in. A candidate for the Speaker is not an elected member and needs the support of the majority political party in order to be elected. Once the Speaker has been elected, nominations for the Beretitenti are called for from existing parties. As required by law, there will be at least three, and no more than four, candidates for a national election of the Beretitenti. A two-round voting system is used to select candidates for the election of the Beretitenti, which is conducted nationally. Kiribati’s Kauoman-ni-Beretitenti (vice-president) is appointed to the position by the country’s Beretitenti, who also selects members of the Cabinet. The country’s first Beretitenti, Ieremia Tabai (1979–82; 1983–91) selected Teatao Teannaki as Kauoman-ni-Beretitenti. He succeeded Tabai, holding office from 1991 to 1994. Teburoro Tito held the presidency from 1994 to 2003, losing power on a no-confidence vote in March 2003 only one month after being re-elected. Anote Tong, the current Beretitenti of Kiribati, was elected to his first term in July 2003, defeating his older brother, Harry Tong, in a three-person contest. Anote Tong (Boutokaan Te Koaua party) was re-elected in October 2007 (with 64 per cent of the vote) and again in January 2012 (with 42 per cent support).

Executive The executive consists of the Beretitenti, who is the head of state and the head of government, and the Kauoman-ni-Beretitenti. Part III of the constitution requires the establishment of a Cabinet, which consists of the Beretitenti, the Kauoman-ni-Beretitenti, ministers and the attorney-general.

Kiribati’s political system is a hybrid, combining aspects of a presidential system and the Westminster model, with no adoption of traditional elements from the maneaba system. The functions of the executive are carried out through the ministries, corporations and companies under their respective portfolios. Government policies and national commitments to international agreements are reflected in the goals of a four-year Kiribati Development Plan, a document formulated by ministries and other main stakeholders of the community.1 The national government operates at both the central and local levels. The central government has a large public sector operating under the constitution and various items of legislation, while the local government exists on all inhabited islands in five districts: Northern Gilbert, Central Gilbert, Southern Gilbert, Banaba, and the Line and Phoenix Group. The Ministry of Internal Affairs is responsible for the administration of local government, and local government affairs are conducted under the Local Government Act 2000. Councils are appointed from villages headed by a mayor elected from among members. Councils are assisted by appointed officials, including the Chief Executive Officer, a Treasurer, a project officer and other personnel appointed from the Ministry of Internal Affairs.

Legislature The Maneaba-ni-Maugatabu (Parliament) is a unicameral legislative institution based on the Westminster system. The Maneaba-ni-Maugatabu has three roles: (1) to represent the views of the people; (2) to make laws and to pass the government’s budget; and (3) to maintain oversight of the executive’s performance and scrutinise the activities of government to ensure that the country’s resources are efficiently used for the welfare of the people. A party system in the Maneaba-ni-Maungatabu can hinder the effective implementation of the Parliament’s roles. The party system in the new political system seems to work on the premise of competition of party platform policies and political perpetuation in office. This is contradictory to what actually happens in the traditional political system, which seeks consensus from every old man. In the new political system, whichever party governs can utilise available resources not only for the purpose of meeting

the needs of the people but also as a way of strengthening its political position, highlighting its achievements for the voters. Sometimes, genuine cases of the people that are raised by other parties in the Maneaba-ni-Maungatabu will not be acted upon by the ruling party when considering that the matter – a question, motion or bill – will have political repercussions for the government. However, the islands’ economic resources are scarce and warrant a consensus among the government and other parties to decide on how they can be best deployed and utilised for the benefit of the people, rather than basing those decisions upon political agendas. The Maneaba-ni-Maungatabu usually meets two to three times a year, for two weeks; every member has to travel from the outer islands to the country’s capital in South Tarawa (a number of small islands connected by causeways) several days before the House is convened. The 30 December 2015 parliamentary election showed some change in the public’s view of who is best qualified to represent them. Of the 44 2011– 15 MPs, only 23 were re-elected. Of re-elected MPs, 13 were members of Boutokaan Te Koaua (BTK), eight of Karikirakean Te I-Kiribati (KTI) and one of Maurin Kiribati (MK), with one being an independent. Of the new members, these can be expected to align themselves with one of the existing parties; however, some may prefer to form a new party or to be an independent MP. As previously – the 2011–15 Parliament included 40 men and only four women – most of the MPs in the Parliament elected in December 2015 were men, with only three women elected. Overall, the MPs are a mix of returning MPs, senior public servants, former MPs defeated in previous elections and a few business people. As a result of constitutionally prescribed term limits, Anote Tong (elected to three consecutive presidential terms) was not eligible for re-election as president and he opted not to stand for a parliamentary seat. Three former presidents were parliamentary candidates: Ieremia Tabai and Teburoro Tito were re-elected; Teatao Teannaki was not, although on 4 February 2016 he was elected Speaker. Prior to the first post-election sitting of Parliament and the making of nominations for president (with the popular vote election being held in March 2016), two parties (KTI and MK) seeking to strengthen their position formed a new party, Tobwaan Kiribati

(‘Nurturing Kiribati’). On 10 March it was announced that the new coalition’s candidate, Taneti Maamau, had been elected president, ending the BTK’s control over the presidency.

Issues faced in the formation of the Maneaba-ni-Maungatabu The major issues faced in the formation of the Maneaba-ni-Maungatabu are mostly related to the strong cultural practices, including the manipulation of the party system in nominating candidates for the Beretitenti. The isolation of the islands and enduring paternalistic customs also influence voting practices when people view elections as a means to further family or island communal welfare. Consequently, people are often tempted to elect those who are closely related to them or who have contributed largesse to the village or island, rather than choose a candidate based on their educational merit, work experience or leadership credibility. Some members of the Maneaba-niMaungatabu lack leadership skills in educating their constituencies to make initiatives and solve manageable issues of the community, such as repairing a classroom or clinic, rather than depending solely on the government to solve the problems.

Judiciary The court system was inherited from Britain. Partially an outcome of provisions of the constitution and the Magistrate Ordinance, it is composed of the Privy Council, the Court of Appeal, the High Court and the Magistrates’ Courts. The Privy Council in Britain deals with appeals from High Court decisions and possible infringement of the constitution. The Court of Appeal is a superior court of record with jurisdiction and powers to hear and decide civil and criminal appeals from the High Court. The High Court has unlimited original jurisdiction and powers both in civil and criminal cases. Appeals and petitions can be made to the High Court when people are not satisfied with the decisions made by a lower court, such as a Magistrate’s Court. The High Court is also empowered to settle disputes relating to the election of members of Parliament. The Magistrates’ Court is a lower court, established according to the Magistrate Ordinance 1997. It deals with civil and criminal cases, enforcing

order and stability throughout the scattered islands of the country. It includes three lay persons appointed by the Beretitenti on the advice of the chief justice. The recruitment of magistrates is carried out among respected Unimwane candidates from the villages of the island; these candidates are expected to be knowledgeable in Kiribati culture and land tenure. Their local knowledge of customary laws enables them to deal with such matters as divorce, adoption, care of children, paternity, inheritance, land and criminal offences. Cases which are unresolved at the Magistrates’ Court can be taken up by the High Court. A Land Court has been incorporated and become part of a Magistrates’ Court. The sitting for land issues requires the assistance of Kaitira – local land advisors – from different villages of the island, who are supposed to be knowledgeable about land matters. Land issues are too complex and problematic for the Magistrate’s Court to deal with, particularly when people disagree with the court’s decision. When this happens people can appeal to the High Court for interpretation of Land Codes by officers working in the Lands Office. The advice from officers of the Lands Department of the Ministry of Environment, Land and Agriculture often relies on slow and unsatisfactory responses, which can result in disputes and frustrations. Each Magistrates’ Court is supported by a court clerk of the Judiciary Department, who is recruited and stationed on each island. The jurisdiction of the Magistrates’ Court is limited to cases which carry penalties of less than five years’ imprisonment or a monetary fine not exceeding A$3000.

Issues faced by the judicial system The judicial system introduced in Kiribati is complex; many people on the outer islands have limited knowledge about it. It has not been introduced in the senior secondary school curriculum or promoted to the public. The lack of available information is one of the factors which make people unaware of the functions of complex court systems, such as the High Court and Court of Appeal. Other major barriers contributing to problems with the judiciary system include: • shortages of qualified local lawyers and judges;

• the inefficient work of the Magistrates’ Courts, creating a backlog of legal work and a large volume of appeals and petitions to the High Court; • dependency on recruiting judges from overseas; and • a variation in the mandate of the court, where it deals not only with interpretation of the law but also acts as an arbitrator.

Major issues and ways forward The growing population of Kiribati is a major issue that has put pressure on the government and the community.2 The population of the country in 2015 is at least 103,000; about 44 per cent are under 24 years of age. The impact of overpopulation and the inability of the government to expand its limited economic resources to create jobs are issues of concern, particularly with respect to the needs and expectations of the youth population. The effect of globalisation and monetisation on the life of I-Kiribati has also led the majority to become overdependent on cash as a means of survival, rather than obtaining their needs and wants from the land and sea.3 The population control policy, the promotion of entrepreneurial skills and the strengthening of traditional knowledge and skills to survive in harsh island conditions need to be revived and implemented. Subsistence farming, mostly in the outer islands, should be maintained and improved to encourage commercial production of local crops such as breadfruit, banana, babai (taro), coconut, pandanus and vegetables, avoiding dependence on expensive, processed imported foods. The provision of career services and mentoring for young people to help them onto useful career paths as professionals, traders, entrepreneurs or subsistence farmers could also help to reduce youth drop-out rates and unemployment. Policy change is needed to strengthen the economy and the performance of the public sector (through merit-based recruitment and promotion, and contract appointments of public servants). Promoting commercial development of major resources, such as fish and land products, can increase economic activity. The average annual export income is A$10 million, while imports often exceed A$80 million. The impact of the trade deficit on the economy demonstrates the weakness of the economy and the need for the

government to stimulate commercial activities utilising the country’s marine resources. Other major issues are the increase of urbanisation, and the effect of climate change and sea level rise. The disparities in life opportunities between rural and urban dwellers have made people from the outer islands come to South Tarawa, straining limited resources and creating economic, social and health problems The government needs to balance the developments on Tarawa and the outer islands, based on the unique advantages of each island group, to reduce the pressure of urbanisation and assist in economic development.4 The effects of sea level rise can be seen through coastal erosion, water salinity, difficulty in living a subsistence lifestyle and the relocation of coastal dwellers inland to avoid negative impacts from high tides and sea water. Some capable and educated I-Kiribati have already emigrated, mostly to New Zealand and Australia, in search of a better life and to escape from sea-level-rise catastrophe. In 2014 President Tong described the country’s disappearance as ‘inevitable’, declaring that it was already ‘too late’ to save his country from the existential threat posed by climate change. Government plans to upgrade educational institutions to prepare people with transferable professional and trade skills can assist the young generation to professionally develop themselves and migrate with dignity. However, the plan’s effectiveness is dependent on the collaboration of the government and the international community in recognising graduates from local institutes and in absorbing a migrant population. In general, I-Kiribati are viewed as humble, industrious and resilient, able to contribute to the development of whichever country is ready to assimilate them into its community.

Conclusion Kiribati has gone through a major transition from traditional village and island political networks to a Western democratic political system based on the provisions of its constitution. Inevitably, mismatches have occurred between traditional and modern ways, arising from the natural environment and from the country’s social, economic and political circumstances.

Kiribati can no longer isolate itself, but must embrace change and be part of the international community. Educating and involving the people in the new democratic political system is essential for sustaining the official Kiribati motto: Te Mauri (Good Health), Te Raoi (Peace) and Te Tabomoa (Prosperity).

Further reading ‘About Kiribati’, 2012, http://www.kiribatitourism.gov.ki/index.php/aboutk. Brechtefeld, Natan, ‘The Electoral System’, in Howard Van Trease (ed.), Atoll Politics: The Republic of Kiribati, Christchurch, Macmillan Brown Centre for Pacific Studies, 1993, pp. 42–47. Constitution of Kiribati, http://www.parliament.gov.ki/content/constitution-kiribati. Koae, Teaiaki, ‘Corrupt and Illegal Electoral Practices’, in Howard Van Trease (eds), Atoll Politics: The Republic of Kiribati, Christchurch, Macmillan Brown Centre for Pacific Studies, 1993, pp. 105–111. Koch, Gerd, The Material Culture of Kiribati, Suva, University of the South Pacific, 1986. Lodge, Michael, ‘Kiribati Legal System’, in Guy Powles and Mere Pulea (eds), Pacific Courts and Legal Systems, Melbourne, University of the South Pacific and the Faculty of Law, Monash University, 1988, pp. 233–237. Macdonald, Barrie, Cinderellas of the Empire: Towards a History of Kiribati and Tuvalu, Canberra, Australian National University Press, 1982. Macdonald, Barrie, ‘Elections in Kiribati’, Political Science, vol. 35, no. 1, 1983, pp. 58–70. Mason, Leonard (ed.), Kiribati: A Changing Atoll Culture, Suva, Fiji, Suva Printing & Publishing Ltd, 1985. Sabatier, Ernest, Astride The Equator: An Account of the Gilbert Islands, Melbourne, Oxford University Press, 1977. Tabokai, Nakibae, ‘Change and Continuity’, in Leonard Mason (ed.), Kiribati: A Changing Atoll Culture, Suva, Institute of Pacific Studies, University of the South Pacific, 1985, pp. 182–193. Talu, Alaima et al., Kiribati: Aspects of History, Suva, Institute of Pacific Studies University of the South Pacific, 1984. Teiwaki, Roniti, ‘Kiribati – Nation of Water’, in Ron Crocombe and Ahmed Ali (eds), Politics in Micronesia, Suva, Institute of Pacific Studies, University of the South Pacific, 1983, pp. 3–36. Tetoa, Atiera, ‘The Maneaba ni Maungatabu’, in Howard Van Trease (eds), Atoll Politics: The Republic of Kiribati, Christchurch, Macmillan Brown Centre for Pacific Studies, 1993, pp. 30–37. Tsamenyi, Ben M., ‘Kiribati,’ in Michael A. Ntumy (ed.), South Pacific Islands Legal Systems, Honolulu, University of Hawai‘i Press, 1993, pp. 75–98. Van Trease, Howard (ed.), Atoll Politics: The Republic of Kiribati, Christchurch, Macmillan Brown Centre for Pacific Studies, 1993. Van Trease, Howard, ‘Kiribati’, in Stephen Levine (ed.), Pacific Ways: Government and Politics in the Pacific Islands, first edition, Wellington, Victoria University Press, 2009, pp. 94–111. Van Trease, Howard, ‘The General Election’, in Howard Van Trease (ed.), Atoll Politics: The Republic of Kiribati, Christchurch, Macmillan Brown Centre for Pacific Studies, 1993, pp. 77–90.

Parliament of Kiribati, http://www.parliament.gov.ki/ Republic of Kiribati, Presidential Office, http://www.president.gov.ki/ Pacific Media Centre, ‘Kiribati’, http://www.pmc.aut.ac.nz/regions/kiribati

Notes 1 See Government of Kiribati, Kiribati Development Plan 2012–2015, 2012, https://dfat.gov.au/aboutus/publications/Documents/kiribati-development-plan-2012-2015.pdf; and Kiribati Development Plan 2012–2015 Mid-Term Review, http://www.mfed.gov.ki/publications/kiribati-development-plan-20122015-mid-term-review. See also Kiribati Millennium Development Goals: Kiribati June 2015, htt p://www.mfed.gov.ki/publications/millennium-development-goals-kiribati-june-2015. The Government of Kiribati’s National Budgets (2009–15) are available at: http://www.mfed.gov.ki/publications/kiribatinational-budget. 2 See Government of Kiribati, Kiribati 2010 Census, Volume 2: Analytical Report, Kiribati National Statistics and the SPC Statistics for Development Program, Noumea, New Caledonia, 2012. 3 See Asian Development Bank, Kiribati-Monetisation in an Atoll Society: Managing Economic and Social Change, Manila, Asian Development Bank, 2002. 4 For a full discussion of these issues, see Takuia Uakeia, ‘Governance Issues Affecting Development in Kiribati’, PhD thesis, Armidale, New South Wales, University of New England, 2012. See also Maneaba-ni-Maungatabu, Parliamentary Select Committee on Population Management and Development Report, Ambo, Tarawa, Kiribati, 2015.

Marshall Islands David W. Kupferman David W. Kupferman is Assistant Professor in Education at the University of Hawai‘i, West O‘ahu, and editor of the ‘Political Reviews’ section of The Contemporary Pacific. The Republic of the Marshall Islands (RMI) is a nation of 29 atolls and five islands, distributed across more than two million square kilometres of the Pacific, with a population (in the 2011 census) of 53,158 people. It emerged as a self-governing state in 1979 with the promulgation of its constitution and its separately negotiated political status of free association with the United States, resulting in its independence from, and the ultimate dissolution of, the Trust Territory of Pacific Islands (TTPI) in 1986. Since 1991 the RMI has been a voting member of the United Nations, and has subsequently joined a wide array of international organisations including the Pacific Islands Forum, the Secretariat of the Pacific Community, and the World Bank. The political system is modelled after a Westminster-style Parliament (called the Nitijela) and includes, as well, a Council of Iroij (chiefs), meant to serve as a local version of the House of Lords, with no practical authority but needing to be consulted on bills dealing with customary rights and laws. The RMI also has an independent judiciary. There are 24 districts within the Nitijela, with proportional representation distributed among 33 Senate seats. National elections are held every four years, and a simple majority of senators (17 out of 33) is required to elect the president (rather than a prime minister) who serves as head of government: the president is both head of government and head of state. In addition to the president, the members elect a Speaker and Vice-Speaker, also by simple majority. The Speaker sets the legislative agenda and is

considered potentially the most powerful figure in Parliament. The Speaker also approves the ten members of the president’s Cabinet, all of whom must be sitting senators. Besides general elections, a government may change by a vote of no confidence, which must pass with a simple majority. There are no term limits for any national offices.1 Marshall Islands society is highly stratified, based on one’s hereditary relationship to land tenure, and is currently divided into three major classes: iroij (or chiefs, the landowners); alab (landlords); and ri-jerbal (landless labourers). There is no social mobility in this system; rank is determined at birth, predominantly through the mother’s lineage. At the risk of oversimplifying a complex system of social and political power relations, these three general ranks are useful in understanding the various agendas that have informed not only the structure of the government, which was set up in order to legitimise the authority of the iroij within an ostensibly democratic framework, but also many of the decisions that have had the most impact on the daily lives of the Marshallese citizenry. It should come as no surprise, then, that while there already is a largely symbolic Council of Iroij, five of the eight presidents of the RMI have also been iroij, as have many of the senators elected to the Nitijela. The most dominant political and customary figure in the RMI was, and to a large extent still is, Amata Kabua. Kabua is popularly acknowledged as the last iroijlaplap (paramount chief): that is, someone who could claim iroij status from both the Ralik (western) and Ratak (eastern) chains of the Marshall Islands. His mother, Tarjikit, was a leroij (female chief) from Majuro, while his adopted father, Lojellang Kabua, was one of the foremost iroij from Kwajalein. Amata Kabua was very successful in melding customary Marshallese notions of power with new forms of ostensibly democratic political power, a blurring that has continued to the present day, obscuring clear divisions between customary and democratic processes. To understand the political system that Kabua created, largely through a combination of subtle and overt uses of customary influence, it is necessary to also consider the historical opposition to his attempts at consolidating various forms of power. Three significant debates erupted in the decade beginning in the 1970s and culminating in the creation of the new republic: separation from the TTPI; the writing of the constitution; and the negotiation

and approval of the Compact of Free Association. These issues continue, in various ways, to shape the country’s contemporary political climate.

Separation, constitutional developments and the Compact of Free Association In 1972, as one of the two Marshall Islands senators in the Congress of Micronesia, Kabua began to publicly consider separating the Marshalls district from the rest of the TTPI. Beyond appeals to Marshallese ‘identity’, the immediate reason behind the move was the fact that the taxes generated by US military operations at Kwajalein Atoll were distributed throughout the districts of the TTPI; the Marshallese delegation thought this unfair and wanted a bigger share of the revenue. In response to Kabua’s calls for separation, a small group of Marshallese congressmen opposed him and his supporters, citing, among other things, the fact that a larger, unified Micronesia would have more political clout, especially in its dealings with the US, than the much smaller entity of a separate Marshall Islands. During this initial fight with Kabua, the opposition began to coalesce, calling itself Ainiken Ri-Majol (‘Voice of the Marshallese’). In 1977, Kabua, having already instigated political future status talks with the US, pushed through the first Marshall Islands Constitutional Convention, even though the Marshalls district was still technically part of the TTPI. Kabua was elected as the chair of the convention and was successful in negotiating a parliamentary system of government instead of a presidential model. One member of Ainiken Ri-Majol, Chuji Chutaro, headed the committee that wrote the Bill of Rights, and while he was able to have the Bill of Rights included in the final draft, Chutaro and two other members of the 47-person convention, including future president Litokwa Tomeing, refused to sign the constitution. With the electoral defeat of the Micronesian constitution in the Marshalls district by plebiscite in July 1978 (the drafting of which Kabua and his supporters essentially boycotted), and the promulgation of the constitution of the Republic of the Marshall Islands on 1 May 1979, the Marshalls in effect severed its ties with the TTPI.2 Kabua was unanimously elected the first president of the RMI, a position he would hold for 17 years until his death in

1996. But Kabua’s opponents were also elected to the Nitijela. While Ainiken Ri-Majol (which by this point had become something of an official party label) 3 at its peak contained only six of the 33 members of the Nitijela, posing no real existential threat to Kabua’s hold on power, the group became increasingly vocal and influential in swaying public opinion. The final debate between Kabua and Ainiken Ri-Majol, and one which continues to reverberate most strongly in the country, focused on the Compact of Free Association (COFA), the international treaty that currently sets the terms of the relationship between the RMI and the US. The Compact is on the whole an agreement with two parts: economic and military. Lasting for 15 years, the original COFA was the major source of financial assistance to the country (and today still constitutes the bulk of the RMI Government’s annual operating budget). It also enabled RMI citizens to work, travel, study and live in the US visa-free. The military component, arguably the more important section, has no expiration date (nor does the Compact itself, except by mutual agreement) and ensures that the US provides for all of the RMI’s defence needs in exchange for the right of ‘strategic denial’ to other nations of the RMI’s territory (land as well as sea).4 The challenge to the Compact by Ainiken Ri-Majol was based on two major premises. The first was that, in the eyes of the opposition, the RMI was not ready to enter the world community of nations, and that a closer relationship with the United States, akin to the Commonwealth agreement established with the Northern Mariana Islands, would be more beneficial in the long run. The second complaint, in which the political opposition was joined by an organised group of nuclear testing survivors and their lawyers, centred on Section 177 of the Compact, what has come to be known as the Espousal Clause. By signing the Compact and agreeing to its provisions, the RMI would be legally obliged to abide by the Espousal Clause, which absolved the US of future responsibility for damages (beyond the agreed upon amount of US$150 million) from the nuclear testing programme conducted between 1946 and 1958 at Bikini and Enewetak atolls and the subsequent irradiation due to fallout from the Bravo Shot on 1 March 1954 that contaminated Rongelap and Utrik.5 In addition, Ainiken Ri-Majol was joined by the Kwajalein Atoll Corporation, composed of landowners from Kwajalein Atoll who objected

to the Military Use and Operating Rights Agreement (MUORA) embedded in the Compact. Kwajalein, the world’s largest coral atoll, served as the primary US military installation in the Marshalls at the end of World War II and throughout the nuclear testing programme, after which it was transformed in the 1980s to a ballistic missile range test site as part of US president Ronald Reagan’s ‘Star Wars’ Strategic Defense Initiative (SDI). The local population was relocated to nearby Ebeye Island, where they were joined by Marshallese from other atolls looking to work at the US army installation; as a result, the population has grown to an estimated 12,000 people, all inhabiting a little over a quarter of a square kilometre of land. As part of the original Compact, Kwajalein was leased to the US for 30 years (until 2016). The 1983 plebiscite on the Compact resulted in a majority vote approving it, but the atolls in the southern and western Marshalls, including Kwajalein, that were represented by Ainiken Ri-Majol overwhelmingly voted against it.6 The Compact went into effect and the RMI officially exited the TTPI in October 1986. By that time and shortly thereafter, members of Ainiken RiMajol had either left the group and joined Kabua or left the Nitijela entirely. There was a brief resurgence of opposition to Kabua in the election of 1991, which featured the candidacies of sons and other relations and supporters of Ainiken Ri-Majol organising under the banner of the Ralik-Ratak Democratic Party (RRDP), but only two members of the group, including incumbent senator Tony de Brum, were elected. While de Brum ran against Amata Kabua in that election, ostensibly because of his demotion within Kabua’s Cabinet a few years prior, he quickly rejoined the ruling party.7 Since 1979, there have been two Constitutional Conventions, in 1990 and 1995; the constitution itself has been amended only twice, changing the official name of the government and clarifying that in the case of discrepancies in meaning between the Marshallese and English language versions, the Marshallese language prevails. During the 1990 Convention, Amata Kabua introduced a significant change to customary land tenure laws, attempting to codify the financial authority of the iroij at the expense of the alab class. The current rental payment system in most atolls is generally a three-way split between the iroij, alab, and ri-jerbal. Kabua’s proposal would have eliminated the alab class and instead instituted a fifty-fifty split between iroij and kajur (the largely pre-colonial concept of ‘commoners’,

who, prior to the advent of a cash economy, thrived in a system of reciprocal exchange with the iroij). The measure failed to gain support, but it remains one of the more obvious attempts by the ruling class to solidify its changing customary authority through the legislative process.8

Women’s representation in Marshall Islands politics Another area in which custom and democratic practices conflict is in the historic under-representation of women in government at the national level. Marshall Islands society is characterised as matrilineal, and land tenure rights and inheritance are passed through the mother’s line (with the exception of Enewetak, which follows a patrilineal line). One is identified first and foremost with one’s matrilineal jowi (clan), although women have historically played a behind-the-scenes role in decision-making and political activity. To date there have been six women who have represented districts at the national level: Carmen Bigler, who served as the first congresswoman in the Congress of Micronesia from 1974 to 1976; Evelyn Konou, the only female member of Ainiken Ri-Majol, who was Senator from Jaluit for four terms from 1979 to 1995; Abbaca Anjain-Maddison, Senator from Rongelap, 2003–07; Amenta Matthew, Senator from Utrik, 2007–11 and re-elected in 2015; Hilda Heine, Senator from Aur since 2011; and Daisy Momotaro, Senator from Jaluit since 2015. The election of 2015 in fact resulted in a number of important firsts for women, as it marked the first time that more than one woman served as a senator at the same time, and in a series of surprise moves, explained in more detail below, Hilda Heine became not only the first woman president of the RMI but also the first woman to be elected head of state in any independent Pacific Islands nation. A women’s parliamentary bloc should not be expected, however, as Daisy Momotaro aligned herself in opposition to Heine’s administration. There have been some attempts at increasing women’s representation in leadership, most recently with a proposal to reserve five of the 33 seats in the Nitijela for women senators. (It should also be noted that women have had more success at the municipal level, winning mayoral and council seats in much greater numbers than at the national level.) However, while the constitution requires a report from the Speaker of the Nitijela on the need for

a constitutional convention every ten years,9 the closest that a Speaker has come to calling for one since 1995 was in 2013. While the general public appeared to be in favour of revisiting the constitution almost two decades since the previous convention, and there was much buzz around Majuro for proposals that included increasing women’s representation in the Parliament, direct election of the president, and the creation of offices for a special prosecutor and an ombudsman, Speaker Donald Capelle ultimately decided not to call for a constitutional convention.10

Party politics and political change With Amata Kabua’s death in 1996, the stability of the government seemed to be in jeopardy, and since that time the RMI has experienced uneven periods of democratic legitimacy at the executive and judicial levels. In January 1997, as the Nitijela convened, its first order of business was selecting its second president: Imata Kabua, Amata’s cousin, now one of the ranking iroij from the Ralik (western) chain and the most publicly influential landowner of Kwajalein. During the Compact debate in the early 1980s, Imata opposed Amata over the issue of Kwajalein, and had briefly aligned himself with the opposition groups (though never overtly) as well as leading a series of protest sail-ins at Kwajalein Island. By the time of his election to the presidency, however, Imata was firmly allied with Amata’s governing party, although he was a pale shadow of his cousin in terms of political statesmanship. Imata was often criticised for appearing drunk in public, and in 1999 he infamously announced on public radio that he was casting a vote ‘in the name of Miller Lite’.11 Kabua’s term in office was also plagued by charges of corruption, as well as notably heated debates over legalised gambling, one of the last pieces of legislation that Amata Kabua was able to push through before his death. As the social maladies associated with gambling became apparent, various local church groups began to mobilise against the owners of the casinos, including President Kabua, Minister Phillip Muller, and Senator Tony de Brum. After a series of votes on a pair of bills that would repeal the gambling bill and outlaw gambling, Kabua doubled down and shuffled his Cabinet, leading to the first vote of no confidence ever introduced into the RMI Parliament. While the vote

ultimately failed, the political engineering displayed by the Speaker, Kessai Note, in pushing through the bills in spite of President Kabua’s hostility, outlined the contours of what would become a new consolidation of opposition politics. The rest of Kabua’s presidency was marred by his seemingly mercurial decision to switch diplomatic recognition from the People’s Republic of China to Taiwan (Republic of China) overnight in late 1998, which was preceded by news of a passport-selling scheme to Taiwanese nationals that summer. Between the gambling issue, the selling of passports, the general economic malaise, and an unprecedented strike by nurses at the national hospital over government interference in personnel matters, the stage was set for Note’s new political party, the United Democratic Party (UDP), to challenge Kabua in the 1999 election. While Kabua was safely re-elected by the voters of Kwajalein, de Brum and Muller were ousted, and Note and the UDP had a clear majority. In January 2000, Kessai Note became the third president and the first not of iroij status. His election seemed to usher in a new era of democratic possibility in the RMI.12 The most pressing issue facing the new Note administration was the renegotiation of the Compact, which was set to expire in 2001 (but was carried over until an amended Compact was signed in 2003). In January 2001, however, the Note administration first had to fend off the country’s second vote of no confidence, brought forth by Imata Kabua and fellow Kwajalein senator Justin de Brum. While the vote ultimately failed, it signalled the start of a two-party conflict that, by the 2003 election, would pit the UDP, representing the more democratic impulses in the Nitijela, against what would be called Aelon Kein Ad (‘Our Islands’, AKA), which represented the interests of the iroij in Parliament. Much of this rivalry was fuelled by the Compact negotiations, which resulted in a 20-year funding agreement that included progressively decreasing US grant funding and concomitant increasing loans until 2023, as well as a renewal of the MUORA for use of Kwajalein, with the US extending the lease until at least 2066 with the option to continue use of the land through 2086. While the Compact as amended (or Compact II as it is popularly known) between the RMI and the US went into effect in 2003, the Kwajalein landowners, led by Imata Kabua, refused to sign the necessary Land Use Agreement (LUA) with

the Note administration, arguing that the president and his representatives had negotiated with the US in bad faith.13 For the rest of the Note presidency, which was re-elected in 2003, the economic situation in the RMI turned from bad to worse, as long-time locally owned businesses were bought out by predominantly Taiwanese business interests, and the government began to face default on multi-million dollar loans from the Asian Development Bank. On the eve of the 2007 election, Litokwa Tomeing, who had served as Vice Speaker when Note was Speaker, and then as Speaker during the Note presidency, turned against the president and declared his allegiance to the opposition, a weakened version of AKA. In January 2008, Tomeing, an iroij from Wotje in the Ratak chain with extensive land rights in the Ralik chain, was elected president, and it appeared that the iroij had returned to dominate the presidency. Tomeing’s first order of business was to announce a new political party, the United People’s Party (UPP), which attempted to draw members from both UDP and AKA.14 But Tomeing faced tests of legitimacy within his first year, and in October 2008 members of the UDP submitted a vote of no confidence. While the vote failed to materialise, Tomeing had difficulty with members of his own Cabinet, and in early 2009 he sacked Tony de Brum, a member of AKA, as minister of foreign affairs. In April, de Brum, backed by both UDP and AKA members, submitted another vote of no confidence against Tomeing, which also failed. But by October that year, de Brum and Kessai Note found common cause, joining forces to successfully pass the third and final vote of no confidence against Tomeing, after a bitter public dispute between Tomeing and Note that was carried live on the radio, during which Tomeing reminded Note of his place in Marshallese custom as a non-iroij. Tomeing was replaced by his Speaker, Jurelang Zedkaia, an iroij from Majuro, who was widely seen as a placeholder until the national election in 2011.15 While the executive branch was faced with questions of legitimacy during this time, the judicial branch, long seen as the least consequential branch of government, asserted itself in an unprecedented way. During the debate about when to take the vote of no confidence in April, there was some question as to whether the constitution’s instructions that a vote must be held no sooner than five days and no later than ten days after the introduction of the bill referred to Nitijela sitting days or calendar days. The tenth day fell

on a Saturday, and while Speaker Zedkaia contended that the constitution meant to count only sitting days, the High Court disagreed, ruling that the vote had to be taken by that Saturday. While this may seem a small matter in more established democracies with well-functioning judiciaries, it marked an important precedent for judicial review in the RMI. For the first time in the nation’s history the judiciary, which had heretofore typically bent to the will of the president (based in no small part upon previous cases wherein unpopular rulings resulted in the summary removal of judges), asserted its interpretation of the constitution as a co-equal branch of government.16 Zedkaia, who was originally a member of AKA under Imata Kabua, now seemed to join with a majority of UDP holdovers from the Note administration. The one accomplishment that Zedkaia could claim as president was the signing of the Land Use Agreement between the RMI Government and the Kwajalein landowners in May 2011.17 Imata Kabua, who would previously wear t-shirts stating ‘2016: The Buck Stops Here’ – a reference to the end date of the original MUORA for Kwajalein – was soon after seen around town wearing a baseball jersey with the number ‘2086’ on the back. In the run-up to the 2011 election, Zedkaia and members of his Cabinet announced the formation of a new political party, Kien Eo Am (‘Your Government’, KEA). But KEA did not have the numbers to defeat AKA, now headed by Tomeing’s former minister in assistance and iroij from the Ralik chain Christopher Loeak, who allied himself with Kessai Note’s five independent swing votes in the Nitijela. Two of Note’s group, Donald Capelle and Tomaki Juda, were elected Speaker and Vice Speaker, respectively, under the new administration of President Loeak.18 Political watchers in Majuro were concerned that the RMI had entered a new era of instability in the government, as there had been a quick succession of three presidents in two years, and the ad hoc political party system offered no clear direction as to what any given administration’s priorities were. What was clear, however, was that the iroij class was firmly in charge of the country’s various governing bodies, with Christopher Loeak and his brothers Kotak and Botlong serving as president, chairman of the Council of Iroij and a judge on the Traditional Rights Council, respectively, while their eldest brother Anjua Loeak represented the family’s land rights on Kwajalein (the

Loeak family is one of the four major landowners of Kwajalein and the Ralik chain).

The Loeak presidency, nuclear claims issues and climate change As president, Christopher Loeak was quick to return to the Cabinet a number of the old guard who had come up under Amata and Imata Kabua, including Phillip Muller as minister of foreign affairs and Tony de Brum as minister in assistance. In January 2012, almost immediately after the new administration took office, tensions arose between the RMI and US governments, beginning with charges by Minister Muller that the US was unilaterally changing the terms of the Compact. These accusations were followed by a series of protests held during the US Ambassador’s speech on the 1 March Nuclear Victims’ Day holiday, encouraged by the Loeak administration. Later in the year, during a visit by US Assistant Secretary of State Kurt Campbell, Muller presented Campbell with a ‘restart’ button, referencing a similar prop employed by US Secretary of State Hillary Clinton and her Russian counterpart.19 In April 2014, the RMI provoked an international response when the Loeak administration sued the nine nuclear powers in the International Court of Justice and US Federal Court, arguing that those nations had failed to comply with the 1968 Non-Proliferation Treaty (even though India, Israel, North Korea and Pakistan, all named in the suit, are not signatories of the NPT).20 In early February 2015 the suit was dismissed in US Federal Court on the basis that the harm caused to the RMI by the United States’ breach of the Non-Proliferation Treaty was ‘speculative’ and that compelling the US to negotiate disarmament would not redress any harm to the RMI. At the time of this writing, the RMI Government is appealing the ruling.21 What is not clear to those in the Marshall Islands who are still living with the effects of US nuclear testing is why the Loeak administration was less forceful in pushing the US to abide by the terms of the Changed Circumstances Petition, included in Section 177 of the original Compact, wherein the US can be liable for further damages in the event of new scientific or medical evidence. While the RMI sent the Changed Circumstances Petition to the US Senate in 1999, that body has yet to

consider it, despite the fact that the Nuclear Claims Tribunal in Majuro, which was created in 1988 as part of Section 177, exhausted the available funds in the early 2000s and awarded an outstanding $1 billion to the people of Bikini and Enewetak.22 Arguably the biggest issue taken on by the Loeak administration was sea level rise and climate change. Sea level rise is potentially the greatest existential threat to an atoll nation that sits no more than a few metres above sea level, and Tony de Brum had taken on the issue as part of his personal portfolio, first as minister in assistance to the president and subsequently as minister of foreign affairs. De Brum, who has been near the centre of RMI politics since before the separation from the TTPI, endeared himself to the foreign press as a result of his very public criticisms of the so-called industrial powers for the threat that their carbon use poses to the RMI; and the Loeak administration embraced the power of the international media, notably The New York Times, to make its case.23 Sea level rise is a very real threat, as is the effect of climate change on the extent to which naturally occurring seasonal king tides impact the islands. But a debate in the scientific community about how islands respond to dynamic processes such as sea level rise may complicate the political message that de Brum had been promoting.24 The meaning of the RMI’s climate change position becomes complicated both by its ship registry – currently the third largest ‘flag of convenience’ registry in the world, it includes the flagging of oil tankers and drilling platforms (which make up over 40 per cent of its flagged vessels and included the Deepwater Horizon in the Gulf of Mexico)25 – and by recent development projects in Majuro, including the expansion of the runway at Amata Kabua International Airport, in which the last healthy coral in Majuro Lagoon was dredged to be used as aggregate for the airstrip.26 The more immediate event, however, was the election of 2015, the outcome of which no one could have predicted. When the votes were finally counted, it was clear that the people of the RMI demanded change: half of the Loeak Cabinet was voted out of office, including Tony de Brum and Phillip Muller, as was Speaker Donald Capelle. Indeed, 14 new senators were elected, the most in a single election since the country’s founding, and for the first time the Nitijela included three women senators. With such a result, both the remnants of the Loeak administration and KEA each set about to form a

coalition government to include the newly elected members, some of whom formed their own bloc known as the ‘Solid Six’. When the Nitijela convened on 4 January 2016, KEA members Kenneth Kedi of Rongelap and Jejwarick Anton of Arno were elected Speaker and Vice-Speaker, respectively. But in a surprise move engineered by iroij and Kwajalein Senator Mike Kabua, the younger brother of Imata Kabua, the iroij faction was able to elect Casten Nemra from Jaluit, who had served as Chief Secretary under the previous three administrations but had never before held elective office, as the youngest, and second non-iroij, president in RMI history, albeit with a razor thin 17–16 margin.27 Nemra’s election shocked KEA, and the country, but his shaky coalition soon crumbled as he was unable to form a Cabinet: two of his appointees, cousins Wilbur Heine from Mili and Hilda Heine, refused to accept their nominations since their cousin Thomas Heine, Senator from Lae, had been passed over. As a result, they moved their support to KEA, which almost immediately filed a vote of no confidence motion. On 26 January, the motion carried by a vote of 21–12, and the next day Hilda Heine was elected the eighth president and the first woman to hold the office by a vote of 24–6.2 8

It is unclear if Heine’s election is the start of a more stable period of governance, or if it signals simply the latest wrinkle in a period of relative political unpredictability that has characterised the last eight years. What is also uncertain is whether her and her cousins’ loyalty to family and clan ties in fact has weakened the customary hold on power historically wielded by the ruling iroij. In any event, assuming her coalition holds, it is her administration that will likely need to begin negotiating the end of the funding agreement under the current Compact as amended, which expires in 2023, and to consider the possibilities for what comes next.29 In many ways the RMI is still working through the same issues that faced Amata Kabua and his opponents at the dawn of the country, and many who were working in the government in the 1970s and 1980s are still there today. It is likely no big leap to suggest that these same individuals may be faced, in both the short and long term, with the question of the country’s very future survival. What they will have to decide is if the political system and its constitution are up to the task.

Further reading Johnson, Giff, Idyllic No More: Pacific Islands Climate, Corruption and Development Dilemmas, CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform, 2015. Kupferman, David W., ‘Marshall Islands’, The Contemporary Pacific, vol. 26, no. 1, 2014, pp. 177– 184. Stege, Kristina E., ‘Marshall Islands’, in Stephen Levine (ed.), Pacific Ways: Government and Politics in the Pacific Islands, first edition, Wellington, Victoria University Press, 2009, pp. 112– 120. Embassy of the Republic of the Marshall Islands, Washington, DC, http://www.rmiembassyus.org/inde x.htm Nitijela [Parliament] of the Republic of the Marshall Islands, http://www.rmiparliament.org/ Permanent Mission of the Republic of the Marshall Islands to the United Nations, https://www.un.int/m arshallislands/ The Marshall Islands Journal, http://marshallislandsjournal.com/Journal_WP/

Notes 1 Constitution of the Republic of the Marshall Islands, 1979, http://www.rmiembassyus.org/Constitution. htm. 2 The period of the late 1970s was a confusing one in the region, as the Marshalls and Palau districts rejected the constitution put forward by the Congress of Micronesia, yet questions of legitimacy and jurisdiction went largely unanswered, by both the local governments and the US Department of the Interior, the administering authority of the TTPI. For a helpful explanation of the tangled processes that engulfed the TTPI and those entities like the Marshalls that were breaking away during that period, see David Hanlon, Making Micronesia: A Political Biography of Tosiwo Nakayama, Honolulu, University of Hawai‘i Press, 2014. 3 The forming of political parties has largely been an ad hoc affair in the RMI, and individuals’ allegiances to customary and personal interests tend to take priority over formal political affiliations. See Jack Corbett, ‘Small Fish Swimming in the Shape of a Shark: Why Politicians Join Political Parties in the Pacific Islands’, Commonwealth and Comparative Politics, vol. 53, no. 2, 2015, pp. 130–152. 4 See David W. Kupferman, ‘The Republic of the Marshall Islands since 1990’, Journal of Pacific History, vol. 46, no. 1, 2011, pp. 76–77. 5 For a history of the US nuclear testing programme, see Jonathan M. Weisgall, Operation Crossroads: The Atomic Tests at Bikini Atoll, Naval Institute Press, 1994. For a thorough analysis of the contamination of Rongelap Atoll and its physical and political effects, see Barbara Rose Johnston and Holly M. Barker, The Consequential Damages of Nuclear War: The Rongelap Report, Left Coast Press, 2008. A brief but useful history of the nuclear testing issue and the Compact can be found in Giff Johnson, Nuclear Past, Unclear Future, Majuro, Micronitor Press, 2009. 6 Austin Ranney and Howard R. Penniman, Democracy in the Islands: The Micronesian Plebiscites of 1983, Washington, DC, American Enterprise Institute for Public Policy Research, 1985.

7 Kupferman, ‘The Republic of the Marshall Islands since 1990’, p. 78. 8 An excellent analysis of the changing roles and perspectives of chiefly power in the RMI, as well as an analysis of Kabua’s moves to eliminate the alab title and reinstate the kajur class, can be found in Laurence M. Carucci, ‘Irooj Ro Ad: Measures of Chiefly Ideology and Practice in the Marshall Islands’, in Geoffrey M. White and Lamont Lindstrom (eds), Chiefs Today: Traditional Pacific Leadership and the Postcolonial State, Stanford, California, Stanford University Press, 1997, pp. 197–210. 9 Constitution of the Republic of the Marshall Islands, 1979. 10 David W. Kupferman, ‘Marshall Islands’, The Contemporary Pacific, vol. 26, no. 1, 2014, pp. 183– 184. 11 Kupferman, ‘Republic of the Marshall Islands since 1990’, p. 80. 12 Ibid., pp. 80–82. 13 Kristina E. Stege, ‘Marshall Islands’, The Contemporary Pacific, vol. 16, no. 1, 2004, p. 128. 14 David W. Kupferman, ‘Marshall Islands’, The Contemporary Pacific, vol. 21, no. 1, 2009, pp. 124, 126–128. 15 David W. Kupferman, ‘Marshall Islands’, The Contemporary Pacific, vol. 23, no. 1, 2011, pp. 185– 186. 16 Prior to the 1991 election, the president removed the High Court chief justice because he had ruled against Kabua in a case involving his family’s claims to land rights on Kwajalein Atoll; see Kupferman, ‘Republic of the Marshall Islands since 1990’, p. 78. For the US Embassy’s reaction in Majuro, both to the court ruling and to the potential for political instability as a result of the first vote of no confidence against Tomeing, see the secret cable by US Ambassador Clyde Bishop, ‘President Tomeing Survives No-Confidence Motion’ made available by Wikileaks: https://wikileaks.org/plusd/ca bles/09MAJURO38_a.html. 17 David W. Kupferman, ‘Marshall Islands’, The Contemporary Pacific, vol. 24, no. 1, 2012, p. 154. 18 David W. Kupferman, ‘Marshall Islands’, The Contemporary Pacific, vol. 25, no. 1, 2013, pp. 135– 137. 19 Kupferman, ‘Marshall Islands’, 2013, p. 141. 20 ‘RMI vs. USA’, Marshall Islands Journal, 2 May 2014, pp. 1–2. 21 ‘Judge Dismisses Nuclear Case’, Marshall Islands Journal, 6 February 2015, p. 15; David Brunnstrom, ‘U.S. judge dismisses Marshall Islands’ nuclear suit’, 6 February 2015, http://www.reute rs.com/article/2015/02/07/us-usa-nuclear-marshalls-idUSKBN0LB01F20150207#wPooAA6hs63EX9 1X.97. 22 See Johnson, Nuclear Past, Unclear Future. 23 See, for example, Christopher J. Loeak, ‘Climate Change has Reached our Shores’, New York Times, 25 September 2013. 24 Recently scientists have begun to explore the ways that islands rise in dynamic response to changes in sea levels, suggesting that islands with healthy coral reefs and those that are not paved over by development projects will adapt and rise with the seas. More developed islands, such as Majuro and Ebeye, however, have no healthy coral left and are therefore much more vulnerable to changes in sea level than are outer islands in the RMI. See Kennedy Warne, ‘Will Pacific Island Nations Disappear as Seas Rise? Maybe Not’, National Geographic, 2015, http://news.nationalgeographic.com/2015/0 2/150213-tuvalu-sopoaga-kench-kiribati-maldives-cyclone-marshall-islands/. 25 Kupferman, ‘Marshall Islands’, 2011, pp. 189–190; see also the percentage of oil tankers flagged by the RMI ship registry’s merchant fleet: http://knoema.com/UNCTADMF2013/merchant-fleet-by-flagof-registration-and-by-type-of-ship-annual-1980-2013-august-2013?tsId=1026750.

26 For an analysis of the debates behind the runway project and the ensuing environmental challenges brought against the expansion plan, see Kupferman, ‘Marshall Islands’, 2013, pp. 140–141, and Kupferman, ‘Marshall Islands’, 2014, pp. 178–179. 27 There was widespread public support for Nemra’s election, although it seemed clear that the iroij were firmly in charge of his government, and there was speculation that the connections between Kabua and Nemra’s father played a role in his nomination for president. 28 Three senators, led by Mike Kabua, boycotted the vote to replace Nemra as president. 29 The RMI will need to begin negotiations after January 2017 when the next US president assumes office. Given that the US president will possibly serve two terms until 2025, that is the administration with which the RMI will need to negotiate well in advance of the expiration of the funding provisions of the current Compact in 2023.

Nauru Max Quanchi Max Quanchi is Senior Research Fellow, School of Historical and Philosophical Inquiry, the University of Queensland. I wish to acknowledge Katy LeRoy, and thank her for many useful criticisms and suggestions made when preparing this update.

A single-island nation Nauru is a single, small uplifted coral island with an encircling narrow, 100metre-wide coral shelf, just wide enough for a runway and airport terminal, a string of villages, schools, commercial and government buildings, an industrial complex and a sports oval. The central plateau is mostly uninhabited and extensively devastated by a hundred years of open-cut mining. Nauru’s most recent census put the population at just over 10,000 people scattered around the 12 districts into which the island was traditionally divided. The number of people on the island has since increased dramatically as a result of the opening of detention centres which brought up to 1,200 asylum seekers and hundreds of expatriate workers to the island. There are no official figures on the extent of the population increase, and many of those working in the detention centres are fly-in, fly-out workers on revolving rosters. Nauru became an independent nation in 1968 when the trusteeship holder, Australia, relinquished control due to Nauruan insistence and worldwide criticism generally of the continuation of colonial regimes.1 The future seemed assured due to the massive income Nauru would receive from

nationalising a product then in world demand. Nauru’s high grade phosphate mining industry was judged to have a 50-year life span.

The Constitution The constitution of Nauru, ‘given to ourselves’ on 29 January 1968, begins with a statement in the Preamble that the people ‘acknowledge God as the almighty and everlasting Lord and the giver of all good things’.2 The operative provisions of the constitution cover the protection of fundamental rights and freedoms; the institutions of government: the president, executive, legislature, judiciary, treasury and the public service; and the criteria for citizenship. As an independent republic led by a president (who is both head of government and head of state), Nauru created an electoral roll from which 18 members were democratically elected, initially from eight multi-member constituencies for three-year parliamentary terms.3 It was only in late 1967 that Australia (the trusteeship administering power), on behalf of Great Britain and New Zealand (the co-trusteeship holders), reluctantly agreed that Nauru could and should become independent. A constitutional convention sat in January 1968 to debate a draft constitution that had been prepared by a young Australian lawyer with legislative drafting expertise. It had been preceded by consultations, the hiring of advisors, and a series of meetings with the British Phosphate commissioners (who controlled mining) and the Australian Government (which administered the trusteeship). On 31 January 1968, two days after the constitutional convention agreed to the draft constitution, Nauru became the second Pacific Island nation to regain its independence, after Western Samoa (now named Samoa) in 1962. Constitutional advisor and eminent Pacific historian Jim Davidson wrote that full independence for Nauru was ‘the most appropriate basis of its future relations with the outside world’.4 Two years later, a visiting American journalist, Robert Trumbull, found that ‘the standard of living was fantastic by South Pacific norms … and to the surprise of sceptics the toy republic turned out to be a viable political entity despite its minuscule size, with a functioning parliamentary democracy’.5

In 1970, Nauru bought the entire mining operation from Britain, New Zealand and Australia. Under the new Nauru Phosphate Commission, mining continued, but royalties at a much higher world price now flowed into Nauruan hands. It seemed in the 1970s and 1980s that despite Australia’s unimaginative, dilatory and belated guidance towards independent nationhood, Nauru was a success story. Notwithstanding some spectacular losses, it was managing to control its massive phosphate royalties and investment dividends. Obesity, diabetes and rampant consumerism were health and lifestyle problems, but Nauru had become a leader among the group of 14 recently emerging Pacific nation states.

Political development after independence During the years of foreign rule by Germany (1886–1914), Japan (1942–45) and Australia (1914–42; 1945–68), the Nauruan community leaders, particularly chiefs, had contested the amount of royalties they received from mining. They had protested in various ways: by approaching the administrators sent out from Australia; by direct appeals to the Australian Parliament; by setting up their own trade store in competition with expatriate monopolies; by sending petitions to the United Nations; by seeking to have unpopular Resident Administrators removed; and by taking political advantage of the platform provided by the Advisory Council of Chiefs and then by local government councils when they were created, respectively, in 1925 and 1951. A generation of confident, educated, young and ambitious leaders spoke out in the new Legislative Council and the Executive Council when they were established (in 1965 and 1966). After independence Nauru maintained a democratic façade. A longstanding local government structure represented the original 12 chiefdoms and the two new districts that were created. The national Parliament of 18 seats represented Nauru’s adult citizen voters. However, political instability soon became the post-independence norm. Only two governments since independence have been able to serve their full three-year term. One of the main reasons for this instability is the absence of a political party system. All members are ‘independent’, forming pragmatic alliances that are generally fluid and sometimes fleeting. Governments have often been

formed with the barest of majorities, on many occasions resulting in governments being brought down by just one member crossing the floor. In the early 1960s, it was claimed that Nauruans demonstrated a ‘strength of common identity – of emergent nationalism’ and that this ‘inner strength was ultimately going to carry the Nauruans through to the achievement of their aims’.6 Professor Jim Davidson thought that young Nauruans in 1968 ‘showed a steady increase in their confidence and skill’, and ‘strongly challenged the leaders’, and that ‘their efforts made it clear that the policies and procedures of government will be exposed to close and penetrating scrutiny’.7 Prior to independence Nauruans had been united in pursuing the goal of self-determination. Once that battle had been won, it turned out that democracy in Nauru did not work quite as planned. In newly independent Nauru, with phosphate mining nationalised, a gap developed between the operations of government and the interests and involvement of the electorate. The predicted constant ‘close and penetrating scrutiny’ did not occur. Clan loyalties to elected chiefs and leaders overrode criticism. Inordinate personal wealth meant that during the boom times, Nauruans were amongst the world’s wealthiest people on a per capita basis. Consumerism took precedence over political acumen, public debate and careful scrutiny of legislation. There had been no political education in the colonial and postindependence eras to prepare voters to assume an active, civil, participatory role in government. After 1968, politics was of little interest to the ordinary Nauruan clan member in an atmosphere of spectacular individual spending power, voracious acquisition of Western goods and foodstuffs, and national flag waving as the world’s smallest but wealthiest new microstate.

Financial problems In the 1990s warning bells began to ring. In March 2003, The Economist called Nauru ‘one of the world’s most dysfunctional countries’.8 In 2004, Teuea Toata concluded that the Nauru Phosphate Royalty Trust (NPRT) and the Bank of Nauru, the government’s major financial institutions, were both in trouble and that ‘by international standards the Bank of Nauru is technically insolvent’.9 The A$1.3 billion in reserve in the NPRT in 1990 had declined

by 77 per cent to an estimated A$300 million in 2004,10 due mostly to extravagant spending, mismanagement and misappropriation. The problem was alarmingly simple – a complete lack of conventional fiscal accountability. The failure to ensure that Cabinet ministers and bureaucrats were monitoring expenditure and reporting to Parliament was compounded by the lack of an informed, critical public. Except for rare occasions of excess, the populace, weighed down by district and clan loyalties, was unable or unwilling to question the traditional leaders they had elected to Parliament. Meanwhile Nauru’s political leaders were spending more than Nauru had in reserves or could borrow. Nauru was also in trouble with international monitoring agencies for permitting money laundering,11 the sale of passports and lax control of offshore banking, and was seen as a potential byway for terrorists in the wake of the September 11 attacks in the United States. Although described by some commentators as a danger spot in an alleged southwest Pacific ‘arc of instability’, more reasoned opinion was that ‘Nauru is not a failed state, nor is it likely to erupt into violent… [internal] conflict or instigate conflict with its neighbours’.12 Declining national assets, overspending and mishandling of public funds were matters not disclosed or debated in Parliament. At the same time there was no culture of systematic record-keeping, tabling of annual reports, budgets or economic forecasts. Annual audits, public accountability and parliamentary scrutiny were almost completely absent. The state revenue from phosphate sales was declining in the 1990s but was still significant. The OECD recorded that Nauru had received A$24 million in aid between 1970 and 2000.13 This huge amount of money flowed into a nation of merely 2,600 people at the time of independence. More than A$2 billion in revenue, loans and aid, and A$1 billion from the NPRT reserves has disappeared, yet no one bothered to ask where it had gone.

A failed state? By 2000, after 30 years of post-1968 generosity to land-owners, no taxes, a bloated government bureaucracy and high wages, the government was unable to provide basic infrastructure. School truancy was high, there were empty

shelves in the government-run supermarket, the power plant was regularly without fuel, the desalination equipment was obsolete, phosphate mining equipment had deteriorated, and the promised rehabilitation of the island’s depleted mining fields had not occurred. Departing aircraft seats on Air Nauru were regularly allocated to medical evacuations. Genetic and lifestyle-related health problems, including obesity, kept the national diabetes rate at around 40 per cent and life expectancy at only 55 years of age for males.14 It was claimed that Nauruans had forgotten how to fish and that its politicians spent too much time in Melbourne – then at the end of Air Nauru’s Australian run – or elsewhere overseas. Domestic violence, crimes against property, theft and violent crime were commonplace, although generally Nauruan society was peaceful. Sports such as Australian Rules Football, frigate bird flying, and cycling were popular and Nauru had won weightlifting medals at the South Pacific Games and Commonwealth Games. Indeed, the island was scheduled to host the World Weightlifting Championships in 2001 until withdrawing due to its financial crisis. Absolute poverty was not a problem on Nauru, although access to quality health services, fresh food, safe water and housing needed attention. ‘Topside’ – the central plateau which makes up 80 per cent of the land area – now has a considerable area of unrehabilitated bare coral pinnacles, the legacy of 100 years of phosphate mining.15 Although it was never inhabited except for a small area around an inland lake known as Buada Lagoon, some Nauruans claim the plateau does have customary and traditional significance. In 2001, Australia took advantage of Nauru’s financial desperation and secured Nauru’s agreement to lease an area on ‘Topside’ as an offshore detention centre for more than 1,000 refugees seeking entry by boat into Australia. The agreement was accompanied by a pledge of A$20 million for development activities. The so-called ‘Pacific solution’, a phrase coined by Australian prime minister John Howard, symbolised Nauru’s position as a small independent nation facing severe fiscal problems. The detention centre money from Australia was needed desperately to pay bills and balance annual budgets, but sovereignty was compromised and ordinary Nauruans felt divorced from their own politicians’ decision-making processes.16

Reform In a new atmosphere of public discontent and generational change, there was a major shift in traditional voting patterns at the 2003 and 2004 elections, resulting in 12 long-standing members losing their seats and new, young members being elected. Among the new members, at least seven belonged to a reformist group called ‘Naoero Amo’ (Nauru First) that had been advocating a clean-up of government since 2001. It consisted of young, idealistic Nauruans who had acquired tertiary qualifications in Australia in fields including medicine, business and economics. Following the snap election in October 2004 17 in which many of these members were elected for the first time, a reformist government was assembled that included many of the Naoero Amo members as well as some more experienced politicians. The main goals of the reform government were to pull Nauru out of fiscal crisis and to improve the transparency and accountability of government. It set about the gradual reduction of public debt, balancing budgets and improving Nauru’s badly damaged international reputation – managing to get Nauru removed from the Financial Action Task Force blacklist,18 and securing significant increases in foreign aid. In March 2004, Nauru received an additional A$22.5 million in development assistance from Australia to stabilise the country’s economy and strengthen law and order. This assistance was maintained in subsequent years, with development assistance of A$25–30 million each financial year. The reform government also took steps to improve long-term planning and economic forecasting – including the generation of a National Sustainable Development Strategy (NSDS) – and to revamp public sector management and the standard of government services – particularly health and education. From 2006 to 2012 the government, principally through a parliamentary standing committee it established for the purpose, pursued a series of proposed constitutional reforms. The proposed changes were principally designed to reduce instability and political game-playing, and to enhance fiscal responsibility and the accountability of government. It was also proposed to add social and economic rights to the civil and political rights already contained in the constitution.19 Some of the proposed changes were defeated in a referendum in 2010, and others – those not subject to the

referendum requirement – were ultimately defeated in Parliament in 2012 after various machinations among political actors and alliances. The first bumps in the road for the reform government came after the 2007 election, when the group split more or less in half. This led to two new governments being formed in quick succession. From late 2007 until 2011, Marcus Stephen presided over a Cabinet comprised largely of the original Naoero Amo reform members, which continued with the reform agenda, pursuing the goals set out in the NSDS; however, parliamentary game-playing continued and government numbers became unstable. In 2010, Nauru experienced a six-month parliamentary stalemate during which two elections failed to resolve a parliamentary deadlock. Parliament was unable to elect a Speaker and was therefore unable to conduct any parliamentary business.20 In late 2011, Nauru had three presidents in the space of one week: Marcus Stephen resigned as president; new president Freddie Pitcher was ousted in a vote of no confidence after only six days in office; Pitcher was replaced by Sprent Dabwido. Six months later, in June 2012, President Dabwido sacked his entire Cabinet, replacing them with members from the other side – effectively changing his government without a vote of no confidence – a novel development in Nauruan politics. From early 2013, the Cabinet was plagued by resignations and musical chairs. There was also a protracted Supreme Court dispute over the dissolution of Parliament, which finally ended when President Dabwido declared a state of emergency for what were widely considered to be bogus reasons.21

Regime change, and Pacific Solution Mark II At Nauru’s election in June 2013, six out of 18 members lost their seats, an unusually high turnover for Nauru. This was also the first election at which the number of members of Parliament was increased from 18 to 19, when amendments to the Electoral Act came into effect. Of the 12 members who retained their seats, five were from the Naoero Amo group, which had made up the preceding government, and seven from the group that was in opposition for most of the period 2007–13. All seven of the new members chose, after discussions with both sides, to join the latter opposition group,

forming a government of 14 members (including the Speaker). Two of those members later switched to the Naoero Amo side of the House. This change in government loosely coincided with the revival of Australia’s offshore detention centre for asylum seekers, or the ‘Pacific Solution – Mark II’. Ten months before Nauru’s 2013 election, Australia and Nauru signed a memorandum of understanding agreeing that Australia would send to Nauru, and Nauru would accept, people that are known under Australian law as ‘unlawful non-citizens’ and ‘unauthorised maritime arrivals’22 (but who are known under international law as asylum seekers exercising their rights under the 1951 Refugee Convention). In 2001, when the first asylum-seeker camps were established in Nauru following the Tampa crisis,23 Nauru was merely a holding place for asylum seekers, as virtually all those on Nauru were eventually granted refugee status and resettled in Australia. New Zealand also took two groups of Nauru refugees. The first camps were run on behalf of Australia by the International Organization for Migration (IOM). Refugee status determinations were carried out by IOM subject to Australian law and ultimately to the jurisdiction of the Australian courts. The Pacific Solution Mark II is quite different in a number of respects. Nauru is expected to undertake the refugee status determination, which is a huge burden on Nauru’s very small and underskilled bureaucracy. This action by Australia was designed to shift the burden of legal responsibility for the asylum seekers from Australia onto Nauru.24 Also, perhaps more significantly, Australia has stated that none of the asylum seekers found by Nauru to be genuine refugees will be resettled in Australia. Instead, almost 500 refugees have been resettled in Nauru, while others are being offered resettlement in Cambodia. The resettlement of refugees on Nauru poses great practical and political challenges for Nauru in light of the scarcity of land, water and employment, and the xenophobia of some Nauruans. According to a report in The Guardian, ‘while most Nauruans accept the presence of refugee communities on the island, there remains a sizeable minority implacably, and in some cases violently, opposed to their resettlement.’25 The economic impact of the refugee camps on Nauru could be seen as a boon, providing a significant amount of local employment, and, through the A$1,000 per head monthly visa fee Australia pays Nauru for each asylum

seeker detained on the island, a steady stream of much-needed government income. Nauru’s small private sector has also adapted profitably to serve the new market of expatriate camp workers. The Government of Nauru has further capitalised on the situation by charging exorbitant visa fees for journalists and NGO observers wishing to travel to the island.26 But the economic benefits to Nauru are all rather tenuous and unlikely to produce any long-term economic advantage. There has been no investment in public infrastructure, and when the camps eventually close Nauru is likely to have nothing to show for it other than a new community of refugees. The appalling conditions in the camps have attracted much international attention, but often to no avail. For example, in 2014, the UN Working Group on Arbitrary Detention and Amnesty International were both banned from visiting Nauru.27 The Amnesty International report for Nauru for 2014/2015 declared, ‘asylum-seekers were arbitrarily detained in harsh conditions … (and) the arbitrary removal of judges and suspension of parliamentarians raised concerns about the rule of law and freedom of expression’.28 After the media highlighted allegations of gang rapes and suicide in the camps,29 an Australian Government inquiry (the Moss Review) was established in October 2014 to investigate two separate claims: allegations of sexual and physical assault of asylum seekers, including children, and reports that Save the Children staff were encouraging protest and self-harm. The review found there was no substance to either allegation, but media reports continued to highlight violence and despair among the refugees.

Looking ahead – the rule of law? Following the change of government in June 2013, there was a rapid decline in the rule of law in Nauru. Several senior government lawyers were sacked or resigned. The Director of the Nauru Police Force (an Australian federal police officer) was removed for giving frank and fearless advice on the lack of arrest powers in a situation involving a peaceful protest by asylum seekers. The rule of law reached an all-time low when in January 2014 the government dismissed and deported the (Australian) Resident Magistrate because he had granted an injunction to stay a deportation order issued by the government against a long-term resident of Nauru (another Australian). When

the chief justice sought to issue a stay on the deportation of the Resident Magistrate, his visa was cancelled, preventing him from travelling to or sitting in Nauru and effectively forcing his resignation, which followed a few weeks later. For the ensuing six months, Nauru had no judiciary at all, and there was therefore no means for anyone in Nauru to enforce their legal rights and no judicial check on the exercise of executive power or the dramas in Parliament.30 Australia, which has undermined Nauru’s sovereignty through the policy strings attached to its aid and through the ‘Pacific Solution’, was at pains to recognise and emphasise Nauru’s sovereignty when it came to commenting on the decline of the rule of law in Nauru, stating that these were matters for the Nauruan Government.31 Developments in Nauru during 2014 suggest that as it approaches the 50th anniversary of independence (in 2018), the political arena will be as turbulent as in the preceding decades. In May 2014, the government suspended indefinitely five opposition members from sitting in Parliament, effectively preventing them from serving two years of the three-year term for which they were democratically elected.32 At around the same time, the government broke up the residual capital in the NPRT fund and disbursed around A$100 million to the current generation of land-owning beneficiaries. This was an electorally popular short-term move but one which leaves nothing for future generations. In 2015, the government instructed the only internet service-provider on the island to block (for all internet users on the island) access to Facebook, which had become a widely used forum for open political discussion, including criticism of the government, and an antidote to the restrictions on the freedom of the government-controlled TV, radio and print media.33 There were also several more deportations. After a relatively brief and partially successful clean-up effort, corruption appears to be experiencing a renaissance. Vote-buying is allegedly widespread. Economically the island’s future seems bleak. Phosphate exports continue, but the supply is dwindling and mining is reaching its end point. The poor standard of health and education among both Nauruans and refugees is a serious ongoing concern. Nauru continues to rely heavily on foreign aid and only avoids national bankruptcy because of income from its newest industry: detaining asylum seekers at the behest of Australia. In 2015, several MPs were prevented from leaving the country, their passports

suspended or revoked; among those jailed was the former president, Sprent Dabwido (November 2011–June 2013). In this troubled atmosphere, a general election remained scheduled for June 2016.

Further reading Constitution of the Republic of Nauru, 1968, http://www.naurugov.nr/parliament-of-nauru/constitution-of -nauru.aspx. Government of Nauru, National Sustainable Development Strategy 2005–2025, 2005 (revised 2009), http://www.adb.org/sites/default/files/linked-documents/cobp-nau-2016-2018-nsds.pdf. Le Roy, Katy, ‘Nauru’s Parliament in crisis’, The Parliamentarian, vol. 91, no. 3, 2010. Le Roy, Katy, ‘Nauru Constitutional Review – Background and Discussion Paper’, United Nations Development Programme, 2006. Macdonald, Barrie, In pursuit of the sacred trust: trusteeship and independence in Nauru, Wellington, New Zealand Institute of International Affairs, 1988. Nauru Constitutional Review Commission, ‘Naoero Ituga’ Report, 2007. Thompson, Roger, Australia and the Pacific Islands in the 20th Century, Melbourne, Scholarly Publishing, 1998. Viviani, Nancy, Nauru; phosphate and political progress, Canberra, Australian National University Press, 1970. Weeranmantry, Christopher, Nauru; environmental damage under international trusteeship, Melbourne, Oxford University Press, 1992. Williams, Maslyn and Barrie Macdonald, The phosphateers, Melbourne, Melbourne University Press, 1985. Permanent Mission of the Republic of Nauru to the United Nations, https://www.un.int/nauru/ The Government of the Republic of Nauru, http://www.naurugov.nr/ Pacific Media Centre, ‘Nauru’, http://www.pmc.aut.ac.nz/regions/nauru

Notes 1 Under German rule since 1888, Nauru was captured by Australian forces in 1914 and after World War I became a League of Nations mandate, with Australia, New Zealand and the United Kingdom as the three mandate powers. Australia took responsibility for administration. Following Japanese occupation in the Pacific War, Nauru became a United Nations trust territory under the same three powers, with Australia again responsible for administration. 2 Although an interim version of the constitution came into force at independence on 31 January 1968, the final version was not adopted until 17 May 1968. 3 The Electoral Act was amended in 2012 to increase the number of members to 19, as permitted by Article 28 (1) of the constitution: ‘Parliament shall consist of eighteen members or such greater number as is prescribed by law.’

4 J. W. Davidson, ‘The republic of Nauru’, Journal of Pacific History, vol. 3, no. 1, 1968, p. 145. 5 Robert Trumbull, Tin roofs and palm trees; a report on the new South Seas, Canberra, Australian National University Press, 1977, pp. 225 and 229. 6 Maslyn Williams and Barrie Macdonald, The phosphateers: A history of the British Phosphate Commissioners and the Christmas Island Phosphate Commission, Melbourne, Melbourne University Press, 1985, p. 465. 7 Davidson, ‘The republic of Nauru’, footnote 6, p. 150. 8 ‘Asia; mystery island: Nauru’, The Economist, no. 366, 8 March 2003, p. 66. 9 Teuea Toata, ‘Keeping the Nauru economy afloat’, Pacific Economic Bulletin, vol. 19, no. 2, 2004, p. 124. After the Bank of Nauru collapsed, Nauru attracted notoriety in 2008 when the media found out it was one of the few nations in the world without a bank. 10 By 2011, when the receivers had sold NPRT assets to satisfy creditors, less than A$100 million was left in the trust. The Government of Nauru broke up that perpetual trust in 2014 and paid out the remaining capital to the current generation of land-owning beneficiaries. The Supreme Court of Nauru ruled in 2014 that this had not been done in accordance with law. 11 In May 2008, the United States’ Financial Crimes Enforcement Agency congratulated Nauru on reforms it had instigated to prevent Nauru being used for money laundering. 12 Max Quanchi, ‘Troubled times – development, governance and security in Nauru’ in Anne Brown (ed.), Development and Security in the South West Pacific, Brisbane/New York, IPA/ACPACS, pp. 249–64. 13 OECD, Development Co-operation reports 1971–2000, Paris, OECD. 14 In a special cover story The Economist declared Nauru a paradise well and truly lost and ‘one of the most cautionary tales of modern development’: The Economist, 22 December 2001, no. 361, p. 73. Helen Hughes was more brutal, declaring that Nauru’s future was to become ‘a poverty and ill-health stricken Pacific beggar and pariah’; see Helen Hughes, ‘From rags to riches; what are Nauru’s options and how can Australia help?’, Issue Analysis, no. 50, 18 August 2004; and Helen Hughes, ‘Sick phosphate island in need of a remedy’, The Courier Mail, Brisbane, 20 August 2004. By 2006, the diabetes rate was up to 50 per cent and life expectancy down to 45 years. 15 In 1989, Nauru brought a case against Australia in the International Court of Justice, seeking compensation for damage caused to the island as a result of phosphate mining while the country was under Australian trusteeship ‘protection’. The Australian Government came to an out-of-court settlement in 1993, agreeing to pay Nauru Aus$107 million and to assist the country with environmental rehabilitation of worked-out minefields. 16 The detention camps on Nauru were closed in 2007 when Kevin Rudd came to power in Australia. They were reopened in 2012, as detailed later in this chapter. 17 The elections were held when the president resorted to emergency powers after the Speaker refused to dissolve Parliament. 18 The Financial Action Task Force (FATF) blacklist is the list of ‘non-cooperative jurisdictions’ – countries and territories that the FATF perceives as being non-cooperative in the global fight against money laundering and terrorist financing. The FATF is an intergovernmental body established in 1989 by the ministers of its member jurisdictions. It currently has 36 member states, including Australia, and the Asia/Pacific Group on Money Laundering is an associate member. 19 An early version of the proposed constitutional amendments, in the form of recommendations made by the Constitutional Review Commission (CRC), can be found in the CRC Report on the PacLII website: http://www.paclii.org/constitutional-review.html.

20 For a more detailed explanation of the parliamentary stalemate and the events surrounding it, see Katy Le Roy, ‘Nauru’s Parliament in crisis’, The Parliamentarian, vol. 91, no. 3, 2010. 21 The second of two Supreme Court decisions that sought to resolve the dissolution dispute sets out some of the antics that occurred between the first and second cases: Kieren Keke and Others v Hon Ludwig Scotty MP and Others (No 2) [2013] NRSC 3. In order to avoid complying with the orders that the court made in that decision, the president withdrew his advice to dissolve Parliament the day before the court-appointed deadline, thereby relieving the Speaker of the obligation of complying. The emergency was declared soon afterwards. 22 Sections 14 (1) and 5AA respectively of the Migration Act 1958 (Commonwealth). 23 In August 2001, a Norwegian freighter, MV Tampa, took on 438 people (most of them originally from Afghanistan) from a stranded boat in international waters north of Christmas Island (Australian territory in the Indian Ocean). Considering his own ship to be unseaworthy, given the numbers of people on board, the captain of the Tampa requested permission to deposit the asylum seekers at Christmas Island. The Australian Government refused to let the Tampa enter Australia’s territorial waters and in due course, when the Tampa declared a state of emergency and entered those waters anyway, it authorised Australian special forces – the Special Air Service Regiment – to board the ship and prevent it from moving closer to the island. Subsequently the refugees were taken aboard an Australian navy ship and transported to Nauru, where they were placed in detention camps. 24 For a discussion of the legal and practical aspects of Nauru scrambling to establish a suitable legal framework to deal with the new arrangement between Australia and Nauru, see ‘Pacific Conversations: Nauru: politics, asylum seekers & more, conversation with Katy Le Roy’, 20 September 2013, Development Policy Centre: http://devpolicy.org/nauru-politics-asylum-seekers-more -20130920/. 25 Ben Doherty, ‘School in Nauru detention centre to be closed’, The Guardian Australia, 30 March 2015. 26 In February 2014, the cost of visas for journalists visiting Nauru was increased from A$200 to A$8,000: https://www.amnesty.org/en/articles/news/2014/04/nauru-s-refusal-access-detention-centreanother-attempt-hide-conditions/. The increase was generally seen less as a revenue-raising measure than as a means of reducing international media coverage. 27 Amnesty International, ‘Nauru’s refusal of access to detention centre another attempt to hide conditions’, 29 April 2014, https://www.amnesty.org/en/articles/news/2014/04/nauru-s-refusal-accessdetention-centre-another-attempt-hide-conditions/. 28 Amnesty International, ‘Nauru Report’, https://www.amnesty.org/en/countries/asia-and-the-pacific/n auru/report-nauru/. 29 Jonathan Swan, ‘Minister to investigate allegations of suicide and rape on Nauru’, Sydney Morning Herald, 6 February 2013, http://www.smh.com.au/federal-politics/political-news/minister-to-investigat e-allegations-of-suicide-and-rape-on-nauru-20130205-2dxaq.html. 30 When the president of Nauru eventually appointed Fijian judge Ratu Joni Madraiwiwi as chief justice, the new chief justice made some disturbing remarks about the need for cultural relativism in relation to the rule of law – suggesting the ‘Pacific Way’ should prevail over the universal right to equal protection of the law. See Geoff Eames, ‘The Rule of Law in Nauru: an evolving concept?’, speech delivered to the Law Society of South Australia’s Criminal Law Conference, McLaren Vale, South Australia, 24 October 2014. Eames quotes the following passages from Chief Justice Madraiwiwi’s swearing-in remarks: ‘[the new judicial appointments] strengthen the capacity of the judiciary and represent a determination to move beyond the turbulent challenges of the recent past. It will ensure a more collegial and consultative judiciary going forward … While we are duty bound to uphold the rule of law, we are also aware that Nauru is a country that has a culture and traditions of which its people

are justly proud … In applying the law regard will be had to context and the importance of appreciating that the law does not operate in a vacuum but among individuals and communities who have live and real concerns … balancing these often competing principles calls for sensitivity, wisdom and discernment.’ 31 Australian Foreign Minister Julie Bishop, interview with Peter Lloyd, The World Today, 7 February 2014, at http://foreignminister.gov.au/transcripts/2014/jb_tr_140207.html. 32 The Standing Orders of the Parliament of Nauru provide that a member may be suspended for misbehaviour in the House: for a first offence – one sitting day. A second offence of unruly behaviour in the House within the same session results in suspension for one sitting week; a third offence – one sitting month. The ‘behaviour’ in respect of which these members were suspended took place outside the House and involved expressing concerns to the international media about the collapse of the rule of law in Nauru. Nauru’s constitutionally entrenched Bill of Rights includes the right to freedom of expression. A Supreme Court challenge brought by these members against the lawfulness of their suspension in 2014 was found by the new chief justice to be non-justiciable. 33 Jonathan Pearlman, ‘Facebook banned as “dictatorial” Pacific island nation of Nauru cracks down on porn’, The Telegraph, 4 May 2015, http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/australiaandthep acific/nauru/. The government media is under strict instructions not to speak to or report on the parliamentary opposition.

New Caledonia Nic Maclellan A journalist and researcher in the Pacific islands, Nic Maclellan is a correspondent for Islands Business and other regional media and has written numerous publications on France in the Pacific, published in both English and French.

Following violent conflict in New Caledonia between 1984 and 1988, political leaders in the French Pacific dependency sought to craft political and constitutional agreements to end the violence and bring together competing political forces. Marked by an iconic handshake between independence leader Jean-Marie Tjibaou and his conservative rival Jacques Lafleur, the 1988 Matignon-Oudinot Accords were crucial in halting the spiral of violence.1 A subsequent agreement, known as the Noumea Accord, was signed on 5 May 1998 by representatives of the French state, the independence coalition Front de Libération Nationale Kanak et Socialiste (FLNKS) and the conservative anti-independence party Rassemblement Pour la Calédonie dans la République (RPCR). This agreement has created new political institutions and a series of initiatives to develop a ‘common destiny’ for the Pacific nation. Rather than hold a one-off referendum on self-determination in 1998, the Noumea Accord mapped out a 20-year transition towards a decision on a new political status for New Caledonia. This deferred decision-making is a rare example in international decolonisation and involves a range of political, economic, cultural and social initiatives.2 The introduction of new political institutions – three provincial assemblies, a Congress, a multi-party executive government and a customary Kanak Senate – opened the way for Kanak independence leaders to control

some provincial administrations and serve in a multi-party national government alongside their conservative opponents. Since the signing of the Noumea Accord, members of the FLNKS and other pro-independence parties have slowly increased their representation in New Caledonia’s 54-member Congress.3 Despite this, Kanaks are a minority of New Caledonia’s population and anti-independence voters make up about 60 per cent of the electorate. These successful political initiatives have not ensured an end to political conflict in New Caledonia. As the island nation moves towards the end of its 20-year political transition under the Noumea Accord – with a referendum on political status scheduled for 2018 – political parties express contrasting views on the path to be followed to ‘exit’ from the agreement. Most members of the independence movement seek the full implementation of the Accord and its timetable towards a referendum on self-determination. In contrast, anti-independence parties propose diverse alternatives so as to maintain ties with France. As this book goes to press, New Caledonia faces a dynamic and challenging political environment, with the collapse of a government elected in June 2014, discord between and within the major political organisations, and ongoing resistance to independence from the non-indigenous population. French presidential elections in 2017 will have an important effect on the political context for the referendum on self-determination scheduled for the following year. The New Caledonia experience – the use of constitutional amendments, new parliamentary systems and political mobilisation intended to bind together a multi-ethnic society – provides an important example of governance in the Pacific islands.

Historical background There is a rich heritage of conflict and cooperation leading to the creation of New Caledonia’s current political institutions.4 After annexation in 1853, New Caledonia’s political status as a colonial territory has evolved over more than 160 years: through the introduction of the Code de l’indigénat in 1887, giving the Kanak population an inferior

legal status; its ending in 1946, which gave the vote to women, indentured labourers and indigenous Kanaks; a referendum in 1958 to accept the new constitution under General de Gaulle’s Fifth Republic; the country’s development as a territoire d’outre-mer (overseas territory); and its current sui generis status after the 1998 Noumea Accord, with New Caledonia’s unique political status defined in its own section (Title XIII, Articles 76–77) of the French Constitution.5 For indigenous Kanaks, the Noumea Accord codifies a decolonisation process. In 1986, the United Nations General Assembly relisted New Caledonia as a non-self-governing territory with the UN Special Committee on Decolonisation.6 The ongoing colonial relationship between France and New Caledonia has important implications for the way that electoral politics and systems of governance have been created, administered and reviewed.7 The ethnic, geographic and socio-economic diversity of the country has important implications for voting rights. The capital, Noumea, has long been the centre of economic and political power, while the north of the main island and the outlying Loyalty Islands have had less economic development. The creation of three provincial assemblies under the Noumea Accord – in the North, South and Loyalty Islands – reflects the need for decentralisation of political, economic and administrative power. A key feature of current political life is attempts to promote reconciliation between and within the various communities in the country.8 New Caledonia’s population has changed through the process of colonial settlement and ongoing immigration. The indigenous Kanak people, who overwhelmingly support independence, remain a minority in their own country after generations of settlement and migration, making up about 39 per cent of the population of 269,000 (according to the 2014 census). The political institutions and electoral system under the Noumea Accord are the latest attempt to recognise the rights of the indigenous people, but also the ‘victims of history’ – the descendants of convicts and settlers who have been born in New Caledonia, and those immigrants from other French colonies (such as Wallis and Futuna, and Tahiti) who have made New Caledonia their home.9

A central feature of the Noumea Accord process is economic, social and cultural re-equilibrage (rebalancing), to bridge the gap between the Southern Province and the rural areas and outer islands where the bulk of the Kanak population live. With New Caledonia containing nearly 25 per cent of global nickel reserves, the economic and environmental impacts of nickel mining remain an underlying influence in New Caledonian politics.10 For many years, the only nickel smelter in the country was run by Société Le Nickel (SLN), a French-controlled company which dominated the industry. Today, however, the economy has been transformed, after the construction of another plant at Goro in the Southern Province and a US$6 billion nickel smelter at Vavouto in the north, a joint venture between the transnational corporation Glencore and the Northern Province’s Société Minière du Sud Pacifique (SMSP).11 Despite these economic changes, there is limited employment in the outlying islands and there has been a steady migration to the mainland and capital Noumea. This economic diversity across the country has led to debates over the division of revenues between the three provinces and the need for affirmative action programmes to provide services in the rural provinces. Noumea remains a city of ‘yachts and squats’, divided between wealthy suburbs with apartment towers and yacht harbours, poorer workingclass areas and peri-urban squatter settlements housing over 8,000 people.

Kanak political mobilisation Competing political forces in New Caledonia perceive the Noumea Accord in different ways: some see it as a guarantee that there will be a referendum on self-determination; for others, the question of political independence can be delayed for years, if not forever. From 1887 until 1946, Kanaks could not vote and suffered under measures of social and political discrimination through the Indigénat.12 Since the Second World War, there has been increasing engagement of the Kanak population in political institutions: the granting of French citizenship to Kanaks in 1946; the support of Catholic and Protestant churches for Kanak political action, to distance them from a burgeoning communist movement; the 1953 creation of Union Calédonienne (UC), one of the oldest political

parties in the Pacific islands; UC’s adoption of a pro-independence policy in 1977, influenced by a Kanak cultural revival and radical groups like the Foulards Rouges and Groupe 1878; the creation of a government between pro-independence and centrist parties in 1982; and the formation of the independence coalition FLNKS in September 1984.13 An FLNKS boycott of the 1984 elections led to ‘les Evénements’ – a period of armed conflict between the independence movement, antiindependence settlers and the French armed forces. After the horror of the 1988 Ouvea massacre, these violent conflicts of the mid-1980s were ended by negotiated agreements: firstly the 1988 Matignon-Oudinot Accords and then the 1998 Noumea Accord.14 Subsequent legislation in Paris on 12 March 1999 enacted key elements of the Noumea Accord, including: • constitutional changes to New Caledonia’s status within the French Republic, creating ‘shared sovereignty’, a new citizenship for New Caledonians, and ending the previous status as a territoire d’outre-mer (overseas territory) of France; • creation of new political institutions (three Provincial Assemblies, a Congress, a Customary Senate and a multi-party Government Executive); • elections every five years for the new political institutions (elections have been held on schedule each May in 1999, 2004, 2009 and 2014); • an ‘irreversible’ transfer of administrative powers from Paris to local authorities and the Congress in New Caledonia; • measures to recognise indigenous Kanak culture and identity, such as land reform and an Academy of Kanak Languages; • a 20-year transition towards a referendum on self-determination for New Caledonia, possibly leading to the ‘emancipation’ of the territory and the transfer of the remaining sovereign powers. The Noumea Accord created an interlocking set of political institutions: a) Provincial Assemblies – There are three Provincial Assemblies, for the Southern Province (40 seats), the Northern Province (22 seats) and the Loyalty Islands Province (14 seats). Each assembly has its own president and executive, elected by assembly members.

b) Congress – The 54-member Congress is the premier institution in the country, with members serving five-year terms. The Congress is made up of a proportion of the members of the three assemblies: 32 (out of 40) from the South, 15 (out of 22) from the North and 7 (out of 14) from the Loyalty Islands. c) Government – A Government of between 5 and 11 members is the country’s executive body, and can propose laws for adoption by the Congress. Members of the Government are elected by the Congress, proportional to the representation of parties in the Congress. Members of the Government, based on an absolute majority, choose the president and vice president. d) Customary Senate – There is also a 16-member Senate for Kanak customary chiefs, which must be consulted on issues that affect Kanak identity. The Senate includes two representatives from each of New Caledonia’s eight customary regions: Hoot Ma Whaap, Paici Camuki, Djubéa-Kaponé, Ajié Aro, Xaracuu, Iaai, Drehu and Nengone.15 These institutions are designed to promote collegiality among New Caledonia’s competing political forces. The central concept of multi-party executives in multi-ethnic societies is that institutions of governance can be structured to ensure that people from all ethnic communities are represented. A multi-party Cabinet is supposed to promote partnership among opposing political groups in order to transcend political and communal conflict. France has also introduced laws to increase representation of women in parliamentary institutions. Under 1999 French legislation known as the Parity Law, women must make up 50 per cent of any electoral list, using a ‘zipperstyle’ alternation of male and female candidates. This ensures that nearly half the elected members in New Caledonia will be women – a unique outcome in a Melanesian nation. The Parity Law was first used in 2001 for local government elections in New Caledonia, and then in the May 2004 elections for the provincial assemblies and Congress. After the March 2014 local government elections, six women were elected as mayors – Sonia Lagarde’s victory as mayor of Noumea was the first time a woman has held the post. After elections in May 2014, 36 of 76 new provincial assembly members were women, and they

made up 24 of the 54 congressional representatives. The Parity Law serves as an important mechanism for women to enter public life, and it is being studied elsewhere in the region by countries seeking to increase the representation of women in politics.16 Despite these constitutional and legislative mechanisms to promote cooperation, there remain sharp political differences, both within and between the pro- and anti-independence camps. Issues of indigenous rights and culture still affect political life, symbolised by debates over land reform, the role of customary leaders in governance and a long-running debate over new symbols of sovereignty (including the flag, the national anthem and the name of the country).

Debates over voting rights Since these political institutions were created, there has also been extensive debate about the composition of the electoral rolls – a debate that continues today. New Caledonians retain their French nationality and New Caledonia is represented in the French Parliament in Paris, with two seats in the National Assembly and one seat in the Senate.17 However, the Noumea Accord began to address the longstanding call from independence leaders to restrict voting rights in elections for local political institutions. Kanak leaders have long been concerned about the many French nationals arriving in the Pacific dependency, especially as these public servants, soldiers, retirees and technicians overwhelmingly vote for parties opposed to independence. This issue has not faded in recent years, as there is ongoing immigration from Europe and other French territories, which heightens Kanak concerns over voting and employment rights. France is a member of the European Union (EU) and grants full EU rights and obligations to all French nationals in overseas dependencies. Kanaks, Tahitians and Wallisians all carry an EU passport and can vote in elections for the European Parliament, even though they are thousands of miles away. (Voter turnout for European parliamentary elections is often very low and most New Caledonians see their future as part of the Pacific region, with strengthening ties to the trade, cultural and social life of the great ocean).

The Noumea Accord created a new and unprecedented category of ‘New Caledonian citizenship’.18 The accord and the legislation which introduced it into French law also set out different electoral rolls to be used for voting for different political institutions: • Elections for French and European institutions (the French Presidency, the National Assembly and Senate in Paris, municipal councils, the European Parliament) are voted for by the full electorate: i.e., all French nationals registered to vote in New Caledonia. • Voting for New Caledonia’s three provincial assemblies and local Congress is restricted to a special electoral roll of New Caledonian citizens, rather than all French nationals. • The referendum on New Caledonia’s future political status, scheduled to be held in late 2018, will involve only New Caledonian citizens who meet the eligibility requirements to vote in the provincial elections as of 8 November 1998. This distinction between French nationals and New Caledonian citizens – unprecedented in other French overseas collectivities – has long been the subject of legal and political dispute. The Noumea Accord proposed a requirement for ten years’ residency, but there have been complex debates over how to determine the starting point for this period.19 At the May 2014 elections, 23,052 French nationals resident in New Caledonia – more than 10 per cent of voters – were ineligible to vote for the provincial assemblies and Congress. Despite a 2007 decision by a joint sitting of the French National Assembly and Senate, and repeated rulings by the United Nations, the European Court of Human Rights and other tribunals, many antiindependence politicians and recent arrivals do not accept these voting restrictions. Lobby groups continue to campaign for the right to vote for these institutions as citizens of the ‘indivisible’ French republic.20 The restricted electoral roll, however, is a central pillar of FLNKS policy, as any rollback of the voting system would add tens of thousands of French voters to the rolls.

The location of these ‘excluded’ voters also highlights the significance of this reform. Very few excluded voters live in the Northern or Loyalty Islands Provinces, which have an overwhelmingly indigenous population and provincial assemblies dominated by pro-independence politicians. In contrast, in the Southern Province, where the bulk of the European and Wallisian population reside, there were over 23,000 ‘excluded’ voters in the 2014 elections.

Political divisions Despite 16 years of relative harmony, the underlying division over independence is coming to the fore again as New Caledonia moves closer to the end of its 20-year transition under the Noumea Accord. New Caledonia’s institutions have had a mixed result in bringing together competing forces in a ‘collegial’, multi-party government. Under the electoral system, a party list must gain votes from 5 per cent of registered voters to be included in the division of seats, meaning that a vote for a small party may be wasted if their electoral list does not win enough votes to be eligible for a seat. This mechanism is designed to encourage alliance building, but the 5 per cent threshold also discriminates against smaller, sectional interest groups. The first government elected after the Noumea Accord (1999–2004) was dominated by the conservative Rassemblement-UMP party (R-UMP, formerly the RPCR). But the failure of the anti-independence majority in the government to work cooperatively with its pro-independence members led to sharp debates. The authority of anti-independence politician Jacques Lafleur – the hegemonic leader on the Right – was then challenged by a range of political and business leaders. The May 2004 elections saw the rise of Avenir Ensemble (‘Future Together’, AE), a new party led by Didier Leroux and R-UMP dissidents including Harold Martin, Philippe Gomes and Marie-Noëlle Thémereau. The success of AE in the 2004 elections highlighted the fracturing of the conservative forces, with the R-UMP losing its long-held authority over key institutions. In June 2004, AE’s Marie-Noëlle Thémereau was elected as president of the 11-member government, with independence leader Déwé

Gorodé as vice president – the first time two women have headed an executive government in the Pacific, with Thémereau New Caledonia’s first woman president. Over time, however, the ‘gang of four’ who founded Avenir Ensemble fell out. In the lead-up to 2009 elections, Philippe Gomes and Marie-Noëlle Thémereau left AE to found the Calédonie Ensemble party (‘Caledonia Together’, CE). Gomes’ subsequent election as president of New Caledonia did not quell inter-party disunity and his 2009 presidency was brought down in 2011, with AE’s Harold Martin serving as president until the next elections in 2014.21 In 2014, despite competition between the two largest independence parties, Union Calédonienne (UC) and the Parti de Libération Kanak (Palika), the FLNKS created a unified electoral list in the Southern Province. This unity ticket with other ‘progressive and nationalist’ forces increased pro-independence representation in the South. In contrast to this unified effort, the anti-independence bloc fractured into three competing factions: Calédonie Ensemble; the Front pour l’Unité coalition (FPU), made up of the Rassemblement-UMP party and Avenir Ensemble; and the Union pour la Calédonie dans la France (UCF), which united a breakaway group from RUMP, led by Gael Yanno and Sonia Backes, with two smaller conservative parties.22 After the May 2014 elections, the incoming Congress was made up of 29 conservative opponents of independence facing 25 members of proindependence parties. This balance of forces in New Caledonia’s political institutions, combined with divisions in the loyalist camp, means there will be ongoing tension as the country moves closer to the scheduled referendum on self-determination.23 The Right’s post-election consensus to nominate FPU’s Cynthia Ligeard as president of the Government of New Caledonia could not paper over these divisions. Ligeard’s government collapsed at the end of 2014, and the competing conservative politicians were unable to choose a new president until Philippe Germain was chosen in April 2015. This instability reflected their uncertainty over the best way to respond to the looming deadline for a referendum on self-determination. There is also anxiety about the potential for renewed instability and violence, especially among many European

voters who have never accepted that the Noumea Accord is a decolonisation process. This tension highlights the central dilemma for partisans of French rule: as New Caledonia develops closer economic and cultural ties to the Pacific Islands region, can it continue to prop up political institutions that are centred on Paris?

Transfer of powers from Paris Even as the French state seeks to maintain its status as a mid-sized global power, the Noumea Accord sets out a process of transition towards a referendum on self-determination. Under the agreement, authority to administer and legislate on health, education and other sectors has been steadily transferred to New Caledonia since 1999. The crucial ‘sovereign powers’ – justice, public order, defence, finance and currency – will remain as French State powers until after a final referendum on self-determination. The referendum will be based on a limited franchise (rather than all French nationals) and will focus on ‘the transfer of the sovereign powers to New Caledonia, accession to an international status of full responsibility and transformation from citizenship to nationality.’24 Throughout the transition period, some powers have been shared between New Caledonia and the French State (e.g., while international relations are within the State’s responsibility, New Caledonia has been able to join international organisations as an observer, and it has held observer status with the Pacific Islands Forum since 1999 and associate membership since 2006). In 1998, leaders agreed that a vote on New Caledonia’s final political status would be delayed for 20 years (i.e., after three terms of the Congress and before the end of the fourth term). The Noumea Accord states that the Congress elected in 2014 can decide by a three-fifths majority to set a date for a referendum on independence before 2018. If no date can be agreed, the French State must organise a referendum in the second half of 2018. In the case of a negative vote, two further referendums would follow by 2022. During the 2014 election campaign, political parties expressed contrasting views on whether this path should be followed to ‘exit’ from the

Noumea Accord. After 15 years of increasing autonomy for New Caledonia’s local administration, supporters and opponents of independence in Congress are divided over the timetable for the transfer of the few remaining powers.25 This step must be concluded before the referendum on self-determination, which will focus on the transfer of the last five ‘sovereign powers’. At the same time as New Caledonians are debating their political future, Bougainville, West Papua, French Polynesia and Tokelau are also contesting questions of self-government, autonomy and independence. For this reason, New Caledonia’s transition will remain a model for the Pacific and the issue of self-determination will remain high on the regional agenda.

Further reading Chappell, David, The Kanak Awakening: The rise of nationalism in New Caledonia, Honolulu, University of Hawai‘i Press, 2013. Chauchat, Mathias, Les Institutions en Nouvelle-Calédonie – Institutions politiques et administratives, Noumea, CDPNC, 2011. Faberon, Jean-Yves, Des institutions pour un pays – la Nouvelle-Calédonie en devenir, Aix-enProvence, Presses universitaires d’Aix-en-Provence, 2012. Fisher, Denise, France in the South Pacific – power and politics, Canberra, ANU E-Press, 2013. Maclellan, Nic and Jean Chesneaux, After Moruroa, France in the South Pacific, New York and Melbourne, Ocean Press, 1998. Maclellan, Nic, ‘The Noumea Accord and decolonisation in New Caledonia’, The Journal of Pacific History, vol. 34, no. 3, 1999, pp. 245–252. Maclellan, Nic, ‘From Eloi to Europe – interactions with the ballot box in New Caledonia’, Journal of Commonwealth and Comparative Politics, vol. 43, no. 3, 2005, pp. 394–418. Maclellan, Nic, Conflict and reconciliation in New Caledonia: Building the Mwâ Kâ, Discussion Paper, State, Society and Governance in Melanesia project, Australian National University, Canberra, 2005. Maclellan, Nic, ‘The 2014 elections in New Caledonia: a precursor to self-determination?’, The Journal of Pacific History, vol. 50, no. 2, 2015, pp. 168–188. Mrgudovic, Nathalie, ‘Evolving approaches to sovereignty in the French Pacific’, Commonwealth & Comparative Politics, vol. 50, no. 4, 2012, pp. 456–473. Regnault, Jean-Marc, L’ONU, la France et les de´colonisations tardives: l’exemple des terres franc¸aises d’Oce´anie, Aix-en-Provence, Presses universitaires d’Aix-Marseille, 2013. Gouvernement de la Nouvelle-Calédonie, http://www.gouv.nc/portal/page/portal/gouv/ Les Nouvelles Calédoniennes, http://www.lnc.nc/

Notes

1 Jacques Lafleur, L’assiégé – 25 ans de vie politique, Paris, Plon, 2000; Jean-Marie Tjibaou, La présence Kanak, Paris, Editions Odile Jacob, 1996; Eric Waddell, Jean-Marie Tjibaou – Kanak witness to the world, Honolulu, University of Hawai‘i Press, 2008. 2 The Noumea Accord model of delaying a referendum on independence was influential for similar agreements in Bougainville and South Sudan and was considered for Timor-Leste in 1999. Indonesia moved rapidly to a referendum in Timor, however, marked by violence from both Indonesian armed forces and government-backed militias. Despite this violence, the Timorese people voted overwhelmingly for independence and Timor-Leste became a sovereign nation in 2002. 3 Over the last decade, the number of anti-independence politicians in Parliament has dropped from 36 (2004) to 31 (2009) to 29 (2014). 4 From the vast literature on New Caledonia, see EDIPOP, Contribution à l’histoire du pays Kanak, Editions IKS, 1984; Jean Chesneaux and Nic Maclellan, La France dans le Pacifique, Paris, Editions la Decouverte, 1992; Gilbert David et al, La Nouvelle-Calédonie à la croisée des chemins, Paris, Société des Océanistes, 1999; Alban Bensa, Nouvelle-Calédonie – un paradis en tourmente, Paris, Decouvertes Gallimard, 2003; Denise Fisher, France in the South Pacific – power and politics, Canberra, ANU E-Press, 2013. 5 Jean-Yves Faberon, ‘La Nouvelle Calédonie et la révision constitutionelle de mars 2003 sur l’organisation décentralisée de la République’, Revue juridique, politique et économique de Nouvelle-Calédonie, no. 1, January 2003, p. 3. 6 After lobbying by the Pacific Islands Forum, the UN General Assembly voted to re-inscribe New Caledonia on the list of non-self-governing territories in UNGA Resolution 41/41 of 2 December 1986, which ‘affirms the inalienable right of the people of New Caledonia to self-determination and independence in accordance with resolution 1514 (XV)’. 7 For contrasting views on decolonisation by France and the United Nations, see Jean-Marc Regnault, L’ONU, la France et les de´colonisations tardives: l’exemple des terres franc¸aises d’Oce´anie, Aix-en-Provence, Presses universitaires d’Aix-Marseille, 2013, pp. 60–78. 8 For details, see Nic Maclellan, Conflict and reconciliation in New Caledonia: Building the Mwâ Kâ, Discussion Paper, State, Society and Governance in Melanesia project, Australian National University, 2005. From a Kanak perspective, see Paul Neaoutyine, L’Indépendence au présent, Paris, Syllepse, 2006. 9 For the first time in French constitutional law, the Noumea Accord recognises the Kanaks as a people (a nation in waiting) rather than one among many ethnic groups. The concept of ‘the victims of history’ was invoked at the 1983 roundtable at Nainville-les-Roches in France, where pro- and antiindependence leaders jointly agreed that all residents of New Caledonia – indigenous and nonindigenous – have a part to play in building the country’s future. For some Kanaks, this is a compromise on the principle that the colonised Melanesian people alone have the right to selfdetermination. 10 Jean Freyss, Economie assisté et changement sociale en Nouvelle-Calédonie, Paris, Presse universitaire de France, 1995. 11 ‘Koniambo Nickel’, VKP magazine, special edition, July 2013. For social impacts, see Sonia Grochain, Les dynamiques sociétales du projet Koniambo, Paita, Editions IAC, 2013. 12 See special edition of the cultural journal Mwà Vée: ‘L’indigénat, 50 ans après, 1887–1946’, Mwà Vée, no. 15, January 1997. 13 Ismet Kurtovich, ‘L’accession des mélanésiens à la citoyenneté française en 1946’, Revue juridique, politique et économique de Nouvelle-Calédonie, no. 2, February 2003, p. 34; Ismet Kurtovich, Aux origines du FLNKS – l’UICALO et l’AICLF 1946–1953, Noumea, Ile de Lumière, 1997; Maurice Lenormand, L’evolution politique des autochtones de la Nouvelle-Calédonie,

Paris, Société des Océanistes, 1954; David Chappell, The Kanak Awakening: The Rise of Nationalism in New Caledonia, Honolulu, University of Hawai‘i Press, 2013. 14 The full text of the Accord and subsequent implementing legislation can be found in Jean-Yves Faberon and Jean-Raymond Postic, L’Accord de Nouméa, la loi organique et autres documents juridique et politique de la Nouvelle-Calédonie, Noumea, Ile de Lumière, 2004. See also Nic Maclellan, ‘The Noumea Accord and decolonisation in New Caledonia’, The Journal of Pacific History, vol. 34, no. 3, 1999, pp. 245–252. 15 For a detailed overview of these institutions see Mathias Chauchat, Les Institutions en NouvelleCalédonie – Institutions politiques et administratives, Noumea, CDPNC, 2011; and Jean-Yves Faberon, Des institutions pour un pays – la Nouvelle-Calédonie en devenir, Aix-en-Provence, Presses universitaires d’Aix-en-Provence, 2012. 16 Lucie Bargel, Stéphanie Guyon and Isabelle Savelina Rettig, Assessment of the application of the parity law in New Caledonia, French Polynesia and Wallis and Futuna, Noumea, Secretariat of the Pacific Community, 2010. 17 As at January 2016, the National Assembly members were Calédonie Ensemble politicians Sonia Lagarde and Philippe Gomes, and the senator was Pierre Frogier of Les Républicains. 18 For a detailed definition, see Jean-Yves Faberon and Yves Gautier, Identité, nationalité, citoyenneté outre-mer, Paris, Centre des Hautes Etudes sur l’Afrique et l’Asie Modernes, 1999. 19 Nic Maclellan, Under a new flag? Defining citizenship in New Caledonia, SSGM Discussion paper 2010/2, State, Society and Governance in Melanesia Project, Australian National University, Canberra, 2010. 20 Article 1 of the 1958 French Constitution states: ‘France shall be an indivisible, secular, democratic and social Republic. It shall ensure the equality of all citizens before the law, without distinction of origin, race or religion’ – with conservative voters arguing that the Noumea Accord provisions discriminate on the basis of origin. 21 For the 2004 and 2009 governments, see Nic Maclellan, ‘From Eloi to Europe – interactions with the ballot box in New Caledonia’, Journal of Commonwealth and Comparative Politics, vol. 43, no. 3, 2005, pp. 394–418; Nic Maclellan, New government in New Caledonia – the May 2009 elections in a French Pacific territory, SSGM Briefing note No.3/2009, State, Society and Governance in Melanesia Project; and Nic Maclellan, ‘Changing of the guard again: Gomes loses office in Noumea’, Islands Business, May 2011. See also Anne Pitoiset and Claudine Wery, Un Destin hors du commun – chronique de la vie politique calédonienne en 2012, Noumea, Le Rayon Vert, 2013. 22 Anne Pitoiset and Claudine Wery, Secrets de campagnes municipales et provinciales 2014, Noumea, Le Rayon Vert, 2014. 23 Nic Maclellan, ‘The 2014 elections in New Caledonia: a precursor to self-determination?’, The Journal of Pacific History, vol. 50, no. 2, 2015, pp. 168–188. See also David Chappell, ‘Decolonisation and nation-building in New Caledonia: Reflections on the 2014 elections’, Political Science, vol. 67, no. 1, 2015, pp. 56–72. 24 Accord de Nouméa, p. 4. 25 As of January 2016, Congress has not agreed to transfer the remaining powers under Article 27 of the 1999 organic law, including tertiary education, audio-visual communication, and control of accounting and financial reporting for the provinces, local councils and other public institutions.

New Zealand Stephen Levine Stephen Levine, Professor of Political Science at Victoria University of Wellington, has lectured and published extensively on New Zealand and Pacific Islands politics.

The most striking feature of New Zealand’s system of government is that it is so remarkably simple and straightforward. The country, which consists of two islands (North Island and South Island), has no states or provinces. It is a unitary system, with local governments and regional authorities established through parliamentary legislation. The Parliament itself is a single-chamber legislature, which meets three days a week for much of the year. The executive is headed by a prime minister and consists, as well, of ministers responsible for the administration of government departments, most of them sitting within Cabinet and some outside. The judicial system involves several layers of courts, terminating in a five-member Supreme Court. There is no written constitution, no supreme law with which all other legislation must be consistent.1 Until 1990 there was no bill of rights; however, in that year a Bill of Rights Act was passed, though one without the status of a supreme constitutional statute. All legislation can be revised, amended or repealed by a simple Act of Parliament, except for certain ‘entrenched’ provisions in the country’s Electoral Act that require either 75 per cent support in Parliament or passage in a referendum held specially for that purpose. The tradition of parliamentary government in New Zealand goes back a very long time. The first parliamentary elections were held in 1853 and the first parliamentary sitting took place the following year. Thus 2003 and 2004

offered a succession of 150-year commemorations, first in respect of elections and second for the convening of the country’s Parliament.2 As in many things, so too the simplicity of the New Zealand style of government disguises some important subtleties. Perhaps the most important is the Treaty of Waitangi, signed in 1840.3 This is generally regarded as the country’s founding document, and certainly it served as the means by which governance of the country – and, for most commentators for most of New Zealand’s history, ‘sovereignty’ – was transferred from the indigenous Māori tribes to the British Crown. In due course a recognisable parliamentary system, with responsible government, was installed, although the colonial legislature remained subordinate to British authority exercised through a resident governor. New Zealand evolved from a colonial dependency to a self-governing ‘Dominion’ within the British Empire, until finally achieving full and complete independence as a separate sovereign state.4 New Zealand is a founding member of the United Nations, having participated in the 1945 conference that brought about the drafting of the UN Charter and the establishment of the international body. The parliamentary system established by the British did not initially provide for legislative representation for Māori. In 1868 a measure was instituted establishing four Māori seats, an initiative considered as a temporary expedient for a people (or ‘race’, in the terminology of the time) considered to be dying out. Notwithstanding an initial demographic decline and considerable intermarriage, the Māori people have not disappeared and indeed there has in recent years been a strengthening of Māori identity and a growth in the numbers of people identifying themselves as Māori. At the same time, significant efforts have been made to improve awareness of the Treaty of Waitangi and to promote compliance with its provisions. These steps have not been without controversy. A special investigative body, the Waitangi Tribunal, has been established to enquire into alleged breaches (both past and present) of Treaty provisions, and successive governments have sought, with some success, to negotiate and to fund settlements with Māori claimants. This has proven to be a delicate, complicated and time-consuming exercise, however, with one consequence being a weakening in non-Māori support for, and an evident decline in

government and opposition patience with, the process.5 At the same time, numerous Treaty settlements have been achieved under both Labour and National-led governments, facilitated in part through efforts by the Office of Treaty Settlements. New Zealand parliamentary elections are generally held every three years. There have been very few early elections, although as a parliamentary system the possibility of a vote of no confidence, or of a request by a government for an early election, can never be entirely ruled out.6 The main political parties since the mid-1930s have been the Labour Party (first elected to government in 1935) and the National Party (which gained power for the first time at the 1949 elections). These parties took turns governing the country, on their own, with parliamentary majorities, from 1935 through until the 1993 election. In the absence of a written constitution, New Zealand’s Electoral Act has provided an important statutory guarantee, if one were needed, of the country’s democratic process. The system embodied in the Act had provided for a system under which members of Parliament would be elected in singlemember constituencies, with election determined by a plurality (i.e. ‘firstpast-the-post’: an absolute majority of votes cast was not required for an MP to be elected). During the late 1970s and early 1980s there was some public dissatisfaction with the consequences of a system that made it difficult for smaller parties to gain representation, that made it possible for a party to win more votes nationwide than its opponent and yet gain fewer parliamentary seats (as happened to Labour, defeated in 1978 and 1981), and that gave a single party (whether National or Labour) too much dominance (through its parliamentary majority) over Parliament and too much control over policymaking. In 1992 a non-binding referendum on New Zealand’s electoral system produced an overwhelming vote for change: 84.7 per cent of those taking part voted against the ‘first-past-the-post’ (FPP) system. The following year a second, binding referendum was held at the time of the general election. This, too, produced a vote for change, though more narrowly.7 The result meant that the government elected at the 1993 election was to be the last (unless the system is someday reinstated) elected under FPP rules. It may also have been

the last single-party majority government, a majority that soon began to dissolve as the governing National Party experienced defections, with members of Parliament seeking to position themselves in anticipation of the more complicated electoral environment to be introduced in 1996. The 1996 election was held under a ‘mixed’ electoral system. Known as ‘mixed member proportional’ (MMP), the system preserved constituency representation; gave voters a second vote, for a political party, with that vote determining the overall proportion of parliamentary seats to which parties were entitled; and strengthened the system of separate Māori seats, allowing the number of seats for the first time to grow from the established number of four, fluctuating according to the numbers of people choosing to identify as Māori and to enrol on the separate Māori electoral rolls. The number of legislators was increased in 1996 to 120 MPs, a move far from popular with the public notwithstanding the vote for this new system of elections.8 The consequences of MMP for governance have been evident through seven elections (from 1996 to 2014).9 On each occasion the result has been a multi-party Parliament and a coalition government. The parties represented in Parliament after the 2014 election were, in order of their size, National, Labour, the Greens, New Zealand First, the Māori Party, ACT and United Future. The number of separate Māori seats increased under MMP, from the four seats established in 1867, rising to five in 1996, six in 1999 and seven in 2002 (remaining at that number despite efforts by activists to encourage enrolment on the Māori rolls). A further consequence of the MMP system has been the election of a more ethnically (as well as politically) diverse Parliament. The number of Māori MPs elected under MMP has been significantly greater than previously, as parties have sought to present party lists that more accurately reflect the size of the Māori population (about 15 per cent of New Zealanders). The New Zealand Parliament now also better reflects the more ethnically diverse society that the country has become, including among its members Pacific Island MPs of Samoan, Tongan and Cook Islands origin, as well as the country’s first Asian MPs, including a Chinese woman (Pansy Wong) in the National Party (who became the first Cabinet minister of Asian origin following the 2008 election). Chinese men have served as MPs in the National, Labour and ACT parties; an immigrant

from Pakistan (Dr Ashraf Choudhary) was Parliament’s first Muslim MP; and the November 2008 election brought the number of Asian MPs up to six, including the first Sikh MP (Kanwaljit Singh Bakshi), the first Indo-Fijian MP (Rajen Prasad) and the first Korean MP (Melissa Lee). In 2008 Pansy Wong also became the first Asian MP elected in a constituency seat (rather than from the party list). In 2014 Parmjeet Parmar (National) became the first Indian woman (from Punjab) elected to the New Zealand Parliament. Since its introduction the MMP system has not attracted overwhelming support. The rise in the number of MPs to 120 engendered a voters’ petition for a non-binding referendum to reduce the number back to 99, the number they had been at the time of the 1993 election. The proposal won a massive vote of approval, gaining 81.5 per cent of the vote, but the result was disregarded by the government and, not surprisingly, by MPs themselves.10 While dissatisfaction with multi-party Parliaments and coalition governments was a feature of the first MMP government (1996–99), this has become less pronounced as voters, parliamentarians and media commentators have adapted to the new circumstances. Initial confusion about the role of the ‘list MP’ – persons in Parliament by virtue of appearing on the party lists, but representing no particular territorial constituency – has probably not been altogether dispelled, however. Most small parties’ MPs are ‘list MPs’, as National and Labour still win nearly all of the constituency seats, which are still contested under FPP rules. The capacity of list MPs to speak and act independently is at times compromised by their inability to claim a distinctive, personal mandate of their own, allowing a party’s parliamentary leadership to wield greater authority over list MPs in their parliamentary caucus. New Zealand’s political culture includes pride in what are regarded as significant and historic achievements. These include the passage of legislation in 1893 giving women the right to vote, making New Zealand the first country to extend suffrage to women. It took longer for women to gain the right to compete themselves for parliamentary office. That right was granted by Parliament in 1919, with the first woman being elected to Parliament in 1933. It took even longer for women to be elected in significant numbers, however, although by the 1993 election there were 21 women in Parliament (most of them in the Labour Party). The 1996 election saw 35

women elected, with women to be found in every parliamentary party except for United (which had only one MP, its leader, Peter Dunne). The 1999 and 2002 elections brought 37 and 34 women into Parliament, rising to 39 women MPs in 2005 and to 41 in 2008, with 39 elected in 2011 and 38 in 2014. The first MMP coalition government, headed by the National Party’s Jim Bolger, led to a leadership change in December 1997, with Jenny Shipley being chosen by National’s MPs as its new leader and the country’s first woman prime minister. The 1999 election saw both National and Labour led by women – whatever the result, New Zealand was to again have a woman prime minister – and from 5 December 1999 through to 19 November 2008 the country was governed by Labour-led coalitions with the Labour leader Helen Clark as prime minister. In 2008, after nine years in opposition, the National Party returned to power, its leader, John Key, becoming prime minister in a government sustained by ‘confidence and supply’ support agreements with three parties – a small right-wing party, ACT; the Māori Party; and United Future. ACT and the Māori Party each received two ministerial appointments outside of Cabinet and United Future’s leader (and sole MP) Peter Dunne also received such an appointment. This approach to governance – a modification of Westminster collective responsibility – had been utilised effectively by Prime Minister Clark, allowing Labour to govern through a mix of relationships with other parliamentary parties. The National Party under Prime Minister Key also won the 2011 and 2014 elections, coalition agreements being concluded post-election with the same three parties. As is often the case, New Zealand’s political system reflects both conservative impulses and a propensity for political experimentation. In either case there are few institutional obstacles in the way of governments wishing to implement their policies. A 19th-century Parliament unilaterally abolished the country’s provinces and provincial legislatures, setting the stage for firm unitary government. The country’s ‘upper house’, the Legislative Council, was also dispensed with summarily, in parliamentary votes taking place in 1950.11 The Labour–Progressive coalition government saw to it that legislation terminating New Zealanders’ rights of appeal to the Privy Council in London – effectively the country’s highest court – was

enacted in 2003, with New Zealand establishing its own separate Supreme Court. None of these measures were taken by ‘extraordinary’ parliamentary majorities, let alone by endorsement via public referendum. The MMP system itself, though introduced by binding referendum, was reviewed in 2000 by a parliamentary committee (as provided for under the Electoral Act), and was maintained unchanged by Parliament despite calls for the public to be permitted to pass its own judgement on the system by a further referendum. Subsequently, following a 2008 National Party promise to do so, legislation was enacted in 2010 providing for a new referendum, which was held simultaneously with the 2011 parliamentary elections. The MMP system was again endorsed by voters, with 56 per cent in favour, influenced, in part, by indications that the system, if re-endorsed, might be modified; a postreferendum review by the Electoral Commission recommended several changes to the system, but none were implemented. The capacity of New Zealand governments to embark on sweeping programmes of change has never been doubted. Nineteenth-century administrations sought to provide infrastructure to develop the country. Other New Zealand governments have developed significant and innovative social welfare programmes, including measures to provide ‘social security’ through state-funded pensions. More recent governments, in the mid- and late 1980s and early 1990s, also embarked on sweeping changes: restructuring the country’s public service, refashioning economic and financial policies, and reconsidering the role of the state in economic management and welfare provision. State-owned enterprises have been sold into private (often foreign) ownership. The cost of various services – health care and university education, for instance – has been allowed to rise, sometimes significantly. These measures, introduced with little genuine consultation and against considerable public opposition, were among the factors leading to the votes for a new electoral system intended to restrain government power. While MMP was introduced in due course, it came, in a sense, too late, barricading the doors against high-handed government action after the major state assets had already been sold and the new policy directions introduced and consolidated. New Zealand also altered the direction of its defence and foreign policies in recent years. Whereas the country’s principal financial and

trading links had been with Great Britain and, more widely, with Europe, its major trading partners nowadays, while including Australia and the United States, are largely in Asia. New Zealand is an important participant in Pacific regional affairs – it helped to establish the region’s major collective organisation, the Pacific Islands Forum (then known as the South Pacific Forum), in 1971, its first meeting being held in Wellington – and it is also an active member of the Asia–Pacific Economic Cooperation (APEC). New Zealand has attended the East Asia Summit (an annual meeting held under the auspices of the Association of Southeast Asian Nations) since its inaugural meeting in December 2005, and in 2008 the government succeeded in negotiating a free trade agreement with China, the first ‘developed’ country to have done so. The major security departure taken by New Zealand occurred after the 1984 election brought the Labour Party to office. New Zealand’s security ‘guarantee’, the ANZUS Treaty, had linked the country with Australia and the United States for defence purposes. The Labour Government’s adoption of anti-nuclear policies (enacted into law in 1987) and the refusal to compromise them to allow visits to New Zealand ports by US ships led to the suspension of New Zealand’s membership in this security alliance. While security relations with the US have been strengthened, particularly since the 11 September 2001 attacks and the growth in radical Islamist global terrorism, the anti-nuclear policies have been retained by National-led governments and are regarded as a core elements in New Zealand’s national identity. New Zealand’s political system is not known for its litigious character. New Zealanders dissatisfied with actions taken by officials have various channels to pursue outside of the courts. These include Ombudsmen (who can investigate complaints directed against both central and local governments), a Human Rights Commission, and various commissioners with particular areas of authority (e.g., a Race Relations Conciliator, a Privacy Commissioner, a Health and Disability Commissioner, and a Police Complaints Authority). An Official Information Act, passed in 1982, reverses the presumption of secrecy, giving New Zealanders means to gain information from governments that previously would have been able to ignore such requests (and the people who made them).12

Although New Zealand has had a well-justified reputation as a country with a respect for law, a commitment to fairness and an understanding of democratic principles and procedures, there is, as is perhaps invariably the case, more to it than that. The country is less stable than it appears at first glance. It has demonstrated its vulnerability to sudden policy departures by parties with little public mandate to introduce them. The politicians of even a small democracy, with little power on the world stage, can still obey underlying tendencies for power to be abused and for arrogance to corrupt. Moreover, New Zealand remains divided over its identity, with conflicting perspectives – uni-cultural, bi-cultural and multi-cultural – competing with each other in different settings. Anger over the Treaty of Waitangi – from some, furious over seeing what they perceive to be Māori ancestral rights being disregarded; and from others, dismayed by measures giving ‘special treatment’ to groups rather than treating everyone as ‘equal’ in entitlements – shows little sign of altogether subsiding. Discussions about sensitive issues – a constitution, a new flag, a new national anthem – suggest that a common vision about the country’s future, and the symbols available to express it, remains difficult to achieve. New Zealand retains the British monarch as head of state, represented in New Zealand by a governor-general (since 1967 a New Zealand-born appointee). Despite the possibility of a new flag – following an initiative from Prime Minister Key, referendums were held in November–December 2015 and in March 2016 to determine whether the existing flag (with its ‘Union Jack’ link to the United Kingdom) is to be replaced by a new design – respect for Queen Elizabeth II and the popularity of Prince William and his wife Catherine make it more likely that the connection with the UK will continue for some time to come.

Further reading Hayward, Janine (ed.), New Zealand Government & Politics, 6th edition, Melbourne, Oxford University Press, 2015. Johansson, Jon and Stephen Levine (eds), Kicking the Tyres: The New Zealand General Election and Electoral Referendum of 2011, Wellington, Victoria University Press, 2012. Johansson, Jon and Stephen Levine (eds), Moments of Truth: The New Zealand General Election of 2014, Wellington, Victoria University Press, 2015. Levine, Stephen and Nigel S. Roberts (eds), Key to Victory: The New Zealand General Election of 2008, Wellington, Victoria University Press, 2009.

Levine, Stephen and Nigel S. Roberts (eds), The Baubles of Office: The New Zealand General Election of 2005, Wellington, Victoria University Press, 2007. Miller, Raymond (ed.), New Zealand Government & Politics [series beginning in 1997; 5th edition, 2009], Melbourne, Oxford University Press. Ministry for Culture and Heritage, ‘Government and Nation’, Te Ara, The Encyclopedia of New Zealand, http://www.teara.govt.nz/en/government-and-nation. Palmer, Geoffrey and Matthew Palmer, Bridled Power: New Zealand Government under MMP, Auckland, Oxford University Press, 2004. Electoral Commission (New Zealand), http://www.elections.org.nz New Zealand Government, http://www.beehive.govt.nz New Zealand Parliament, http://www.parliament.nz/en-nz New Zealand Herald, http://www.nzherald.co.nz/ Stuff, http://www.stuff.co.nz/

Notes 1 Although New Zealand does not have a written constitution, it does have important constitutional ‘conventions’: see Stephen Levine, ‘The New Zealand Constitution: Context, Conventions and Contemporary Issues’, in Stephen Levine and Yves-Louis Sage (eds), Contemporary Challenges in the Pacific: Towards A New Consensus, Revue Juridique Polynesienne, numero hors serie, vol. 2, 2002, pp. 225–240. 2 This produced two very useful commemorative books, one celebrating 150 years of voting and the other 150 years of the New Zealand Parliament. See, respectively, Neill Atkinson, Adventures in Democracy: A History of the Vote in New Zealand, Dunedin, University of Otago Press in association with the Electoral Commission, 2003; and John E. Martin, The House: New Zealand’s House of Representatives, 1854–2004, Palmerston North, Dunmore, 2004. 3 There is a considerable literature on the Treaty of Waitangi. A highly respected work is that of Claudia Orange, The Treaty of Waitangi, Wellington, Bridget Williams Books with assistance from the Historical Publications Branch, Department of Internal Affairs, 1992. Subsequently she produced a further work on the Treaty; see Claudia Orange, An Illustrated History of the Treaty of Waitangi, Wellington, Bridget Williams Books, 2004. 4 For a narrative on this development, see W. D. McIntyre, Dominion of New Zealand: statesmen and status, 1907–1945, Wellington, New Zealand Institute of International Affairs, 2007. As a Dominion, New Zealand took part in the two World Wars; was a signatory (in its own right) to the Versailles Treaty; and became a founding member of the League of Nations (whose membership was restricted to independent states) and the United Nations (likewise). For all practical purposes New Zealand, as a self-governing Dominion, was an independent state within the British Empire. 5 For a critique of the work of the Waitangi Tribunal from the perspective of an historian, see Giselle Byrnes, The Waitangi Tribunal and New Zealand History, Auckland, Oxford University Press, 2003. 6 In the post-war era early elections have only been held three times: in 1951, 1984 and 2002. 7 For analysis of these two referendums, see Stephen Levine and Nigel S. Roberts, ‘Notes on Recent Elections; The New Zealand Electoral Referendum of 1992’, in Electoral Studies, vol. 12, no. 2, 1993, pp. 158–167; and Stephen Levine and Nigel S. Roberts, ‘The New Zealand Electoral Referendum and General Election of 1993’, in Electoral Studies, vol. 13, no. 3, 1994, pp. 240–253.

8 For an overview of the MMP system, see Jonathan Boston, Stephen Levine, Elizabeth McLeay and Nigel S. Roberts, New Zealand Under MMP: A New Politics?, Auckland, Auckland University Press, 1996. The process by which MMP was introduced and implemented is documented in Jonathan Boston, Stephen Levine, Elizabeth McLeay and Nigel S. Roberts (eds), Electoral and Constitutional Change in New Zealand: An MMP Source Book, Palmerston North, Dunmore, 1999. 9 For analyses of the seven New Zealand general elections conducted thus far under MMP rules, see: Stephen Levine and Nigel S. Roberts, ‘The 1996 General Election’, in Raymond Miller (ed.), New Zealand Politics in Transition, Auckland, Oxford University Press, 1997, pp. 223–233; Stephen Levine and Nigel S. Roberts, ‘The 1999 Election Results’, in Raymond Miller (ed.), New Zealand Government and Politics, Auckland, Oxford University Press, 2001, pp. 213–223; Stephen Levine and Nigel S. Roberts, ‘The 2002 General Election’, in Raymond Miller (ed.), New Zealand Government and Politics, third edition [including New Zealand Politics in Transition as ‘first edition’], Melbourne, Oxford University Press, 2003, pp. 219–232; Stephen Levine and Nigel S. Roberts, ‘The General Election of 2005’, in Raymond Miller (ed.), New Zealand Government and Politics, fourth edition, Melbourne, Oxford University Press, 2006, pp. 338–352; Stephen Levine and Nigel S. Roberts, ‘The General Election of 2008’, in Raymond Miller (ed.), Zealand Government and Politics, fifth edition, Melbourne, Oxford University Press, 2010, pp. 339–353; Jon Johansson and Stephen Levine, ‘Making New Zealand a better country? The 2011 election and referendum’, in Jon Johansson and Stephen Levine (eds), Kicking the Tyres: The New Zealand General Election and Electoral Referendum of 2011, Wellington, Victoria University Press, 2012, pp. 31–64; and Stephen Levine and Nigel. S. Roberts, ‘The General Election of 2014’, in Janine Hayward (ed.), New Zealand Government and Politics, sixth edition, Melbourne, Oxford University Press, 2015, pp. 334–344. 10 For an analysis of this non-binding referendum, see Stephen Church, ‘Crime and Punishment: The Referenda to Reform the Criminal Justice System and Reduce the Size of Parliament’, in Jonathan Boston, Stephen Church, Stephen Levine, Elizabeth McLeay and Nigel S. Roberts (eds), Left Turn: The New Zealand General Election of 1999, Wellington, Victoria University Press, 2000, pp. 184– 199. The number of MPs fluctuates slightly from one election to the next, as parties winning electorate contests may hold more seats than their proportion of the party vote would entitle them to, creating an ‘overhang’ – a slight increase in the number of MPs. The 1996, 1999 and 2000 elections brought in 120 MPs; the 2005 election, 121 MPs; the 2008 election, 122 MPs; and the 2011 and 2014 elections, 121 MPs. 11 For studies of New Zealand’s experience with an upper house, see W. K. Jackson, The New Zealand Legislative Council: A Study Of The Establishment, Failure And Abolition Of An Upper House, Dunedin, University of Otago Press, 1972; and A.H. McLintock and G. A. Wood, The upper house in colonial New Zealand: a study of the Legislative Council of New Zealand in the period 1854–1887, Wellington, Government Printer, 1987. 12 For an overall assessment of the health of New Zealand’s parliamentary democracy, see Stephen Levine, ‘Parliamentary Democracy in New Zealand’, in Malcolm Shaw (ed.), Parliamentary Democracy Today, a special issue of Parliamentary Affairs, vol. 57, no. 3, July 2004, pp. 646–665.

Niue Salote Talagi Salote Talagi is a Victoria University of Wellington postgraduate student from Niue and in 2015 produced a special video celebrating New Zealand’s Niue Language Week.

Introduction While on a voyage of discovery on board HMS Resolution, in June 1774 Captain James Cook came upon one of the largest raised coral atolls in the world, first naming the place ‘Prince Frederick Island’ but soon aptly changing the name to ‘Savage Island’ following a hostile reception for both captain and crew from islanders protective of themselves and their island. In the years that followed the island gained a new name, ‘Niuē’, translating as ‘Behold! The coconut!’ – a tree with coconuts seen from afar being a sign that the island was one on which people could live. In due course missionaries from Samoa, followed in 1846 by the London Missionary Society, settled and preached the Gospel, setting up what is now one of the pillars of Niuean society – the religion and values of Christianity. In the latter half of the 19th century, the patu-iki (king) of Niue, Fata-a-iki, with encouragement from the British missionaries, wrote to Queen Victoria with a plea that Niue be included under the umbrella of British protection. On 21 April 1900 Niue became part of the British Empire, Niue’s last patuiki, Togia-Pulu-toaki, receiving a Resident representative, who arrived on the island on 11 September 1901. By this stage, however, Niue had already been annexed by New Zealand (then a self-governing British possession), its

boundaries having been extended by the British on 11 June 1901 to include the Cook Islands and Niue. In 1904 the New Zealand Government established a separate Niue administration to manage its governance of the island. During the post-World War II era, following global trends, New Zealand’s government accepted a commitment to decolonisation for the Cook Islands and Niue. As part of moves towards Niuean self-government in 1960 a Legislative Assembly was established, with Robert Rex as its leader. On 3 September 1974 the people of Niue took part in an exercise in national self-determination, given the opportunity to choose whether to accept a new political status for the island. The question put to voters was: ‘Do you vote for self-government for Niue in free association with New Zealand on the basis of the Constitution and the Niue Constitution Act 1974?’ The result was: 887 votes (65.4 per cent) in favour; 469 votes (34.6 per cent) against. The 1,384 votes cast (including 28 invalid votes) represented 96.6 per cent of the 1,432 voters on Niue’s electoral roll. The referendum was observed by United Nations representatives and on 23 September the UN General Assembly was informed by New Zealand’s associate minister of foreign affairs, Joe Walding, that ‘On the 19th October, New Zealand and Niue will end their relationship of administering Power and non-Self Governing Territory’, and that ‘we will enter a new period of partnership on a basis of equality’, adding: ‘As a self-governing state Niue will take its place as a full member of the South Pacific Forum along with other independent and self-governing states in the Pacific’. He also advised that ‘Niue’s new Constitution contains my Government’s assurance that New Zealand’s economic assistance to Niue will continue as before’. On 13 December the General Assembly voted to recognise Niue’s act of self-determination.1 The 1974 Niue Constitution Act, enacted by the New Zealand Parliament, established the basis for Niue’s self-governing status and describes its government institutions. To this day Niue retains a Westminster system of governance, with regular elections to a unicameral legislature from which a Cabinet government is formed. On 19 October 2014 Niue and her people celebrated 40 years of selfgovernment and all their achievements to date. The people and government of Niue have worked to protect and develop their nation over the years,

allowing it to continue as one of the world’s smallest self-governing nations, one considered to be unspoiled, untouched and unique in its own right.

Overview Niue consists of a single island with a total area of 260 square kilometres, located in the South Pacific, to the south of Samoa, northeast of Tonga. As an upraised coral atoll, the island has a two-tiered structure, with cliffs varying between 30 and 60 metres above sea level and a surrounding coral reef. The upraised coral atoll structure creates chasms and rock crevices, a contributing factor towards Niue’s nickname ‘The Rock of Polynesia’, reflecting its rugged nature and rocky terrain. In addition to its land territory, Niue has an Exclusive Economic Zone of 390,000 square kilometres. Niue’s population, estimated in December 2014 at 1,726, represents a considerable decline since 1974 when its population was 3,992. Under the Niue Constitution, Niueans remained New Zealand citizens, which has made it easier for many Niueans to emigrate, principally to New Zealand but also to Australia and further afield. As of 2013, there were an estimated 23,982 Niueans living in New Zealand, just under 80 per cent of whom were New Zealand-born. In contrast to the growth of the New Zealand-based Niue population, growth on Niue itself remains low – 0.5 per cent per annum. A small portion of the population on Niue is made up of foreign immigrants, mainly from Tuvalu, Tonga and Samoa, as well as some expatriates from New Zealand. Niue’s capital is Alofi, the centre of commercial and government services and activities. Niue’s GDP for the 2006–2012 period was NZ$24.469 million, coming from both the government and the private sector. Niue’s government and economy remain highly dependent on aid from the New Zealand Government, as guaranteed under the Niue Constitution (which also provides guarantees relating to defence and foreign affairs, in accordance with the wishes of the Niue Government and its people). Local economic activities revolve around tourism and a few exports, including honey; Niue’s longest surviving export product, noni (a tropical fruit with alleged health benefits); and taro. The lack of local exports to allow Niue to participate in global trade reflects its lack of natural resources, excluding

untapped assets such as seabed minerals and fish. There is a significant imbalance in its trade, with imports substantially exceeding exports. Limited economic opportunities reflect Niue’s geographic isolation, small population size and limited market. These factors act as virtually unchangeable constraints on the country’s development plans and economic policy options. One notable exception is Niue’s internet country code domain, ‘.nu’, which has been a marketable asset in the internet era. Niue’s schools – early childhood education, primary school and high school – largely use the New Zealand curriculum. Tertiary education opportunities need to be pursued through overseas institutions. In 2003 Niue became the world’s first ‘Wi-Fi nation’, with Wi-Fi services installed in all villages and public gathering spaces. Free internet access is one of many services provided by the Niue Government, to the benefit of both locals and visitors. A further notable achievement is Niue’s commitment to reducing the use of fossil fuels, through the establishment of various solar power developments, in partnership with donors. Niue’s shift to solar power aligns with Pacific regional commitments for the use of renewable energy where possible.

The Government of Niue The Executive The executive branch of the Government of Niue – the Cabinet – consists of the Premier, elected by an absolute majority within the Niue Assembly, and three ministers, chosen by the Premier from amongst the members of the Assembly (Niue Constitution Act, Article 2). The elected premier and ministers must subscribe and swear to the Speaker under an oath of allegiance before assuming any functions and duties. All appointments are made under the Seal of Niue, with executive authority formally exercised by the Cabinet on behalf of Queen Elizabeth II in her capacity as the queen in right of New Zealand.2 Niue elected its 15th legislative assembly on 12 April 2014. Following the 2014 elections Toke Talagi retained his position as Premier, first achieved after the 2008 elections and renewed for a second three-year term after the 2011 elections. He is the fifth person to serve as Premier of Niue,

following Robert Rex (1974–92), Young Vivian (1992–93; 2002–08), Frank Lui (1993–99) and Sani Lakitani (1999–2002). Following the 2014 elections three village representatives were appointed to Cabinet: Pokotoa Sipeli (Liku), retaining his position as a minister, and two new appointees, Dalton Tagelagi (Alofi South) and Billy Talagi (Avatele). For the most part, Niue’s politics have been characterised by considerable stability. There have been no ‘early elections’, and no Niue government has ever been forced to resign as the result of a parliamentary motion of no confidence.

The Niue Assembly The Niue Assembly consists of the Speaker of the House and 20 members elected through their village constituencies and the island-wide common roll. The basic functions of the Assembly include drafting and enacting legislation; overseeing government programmes and policies; providing checks and challenges with respect to government activities; and initiating debate on public issues. The Assembly is serviced and managed through the Premier’s Department. The Assembly’s Speaker is elected from outside the ranks of the Assembly members. An absolute majority of the members is required for a Speaker to be elected. The choice of the Speaker precedes that of the Premier and takes place at the first Assembly meeting following a general election, prior to the commencement of any other Assembly business (Niue Constitution Act, Article 20 (4)). The Speaker elected following the 2014 election, Togiavalu Pihigia, was only the sixth person to hold this office. The Speaker’s role includes presiding over meetings of the Assembly and all matters which pass through it as well as assenting to bills on behalf of Queen Elizabeth II in her capacity as the head of state and queen of New Zealand. In the absence of the Speaker, a member of the Assembly (but not a Cabinet minister) or a member who has recently presided over Assembly meetings may act on the Speaker’s behalf (Niue Constitution Act, Article 20 (7)). A candidate for the Assembly (Niue Constitution Act, Article 17) must either be a New Zealand citizen – there is no provision in law for ‘Niue citizenship’ – or a permanent resident of Niue who has resided in Niue for 12 months or more prior to nomination as a candidate. A candidate for a

village seat is not legally required to reside in the village or constituency they seek to represent. Assembly sittings generally take place every six weeks, with additional meetings called as needed. Each sitting is opened and closed with a prayer by an Assembly member, a tradition in accordance with Niuean and Pacific cultures. An Assembly meeting cannot proceed if fewer than ten members, including the Speaker, are present. All members including the Speaker may speak in either Niuean or English. Every bill introduced and all records of proceedings must be in both Niuean and English (Niue Constitution Act, Article 23) unless otherwise determined through a resolution. Parliamentary privileges for Assembly members include freedom from prosecution: no member of the Assembly, including the Speaker, may be liable for any matters in relation to the proceedings and business of the Assembly. Assembly proceedings are broadcast live on radio. The Assembly has four permanent select committees: Public Accounts; Bills; House; and the Commonwealth Parliamentary Association (Niue Branch). A further committee – the Constitution Review Committee – was intended to be constituted in 2015. The public are welcome to attend and provide submissions to the Bills Committee.

The Judiciary Niue’s judiciary, independent of the Niue Government, consists of the High Court of Niue and the Court of Appeal. The High Court, described in Article 37 of the constitution, exists ‘for the administration of justice in Niue’ and has three divisions: civil, criminal and land. All proceedings are under the supervision of the chief justice (appointed by the governor-general of New Zealand on advice from Niue’s Cabinet), who will act as the judge – unless more than one judge is appointed. A commissioner of the High Court may also possess and exercise the functions and duties of a judge. The Court of Appeal has jurisdiction for any appeals from judgments made in the High Court. The chief justice may ‘comment on the legal, constitutional, and policy issues raised by any Bill or amendment’ (Niue Constitution Act, Article 55) if ‘the Assembly by resolution’ invites him or her to do so (Niue Constitution Act, Article 31 (2)).

Niue’s court system was the subject of the country’s first referendum since 1974 when, on 13 June 1992, voters approved the introduction of Niue’s High Court and Court of Appeal, replacing Niue’s use of New Zealand’s courts. The referendum also led to the abolition of the Niue Land Court and the Niue Land Appeal Court, instead creating a Land Division in the newly established Niue High Court.

The Niue public service and Niue Public Service Commission The Niue public service comprises employees who work to assist the Cabinet in ‘the carrying out of its duties and the performance and exercise of its functions and powers’ (Niue Constitution Act, Article 68 (4)). This institution is headed by the Secretary to Government, who also serves as the chief administration officer to the government. The role of the Secretary to Government is a significant one; the appointee is responsible to the Cabinet and is in charge of the general direction of all government departments. Richard Hipa was appointed in November 2008 and has held the position during three electoral terms. The Niue Public Service Commission includes three commissioners, appointed by the Cabinet; all employees of the Niue Government are employed by the Niue Public Service Commission, which is responsible ‘for reviewing the efficiency and economy of all departments and offices of the executive government’ (Niue Constitution Act, Article 68 (1)). The Niue public service is intended to be an apolitical body, free from corruption, run according to appropriate standards of professionalism.

Local government Niue’s local government is organised according to the provisions of the Niue Village Council Act 1967. Each village has a village council, elected every three years. The village councils elect their own chair and receive funds from the government (and donors) to support development projects and other activities.

Elections and political parties General elections are held every three years – 14 members represent village constituencies and six are elected from the island-wide common roll. Every

voter has the right to cast seven votes: one for a village representative and six for individuals seeking election as common roll representatives. At the 2014 election six of the 14 village representatives were elected unopposed. The number of votes cast per constituency ranged from a high of 209 (Alofi South) to as few as 20 (Toi, whose 10–10 tie between two candidates was settled, according to procedure, by a drawing, the winning name being taken out of a hat). There is additional prestige in winning a common roll seat – and, in particular, in coming top of the poll. Toke Talagi came first in 2008, repeating the feat in 2011; in 2014 he finished second, with 439 votes, 11 fewer than the top polling candidate, Stanley Kalauni (who stood against Talagi for Premier, losing by a vote of 12–8). Elections are held in a manner consistent with Western democratic practice. Votes are cast through a secret ballot system and tabulated by an independent electoral body (which is also responsible for voter enrolment) led by a Chief Electoral Officer. Every New Zealand citizen, permanent resident or person ordinarily resident on Niue (who has been living on Niue for at least three months) is entitled to vote in the elections. Voters are entitled to vote for and within only one constituency. There is no provision for Niueans residing overseas to vote in Niuean elections. Party politics is not a major feature of Niuean government. For virtually the entire period of Robert Rex’s leadership there were no political parties. In 1990, Sani Lakatani established the Niue People’s Party (NPP), which succeeded in winning the 1999 elections, mainly due to the popularity of its leader. Following the May 2002 victory of Young Vivian over Sani Lakatani for the position of Premier, the NPP was disbanded (in 2003). Since then, the presence of party politics on Niue has receded, replaced by competition within the Assembly, with those members opposing the Premier and his supporters working together as an opposition. Election campaigning involves the efforts of the individual candidates, nominated for their village constituencies or the common roll. Formal party politics may well be impractical for a country with so small a population. Instead, in a sense each Assembly member – at least those representing a village constituency – can be described as a representative of a party (or an interest): their village forms a ‘party’, while those elected via

the common roll can be viewed as representatives of the entire island (and not of a particular party or faction). While most political systems can be characterised as two-party or multi-party states – with less democratic countries described as one-party states – Niue’s system remains, at least formally, a ‘no party’ state, not because political parties are illegal or unconstitutional – indeed, a review of Niue’s constitution found that political parties could be formed if individuals wished to do so – but because, as Niue’s first Premier, Robert Rex, argued, they were considered unnecessary on a small island lacking strong divisions of interest or outlook. Election campaigning in the Niue context is somewhat different from that found in larger Western nations. Campaigning takes place on a more informal, face-to-face basis, where potential candidates engage in ‘meet and greets’ with local residents. Many will be relatives and old friends, former schoolmates and current and former workmates. Candidates and voters know one another, in many instances very well, and it is these personal connections and relationships that underlie much voting choice, especially in village constituencies but also in the common roll seats. Campaigning may include distributing flyers to households across villages, as well as having sessions on the local radio, answering questions provided by listeners. In between elections, candidates attend and contribute to family, village and national activities and events, part of a longstanding campaign process establishing each candidate’s character, reputation and links to the community. Maintaining popularity and reputation in small communities on a single island with a fairly miniscule population is an important part of the process, with electoral success highly dependent on it. Some constituencies host debates for candidates, as in the Alofi South constituency in 2014. A televised nationwide debate for common roll candidates – yet to occur – would prove useful to inform electors on candidates’ policy stances, goals, and perspectives. Another platform which is becoming more influential is social media. Networking sites such as Facebook increase the potential for campaign content to reach wider audiences, both on Niue and among Niueans living overseas, stimulating interest and engagement.3 While Niue’s elections include a narrow spectrum of political campaign activities, technological advances open up opportunities for candidates to communicate with voters, especially younger voters.

As noted, each Niue Assembly comprises 20 elected members; few of them have been women. On average, two women are elected into the Assembly at each general election. The highest number of women elected thus far has been four, in 2008. In 2014 only two women were elected: Va’ainga Tukuitoga, elected unopposed, the first woman to win a village electoral seat (Alofi North, in 1999, when she unseated the incumbent member Frank Lui, ending his six-year tenure as Niue’s Premier)4 and one of the Assembly’s longstanding members, winning her sixth successive term; and Joan Viliamu, elected on the common roll in 2011 and again in 2014 (winning 328 votes and coming in sixth in the common roll voting). Tauveve O’Love Jacobsen, coming sixth in the common roll vote in 2008, was appointed to a Cabinet position in the first government led by Toke Talagi and had previously held ministerial office. In 1999, as a member of Niue’s Assembly, she stood as a candidate for Premier, losing to Sani Lakatani (14– 6). In 2005 she again stood for Premier, losing to Young Vivian (17–3). Thus far no woman has served as either Niue’s Premier or as Speaker of the Niue Assembly. This gender imbalance within the Assembly has led to calls for increased participation of women in Niue politics.

Youth involvement in local politics The youth of Niue, while increasingly active in local governance and politics, remain a limited force in the island’s government, with minimal influence in decision-making processes. The Niue Youth Parliament, established in 2010, was a funded project which involved youth being given opportunities to learn about political processes and leadership. The last Youth Parliament took place in November 2015. In a replica of the Niue election system, 20 young people were elected to the Niue Youth Parliament: 14 youth members representing village constituencies and six elected for the island-wide common roll. This provided an avenue for youth to learn about parliamentary processes and the role of a member of the Assembly. There is little direct involvement by youth in local politics. The main current avenue of youth involvement within local politics is through the Niue Youth Council. A youth representative is appointed by the Cabinet to participate within national boards of directors, such as the Broadcasting

Corporation Niue and the Niue Liquor Board. Niuean youth are also actively involved in politics and governance on the local level through church, cultural and sports groups. In adherence to cultural traditions of respecting elders, the youth of Niue are yet to utilise their potential to influence local politics and provide a voice for the island’s young people. The youth of Niue comprise nearly 30 per cent of the total population and can represent a significant portion of civic society in domestic politics. There remains great potential for political education and initiatives to get Niue’s youth to become further interested, educated and actively engaged in local political processes.

Niue in the world Niue is a member of several Pacific regional organisations, including the 16member Pacific Islands Forum – open to independent, sovereign Pacific Island nations – which it joined following the achievement of selfgovernment in free association with New Zealand. Niue hosted the Pacific Islands Forum’s summit in 2008. Niue is also a member of the Pacific Community (formerly the South Pacific Commission), which has 26 member countries and territories. Since New Zealand’s United Nations Declaration in November 1988 (circulated as UNGA LE 222 New Zealand), clarifying and revising New Zealand’s treaty-making power with respect to the Cook Islands and Niue – stating that their governments have ‘exclusive and legislative competence to implement treaties’ and that they had requested that New Zealand treaty actions not extend to them ‘unless the treaty is signed … expressly on behalf of the Cook Islands or Niue’5 – Niue has joined various international organisations, including such specialised agencies as UNESCO, the World Health Organization, the Food and Agriculture Organization, the United Nations Environmental Program and the World Meteorological Organization. Niue has also acceded to various international agreements, including several climate change conventions. Niue’s Premier Toke Talagi has been a staunch voice in standing up to the demands of donors and development partners in relation to development aid opportunities. With a country and a region that is considered small by the rest of the world, negotiations often require a tenacious stance to be taken.

Niue has a diplomatic mission in Wellington, New Zealand. As at 2015, Niue’s High Commissioner, Mrs O’Love Jacobsen, was also the Dean of the Diplomatic Corps in New Zealand, being the longest serving diplomat represented in Wellington. Since the mid-2000s Niue’s international ties have continued to expand, and formal diplomatic relationships have been established with a growing number of countries, including (in addition to New Zealand) Australia, the Cook Islands, Nauru, Papua New Guinea and Samoa; the People’s Republic of China, India, Israel, Japan, Malaysia, Singapore, Thailand and Turkey; the European Union, France and Kosovo; and Cuba. The importance of diplomacy to cultural, sports and economic development opportunities means that the list of Niue’s diplomatic relationships can be expected to keep growing. Niue itself is home to only one resident overseas mission, the New Zealand High Commission; countries with missions based in Wellington and formal ties with Niue have their Head of Mission accredited to Niue.

Future prospects There are a number of initiatives and developments that can be noted as significant in relation to the island’s future prospects. In recent times, Niue has been described as a possible partial remedy to the global decline in the honeybee population, with the creation of a honeybee sanctuary on the island.6 This initiative, apart from playing a part in preserving a species essential to life on the planet, could provide an array of economic and development opportunities, although a careful consideration of all aspects of such a project would be required to ensure the benefits and minimise potential risks. All commitments to treaties, partnerships, deals and negotiations to endorse sustainable economic development need to preserve Niue’s unique character and the island’s ‘untouched, unspoiled and unique’ qualities. At the same time it is important to provide economic opportunities so the island and its people can experience the benefits of the global economy. These policies can also be pursued as a way to encourage Niueans overseas to settle back in Niue, demonstrating that it is possible to benefit from the best of both worlds.

Greater political education is needed for secondary and tertiary students so that they understand the basics of the Niue Constitution, the functions and activities of the government and the Assembly, their own human rights and the opportunities available to them for greater political engagement. In following the criteria for the qualification of candidates in local elections, individuals aged 18 years and above can be encouraged to participate, thus emphasising that Niue youth have an equal right to take part in island politics. Initiatives such as the Niue Youth Parliament and others through the Niue Youth Council should continue to be promoted, funded and encouraged. Greater encouragement for women to enter politics and undertake leadership roles is also needed for the island’s political, economic and cultural development. There is a significant discrepancy between the total population of female voters and the number of women who are nominated and elected to the Niue Assembly. There is great potential, and much to be done, for gender equality in Niue politics to be achieved. Many women work within the Niue Assembly and government institutions; it is also necessary, however, for the numbers of women elected to decision-making roles to be increased. Proceedings of the Niue Assembly – the island’s elected legislative body, at which members of the government are accountable – need to be made more accessible. As noted, Assembly sessions are broadcast on radio; they should also be broadcast on Niue television and made available online, via government websites and archives, to Niueans well connected to the internet.

Conclusion Niue’s political system is in many ways unique. It is unusual for a nation to be self-governing, and a member of international institutions, with a population of fewer than 2,000 people resident on its territory. The island’s political system is noteworthy, too, for the absence of organised party politics, challenging the commonly held view of political scientists that political parties are an indispensable feature of democratic politics. Niue has also experienced a transition from traditional chiefly rule to that of a Westminster democratic parliamentary system. The underdeveloped literature on Niue’s politics and government warrants further study from

potential authors, including retired and experienced Niue government officials. The small size and population of the island, as well as its institutions and processes, make its politics and governance an interesting subject to explore, with differences from other states not only within the Pacific Islands region but also more widely. Although limited in many ways, Niue has nevertheless proved that much can be achieved by a small nation. To conclude with a short statement for Niue’s politics and governance: Haia! Monuina ma Niue … ‘That’s it! – may Niue be blessed …’

Further reading Chapman, Terry M., The Decolonisation of Niue, Wellington, New Zealand Institute of International Affairs, 1976. Chapman, Terry M. et al., Niue: A History of the Island, Suva, University of the South Pacific, Institute of Pacific Studies, 1982. Colón-Ríos, Joel I., ‘The Office of the Speaker and the Constitution of Niue: A Brief Comparative Analysis’, New Zealand Association for Comparative Law Yearbook 17, 2011, pp. 33–43. Niue Constitution Act 1974, http://www.legislation.govt.nz/act/public/1974/0042/latest/DLM412793.html. Takalesi, Hima, ‘Niue’, in Stephen Levine (ed.), Pacific Ways: Government and Politics in the Pacific Islands, first edition, Wellington, Victoria University Press, 2009, pp. 151–160. Pointer, Margaret and Kalaisi Folau, Tagi Tote E Loto Haaku – My Heart is Crying a Little, Suva, University of the South Pacific, Institute of Pacific Studies, 2000. Pointer, Margaret, Niue 1774–1974, 200 years of Contact and Change, Dunedin, Otago University Press, 2015. Talagi, Maru, Politics, Propositions and Perspectives: Niue and Nationhood, Niue, Solomua Press, 2013. Government of Niue, http://www.gov.nu/ Government of Niue – Premier’s Office, http://www.niuegov-premiersoffice.com/ New Zealand Aid Programme, ‘Niue’, https://www.mfat.govt.nz/en/aid-and-development/our-work-in-t he-pacific/aid-partnership-with-niue/ Radio New Zealand International, ‘Niue’, http://www.radionz.co.nz/international/

Notes 1 UN Resolution 3285 (XXIX); see Archive, Government of Niue – Premier’s Office, ‘Brief Account of 1974 – Extract from TTN [Tau Tala Niue] 26 July 1974, Volume 9’, http://www.niuegov-premierso ffice.com/archive.html.

2 Niue is part of the Realm of New Zealand. There is no Realm of Niue and thus no ‘Queen’ or ‘King’ of Niue. 3 Although unable to vote, Niueans living abroad can, and do, express opinions on Niue’s politics and government, seeking to influence events and developments there. This can also be the case, of course, at election time. 4 See Stephen Levine, ‘Niue’, The Contemporary Pacific, vol. 12, no. 1, 2000, p. 231. 5 See New Zealand Ministry of Justice, ‘Contemporary constitutional status of the homelands and modern relations with New Zealand’, 3.1–3.2, http://www.justice.govt.nz/publications/publications-arc hived/2000/pacific-peoples-constitution-report-september-2000/contemporary-constitutional-status-ofthe-homelands-and-modern-relations-with-new-zealand. 6 See, for instance, ‘NZ beekeeper plans bee sanctuary on Niue’, 3News, 23 June 2015, http://www.3ne ws.co.nz/world/nz-beekeeper-plans-bee-sanctuary-on-niue-2015062320#axzz3sB17My00.

Northern Mariana Islands Frank Quimby Frank Quimby, formerly city editor of the Pacific Daily News and a lecturer in journalism at the University of Guam, has also served as Guam Desk Officer at the US Department of the Interior and is a research associate with the Micronesian Area Research Center.

Located about 2,400 kilometres northeast of the Philippines and 1,900 kilometres southeast of Japan, the Northern Mariana Islands form a 800kilometre arc, stretching northward from its nearest neighbour – the US territory of Guam. Due to the archipelago’s geostrategic location, its indigenous inhabitants, known today as Chamorros and Carolinians, have been governed by four colonial regimes over the past three and a half centuries, experiencing historic trauma and recovery and opting for US citizenship and Commonwealth status in the 1970s as part of the decolonisation of the UN Trust Territory of the Pacific Islands. Under a constitutionally created and locally elected republican form of government and exercising limited home rule, in the last quarter of the 20th century the islands underwent dramatic commercial expansion based on mass tourism and garment-making industries. But international trade and tourism realignments, coupled with federal intervention due to the islands’ controversial management of its foreign workforce, caused an economic downturn that was deepened and prolonged by a global recession. The economy has steadily recovered since 2010 and island leaders believe the rapid growth of Chinese tourism and the legalisation of casino gambling on the capital island of Saipan hold promise for continued economic recovery and commercial expansion.

Tano‘ tasi: a megalithic, matrilineal Micronesian society Beginning about 80 kilometres north of Guam, the 20 islands and islets of the Northern Marianas encompass 477 square kilometres of land and more than 684,000 square kilometres of ocean. The islands are the tectonically uplifted peaks of undersea mountains and volcanoes along the southern reach of the Izu-Bonin-Mariana arc system. The zone paralleling the Marianas to the east, known as the Marianas Trench, contains the deepest rift in the earth’s surface – the Challenger Deep – southeast of Guam. The entire archipelago is subject to seismic activity and several of the northernmost islands are actively volcanic. Three of the southernmost Marianas are permanently inhabited, with Saipan, the largest at 122 square kilometres, accounting for 90 per cent of the current population of about 51,000. The other two inhabited southern islands, with the remaining 10 per cent of the population, are Rota and Tinian. The northernmost islands, known collectively in Chamorro as Gani, were aboriginally inhabited and had occasional residents in the 19th and 20th centuries, but lack the infrastructure to support large permanent populations. The indigenous people of the Northern Marianas, estimated at the time of European contact in the mid-16th century at about 20,000, shared a common Chamorro culture and way of life with the indigenous people of Guam, the southernmost and largest island of the Marianas archipelago. Saipan was occupied at least by 2000 BCE (and possibly much earlier) from islands in Southeast Asia and settled by voyagers who possessed an Austronesian complex of maritime, horticultural, construction and ceramic technologies. Beginning around 800 CE, megalithic columns and hemispheric caps, hewn from island basalt and limestone quarries, were extensively used in parallel rows to support houses and community buildings of high-status kingroups. Known today as latte, which also denotes this period of island culture, their use and varying sizes, from 0.9 to 4.6 metres high, probably were influenced by social differentiation dynamics. Chamorro lateen-rigged (i.e., with triangular sails), single outrigger canoes were highly admired by European visitors for their ingenious cordage construction, speed and manoeuvrability.

The indigenous population of tano‘ tasi (‘land of the sea’ in Chamorro) was organised by ranked, extended matrilineal kin groups that resided in largely autonomous villages and village districts. Property and rank, including the selection of titles for kin group, village and district leaders, were traced through the matrilineal line, reflecting a higher status and greater prerogatives for women in the society. Though culturally homogenous, the population of the Marianas was not politically unified at the time of European contact.

Spanish colonial policy, globalisation and regime change The Spanish colonisation of the islands was initiated in 1668 by a Jesuit mission led by Father Diego Luis de San Vitores. In response to widespread Chamorro resistance, the inhabitants of the Northern Marianas were forcibly relocated to Guam to facilitate the Spanish conversion and consolidation of the archipelago. The northern islands remained largely uninhabited in the 18th century, except for Rota which retained an indigenous, if declining, population during the Spanish era. In the early 19th century, to encourage agricultural production and self-sufficiency, Spanish colonial officials began to resettle Saipan with refugees from the Caroline Islands and with descendants of Chamorros who had been relocated to Guam. The Carolinians were refugees who sailed ancient star navigation courses to Guam, principally from Lamotrek, Satawal and Puluwat (in what is now the Federated States of Micronesia, the first two in Yap and the third in Chuuk states respectively), after these atoll islands had been rendered uninhabitable because of typhoons, tsunamis or extended droughts. There was little commercial development of the Northern Marianas – or of Guam – under the Spanish. The islanders on Saipan were only required to provide cured beef, pigs, and farm and tree crops for the Spanish colonial government and garrison on Guam. Residents of Rota and Guam developed small seasonal surpluses of native and introduced crops to provision visiting trade galleons, exploring expeditions and whalers. The chief economic legacy of the Spanish era was integrating the Marianas into sea trade networks as part of the globalisation of world trade. The Marianas served as a provisioning stop and refuge for Spanish galleons from the mid-16th to the

early 19th centuries, and as an open port of call for British and American whalers and vessels involved in trade with China in the 19th century. After the Spanish–American War of 1898, the Northern Marianas were partitioned from Guam when the US annexed the latter (with the only deepwater port on the US line of communication between Hawaii and the Philippines). That US decision proved to be a strategic mistake, as Spain then sold the northern islands (as well as the Caroline Islands and Palau) to Germany, which lost them to Japan, an ally of Great Britain, in World War I. Tokyo initially ruled the islands under a League of Nations Class C Mandate, which did not require them to promote self-government or self-determination, and annexed them outright when Japan left the League in 1933. The Japanese brought in tens of thousands of settlers, primarily Okinawans and Koreans, and developed a significant sugar cane industry, as well as bauxite mining and commercial fishing operations. At the outbreak of World War II, Japan used its Northern Marianas bases to launch its attack on Guam in December 1941, employing Northern Marianas Chamorros as interpreters and security personnel in the brutal wartime occupation of the US territory. In 1944, the US captured Saipan and Tinian (and later Guam) in bitter fighting that obliterated the pre-war housing, road and utility infrastructure on the islands. Subsequently American forces launched intensive aerial bombing campaigns against Japanese cities from Tinian and Guam, including the August 1945 atomic bomb attacks on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. About 3,200 Chamorro and 800 Carolinian survivors of World War II were administered as refugees by US forces, which promoted the election of high chiefs, encouraged self-governing camps and employed the islanders in reconstruction. Several hundred overseas Chamorros who had worked for the German and Japanese administrations in Micronesia returned home following the war and were resettled on Tinian. Through centuries of foreign rule, the Chamorros and Carolinians had developed considerable adaptation and co-optation skills and survival strategies, becoming a ‘globalised’ people who maintained their indigenous identity, language and core culture while acculturating to Spanish Catholicism, Hispanic social and political institutions, urban settlement, regime changes, wage labour systems and

Westernised lifestyles. Many had served colonial regimes as middle managers for government administration and commercial enterprises.

The UN Trusteeship and quest for US citizenship In 1947 the US included the Northern Marianas, and other Micronesian islands captured from Japan, in the United Nations Trust Territory of the Pacific Islands. At Washington’s insistence, this was the only ‘strategic’ trusteeship, overseen not by the Trusteeship Council but by the Security Council, where the US had veto power. The large US military presence on Saipan and Tinian in the mid-1940s, extensive base construction, and the post-war treatment and rehabilitation of the population made a favourable impression on the war-ravaged indigenous Chamorros and Carolinians. Washington transferred administrative control of Saipan, Tinian and the northernmost islands back to the US Navy in 1952 to accommodate a base on Saipan run by the Central Intelligence Agency, where they trained Nationalist Chinese spies to infiltrate mainland China, gather intelligence and organise insurgency movements to undermine the Communist regime. The base was closed in 1962, and the Trust Territory’s headquarters was moved from Guam to the buildings formerly occupied by the CIA, making Saipan the provisional capital and political hub of the Micronesian trusteeship. US post-war activities provided Saipan greater development than other areas of the trusteeship, including improved air and seaport facilities, roads, power, water, housing, health and education systems, generating jobs and income for local workers and commercial opportunities for local entrepreneurs. The US presence, which from 1967 onwards included Peace Corps volunteers, provided extensive opportunities for social interaction and exposed the indigenous population to an American worldview and way of life. Exhibiting their well-developed adaptation and survival strategies, islanders quickly mastered English and American social skills and gained the training and formal education that made a number of them middle managers and Trust Territory administrators, reprising the roles their forebears had played for earlier colonial regimes. As local self-government evolved in the 1950s, culminating in the trusteeship-wide Congress of Micronesia in 1965, Northern Marianas

leaders consistently sought US affiliation and citizenship. The Marianas District Legislature held plebiscites and issued petitions, seeking political reintegration with Guam, whose residents had gained US citizenship in 1950 when Washington granted the island a locally elected government and limited home rule. Guam voters blocked that path by rejecting reintegration in 1969, some fearing their island would have to fund their neighbours’ development, and others still resentful of the northern Chamorros’ role in Japan’s wartime occupation. When the Congress of Micronesia rejected the US offer of Commonwealth status for the entire trust territory in 1971 (opting for ‘free association’), the Northern Marianas District Legislature formally petitioned the Trust Territory Government, the UN Trusteeship Council, and the US Government for separate status negotiations leading to union with the United States.

The Covenant, Constitution and Commonwealth Government Seeking a political status broadly similar to Puerto Rico’s relationship with the US, Northern Marianas leaders negotiated a ‘Covenant’ agreement that established the Commonwealth of the Northern Mariana Islands (CNMI) in political union with and under the sovereignty of the United States. The Covenant was approved by island voters in a 17 June 1975 plebiscite by a 78.8 per cent margin. More than 90 per cent of eligible voters cast ballots. For Washington, the Covenant secured islands they regarded as strategically important to protect air and naval bases on Guam and to strengthen the American military posture in the Western Pacific. For Northern Marianas leaders, the pact provided an unprecedented degree of autonomy under a locally-adopted constitution, requiring ‘mutual consent’ before key self-government provisions could be modified and specifying which US laws, treaties and provisions of the US Constitution applied to the CNMI. Northern Marianas leaders also had aggressively negotiated for local control of immigration, minimum wage and tax laws, citing the undeveloped condition of their islands and what they believed were the adverse impacts of federal immigration control on Hawaii and Guam, where settler populations far outnumber indigenous residents. The US conferred these

typically national authorities on the local government as interim measures to promote social and economic development for the lightly populated islands, which had about 15,000 residents in 1978. Island negotiators also won a US$420 million financial assistance package to launch government operations and infrastructure development. Though outside US Customs territory, the CNMI also received duty- and quota-free status for locally made products. The CNMI Constitution was drafted in 1976 by a constitutional convention of indigenous citizens of the Northern Marianas District of the Trust Territory and approved by voters in March 1977 – 6,554 (96 per cent) in favour, 258 (4 per cent) opposed (with a turnout of 75 per cent of registered voters). The constitution provided for a republican form of government, with a governor, bicameral legislature and independent court system, generally mirroring US state-level structures. Unique provisions of the local constitution protect indigenous customs and traditions, circumscribe ‘search and seizure’ police powers and limit land ownership to residents of Northern Marianas descent. Governors and lieutenant governors are elected every four years. The bicameral legislature has a 20-member House of Representatives and a 9-member Senate. The members of the House of Representatives are elected from seven districts: two with one seat each, three with two members, and two with six members. As a result, 18 of the 20 House members are from Saipan districts. The upper house represents three senatorial districts (Saipan and the Northern Islands; Tinian and Aguijan; and Rota). Senators serve four-year terms while representatives are elected for two years. The current court system includes a Commonwealth Trial Court, with five judges, and a Commonwealth Supreme Court, established in 1985, with three justices. Carlos S. Camacho, a medical doctor and president of the Saipan Democratic Party, was the first elected governor, serving from 9 January 1978 to 11 January 1982. While the Covenant became the basic law of the Northern Marianas, parts of it, including US citizenship, did not become effective until the US officially ended the trusteeship for the Northern Marianas, Marshall Islands and Federated States of Micronesia in 1986. Two major political parties dominated Northern Marianas’ politics in the trusteeship period: the Popular Party, which favored reunification with

Guam; and the Territorial Party, which favored a separate territorial status in the US polity, similar to Guam’s. In the Commonwealth period, the two parties morphed into the Democratic and Republican parties, usually affiliated with the US national parties; however, splintering has occurred, with candidates running as independents or as members of ad hoc parties, such as the Covenant Party established by former governor Benigno Fitial. Governors must be elected by a majority of voters, occasioning runoff elections among candidates receiving pluralities. Early US assistance to the CNMI also included a US$32 million Department of Defense lease payment for more than 73 square kilometres for 50 years, with an option to renew, at no additional cost, for another 50 years. The land included about 72 square kilometres on Tinian (two-thirds of the island); 0.7 square kilometres in Saipan’s Tanapag Harbor; and all 0.8 square kilometres of uninhabited Farallon de Medinilla for an aerial and naval target range. In addition, the US provided US$38 million directly to CNMI residents as Micronesian war claims payments for deaths, injuries and property losses from the American invasion and destruction of Japanese forces. The Covenant negotiations had been controversial from the outset, unleashing separatist movements in the Marshall Islands and Palau that ultimately led to the splintering of the Trust Territory into four separate political entities. The pact also generated resentment in neighbouring Guam, where many local leaders felt Washington was offering former Japanese subjects more favourable treatment than the US citizens of Guam, who had remained steadfastly loyal to ‘Uncle Sam’ during World War II. The Covenant spurred Guam’s efforts to engage US officials in Commonwealth status negotiations, a movement that failed to win Washington’s approval. Because the CNMI is not a US state, the islands are not accorded full representation in Congress. Since 2008, the CNMI elects a non-voting Delegate to the House of Representatives every two years. Gregorio Kilili Sablan, the former director of the Marianas Election Commission, campaigned as an independent, but since being elected (in 2008) he has caucused with the House Democrats. US citizens living in the CNMI may not vote in presidential elections (unless they have residence in a US state and are on that state’s electoral roll). As an ‘unincorporated’ island territory – a

status shared with Guam, American Samoa, the US Virgin Islands and Puerto Rico –the CNMI is not currently on a track to statehood (as were territories Congress ‘incorporated’ by law, such as Hawaii and Alaska). However, the CNMI, like other US island territories, is eligible for ‘state-like’ treatment for access to a wide variety of federal programmes in health, education, transportation and public safety. Because of this, the US provided an estimated US$3.8 billion in financial support for the Northern Marianas between 1976 and 2010, including US$2.9 billion in federal programme grants and loans and US$700 million in Covenant funding.

Tourists, garment manufacturing and East Asian integration US affiliation and trade privileges, a generous CNMI tax policy and proximity to Asian population centres were substantial comparative advantages, enabling the CNMI to achieve remarkable commercial growth between 1978 and 1999. The CNMI tax policy rebates up to 95 per cent of income taxes (which mirror the US Internal Revenue Code and serve as a Commonwealth tax). The islands have no real estate or sales taxes. These incentives helped entice foreign investment, primarily from Japan, Hong Kong and South Korea, fuelling private sector development. Saipan’s tropical environment and historic association with Japan drew substantial Japanese tourist investment, generating a billion dollar construction boom and burgeoning visitor industry. Tourist arrivals, about 75 per cent from Japan, peaked at 736,177 in 1996. More than 40 hotels were built on Saipan during the 1980s and 1990s, providing 4,642 rooms by 1998. With two new jobs created for each hotel room, and not enough local workers to fill the rapidly increasing needs for hotel service labour, by 1995 the industry employed 6,900 temporary foreign workers and 2,700 local residents. In 1997, about 727,000 visitors reportedly spent US$585 million, enabling the industry to contribute US$34 million, or 14 per cent, of that year’s Commonwealth budget of US$248 million. Economic integration with East Asia also meant that global and regional developments directly affected the CNMI’s economy. Hotel investment dropped precipitously when Japan’s asset price bubble burst in 1993, and tourism declined in the late 1990s due to the Asian financial crisis of 1996–

1997 and the cancellation of Korean Air services to Saipan following the crash of a Korean Air tourist flight on Guam in August 1997. The islands suffered a 30 per cent drop in tourist arrivals in 1998. Smaller impacts followed the 9/11 terrorist attacks, the SARS epidemic and the war in Iraq. The largest decline followed Japan Airlines’ 2005 decision to withdraw direct flights between Tokyo and Saipan, due to a realignment of its carrier routes on higher capacity, higher profit-margin destinations. Visitor arrivals plunged from 736,117 in 1996 to 389,345 in 2007, a decline of nearly 47 per cent. Garment manufacturing, however, soon surpassed tourism as an economic force. Clothing makers who set up plants on Saipan, particularly those from East Asia nations whose exports to the US were normally constrained by country quotas and substantial duties, benefitted from greater access to the US domestic market than many of their competitors. The garment industry was a logical extension and prime example of the CNMI strategy – initially supported by the US Government – to maximise the islands’ advantages to promote economic development. Between 1983 and 2000, 34 garment plants with worker dormitories were established, most importing bolt cloth and engaging in ‘cut and sew’ operations, exporting garments to the US with ‘Made in USA’ labels. The industry’s rapid expansion stimulated construction, utility development and support services, and the plants eventually employed about 17,000 workers, including 14,500 temporary foreign labourers and about 2,500 local residents. Two-thirds of the factories were foreign owned, many of the largest by Chinese conglomerates. The factories’ temporary foreign labourers, 90 per cent of them young women, were recruited primarily from China, Hong Kong and the Philippines. In its 26-year history (1983–2009) the garment industry injected about US$960 million into the CNMI economy in taxes, user fees, wages and local purchases. At its apex in 1999, the plants exported US$1.07 billion in garments and paid US$79 million in taxes and fees into the CNMI treasury, about 35 per cent of total public revenues. As it rapidly expanded, however, plant managers and local government officials did not adequately enforce wage, civil rights, immigration and health and safety standards for the burgeoning foreign workforce. The industry’s exceptional commercial success in the US was accompanied by

labour and immigration abuses, causing the industry to be regarded by US unions and many federal officials as direct and ‘unfair’ competition. The industry became a minor cause célèbre in US politics, with the Democratic labour union movement attacking it as an abusive system that allowed ‘Chinese’ workers to take American jobs, while proponents of the conservative Republican and libertarian views hailed the industry as an exemplary experiment in free market capitalism. A combination of international trade liberalisation, pressure from US officials to increase the minimum wage rate (US$2.90 in 1991) and federal imposition of the US minimum wage led to the industry’s demise. The US agreed to eliminate quotas on textile and apparel imports from World Trade Organization (WTO) members under the General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade, effective from 1 January 2005. The CNMI’s duty-free status continued to provide an advantage over Asian-based apparel makers to some degree, enabling several CNMI garment plants to remain profitable after the WTO agreement took effect – until rising labour costs negated that advantage. By 2007, with the imposition of the US minimum wage law, only 15 garment plants remained, and their exports had declined to US$317 million. The last plant closed in 2009. As a result, total CNMI employment, which peaked at 40,400 in 2004, fell to 26,000 by 2007, a 35 per cent drop. Effectively, the Commonwealth had lost one-third of its economy and government revenues.

Alien labourers, local millionaires, land agents and cultural tension The CNMI had one of the fastest growing economies in the world in the last quarter of the 20th century. Gross Domestic Product (GDP) had tripled, rising from about US$45 million in 1978 to US$1.5 billion in 1995. By 1995, two-thirds of the GDP came from garment exports. The tourism and garment industries combined accounted for about 85 per cent of the CNMI’s total economic activity, 80 per cent of employment, and 96 per cent of exports. Taxes brought in 70 per cent of the CNMI’s local revenue. Between 1980 and 1995, the CNMI’s annual employment growth rate was 12.7 per cent as the economy became increasingly dependent on foreign labour. By 1999, foreign workers made up 77 per cent of all workers, and 90

per cent of private sector workers. The influx rapidly expanded the islands’ population, from 16,780 in 1980 to 69,221 in 2000, peaking at 74,151 in 2002. The majority of the Chinese workers were used in the garment industry, and most of the Philippine workers staffed the tourism sector. Smaller numbers of Chinese and Filipinos worked in the construction sector, and private households also employed guest workers as housemaids, nannies, drivers and gardeners. With US citizens and permanent CNMI residents holding 96 per cent of the government jobs, the CNMI economy had developed a two-tiered wage structure, with local workers in the public sector earning 3.5 times more than temporary workers in the private sector. Federal critics and some CNMI leaders, such as Governor Juan Babauta (2002–06), argued that this economic model drastically reduced the private sector job opportunities for US citizens, increased unemployment and welfare costs, and resulted in a significant portion of the CNMI’s wealth – US$114 million (10 per cent of GDP) in 2005 – being lost through alien workers’ remittances to their homelands. The widespread leasing of land had created numerous local millionaires – probably more on a per capita basis than anywhere in the continental US – and drove up the value of local land. Under the CNMI’s restriction of land ownership to residents of Northern Marianas descent, privately owned land could only be leased to non-indigenous persons for up to 55 years; public land, for up to 45 years. Seeking to gain longer-term security for their investments, some foreign investors sought to use people of Northern Marianas descent as trustees or agents. However, the CNMI’s Supreme Court ruled in 1991 that these agreements were void because they created a ‘resulting trust’ that provided a permanent or long-term interest in real property to persons not of Northern Marianas descent. The ruling and litigation generated uncertainty regarding title to leases involving large foreign investments, including Japan Airlines’ Hotel Nikko Saipan. The US Supreme Court refused to hear a case in August 1992 seeking to strike down Article XII of the CNMI Constitution (‘Restrictions on Alienation of Land’) as racially biased, upholding the CNMI’s right to ethnically restrict ownership of land. The legislature tried to resolve the uncertainty by providing a six-year statute of limitations for potential Article

XII cases, and a severability of contract provision if a court determined provisions of an agreement would result in acquisition of long-term interest in real property by non-indigenous persons. The influx of temporary workers and permanent US immigrants (about 10,000) created a multi-ethnic population with differing expectations, presenting new arrivals and indigenous residents with adjustment challenges, and generating social tensions and public discourse reflecting these views. Many indigenous islanders regarded foreign workers’ complaints and criticisms, and the social and political critiques of ‘statesiders’, as gratuitous attacks on their culture and traditions. Some saw a need to combat ‘unwarranted interference’ to preserve their heritage and maintain the social and political primacy of indigenous people in their homeland.

Federalisation of immigration and minimum wage In response to the abuses identified in the CNMI’s alien labour program, federal and local government efforts worked to reform the system and made some progress, though significant problems persisted. US members of Congress, some with garment makers and unions in their districts who competed with the CNMI plants, charged that Saipan manufacturers were avoiding the labour, wage and civil rights requirements of US law, operating alien labour ‘sweatshops’ on American soil. Critics urged federal imposition of immigration and minimum wage laws in the islands. CNMI officials replied that the wages paid to non-resident workers reflected the developing nature of their economy and had allowed the islands to acquire infrastructure at costs far lower than would have been possible if the US minimum wage prevailed. Federalisation would infringe on selfgovernment, they averred, warning of the impact precipitous action would have on the islands’ economy. Other CNMI leaders stressed that Commonwealth status was intended to put restraints on federal power. Unconvinced that local reforms and gradual improvements would solve the immigration and labour abuses, US Democratic Party leaders maintained that the problems reflected collusion between industry and some CNMI political leaders and required federalisation. Following the 11 September 2001 Al-Qaeda attacks, increased concern with protecting the homeland led

to strengthened US border and immigration control policies, adding an urgent national security rationale for groups advocating federalisation. With both the House and Senate under Democratic control in the 110th Congress, the Fair Minimum Wage Act of 2007 mandated that the CNMI’s minimum wage be increased by US$.50 an hour each year to the US federal level of US$7.25 an hour. The following year, the Consolidated Natural Resources Act extended provisions of federal immigration law to the islands. To reduce impacts on the local economy, the law provided for a transitional CNMI-only guest worker programme, a CNMI-only programme for foreign investors, and a Guam/CNMI-only visa waiver programme to encourage visitors, especially from China and Russia – markets viewed as vital to the future of the islands’ tourism industry. Nevertheless, the CNMI’s GDP declined 49 per cent; government revenues dropped from US$213 million in 2001 to US$137 million in 2009; and the population fell by 22 per cent (or 15,338) between 2002 and 2010, a result of the exodus of both foreign workers and many permanent residents. CNMI unemployment reached as high as 25 per cent. CNMI officials responded by tapping additional sources of federal revenue, reducing government operating costs, and withholding mandatory payments to crucial programmes. Several hundred public sector jobs were eliminated, as were paid holidays for public employees. The CNMI reduced government employees’ work schedules by 16 hours every two-week pay period. Commonwealth agencies also withheld tens of millions in payments to the Northern Mariana Islands Retirement Fund, leading to a retiree classaction lawsuit, resolved in 2013 when the CNMI agreed to pay retirees 75 per cent of their pensions until further solutions could be found and allowing fund members not yet receiving benefits to withdraw their accumulated contributions. Efforts to legalise casino gaming on Saipan were another part of the CNMI’s recovery strategy. CNMI agencies also delayed millions in payments to the Commonwealth Utilities Corporation (CUC), resulting in disconnected power and water service for some local government departments, including schools. Because an emergency declaration suspended some CUC procurement regulations, Governor Benigno Fitial argued that he was legally able to sign a US$190 million, sole-source contract for a new power plant. The controversial agreement, which was not disclosed until it was signed, was the latest in a

series of actions that spurred a CNMI House vote in February 2013 to impeach Fitial, who resigned when the islands’ Senate prepared to try him on an 18-count indictment. He was succeeded by Lieutenant Governor Eloy Inos. Elected in November 2005 and re-elected in 2009, Fitial had been the first Carolinian to serve as CNMI governor; his impeachment was the first of any US territorial or Commonwealth governor. In June 2015 he was sentenced in the Superior Court following his conviction for misconduct in public office and conspiracy to commit theft. In July, Governor Inos commuted the ailing ex-governor’s one-year jail sentence (he was also given a US$6,000 fine and a lifetime ban from public service).

Recovering comparative advantage The CNMI Government continues to explore options and launch initiatives to reinvigorate the economy. Expanded tourism – particularly tapping the emerging Chinese market – is seen as the most realistic short- to mediumterm option to stimulate economic growth. By 2013, the CNMI’s 438,775 visitors included 116,967 tourists from the People’s Republic of China, Hong Kong and Taiwan combined. In 2014 the CNMI received 489,240 visitors, with Chinese accounting for 32 per cent (170,121), South Koreans 31 per cent (142,181) and Japanese 24 per cent (109,793). Surging Chinese tourism is accompanied by heightened investment interest, including casino gaming development. CNMI lawmakers drafted a casino licensing bill and – without public hearings and despite opposition from the Chamber of Commerce – Governor Eloy Inos signed the measure in March 2014.1 Earlier attempts to legalise casino gaming on Saipan had been defeated at the polls, and the Roman Catholic Church in the Marianas has opposed legalisation for decades. (Casino gaming has been legal on Tinian and Rota for several years, but has had limited success due to transportation challenges and underdeveloped visitor industry infrastructure.) The law authorised issuance of an exclusive license to operate a casino hotel on Saipan in exchange for a US$1 million application fee and US$30 million license fee. It also required a US$2 billion investment for construction of 2,000 additional hotel rooms. Governor Inos promised to use the money to restore the 25 per cent cut from the benefits of government

retirees. Best Sunshine International Ltd, a Hong Kong-based investment firm, won the casino licence, is constructing a multi-billion-dollar resort in Garapan, and began gaming operations in leased buildings. The military buildup on Guam, as part of moves to realign US forces in the region, could also provide some economic stimulus through the construction of base facilities on Tinian and training operations there. The Pentagon conducts periodic US Marine Corps training on Tinian and is studying whether the island could support facilities for a relocation of US Marines from Okinawa to Guam. Reunification of the Marianas is occasionally suggested as a vehicle to strengthen the comparative advantages of Guam and the Northern Marianas by establishing common political, economic and legal systems that could make the islands’ administration more cost effective and increase investor appeal. Leaders from the two jurisdictions held formal discussions on the reunification issue from the 1950s through the early 1970s, and continue to periodically call for additional talks. The postwar initiative was motivated initially by the desire of Northern Marianas Chamorros for US affiliation and citizenship and later by the belief of some Guam leaders that a unified Marianas would bolster a campaign for eventual statehood. However, the CNMI’s emergence as a separate Commonwealth and Guam’s Chamorro self-determination movement have complicated the issue. Some political groups in both jurisdictions believe reunification would allow for a more self-reliant and autonomous society that would opt for free association. Though unification has strong logical and emotional appeal for residents of both jurisdictions, significant structural impediments (including incompatible land tenure systems, and differing tax structures and investor incentive regimes) and political challenges would need to be overcome.

Further reading Farrell, Don, History of the Northern Mariana Islands, Saipan, Public School System, 1991. Gale, Roger W., The Americanization of Micronesia: A Study of the Consolidation of US Rule in the Pacific, Washington, DC, University Press of America, 1979. Leary, Paul M., The Northern Marianas and American Territorial Relations, Berkeley, Institute of Government Studies, University of California, 1980. Leibowitz, Arnold H., Defining Status: a comprehensive analysis of United States territorial relations, The Netherlands, Martinus Nijhoff, 1989.

McHenry, Donald F., Trust Betrayed: altruism vs self interest in American foreign policy, New York, Carnegie Endowment for International Peace, 1975. McPhetres, Samuel F., ‘Commonwealth of the Northern Mariana Islands’, The Contemporary Pacific, vol. 26, no. 1, 2014, pp. 184–190. McPhetres, Samuel F., ‘Northern Mariana Islands’, in Stephen Levine (ed.), Pacific Ways: Government and Politics in the Pacific Islands, first edition, Wellington, Victoria University Press, 2009, pp. 161–169. McPhetres, Samuel F., Self-Government and Citizenship in the CNMI, Saipan, CNMI Public School System, 1997. Russell, Scott, Tiempon I Manmofo’na: ancient Chamorro culture and history of the Northern Mariana Islands, Saipan, Micronesian Archaeological Survey, Division of Historic Preservation, 1998. Statham, Jr, Robert E., ‘The Confederal/Federal US Commonwealth of the Northern Mariana Islands: A Paradox of “Independent” Dependency’, in Robert E. Statham, Jr, Colonial Constitutionalism: The Tyranny of United States Offshore Territorial Policy and Relations, Lanham, Maryland, Lexington Books, 2002. Willens, Howard P. and Deanne C. Siemer, An Honorable Accord: the Covenant between the Northern Mariana Islands and the United States, Honolulu, University of Hawai‘i Press, 2002. Willens, Howard P. and Deanne C. Siemer, National Security and Self Determination, United States Policy in Micronesia: 1961–1972, Westport, Connecticut and London, Praeger Publishers, 2000. Office of the Governor and Lieutenant Governor, Commonwealth of the Northern Mariana Islands, htt p://gov.mp/ Northern Marianas Commonwealth Legislature, http://www.cnmileg.gov.mp/ United States Congressman Gregorio Kilili Camacho Sablan, http://sablan.house.gov/ Marianas Variety, http://www.mvariety.com/ Saipan Tribune, http://www.saipantribune.com/

Notes 1 On 29 December 2015, Governor Inos died suddenly (of medical complications), the first incumbent CNMI governor to die in office. He was succeeded by Lieutenant Governor Ralph Deleon Guerrero Torres, aged 36, the CNMI’s youngest governor.

Palau Wouter Veenendaal Wouter Veenendaal is a postdoctoral researcher at the Royal Netherlands Institute of Southeast Asian and Caribbean Studies.

Introduction Obtaining independence from the United States in 1994, the Republic of Palau is the most recent fully independent island nation in the Pacific. With a territory of 459 square kilometres and a population of approximately 20,000, it is also one of the smallest countries in the region. Palau is located directly to the east of the Philippine island of Mindanao and to the north of the Indonesian part of New Guinea – West Papua – and it is the westernmost island nation of Micronesia, and of the Pacific as a whole. While the country consists of more than 250 islands, only about ten of these are inhabited.1 The island of Babeldaob, on which the capital town of Melekeok is located, contains over 70 per cent of Palau’s total land mass, yet houses only about a third of the Palauan population. The majority of Palauans live in the town of Koror, which is spread out over the islands of Koror, Malakal, and Ngerekebesang. Other inhabited islands are Peleliu (700 people), Angaur (300), Kayangel (190), Sonsorol (100), and Hatohobei (or Tobi, 40 people). Approximately 70 per cent of the population of Palau is ethnically Palauan; the remainder of the population largely consists of Asian (primarily Filipino) guest workers. Almost all Palauans are bilingual and speak both English and Palauan, but the southern islands of Angaur, Sonsorol and Hatohobei each maintain their own languages. In terms of economic

development Palau clearly is one of the more wealthy island nations in the Pacific: at present it is the only independent Pacific Island state with a GDP per capita of over US$10,000.2 Like the overwhelming majority of Pacific countries, since independence Palau has continuously maintained democratic institutions and procedures, and it consistently acquires the most optimal scores in the Freedom House index of democracy. Perhaps even more than in other Pacific nations, however, local customs and traditions strongly influence and shape the dynamics of Palauan politics, creating a constant tension between Western-style democracy and indigenous Palauan political traditions.3

History and decolonisation The islands that today constitute the Republic of Palau experienced four different colonial regimes in a relatively short space of time. Between 1885 and 1899 the islands were ruled by Spain; following defeat in the Spanish– American war the archipelago was purchased by Germany, becoming part of German New Guinea (Deutsch-Neuguinea). Fifteen years later, at the beginning of the First World War, the islands were occupied by the nascent Japanese Empire, which decided to establish its main Pacific naval base on Palau. After a series of particularly fierce battles the American army gained control of Palau in 1944, and the Americans administered Palau for the next 50 years, until independence was formally granted to the islands in 1994. Despite the rather large number of colonial administrations, none of the colonial powers succeeded in eliminating Palau’s indigenous system of traditional leadership and customs, which continues to shape Palau’s society up to the present day. Together with what was to become the Republic of the Marshall Islands, the Federated States of Micronesia, and the Commonwealth of the Northern Mariana Islands, following the Second World War Palau was administered by the United States as part of the Trust Territory of the Pacific Islands (TTPI). In contrast to other United Nations trust territories, the TTPI was explicitly a strategic trust territory, which the United States could use for strategic military purposes.4 Between 1946 and 1962 the US conducted numerous nuclear weapons tests in the Marshall Islands (prior to the signing

by the US and the USSR of the Limited Nuclear Test Ban Treaty, on 5 August 1963). Under the Johnson and Nixon administrations, Washington also actively sought to establish a unified Micronesian polity, and as part of this effort the Congress of Micronesia was established in 1965.5 The idea of political unification did not generate a great deal of enthusiasm on all the Micronesian islands, however, and prominent Palauan politicians such as Roman Tmetuchl vociferously opposed the proposed union with other islands. In 1972 the Northern Marianas separated from the TTPI by opting for political integration with the United States as a Commonwealth territory. Following separate referendums, the Marshall Islands and Palau also rejected the proposed Compact of Free Association between the Micronesian islands and the United States.6 Following rejection of a Micronesian political union, Palau started drafting its own constitution, commencing negotiations for a separate Compact agreement with the United States. In 1979 Palau’s new constitution was ratified by 92 per cent of Palauan voters, but the document prohibited the lease of lands for military purposes to another power, and also forbade the presence of nuclear weapons on Palauan soil without the approval of 75 per cent of the Palauan population (Constitution of Palau, 1979, Article II: 3).7 Under these conditions, the United States refused to negotiate a Compact of Free Association with Palau, and Washington pressured Palau to repeal the anti-nuclear provisions in its constitution. The politically charged years that followed were characterised by numerous plebiscites that failed to result in sufficient support for the constitutional revisions demanded by the United States.8 International environmental organisations, traditional leaders and women’s groups opposed the newly negotiated Compact agreements, and the ensuing political polarisation resulted in riots, strikes and even political violence.9 Palau’s first president, Haruo Remeliik, was assassinated in 1985 by still unidentified gunmen; the country’s second elected president, Lazarus Salii, committed suicide three years later after corruption allegations. Only when the newly elected Clinton administration in the US decided to repeal some of the Compact provisions, after which approval of an absolute majority of Palauan voters would be sufficient to ratify the agreement, could the political deadlock be broken.10 In November 1993, during the eighth referendum on the issue, over two-thirds of Palauans voted in favor of the

Compact, as a result of which the agreement was ratified and Palau was able to become an independent nation. Although Palauan politics have become more tranquil since independence, political life in the country remains replete with competition, intrigues, rivalries and controversy.11 This is in large part a result of the traditional clan structure of Palauan society, and the continuous struggle for power between clans that has always dominated Palauan political life. In practice, the competition for chiefly titles and conflicts about issues related to custom and tradition result in numerous court cases, and among the Micronesian islands Palau has a reputation for litigiousness.12 Since many judges in Palau are US nationals or other off-islanders, the judiciary’s capacity to rule on matters related to custom is often criticised by local Palauans, and by traditional leaders in particular. Such criticisms are part of the much wider latent conflict in virtually the entire Pacific region between modern, Western liberal democratic institutions on the one hand, and persisting indigenous cultural traditions and customs on the other. In terms of international politics, through the Compact agreement and the ensuing financial and economic support from Washington, Palau remains strongly tied to the United States. In 2010 a new Compact agreement with the United States was ratified; in that agreement the US committed itself to allocate US$250 million in economic assistance to Palau up to 2024. Although Palau has been a full-fledged member of the United Nations since 1994, Compact provisions relating to defense and security limit Palau’s sovereignty.13 At the UN, voting agreement between Palau and the United States in the General Assembly usually exceeds 95 per cent, indicating a strong alignment with US foreign policy.14 Other important allies of Palau include Japan and Taiwan, both of which contribute significantly to the Palauan economy through various aid programmes in exchange for political support on particular issues.15

Political institutions and political dynamics In line with its strong international orientation towards the United States, Palau’s domestic political-institutional framework is to a large extent based on the US model.16 Palau employs a presidential system with a directly

elected president, and presidential elections are held every four years on exactly the same day as in the United States. Unlike the US system, in Palau a separate ballot is organised for the election of Palau’s vice-president. Once elected, Palau’s president nominates his own Cabinet: according to the constitution, government ministers ‘shall serve at the will of the President’ (Constitution of Palau, 1979, Article VIII: 5). Analogous to the US Congress, Palau’s legislature (the Olbiil Era Kelulau, or OEK) is bicameral, comprising a 13-member Senate and a 16-member House of Delegates. In contrast to the US, however, in Palau the House instead of the Senate is designed for equality of state representation: each of Palau’s 16 states elects one member to the House. Palau’s senators are elected by means of the block vote (plurality-at-large system). Presidential and legislative elections are simultaneously held every four years. US administrators tried to establish political parties in Palau in the 1960s, but these attempts were ultimately unsuccessful. In similar fashion to a number of other Pacific Island nations, Palau is a democracy without political parties, and therefore directly challenges the widely accepted presumption in comparative politics that ‘modern democracy is unthinkable save in terms of political parties’.17 Palauan politicians contest elections as independent candidates, and no official government and opposition groupings can be observed in the country’s legislature. Although the absence of parties in theory creates an obvious threat to the stability of Palauan politics, in practice clan structures largely assume the role of political parties, with contemporary political alliances in Palau strongly based on clan membership.18 While the resulting informal political groupings are mostly not geared towards substantive representation of political interests, to a large extent they do structure the dynamics of Palauan politics. The smallness of Palauan electoral districts means that the size of a candidate’s clan usually determines a candidate’s chances of gaining a seat in the OEK. Again as in the United States, Palau has a federal system, comprising 16 constituent states. Although the powers of Palau’s states are limited – they are not as autonomous from the national government as their American counterparts – each state maintains its own constitution, legislature, executive, public administration, and council of traditional leaders.19 Since 12 Palauan states have fewer than 500 inhabitants, with the four smallest

states having populations of fewer than 200, the political and administrative structures provided by the federal system may be regarded as something of a waste of economic resources.20 In terms of employment and job creation, however, the federal structures have obvious benefits to the Palauan population, and positions in the state bureaucracy can obviously become the objects of a clientelistic exchange. The Palau Constitution stipulates that state governments have the power to levy taxes and to borrow money to finance public programmes; otherwise the powers delegated to the state governments are rather circumscribed (Constitution of Palau, 1979, Article XI), and Palauan federalism ‘must by any reasonable standards be classified as weak’.21 In addition to democratic institutions largely mimicking the American model, Palau maintains a system of traditional leadership that is to a large extent institutionalised. At the national level, the institution most clearly representing traditional leadership is the 16-member Council of Chiefs, which in many ways can be seen as a fourth branch of government. The Council is headed by the High Chiefs of the states of Koror (Ibedul) and Melekeok (Reklai), and consists of the highest traditional leader (or chief) of each of the Palauan states. The constitution specifies that the Council of Chiefs ‘shall advise the President on matters concerning traditional laws, customs, and their relationship to this Constitution and the laws of Palau’ (Constitution of Palau, 1979, Article VIII: 6). In practice, the influence of the Council of Chiefs far exceeds the advisory function envisaged by the constitution, as Ibedul and Reklai for example regularly accompany the president to official ceremonies, and are commonly seen as ‘Palau’s royalty’. 22 The Council of Chiefs frequently meets with politicians from various institutions to discuss political matters, and in many ways functions as a strongly influential advocacy group representing traditional issues and values. The Council convenes at least once a month in sessions that are closed to the general public. If the influence of traditional leadership at the national level in Palau is deemed significant, at the state level the political power of chiefs is even stronger. Each state maintains its own Council of Chiefs, and while the balance of power between elected politicians and traditional leaders differs from one state to the next, in most states traditional leaders play a more

active and influential role compared to the national level.23 As Donald Shuster argues, ‘[g]enerally few things of significance can take place in Palau without the advice and consent of chiefs’,24 and to a large extent this seems to be explained by the high levels of legitimacy enjoyed by traditional leaders among the Palauan population. For politicians the support of local traditional leaders can be crucial in winning an election, and Palauan chiefs do not shy away from expressing strong criticism of politicians and political decisions, in particular if these affect local customs. As a result, Palauan politics is characterised by clashes between two types of political systems, each deriving its legitimacy from a different source.25 In addition to traditional leaders, politics in Palau is also influenced by another matter related to customs: the consistent provision by political leaders of material goods to Palauan citizens. While the exchange of political support for various tangible benefits between citizens and politicians is commonly identified as ‘clientelism’ in other parts of the world, and is often seen as infringing on democratic norms, in Palau (and other Pacific islands) leaders are traditionally expected to offer gifts to their constituents. Weddings, housewarmings, birthdays, and especially funerals are seen as events during which politicians should donate money, food or other benefits to the attendees. In this context, the combination of local traditions and Western democratic institutions may obfuscate the distinction between political misconduct and allegiance to traditional norms. In any case, the pressures on politicians to allocate goods to their supporters can be formidable; at the same time, giving in to these pressures may undermine politicians’ performance and legitimacy as individuals operating in a democratic system.

Contemporary and future developments The tension between local political traditions and more recently introduced democratic political structures is likely to continue to characterise Palauan politics in the future. As Rosenberg argues, ‘[s]ome elements of Palauan tradition remain strong, either coexisting or conflicting with the superimposed system, while others are adapted to or superseded by the new ways’.26 At present, there are few indications that the influence of customs is

waning in Palau, and people’s overall trust in traditional leaders often seems to be higher than in elected politicians.27 The continuing influence of chiefs in Palau can often be observed on the basis of the prominent role they play in public debates about policies and political decisions. In 2011, Palauan traditional leaders spearheaded the campaign against the government’s plans to legalise the establishment of casinos, eventually compelling the government to organise a referendum on this issue (at which over 75 per cent of the population rejected the government’s proposals). In 2014, the issue again reached the political agenda, with traditional leaders again vocal in their opposition to the legalisation of casinos and gambling. Although the ratification of a new Compact agreement with the United States has created some future financial stability for Palau, the archipelago remains economically vulnerable. In recent years attempts have been made to attract more tourists to Palau, for example by proclaiming the country’s exclusive economic zone as the world’s first shark sanctuary in 2009. During the 2012 elections Tommy Remengesau Jr was relected president, a position he had held between 2001 and 2009. As in his previous term, together with political leaders of other small island states, Remengesau has ardently sought to place climate change and rising sea levels high on the agenda of the United Nations and other international organisations. As one of the world’s smallest independent countries, the economic and political future of Palau remains strongly dependent on international developments and the benevolence and generosity of larger global powers.

Further reading Anckar, Dag, ‘Lilliput Federalism: Profiles and Varieties’, Regional & Federal Studies, vol. 13, no. 3, 2003, pp. 107–124. Constitution of Palau, Koror, Palau, 1979, http://www.palauembassy.com Davis, James E. and Diane Hart, Government of Palau: A Nation That Honors Its Traditions, Koror, Republic of Palau, Ministry of Education of Palau, 2002. Hassall, Graham, ‘Palau’, in Stephen Levine (ed.), Pacific Ways: Government and Politics in the Pacific Islands, first edition, Wellington, Victoria University Press, 2009, pp. 170–177. Hinck, Jon, ‘The Republic of Palau and the United States: Self-Determination becomes the Price of Free Association’, California Law Review, vol. 78, no. 4, 1990, pp. 915–971. Leibowitz, Arnold H., Embattled Island: Palau’s Struggle for Independence. Westport, CT: Praeger, 1996.

Shuster, Donald, ‘Custom Versus a New Elite: Palau’s 16 State Constitutions’, The Journal of Pacific History, vol. 29, no. 2, 1994, pp. 188–202. Shuster, Donald, ‘Elections in the Republic of Palau’, Political Science, vol. 61, no. 1, 2009, pp. 7–18. Veenendaal, Wouter P. (2013). ‘How Democracy Functions Without Parties: the Republic of Palau’, Party Politics, vol. 22, no. 1, 2016, pp. 27–36. Permanent Mission of the Republic of Palau to the United Nations, http://palauun.org/ Republic of Palau National Government, http://palaugov.org/ Republic of Palau, Palau National Congress, http://www.palauoek.com/ Island Times, Palau Online News, http://www.islandtimes.us/

Notes 1 James E. Davis and Diane Hart, Government of Palau: A Nation That Honors Its Traditions, Koror, Republic of Palau, Ministry of Education of Palau, 2002, pp. 6–10. 2 CIA World Factbook, 2015, http://www.cia.gov. 3 Frank Quimby and Gwenda L. Iyechad, ‘Belau’, in Ron Crocombe and Ahmed Ali (eds), Politics in Micronesia, Suva, Fiji, University of the South Pacific, 1983, p. 108; Erica Rosenberg, ‘The Politics of Progress in Palau’, Cultural Survival Quarterly, vol. 20, no. 3, 1996, p. 17; Donald Shuster, ‘Custom Versus a New Elite: Palau’s 16 State Constitutions’, The Journal of Pacific History, vol. 29, no. 2, 1994, pp. 188–202; Lynn B. Wilson, Speaking to Power: Gender and Politics in the Western Pacific, New York: Routledge, 1995, pp. 4–7. 4 Davis and Hart, Government of Palau, p. 50. The ‘strategic’ trust territory is a category of trust territory found in the United Nations Charter. The TTPI was the only such trust territory to have been established. 5 Rosenberg, ‘The Politics of Progress in Palau’, p. 16. 6 Jon Hinck, ‘The Republic of Palau and the United States: Self-Determination becomes the Price of Free Association’, California Law Review, vol. 78, no. 4, 1990, p. 923. The remaining island groups of Chuuk, Pohnpei, Kosrae and Yap acquired independence from the United States in 1986 as the Federated States of Micronesia. 7 Arnold H. Leibowitz, Embattled Island; Palau’s Struggle for Independence, Westport, Connecticut, Praeger, 1996, pp. 30–34. 8 Larry N. Gerston, ‘Policymaking by Referendum in Palau: Grassroots Democracy’, Asian Affairs, vol. 16, no. 4, 1990, pp. 175–184. 9 Wilson, Speaking to Power, pp. ix–x. 10 Leibowitz, Embattled Island, pp. 202–203. 11 Quimby and Iyechad, ‘Belau’, p. 102; Elizabeth Diaz Rechebei and Samuel F. McPhetres, History of Palau: Heritage of an Emerging Nation, Koror, Ministry of Education of Palau, 1997, p. 354; Shuster, ‘Custom Versus a New Elite’, pp. 197–198. 12 Leibowitz, Embattled Island, p. 93. 13 Takahashi Mita, Political Futures of Small-Scale Island-States in the Pacific Islands: Global Dynamics and State-Making in the Republic of Palau, Honolulu, University of Hawai‘i, 2009, p. 100.

14 Wouter P. Veenendaal, ‘Analyzing the Foreign Policy of Microstates: The Relevance of the International Patron-Client Model’, Foreign Policy Analysis, 2014, doi: 10.1111/fpa.12068. 15 In the academic literature, relations between small (island) nations and larger powers based on an exchange of political support in return for material compensation are sometimes referred to as international ‘patron-client linkages’: see Christopher P. Carney, ‘International Patron-Client Relationships: A Conceptual Framework’, Studies in Comparative International Development, vol. 24, no. 2, 1989, pp. 42–55; Veenendaal, ‘Analyzing the Foreign Policy of Microstates’. 16 See Dag Anckar, ‘Lilliput Federalism: Profiles and Varieties’, Regional & Federal Studies, vol. 13, no. 3, 2003, pp. 107–124. 17 E. E. Schattschneider, Party Government, New York, Holt, Rinehart, and Winston, 1942, p. 1. 18 Shuster, ‘Custom Versus a New Elite’, pp. 197–198; Wouter P. Veenendaal, ‘How Democracy Functions Without Parties: the Republic of Palau’, Party Politics, vol. 22, no. 1, 2013, pp. 27–36. 19 Davis and Hart, Government of Palau, pp. 199–200. 20 Mita, Political Futures of Small-Scale Island-States in the Pacific Islands, p. 135. 21 Anckar, ‘Lilliput Federalism’, p. 113. 22 Gerston, ‘Policymaking by Referendum in Palau’, p. 178. 23 Davis and Hart, Government of Palau; Rosenberg, ‘The Politics of Progress in Palau’, p. 16. 24 Shuster, ‘Custom Versus a New Elite’, p. 193. 25 Wilson, Speaking to Power, p. 7. 26 Rosenberg, ‘The Politics of Progress in Palau’, p. 17. 27 While this claim cannot be fully substantiated in the absence of Palau survey data, in-depth interviews I conducted during 2011 with respondents from various segments of Palauan society found a wide majority of informants (including most of Palau’s elected politicians) supporting this observation.

Papua New Guinea Vergil Narokobi Vergil Narokobi completed his PhD (Victoria University of Wellington, 2015) on Papua New Guinea’s implementation of its constitutionally mandated national goals, directive principles and basic social obligations, and is Legal Counsel at the Papua New Guinea Ombudsman Commission.

Papua New Guinea is an independent country in the southwest Pacific, to the north of Australia and west of the Solomon Islands and Vanuatu.1 The majority of its people are Melanesians. The country occupies the eastern half of New Guinea, the world’s second largest island (after Greenland). The island’s western half encompasses the Papua and West Papua provinces of Indonesia (see chapter 27). Papua New Guinea’s territory includes a rugged mountainous interior, coastal valleys and a large sea area with some 1,400 islands, the largest being that of New Britain. Other major islands are the Admiralty Islands, Bougainville and New Ireland. Papua New Guinea’s land and sea area is 462,840 square kilometres and its population – 7,275,000 at the 2011 census2 – is now estimated at over 7,500,000, the largest of any Pacific Island state and second only to Australia among Pacific Islands Forum members. Papua New Guinea gained its independence on 16 September 1975. It is a constitutional parliamentary democracy and a member of the Commonwealth. The country’s capital is Port Moresby (with a population of over 360,000 at the 2011 census), located on the south coast of New Guinea, 969 kilometres from Bougainville. The local currency is the kina, in December 2015 equivalent to US$0.33. The total size of the economy is estimated at US$15 billion, with GDP per capita US$2,030 in 2013.3 The United Nations classifies Papua New Guinea as a developing country.4 Of

over 800 different indigenous languages, three have official status – English, Pidgin and Hiri Motu (a local language less frequently spoken than Pidgin).

Early human settlement and colonisation According to archaeologists, humans migrated to Papua New Guinea from South East Asia approximately 50,000 years ago.5 Perhaps the oldest farming in the world took place in Papua New Guinea, carbon dated to 10,000 years old.6 There is evidence of trade taking place among the different tribal groups in the country prior to European contact. The annual Hiri Moale Festival in Port Moresby (held in September around the time of independence celebrations) commemorates trade between the Motuans around what is now Port Moresby and the people of the Gulf of Papua. The Motuans, famous for their clay pots, took them in sailing vessels to trade for sago (a starch extracted from tropical palms, used to make flour). The first European visitors, in the 16th and 17th centuries, were traders. Christian missionaries arrived during the 1800s. Since then, Christianity has become part of the country’s identity. For instance, the Papua New Guinea Constitution declares in its preamble: ‘We, the people of Papua New Guinea … pledge ourselves to guard and pass on to those who come after us our noble traditions and the Christian principles that are ours now’.7 In the late 19th century Germans settled in the northern part of New Guinea for commercial reasons, the German Government taking formal possession of the territory in 1885 and assuming direct administrative control in 1899. At that time, the Australian colonies (then a British possession), apprehensive about the German presence, urged Britain to claim the southern part, Papua (or British New Guinea), as a security measure.8 German New Guinea was captured by Australian armed forces in World War I.9 After the war, German New Guinea became a mandated territory of the newly formed League of Nations, and Australia was entrusted with its administration.10 Australia had already assumed administration of Papua from Great Britain under Australia’s Papua Act 1905. Australia administered both territories jointly, while maintaining their separate identities as a Crown possession (Papua) and a mandated territory (New Guinea).11 During World War II, New

Guinea was the site of conflict between Allied and Japanese armed forces over several years (1942–45).12 By the 1950s the process of preparing the territories for political independence had begun. A Legislative Council was established in 1951, evolving to become the House of Assembly in 1964. The United Nations commissioned Sir Hugh Foot – a British diplomat and colonial administrator – to carry out a study of Papua New Guinea’s preparedness for independence. Foot’s study, undertaken in 1962, made recommendations for Papua New Guinea’s further constitutional development. Australia had no plans of annexing Papua New Guinea and accordingly it accepted the recommendations.13

Independence and social context In 1972, the House of Assembly established a Constitutional Planning Committee (CPC) with terms of reference to propose a constitution establishing a system of government suitable for Papua New Guinea’s social and cultural context.14 The CPC conducted extensive consultation with the people in formulating its recommendations, many of which were accepted by the Constituent Assembly and enshrined in the constitution adopted on 15 August 1975, including the ‘National Goals and Directive Principles’ and ‘Basic Social Obligations’. The notable absence from the constitution was the CPC’s recommended system of decentralised provincial government.15 On 16 September 1975, Papua New Guinea achieved independence, with the constitution adopted the previous month coming into effect. This took place against a backdrop of separatist movements, which fortunately at the time did not escalate to civil strife. The two most significant were on Bougainville and in Papua, each emphasising their separate identity.16 While independence from Australia was peaceful, there was at the same time a strong feeling, mainly from the Highlands region, that the country was not yet ready for independence.17 In the aftermath, underlying challenges to national unity have continued, which is unsurprising given the country’s enormous ethnic and linguistic diversity.

At independence Papua New Guinea was an amalgamation of a culturally diverse people, evidenced by the over 800 different languages spoken there.1 8 The basic social and cultural unit is the village, each of which may have a population of, at most, around 300 people. These relatively autonomous units display various common characteristics: social order is maintained through the observance of custom, a largely egalitarian society and close human relationships.19 Sustenance is provided through intimate familiarity with, and dependence on, the natural environment. Another common characteristic of village life has been an acute awareness of (or sensitivity to) the world of the spirit. This may in some ways have contributed to the affinity with Christianity, which claims adherence by over 95 per cent of the population, with Roman Catholic, Lutheran, United Church, Seventh-day Adventist and Anglican as the largest denominations and Pentecostals/Evangelical Christians a growing influence.20 Despite this strong Christian background, a belief in the supernatural world has seen, to this day, barbaric attacks on women accused of sorcery and witchcraft.21 Sorcery-related killing remains an ongoing challenge in Papua New Guinea and the government continues to consider measures to address the problem, including stronger penalties. Village life is inextricably linked to the country’s land tenure system. Only 3 per cent of the total land area is owned by the state; the rest is customarily owned.22 Land ownership, inheritance and transfer of land are governed through customary law, and customary land ownership is sometimes viewed as a significant challenge to development.23 Demands for compensation for land use have affected the availability of land for development activities. An ongoing issue in customary land tenure relates to the Special Agricultural Business Leases. Originally intended to free up customary land for major agricultural farming, these have been abused by logging companies, which have acquired large tracts of land without customary landowners’ consent. An inquiry was conducted and a report tabled in Parliament in 2012; its recommendations await further government action. The village-based subsistence way of life has been affected by the introduction into the country of urban settlements. Rural to urban migration has shown a marked increase since 1971,24 and 13 per cent of Papua New

Guinea’s population now live in urban areas.25 Most people migrating to cities gravitate to the two largest – the capital, Port Moresby (a trading centre founded by the British in 1873), and the industrial city, Lae. Many of those moving to cities end up living in squatter settlements and have invariably been accused of contributing to the country’s serious law and order problems. Parliament made an attempt to curtail this through the passage of the Vagrancy Act in 1986; however, the Supreme Court ruled that the law was unconstitutional for its restrictions on freedom of movement.26 Papua New Guinea is endowed with abundant natural resources, and the oil, gas and mining sectors contribute significantly to the economy. Substantial exports of copper and gold have occurred since the late 20th century, largely as a result of mines at Panguna (on Bougainville) and Ok Tedi (in the country’s Western Province, near the border with West Papua).27 With the discovery of oil and gas – the first commercial field was put into production (by Chevron) in 1992 28 – there has been significant economic growth, with further investment through a US$16.5 billion liquefied natural gas project involving US multi-national ExxonMobil.29 Favourable commodity prices have also seen strong exports of coffee, cocoa, copra and timber as major agricultural earners.30 In 2015, however, economic growth was challenged by severe drought conditions as well as a decline in oil prices. Other major contributors to export earnings include timber and fishing, with Papua New Guinea having as much as 10 per cent of the global tuna fisheries catch.31 A more controversial earner of foreign exchange is the country’s detention centre at Manus Island, initially established by Australia in 2001 – closed in 2004 and re-opened in 2012 – for processing asylum seekers attempting entry into Australia.32

Papua New Guinea’s system of government The Papua New Guinea Constitution essentially created the independent state of Papua New Guinea and its state institutions. The document sets forth the powers possessed by each institution as well as the somewhat complex system intended to control of the exercise of power via independent constitutional offices, such as the Ombudsman Commission. Government and legal systems are required to work together to implement constitutionally

mandated ‘National Goals and Directive Principles’ and ‘Basic Social Obligations’: ‘it is the duty of all governmental bodies to apply and give effect to them’.33 These goals, principles and obligations, intended to provide broad policy guidance that is binding on governments irrespective of leadership or party, are described in considerable detail in the constitution, at the outset, directly following the preamble.

Elections and Parliament Papua New Guinea is a Westminster-style parliamentary democracy, with members of Parliament (MPs) elected to a unicameral legislature through universal adult suffrage.34 General elections are held every five years. There are 111 MPs chosen from the country’s 20 provinces, the National Capital District and the Autonomous Region of Bougainville. From 1977 to 2002, MPs were elected using a first-past-the-post (or plurality) voting system.35 Following the 2002 election a new electoral system was introduced – a limited preferential system of voting. Under this system, voters rank three candidates in order of preference. Several rounds of elimination are often necessary in order to identify the candidate with at least 50 per cent of the votes.36 Many political parties contest the elections – in 2012, 21 parties (as well as independents) won at least one seat in Parliament – with no political party winning enough seats to secure the prime ministership without entering into a coalition. The People’s National Congress is the major party, with its leader, Peter O’Neill, the prime minister (since 2011).37 The government in office since the 2012 elections is a multiparty coalition led by the People’s National Congress Party (which won 27 seats, with 24 per cent of the vote), with other participants including the Triumph Heritage Empowerment Rural Party (12 seats, 11 per cent), the National Alliance Party (7 seats, 6 per cent), several other small parties and a number of independent MPs. Three women were elected to Parliament at the 2012 elections, equalling the largest number ever elected. Julie Soso, elected from a regional seat, also became a provincial governor. Only six women have been elected to Parliament since independence. No woman has held the position of Speaker, and Cabinet appointments and party leadership positions have been a rarity. Dame Carol Kidu was minister for community development from 2002 to

2011 (the portfolio was taken up by Loujaya Toni, the only woman member of Cabinet, following the 2012 elections) and served as the leader of the Melanesian Alliance Party. The under-representation of women in Papua New Guinea’s Parliament has led to proposals, thus far not approved, for the introduction of a quota (i.e., a minimum number of reserved seats in Parliament).

Prime minister and Cabinet The executive arm of the government is headed by a prime minister, elected by Parliament. Since 2002, following a constitutional amendment, the leader of the party winning a plurality of seats at the election is the individual invited by the governor-general to form a government (i.e., a coalition). In the interest of stability, a government is not subject to a no confidence challenge for 18 months after assuming office and during the 12 months prior to a general election.38 Since independence, no political party has been able to form a government other than through a loose coalition of political parties, attracted to participate together more out of a perceived ability to acquire and distribute resources than as a result of a shared outlook or ideology. Under the constitution the prime minister has the prerogative to appoint a deputy prime minister and other ministers with special responsibility for the various government ministries and departments.39 A 33-member Cabinet (including the prime minister and the deputy prime minister) was formed by Prime Minister O’Neill following the 2012 elections. Each government department is managed by a departmental secretary under specific enabling legislation.

Head of state Papua New Guinea is a separate realm of the Crown, with the Queen ‘having been requested by the people of Papua New Guinea, through their Constituent Assembly, to become the Queen and Head of State of Papua New Guinea’. As Papua New Guinea’s head of state her official title is ‘Elizabeth the Second, Queen of Papua New Guinea and Her other Realms and Territories, Head of the Commonwealth’. Section 83 of the constitution stipulates that all constitutional provisions referring to the Queen ‘extend to Her Majesty’s heirs and successors’ in the UK. As head of state, the Queen is represented

by a governor-general, who is appointed by the Queen after a nominee is approved by a parliamentary majority (by secret ballot). A governor-general seeking a second six-year term requires a two-thirds majority, and no governor-general may serve more than two terms.40

Provincial and local governments Of the 111 MPs, 22 represent each of the provinces as provincial or regional members; the rest are elected from parliamentary electorates (known as ‘open’ electorates). Since 1976 the country has had three tiers of government. In addition to their parliamentary responsibilities, each of the 22 provincial MPs assumes the post of governor of their province, at the head of Papua New Guinea’s second-tier provincial government.41 The other members of the provincial government are the province’s electorate-based MPs (holders of the ‘open’ seats) and the presidents of the various local level constituencies. At the third level of government, these presidents assume leadership roles in the local level governments, made up of ward councillors. There were, as at 2015, 3,131 local level governments and 6,131 wards.42 In 2014 Parliament passed legislation establishing a District Authority for each of the 89 ‘open’ electorates.43 Each Authority consists of the ‘open’ member of Parliament, the presidents of the local level governments and three additional members (nominated by the ‘open’ MP), at least one of whom must be a woman. Each Authority is expected to have access to funds (up to 10 million kina) to conduct development activities in the electorate. The potential for abuse is considerable, as past use of funds such as these by MPs and others has led to criminal allegations and misconduct convictions in Leadership Tribunals.44

Judiciary An independent judiciary, separate from the legislative and executive branches of government, has, at its apex, a Supreme Court, the final court of appeal, with exclusive jurisdiction to arbitrate on constitutional issues.45 The court of first instance in many civil and serious criminal matters is the National Court, whose judges also preside in the Supreme Court. Many civil and less serious criminal matters are heard in District Courts, with

jurisdiction limited to matters arising out of their particular geographical mandate.46 There is no jury system in Papua New Guinea. At the village level, where most people live, many customary disputes are settled through village courts established under the Village Court Act 1989. A village court magistrate is appointed from the village, with power to hear disputes that arise in the village setting. In such disputes custom is often applied.47 Customary land disputes are resolved through a separate process that encourages mediation in the first instance. This process is established under the Land Disputes Settlement Act 1975. Land mediators within the area are appointed to assist in mediation,48 and if they are unsuccessful, the dispute goes to the Land Court.49 Appeals from its rulings may be made to the Provincial Land Court.50 In both courts, magistrates deliberate on the disputes in an informal process; lawyers do not appear unless for some reason the court considers legal assistance to be necessary (with respect to matters of evidence, for instance).51

The Papua New Guinea Constitution The constitution is the fundamental law of Papua New Guinea and represents a severing of the so-called ‘umbilical cord’ of the country’s colonial past. The colonial-based Australian-established legislature, the House of Assembly, through its own motion, dissolved itself, reconvened as a Constituent Assembly and adopted the constitution on 15 August 1975. A month later it came into effect, with the Constituent Assembly becoming the national Parliament of the new state of Papua New Guinea. Perhaps the biggest challenge to constitutional adherence in Papua New Guinea occurred in 2011. Michael Somare, prime minister at the time, took medical leave in Singapore and Peter O’Neill, the minister of finance, assumed power in his absence, ousting the acting prime minister, Sam Abal. The move was challenged by Somare in the Supreme Court, which ruled in December 2011 that his removal had been unlawful. O’Neill and his supporters in Parliament refused to comply with the court ruling, resulting in the country having, in effect, two rival prime ministers.52 The matter appeared to have resolved itself after the 2012 national elections: Somare

and O’Neill were both elected to Parliament, which elected O’Neill prime minister. In September 2015 Somare referred O’Neill to the Ombudsman Commission, urging that the prime minister be investigated for misconduct. Somare – the country’s first prime minister – also announced that he would not be contesting the 2017 elections. In October 2015 he resigned from the National Alliance Party – a party he had once led – which remained part of O’Neill’s coalition government.53

Autonomous Region of Bougainville Bougainville – named for himself by the French navigator, Louis-Antoine de Bougainville, in 1768 – was one of Papua New Guinea’s island provinces at independence. It initially came under Australian control when Australian forces occupied the island during World War I. In 1942 Bougainville was invaded by the Japanese, who were defeated by US forces over a six-month period (November 1943–April 1944).54 Following the end of World War II, Australian armed forces replaced the Americans, resuming control over Bougainville as well as the rest of Papua New Guinea, which became a UN trust territory. In 1989, 14 years after independence, a civil war erupted on Bougainville, a conflict brought about largely as a result of economic, environmental and social grievances related to the island’s enormous open pit copper and gold mine at Panguna, which was highly profitable to the Papua New Guinea Government and to the corporation running it.55 The strife became intertwined with Bougainville’s original intention to secede from Papua New Guinea at the time of independence. The conflict lasted a decade, with significant loss of life (numbers are disputed but exceeded 1,000), and involved the Papua New Guinea military and secessionist forces. Papua New Guinea’s government was heavily assisted by Australia and New Zealand in its efforts to resolve the crisis. Ultimately Bougainville achieved a special arrangement with the Papua New Guinea government, securing a greater level of autonomy than other provinces and becoming, in 2005, with its first elections, the Autonomous Region of Bougainville. This status came about as a result of an agreement between the Papua New Guinea Government and leaders representing the Bougainville people, signed in Arawa, Bougainville

on 30 August 2001. The Bougainville Peace Agreement is based on three elements: autonomy, referendum and weapons disposal. To give effect to it the Papua New Guinea Constitution was amended and a special law enacted. 56 Under the arrangement, Bougainville acquired expanded law-making powers in many areas, with Papua New Guinea retaining responsibility for defence and foreign relations.57 A referendum on independence was required to be held no sooner than 10 years and no later than 15 years following establishment of the first autonomous Bougainville Government: i.e., sometime between 2015 and 2020, the latter being the anticipated date. Under these arrangements Bougainville has its own 40-member Parliament,58 with a president59 directly elected by the people of Bougainville. At the same time, the national Parliament continues to include three MPs from Bougainville, who take part in national law-making and, in 2012, the choice of Papua New Guinea’s prime minister. This arrangement, so long as it exists, provides opportunities for interesting inter-relationships between a national and a regional government (and its representatives). Thus far these interactions have operated reasonably well, but promised funding from the national government has not been consistently forthcoming;60 the funds have also been used, in Bougainville, to urge Bougainvilleans to support secession from Papua New Guinea when the referendum eventually occurs. The people of Bougainville are not the only ones who will decide whether Bougainville remains part of Papua New Guinea. The national Parliament has final ratification power over the outcome of any referendum. It is expected, however, that the Papua New Guinea Government will respect a referendum result, whatever it may be, as reflecting the wishes of the people of Bougainville.

Papua New Guinea’s international relations Papua New Guinea became a member of the United Nations on 10 October 1975, less than a month after independence. Diplomatic relations are maintained with many countries, but two of its most important bilateral relationships in the Pacific region are with Australia and New Zealand: each provides aid, with Australia the largest donor. In 2014–15 Australia’s aid to

Papua New Guinea was worth A$477.3 million, estimated to rise to A$554.5 million in 2015–16.61 Another significant (and at times sensitive) relationship is with Indonesia, reflecting Papua New Guinea’s 750-kilometre land border with Indonesia’s West Papua territory. In 1986 Papua New Guinea and Indonesia signed the Treaty of Mutual Respect, Friendship and Cooperation, formalising the shared objective of peaceful relations between the two countries, including respect for each country’s independence and territorial integrity.62 Papua New Guinea has been playing a greater role in the Pacific as its economic growth has increased. It is a member of the Pacific Islands Forum (PIF) and the Melanesian Spearhead Group, and since 1981 the country has also had observer status (while seeking full membership) in the Association of Southeast Asian Nations. Papua New Guinea is one of only three PIF member countries (Australia and New Zealand being the other two) to be a member of APEC – the AsiaPacific Economic Cooperation. In 2013 Papua New Guinea accepted the invitation to host the 2018 APEC Leaders’ Meeting, which heads of government of APEC member states (including the United States, China, Japan and Russia) are expected to attend. The prestigious opportunity to host an APEC summit is recognition of Papua New Guinea’s economic resources as well as its geographic position as a potential bridge between Asian and Pacific economies.

Conclusion Amidst Papua New Guinea’s culturally diverse groups and vast natural resources are troubling social indicators. Corruption,63 illiteracy,64 poor health,65 poverty,66 gender violence67 and inequalities68 are among the ongoing challenges it faces. The uncertain ability of Papua New Guinea’s national government to meet accepted development tasks – building roads, bridges, schools and hospitals, for instance, and maintaining them – challenges the very idea of the utility of the state. The next couple of years will also bring the additional challenge to nation-building posed by Bougainville – will it take the opportunity to separate from Papua New Guinea, or opt instead to remain an integral, if distinct, part of the country?

But, despite almost insurmountable challenges, Papua New Guinea has been able to maintain its constitutional parliamentary democracy since independence, a feat not always achieved by other relatively recent independent states. Since its first national elections in 1977, two years after independence, Papua New Guinea has not missed an election and the country continues to strive to uphold the rule of law. These are by no means insignificant achievements within the context of an unsettled world.

Further reading Alley, Roderic, ‘Ethnosecession in Papua New Guinea: The Bougainville Case’, in Rajat Ganguly and Ian MacDuff (eds), Ethnic Conflict and Secessionism in South Asia and Southeast Asia: Causes, Dynamics, Solutions, New Delhi, Sage, 2003, pp. 225–256. Anere, Ray, ‘Papua New Guinea in 2011: Politics Confused, but Democracy Stable’, Asian Survey, vol. 52, no. 1, 2012, pp. 227–232. Gelu, Alphonse, ‘Papua New Guinea’, in Stephen Levine (ed.), Pacific Ways: Government and Politics in the Pacific Islands, first edition, Wellington, Victoria University Press, 2009, pp. 178– 190. Kantha, Solomon, ‘Papua New Guinea’, The Contemporary Pacific, vol. 27, no. 2, 2015, pp. 519–528. May, R. J., State and Society in Papua New Guinea: The First Twenty-Five Years, Canberra, ANU E Press, 2004. Regan, Anthony, Light intervention: Lessons from Bougainville, Washington, DC, United States Institute of Peace Press, 2010. National Parliament of Papua New Guinea, http://www.parliament.gov.pg/ Prime Minister of Papua New Guinea, http://pm.gov.pg/ Bougainville News, http://bougainvillenews.com/ Papua New Guinea Post-Courier, http://www.postcourier.com.pg/ The National, http://www.thenational.com.pg/

Notes 1 The name ‘New Guinea’ was first used by a Spanish explorer based on its inhabitants’ perceived resemblance to natives of Guinea (in Africa). The name ‘Papua’ is of uncertain origin. 2 National Statistical Office, Papua New Guinea, http://www.nso.gov.pg/index.php/projects/censuses. 3 The World Bank, ‘Papua New Guinea’, http://data.worldbank.org/country/papua-new-guinea. 4 See, for instance, Papua New Guinea’s classification as a ‘developing’ country by the United Nations Statistics Division: http://unstats.un.org/unsd/methods/m49/m49regin.htm. 5 Peter Biskup, Brian Jinks and Hank Nelson, A Short History of New Guinea, Sydney: Angus and Robertson, 1968, p. 1.

6 National Geographic News, ‘Was Papua New Guinea an Early Agriculture Pioneer?’, http://news.nati onalgeographic.com/news/2003/06/0623_030623_kukagriculture.html. 7 Papua New Guinea’s Constitution is available at: http://www.icla.up.ac.za/images/un/use-of-force/asia -pacific/PapuaNewGuinea/Constitution%20Papua%20New%20Guinea.pdf. 8 Biskup, Jinks and Nelson, A Short History of New Guinea, p. 43. 9 The Australian expeditionary force captured German New Guinea in September–November 1914 in one of the earliest Allied victories of the First World War. See Jeffrey Grey, A Military History of Australia, third edition, Melbourne: Cambridge University Press, 2008, chapter 5. 10 Australia administered New Guinea as the Territory of New Guinea under the New Guinea Act 1920. 11 See Papua-New Guinea Provisional Administration Act 1945–1946. 12 See, for instance, David Dexter, The New Guinea Offensives: Australia in the War of 1939– 1945. Series 1 – Army: volume 6, Canberra: Australian War Memorial, 1961; and Stephen R. Taafe, MacArthur’s Jungle War: The 1944 New Guinea Campaign, Lawrence: University Press of Kansas, 2006. 13 Gough Whitlam, prime minister of Australia, speaking in 1973, in Alec Morgan (director), Colonists for a day (video), Film Australia, 1993, cited in Jonathan Ritchie, ‘Making Their Own Law: Popular Participation in the Development of Papua New Guinea’s Constitution’, PhD thesis, University of Melbourne, 2003, p. 12. 14 Constitutional Planning Committee, Final Report of the Constitutional Planning Committee, Port Moresby, Government Printer, 1974 [CPC Report], p. iv. 15 See chapter 10 of the CPC Report, available at: http://www.paclii.org/pg/CPCReport/Cap10A.htm. 16 The Papua Besena separatist movement was led by Josephine Abaijah, the first woman elected to Papua New Guinea’s House of Assembly (in 1972), re-elected to Papua New Guinea’s Parliament in 1977. See Bob McKillop, ‘Papua Besena and Papuan Separatism’, in R. J. May (ed.), Micronationalist Movements in Papua New Guinea, Canberra, Australian National University, 1982, pp. 329–358. 17 Bill Standish, ‘Elite Communalism, the Highlands Liberation Front’, in R. J. May (ed.), Micronationalist Movements in Papua New Guinea, p. 365. In September 2015, at the 40th anniversary celebrations of Papua New Guinea’s independence, former prime minister Julius Chan said, ‘We really didn’t know what independence was all about. All we knew at the time was that it meant something about freedom to choose.’ Nevertheless, he added, ‘Looking back, I think the process of getting independence happened to be just right’ (see Eric Tlozek, ‘Thousands Gather in Port Moresby for PNG Independence Celebration’, Radio Australia, 17 September 2015, http://pidp. eastwestcenter.org/pireport/2015/September/09-17-01.htm). 18 National Strategic Plan Taskforce, Papua New Guinea Vision 2050, Port Moresby, Government Printer, 2009, p. 15. 19 Bernard Narokobi, The Melanesian Way, Port Moresby: Institute of Papua New Guinea Studies, 1980, p. 18. 20 World Council of Churches, ‘Papua New Guinea’, http://www.oikoumene.org/gr/member-churches/r egions/pacific/papua-new-guinea.html. 21 See, for instance, Helen Clark, ‘Sorcery and Sexism in Papua New Guinea’, The Diplomat, 2 June 2015, http://thediplomat.com/2015/06/sorcery-and-sexism-in-papua-new-guinea/ – ‘Witchcraft killings are proving to be one of the country’s most persistent problems’ – and Radio New Zealand International, ‘3 women, accused of sorcery, tortured in PNG Highlands’, 26 August 2015, http://ww

w.radionz.co.nz/international/pacific-news/282437/3-women,-accused-of-sorcery,-tortured-in-png-high lands. 22 Data on land tenure in Papua New Guinea are available from the Papua New Guinea Department of Lands and Physical Planning: http://lands.gov.pg/. 23 S. Gosarevski, H. Hughes and S. Windybank, ‘Is Papua New Guinea Viable with Customary Land Ownership?’, Pacific Economic Bulletin, vol. 19, no. 3, 2004, pp. 133–136. 24 For perspectives on the country’s urbanisation and its consequences, see, for instance, ‘Papua New Guinea: Population Growth Fuels Conflict’, Irin, December 2011, http://www.irinnews.org/report/945 12/papua-new-guinea-population-growth-fuels-conflict; and ‘Urban Population in PNG to Triple in 10 years’, Islands Business, 16 August 2010. 25 Trading Economics, ‘Rural Population in Papua New Guinea’, http://www.tradingeconomics.com/pap ua-new-guinea/rural-population-percent-of-total-population-wb-data.html. 26 SCR No 1 1986; Re Vagrancy Act (Ch 268) [1988] PGSC 29; [1988-89] PNGLR 1 (13 April 1987). 27 Both the Panguna and Ok Tedi mines have been controversial, with adverse environmental impacts and disruptive consequences for local people. See, for instance, Yaw Saffu, ‘The Bougainville Crisis and Politics in Papua New Guinea’, The Contemporary Pacific, vol. 4, no. 2, 1992, pp. 325–343; and Glenn Banks and Chris Ballard (eds), The Ok Tedi Settlement: Issues, Outcomes and Implications, Canberra, National Centre for Development Studies, Australian National University, 1997. 28 Michael McWalter, ‘PNG Gas Finds Push LNG Plans’, AAPG, 2015, http://www.aapg.org/publicatio ns/news/explorer/column/articleid/2257/png-gas-finds-push-lng-plans. 29 See ‘Business Advantage Papua New Guinea 2012/2013’, http://www.businessadvantageinternationa l.com/BAPNG12_1_9.pdf. 30 Economic data and an assessment of Papua New Guinea’s economy – regularly updated – are available from the Asian Development Bank: see ‘Papua New Guinea: Economy’, http://www.adb.or g/countries/papua-new-guinea/economy. 31 National Fisheries Authority, Papua New Guinea, http://www.fisheries.gov.pg/FisheriesIndustry/Tuna Fishery/tabid/104/Default.aspx. 32 The facility remains controversial, with recurrent published accounts focusing on alleged human rights abuses: see, for instance, Eric Tlozek, ‘Turnbull Government accused of ignoring PNG human rights abuses to preserve Manus Island detention centre deal’, 24 November 2015, http://www.abc.ne t.au/news/2015-11-24/australian-government-accused-of-ignoring-png-human-rights-abuse/6967754. 33 Constitution, sections 25 (2) and 63 (2) 34 Constitution, section 101 (1). 35 From 1964 to 1972 a form of preferential voting was used. 36 In some instances candidates are able to reach a majority on the first count without resort to voters’ second or third preferences. 37 The position of prime minister was disputed between Michael Somare and Peter O’Neill during 2011–12. Papua New Guinea’s prime ministers have been: Michael Somare (Pangu Party, 1975–80; 1982–85; National Alliance Party, 2002–2011); Julius Chan (People’s Progress Party, 1980–82; 1994– 97; June–July 1997); Paias Wingti (People’s Democratic Movement, 1985–88; 1992–94); Rabbie Namaliu (Pangu Party, 1988–1992); Bill Skate (People’s National Congress Party, 1997–99); Mekere Morauta (People’s Democratic Movement, 1999–2002); Peter O’Neill (People’s National Congress Party, 2011– ). 38 Constitution, section 145 (2) (b) and (4). The ‘grace period’ given to new governments was increased from 6 to 18 months in 1991. In September 2015 the Supreme Court declared

‘unconstitutional and invalid’ a constitutional amendment approved by Parliament in 2012, seeking to extend the initial period prohibiting no confidence motions from 18 months to 30 months. See Charles Moi, ‘PNG Court Declares Constitutional Amendments Unconstitutional’, The National, 7 September 2015, http://pidp.eastwestcenter.org/pireport/2015/September/09-08-03.htm. 39 Constitution, section 148 (2). 40 See sections 82–98 of the constitution for provisions relating to the head of state and the governorgeneral. 41 This is provided for under the Organic Law on the Provincial and Local Level Government 1995. If a provincial MP accepts a Cabinet position, the position of governor is taken up by an ‘open’ electorate MP from the province. 42 The National Research Institute, Papua New Guinea District and Provincial Profiles, National Research Institute, Port Moresby, 2010, p. 1. 43 District Development Authority Act 2014. 44 Leadership Tribunals are appointed to enquire into allegations of misconduct against leaders, including members of Parliament. The allegations are initially investigated by the Ombudsman Commission before being referred to the Public Prosecutor to make a decision whether or not to prosecute before a Leadership Tribunal. 45 Constitution, section 18 and section 155 (2). 46 District Court Act, section 20. 47 Village Court Act 1989, section 57 (1). 48 Land Disputes Settlement Act 1975, Chapter 45, section 11. The Act is available at: https://www.goo gle.co.nz/?gws_rd=ssl#q=Papua+New+Guinea+Land+Dispute+Settlement+Act. 49 Ibid, section 26. 50 Ibid, section 54. 51 Ibid, section 72. 52 Vergil Narokobi, ‘The Papua New Guinea “Two Prime Minister’s [sic] Saga”: Parliament Testing the Supremacy of the Constitution’, Public Law Review, vol. 24, no. 2, 2013, pp. 92–96. The powers of the governor-general and the relevance of the Crown for resolving political, legal and constitutional dilemmas in Papua New Guinea are considered in Jon Fraenkel, ‘Governors-General during Pacific Island Constitutional Crises and the Role of the Crown’, Commonwealth & Comparative Politics, forthcoming. 53 Girish Sawlani, ‘Sir Michael Somare resigns from ruling Papua New Guinea party he founded’, ABC News, 12 October 2015, http://www.abc.net.au/news/2015-10-12/michael-somare-resigns-from-papu a-new-guinea-party-he-founded/6848060. 54 See, among others, Harry A. Gailey, Bougainville, 1943–1945: The Forgotten Campaign, Lexington, University Press of Kentucky, 1991; and Gordon L. Rottman, Japanese Army in World War II: The South Pacific and New Guinea, 1942–43, Oxford and New York, Osprey, 2005. 55 See Terence Wesley-Smith, ‘The Politics of Access: Mining Companies, the State, and Land-owners in Papua New Guinea’, Political Science, vol. 42, no. 2, 1990, pp. 1–19. 56 See Constitution, Part XIV, ‘Bougainville Government and Bougainville Referendum’. 57 In 2015 a dispute occurred between Papua New Guinea and Australia over an Australian proposal to set up a diplomatic post on Bougainville – an initiative advanced without consulting the Papua New Guinea Government – leading to a ban on Australians travelling to Bougainville, not lifted until the dispute was resolved (the diplomatic post not proceeding). Prime Minister O’Neill stated at the time that he was ‘shocked to learn … that Australia was planning on establishing a diplomatic post in Bougainville’: ‘PNG: Planned Australian diplomatic post for Bougainville shocks O’Neill’, Pacific

Media Centre, 15 May 2015, http://www.pmc.aut.ac.nz/pacific-media-watch/png-planned-australiandiplomatic-post-bougainville-shocks-oneill-9274. 58 There are 33 constituency seats, three seats reserved for women, three seats reserved for former combatants and a seat held by the president. In June 2015 a woman (Josephine Getsi) was elected for the first time to one of the constituency seats (‘Bougainville elects first woman MP in open seat’, CathNews New Zealand, June 2015, http://cathnews.co.nz/2015/06/09/bougainville-elects-first-woma n-mp-in-open-seat/). 59 Bougainville’s presidents have been: Joseph Kabui (2005–08); James Tanis (2009–10); and John Momis (2010– ). In June 2015, following voting over a period of several weeks in an election observed by a group from the European Union, the United Kingdom, Australia, New Zealand and the United States, John Momis was re-elected, defeating eight other candidates. 60 See, for example, ‘Bougainville President: PNG Budget Cuts Could Lead to Secession Calls’, Papua New Guinea Post-Courier, 20 November 2015, http://pidp.eastwestcenter.org/pireport/2015/Novemb er/11-20-02.htm. 61 Australian Government, Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade, ‘Development assistance in Papua New Guinea’, http://dfat.gov.au/geo/papua-new-guinea/development-assistance/Pages/papuanew-guinea.aspx. 62 The reference to ‘territorial integrity’ could be interpreted as committing Papua New Guinea to supporting West Papua’s continued inclusion within Indonesia. The text of the treaty is available at: ht tp://treaty.kemlu.go.id/uploads-pub/2758_PNG-1986-0015.pdf. 63 In 2015 Transparency International ranked Papua New Guinea 145 out of 174 countries in its Corruption Perceptions Index: see Transparency International, ‘Corruption Perceptions Index 2014: Results’, https://www.transparency.org/cpi2014/results. In November 2015, Parliament enacted legislation to set up an anti-corruption agency, the Independent Commission Against Corruption, in order to deal with corruption at all levels of government: see Radio New Zealand International, ‘PNG parliament sets up anti-corruption body’, 6 November 2015, http://www.radionz.co.nz/international/pa cific-news/289002/png-parliament-sets-up-anti-corruption-body. 64 UNESCO’s Institute for Statistics’ projected adult literacy rate (in 2012) for Papua New Guinea for 2015 was 62.2 per cent: see http://www.uis.unesco.org/literacy/Documents/UIS-literacy-statistics-19 90-2015-en.pdf. 65 In 2015 the World Health Organization gave Papua New Guinea the worst health status of any Pacific country, ranking the country 157th out of 187 countries. See Franklin Kolma, ‘According to WHO, PNG Has Worst Health Status in Region’, Papua New Guinea Post-Courier, 4 December 2014, http://pidp.eastwestcenter.org/pireport/2015/December/12-04-11.htm. 66 The United Nations Development Programme (UNDP) gives Papua New Guinea a poverty rate of 37.5 per cent, with the country ranked 158th (out of 166 countries) on the 2014 Human Development Index. See ‘UNDP in Papua New Guinea’, http://www.pg.undp.org/content/papua_new_guinea/en/h ome.html. 67 See, for example, Helen Davidson, ‘Papua New Guinea: a country suffering spiralling violence’ (The Guardian, 19 July 2013, http://www.theguardian.com/world/2013/jul/19/papua-new-guinea-spirallingviolence), which characterises the country as ‘one of the worst places for gender-based violence in the world’. For a further perspective, on the relationship between crime and the state, see Sinclair Dinnen, Law and Order in a Weak State: Crime and Politics in Papua New Guinea, Honolulu, University of Hawai’i Press, 2001. 68 See UNDP, ‘Papua New Guinea National Human Development Report 2014’, http://hdr.undp.org/en/ content/papua-new-guinea-national-human-development-report-2014. A UN ‘Development Assistance Framework’ for Papua New Guinea (2012–15) characterised the country’s population as

suffering from ‘persistent … poverty and social inequality’, with the country ‘not on track to meet any of its [National Millennium Development Goals] targets’. The report highlights a lack of gender equality, violence against women, the significant proportion of children (25 per cent) who ‘never go to school’ and ‘a gap of 15 plus years in average life expectancy between regions’ (pp. 2–3) – all this despite Papua New Guinea’s 2001 peace agreement in Bougainville and the country’s steadily improving resource-based economic performance: see http://www.unicef.org/about/execboard/files/P apua_New_Guinea_-_PNG_UNDAF_2012-2015.pdf.

Pitcairn Peter Clegg Peter Clegg is a Senior Lecturer in Politics and International Relations at the University of the West of England, Bristol.

Introduction The islands of Pitcairn, Henderson, Oeno and Ducie make up a single territory (commonly known as Pitcairn), the last remaining British Overseas Territory in the Pacific Ocean. Pitcairn, the only inhabited island of the group, is about 3 kilometres long and 1.5 kilometres wide, with a land area of 4.6 square kilometres. A rugged and fertile island, of volcanic origin, it is located approximately midway between New Zealand and Panama, about 2,100 kilometres east-south-east of French Polynesia. The total resident population is approximately 43, all of whom live in the only settlement, Adamstown. The only way of accessing the island is by sea, but due to the difficult terrain ships must moor offshore with longboats operating between the ships and Bounty Bay. There is no access by air. The official languages are English and Pitkern (a mixture of English and Tahitian). Due to the very small and ageing population and the high level of subsidy that is given by Britain, there are concerns over the future viability of the settlement. In relation to the other islands, both Henderson and Oeno are visited regularly by the residents of Pitcairn. The former is an important source of miro wood and the latter is used for holidaying and fishing. The fourth island, Ducie, is largely inaccessible.

History Pitcairn was first sighted in 1767 by British sailors. The island at the time was uninhabited, but there is evidence to suggest that it had been occupied previously by Polynesians. It took another 23 years before Pitcairn was first settled (in 1790) when nine mutineers of HMS Bounty (led by Fletcher Christian) arrived on the island, accompanied by a group of Tahitian men and women. During the next few years most of the British-born settlers died – a number were killed when the Tahitian men rebelled against their poor treatment. As a consequence, by 1800 the only surviving mutineer was John Adams. Despite this, the size of the community increased steadily to about 40 by the mid-1810s. It was around this time that the British Government first became aware of the settlement, but it showed little interest in establishing any kind of authority over the island. The population of Pitcairn continued to grow and by 1830 it was close to 80. There were concerns over whether the island, with its limited cultivable land, could sustain such a population, and the British and Tahitian authorities organised an evacuation of all the settlers. However, this was not a success and many returned from Tahiti soon after. The growing prominence of Pitcairn and its people led in 1838 to Captain Russell Elliott of HMS Fly taking possession of the islands on behalf of the British Crown, and he drew up a basic constitutional document and a body of written laws. The islanders also established a local council at that time. The level of formal oversight from London remained very limited. In 1856, the entire population of over 190 people was resettled once more – this time on Norfolk Island. Pitcairn remained uninhabited until 1859, when, once again, some of the islanders returned, and since then Pitcairn has been continuously occupied, the population reaching a peak of 233 in 1937. As it became clear that the population of Pitcairn would remain, control from Britain began to be formalised. Most importantly, in 1898 Pitcairn was incorporated into the Pacific Order in Council 1893, which brought the island under the executive and legislative authority of the British High Commissioner for the Western Pacific, based in Fiji. Pitcairn was then treated as a British settlement for the purposes of the British Settlements Act 1887 (later revised in 1945). The other islands, Ducie, Henderson and Oeno

(discovered in 1791, 1819, and 1824 respectively), were declared dependencies of Pitcairn in 1902, and this was reaffirmed in 1937; they too were incorporated into the 1887 Act. Since then the political relationship between Pitcairn and Britain has evolved: in 1952 Pitcairn came under the jurisdiction of the governor of Fiji; and in 1970, when Fiji gained independence, the Pitcairn Order 1970 was enacted. This created the separate office of governor of Pitcairn (although the role was filled by the British High Commissioner in New Zealand), who had the power to ‘make laws for the peace, order, and good government’ for the territory. In terms of how local government was conducted, key reforms came with the 1964 Ordinance, which created an Island Council, overseen by a mayor, with authority to make regulations in certain areas, subject to alteration or revocation by the governor. Despite a stronger constitutional relationship between Pitcairn and Britain, day-to-day oversight continued to be weak, and as a consequence the standards of governance on Pitcairn were often poor. As Cawley argues: From the early years of the 20th century … life on Pitcairn was characterised by limited communication with the outside world, a minimal operating legal system and little local knowledge of laws and practice, the absence of any effective civil authority apart from the local Magistrate, and little influence exercised by the British Government.1 Within this context there had been longstanding concerns over the ‘immorality’ on Pitcairn, and things came to a head in 2003 when serious allegations of systematic sexual abuse of children were made against a large proportion of the adult male population. Ultimately eight men were convicted, including a recently serving mayor. Pitcairners considered the age of consent to be 12 and so argued that the sex concerned was consensual. They also argued that they did not realise they were subject to English law. But the Judicial Committee of the Privy Council in London ruled that Pitcairners were indeed subject to English law, under which the age of consent is 16, and so the defendants’ arguments were dismissed. In 2008 the Foreign and Commonwealth Office (FCO) announced that the victims would

be able to apply for compensation. The scheme was closed in March 2009 after paying out awards to eight individuals.

Constitution A constitutional review process, under British auspices, was begun in 2009 to consider the structure and functioning of Pitcairn’s government. This was part of a wider review of the governing structures in all 14 of Britain’s Overseas Territories, and a key commitment within the British Government’s 1999 White Paper entitled ‘Partnership for Progress and Prosperity: Britain and the Overseas Territories’. In Pitcairn the review involved representatives from the British Government and the local community, though the process and outcomes were decided largely by London. The new constitution that resulted was passed by Order in Council2 and entered into force on 4 March 2010, replacing the skeletal provisions of the Pitcairn Order 1970. In light of Pitcairn’s sexual abuse trials, the document has a strong focus on human rights. For the first time the constitution contains a fundamental rights chapter modelled on the European Convention of Human Rights, enforceable in the local courts with final appeal to the Judicial Committee of the Privy Council. A series of explicit rights are protected, including the right of prisoners to humane treatment, children’s rights and a guarantee of just administrative action. It also provides for the appointment of an independent attorney general. A further change is that the new constitution sets out a list of ‘partnership values’ which form the basis of the relationship between Pitcairn and Britain. The values (enumerated in Part 1 of the document) include good faith, the rule of law, good government, sound financial management, the impartial administration of justice and the impartiality of the public service. Each organ of local government is obliged to give effect to the values, and the governor has powers to ensure this. The constitution also clarifies the independent role of the Pitcairn courts and judicial officers and guarantees the independence of the public service. The constitution deals also with executive and legislative matters. Ultimate authority in these areas rests with the British High Commissioner to New Zealand in the High Commissioner’s position as governor of Pitcairn

Island. The governor has the power to make laws for the peace, order and good government of the islands, normally acting after consultation with the Island Council – this was a new provision within the 2010 Constitution. However, the governor is not obliged to accept the view of the Council, although he usually does. The governor also has an exceptional power to legislate without consulting the Council, when instructed to do so by Her Majesty through a Secretary of State, and in relation to foreign affairs the governor has complete authority. Despite the governor having legislative authority, islanders largely manage their own day-to-day affairs via the Island Council, which is established by the Local Government Ordinance and enshrined in the constitution. The latest Ordinance is from 2014 and states that the Council will oversee ‘the good administration of the Islands, the maintenance of peace, order and public safety, and the social and economic betterment of the islanders’.3 When questioned over the need for a community as small as Pitcairn to have a constitutional overhaul, then Governor George Fergusson acknowledged the difficulty of implementing many of the judicial reforms made, yet explained the importance of basic rights in protecting the cohesion of the islanders’ society. Notwithstanding, as Eshleman argues: The Pitcairn Constitution runs 12,164 words. It is the length of the Alaska Constitution and triple that of the US Constitution … Many articles are filled with details of the sort generally left by the United States Constitution for statutes but which clutter many [U.S.] state constitutions. This is typical of British colonial constitutions – long and detailed.4 Thus, an argument could be made that in designing the constitution the British Government gave insufficient consideration to the very particular requirements and characteristics of Pitcairn and its citizens. Having such an extensive constitutional document for a population of less than 50 does raise questions about how successfully its wide-ranging provisions and commitments can be applied and safeguarded. Indeed, as Eshleman suggests, ‘the form of good government, rather than the practice’ is often perceived as Britain’s primary concern.5

Island political structures The Island Council consists of a mayor, deputy mayor and five councillors. In addition, there are three non-voting ex-officio members who are the governor, the deputy governor, and the administrator. In practice only the Administrator will normally attend Council meetings unless the governor or deputy governor are visiting or arrangements have been made to include them by video-conference from New Zealand. The Administrator reports directly to the governor and the governor may direct the Administrator to take certain actions. The mayor, who acts as chairman, is elected by popular vote for a three-year term; the other members are elected for two-year terms. There are no political parties. In order to vote, persons must be 18 years of age or older and be resident on Pitcairn for between one and three years. The qualification period is determined by the particular status of the individual. Anyone able to vote may also stand for election, so long as he or she has not been sentenced to imprisonment for three months or more in the previous five years. Historically, the Island Council’s elected members have been largely men, but this has changed in recent years. Presently, the Island Council has three female members, including the deputy mayor.

Future prospects Pitcairn is facing significant challenges in relation to its future sustainability, which are centred on three inter-related concerns: the small and ageing population; the legacy of the child abuse cases; and the island’s lack of economic self-sufficiency. Pitcairn’s population is very low by historic standards and it is ageing, which means a falling share of the population is economically active. Fewer than 30 people are economically active and a majority of these are over 50 years old. Most starkly for the future, the number of residents in the 20–30-year age group is in low single figures. Once young people move abroad, usually to New Zealand, to advance their education they rarely return. In addition, the birth rate is not high enough to sustain population levels. In the period 2001–2012 there were only eight births, and today there are fewer than five women of childbearing age. There are two other options for increasing the population: the return of Pitcairners

from overseas and new immigrants coming to the island. In order to help facilitate these options the Island Council agreed to a repopulation plan in 2013 to stabilise the population at around 50 (although an earlier plan had a target of increasing it to 80 by 2016). However, little interest in migrating to Pitcairn has been forthcoming, and as a consequence the population is continuing to decline. The reasons for the plan’s lack of success can be seen in a recent survey of Pitcairners residing overseas.6 It found that the vast majority are reluctant to return because of the child abuse scandals, and a belief that ‘on-island social norms do not conform to acceptable international norms’.7 As a consequence, many now no longer publicly identify themselves as Pitcairners. The policy of the British Government does not help either, as a travel advisory is in place for the island which asks that any visits or settlements involving children under 16 years of age must be authorised by the Pitcairn Island Office in New Zealand. Other barriers are the perception that residents are not always that welcoming to newcomers or even returnees, and concerns over Pitcairn’s inaccessibility, lack of job opportunities, and limited health and education infrastructure. These concerns apply to other potential immigrants too. Another related issue, which has more general consequences for the future of Pitcairn, is the state of the economy. For many years Pitcairn was able to pay its way. The sale of stamps and later the registration fees from the ‘.pn’ domain name were significant revenue earners. However, more recently income from these sources has fallen, while expenditure has increased considerably, particularly in regard to shipping, medical services (in part because of the ageing population), and telecommunications. Further, funding is required for the provision of part-time public sector employment. The result is that domestic revenue represents only 5 per cent of the Pitcairn Government’s finances. To make up the shortfall the British Government has provided budgetary aid to the island since 2004. In 2015/2016 this totalled £2.91 million, an amount predicted to increase over the coming years.8 While the sums are not large compared to the government’s overall expenditure, it does re-emphasise Pitcairn’s increasing vulnerability. Attempts have been and are being made to strengthen Pitcairn’s economy, and both Britain and the European Union (EU) have supported a number of

projects. One that is ongoing – funded by the EU – is the building of a jetty at Tedside, on the northwestern side of the island, and upgrading the road linking Tedside to Adamstown. It is hoped that, once completed, tenders will be able to more easily transport cruise ship passengers to the island, and so the number of cruise ship visitors will increase (at present about 800 to 1,000 passengers set foot on the island each year). This, in turn, should have a benefit for on-island tourist industries, such as guest houses and the selling of crafts and curios. Another development which may enhance Pitcairn’s economy is the announcement by the British Government in March 2015 of the creation of the largest continuous marine reserve in the world, covering 834,000 square kilometres. In a report produced by the Pew Charitable Trusts, Pitcairn Island Council and National Geographic Society for the Foreign and Commonwealth Office, it was suggested that the reserve could build a sustainable economic future for Pitcairn’s resident population, based on increased tourism and permit fees and other maintenance grants. The report claimed also that ‘creating work and jobs in conservation tourism could play a key role in helping encourage young adults within the community to remain on the islands and attracting new residents’.9 However, there was little detail in the report and there is no certainty that such jobs can be either created or maintained. Further, safeguarding such a reserve will not be easy, especially as the British Government will have limited resources to pay for its upkeep and policing. If there are doubts over the reserve’s inviolability then any economic benefits will be much reduced.

Conclusion Despite Pitcairn having a resident population for most of the last two centuries, some key issues such as its declining and ageing population and its lack of economic self-sufficiency are seriously threatening its future. Supported by the British Government and the EU, the Pitcairn Island Council is searching for ways to strengthen the island’s long-term sustainability but so far little progress has been made in reversing the negative trends. The British Government remains committed to keeping the Pitcairners on the island, but ultimately there may be little choice but to relocate the last remaining

islanders, if the ongoing initiatives, including the marine reserve, do not produce the hoped for outcomes.

Further reading Cawley, Charles, Colonies in Conflict: The History of the British Overseas Territories, Newcastle upon Tyne, Cambridge Scholars Press, 2015. Eshleman, Michael O., ‘The New Pitcairn Islands Constitution: Strong, Empty Words for Britain’s Smallest Colony’, Pace International Law Review, vol. 24, no. 1, 2012, pp. 21–91. Foreign and Commonwealth Office, Partnership for Progress and Prosperity: Britain and the Overseas Territories, Cm 4264, March, London, The Stationery Office, 1999. Hendry, Ian, and Susan Dickson, British Overseas Territories Law, Oxford, Hart Publishing, 2011. Nicolson, Robert B., with the assistance of Brian F. Davies, The Pitcairners, Honolulu, University of Hawai‘i Press, 1998; originally published 1965. Pew Charitable Trusts, Pitcairn Island Council, and the National Geographic Society, The Potential Tourism Impact of Creating the World’s Largest Marine Reserve in the Pitcairn Islands, May 2013, http://www.pewtrusts.org/~/media/legacy/uploadedfiles/peg/publications/report/potentialtouris mimpactofpitcairnmarinereservepdf.pdf. Pitcairn Islands Constitution Order 2010, http://www.government.pn/Pitcairn%20Islands%20Constitutio n%20Order%202010.pdf. Radio Australia, ‘Pitcairn Island proclaims new constitution’, 15 February 2012, http://www.radioaustral ia.net.au/international/radio/onairhighlights/pitcairn-island-proclaims-new-constitution. Solomon, Rob and Kirsty Burnett, Pitcairn Island Diaspora Survey Report, January 2014: http://ww w.government.pn/Pitcairn%20Islands%20Economic%20Report%20-%20Final%20Report.pdf. Solomon, Rob and Kirsty Burnett, Pitcairn Island Economic Review – Final Report, January 2014, ht tp://www.government.pn/Pitcairn%20Islands%20Economic%20Report%20-%20Final%20Report.p df. Rishworth, Paul, ‘Country Report for PILON 2012: Pitcairn, Henderson, Ducie and Oeno Islands’ [report from Attorney-General for Pitcairn Islands], http://www.paclii.org/pn/pitcairnamended.pdf. United Nations General Assembly, Special Committee on Decolonization, Pitcairn – Working paper prepared by the Secretariat, 6 February 2015, http://www.un.org/en/ga/search/view_doc.asp?sym bol=A/AC.109/2015/5. The Government of the Pitcairn Islands, http://www.government.pn UK and Pitcairn Island, https://www.gov.uk/government/world/pitcairn-island ‘Pitcairn Islands News’, The Telegraph, http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/australiaandthep acific/pitcairnislands Pitcairn News, http://www.pitcairnnews.co.nz

Notes

1 Charles Cawley, Colonies in Conflict: The History of the British Overseas Territories, Newcastle upon Tyne: Cambridge Scholars Press, 2015, p. 264. 2 Orders in Council, a legislative power granted to the Queen by statute or under her royal prerogative, are the usual mechanism for enacting territorial constitutions. 3 Laws of Pitcairn, Henderson, Ducie and Oeno Islands, Revised Edition 2014, Chapter XI, Local Government Ordinance, p. 202: http://www.pitcairn.pn/Laws/Cap%2011%20-%20Local%20Governm ent%20Ordinance%202014%20Rev%20Ed.pdf. 4 Michael O. Eshleman, ‘The New Pitcairn Islands Constitution: Strong, Empty Words for Britain’s Smallest Colony’, Pace International Law Review, vol. 24, no. 1, 2012, pp. 22–23. 5 Ibid., p. 89. 6 Rob Solomon and Kirsty Burnett, Pitcairn Island Diaspora Survey Report, January 2014: http://ww w.government.pn/Pitcairn%20Islands%20Economic%20Report%20-%20Final%20Report.pdf. 7 Ibid., p. 41. 8 Rob Solomon and Kirsty Burnett, Pitcairn Island Economic Review – Final Report, Solomon Leonard Ltd, January 2014, http://www.government.pn/Pitcairn%20Islands%20Economic%20Repor t%20-%20Final%20Report.pdf, p. 48. 9 Pew Charitable Trusts, Pitcairn Island Council, and the National Geographic Society, The Potential Tourism Impact of Creating the World’s Largest Marine Reserve in the Pitcairn Islands, May 2013, http://www.pewtrusts.org/~/media/legacy/uploadedfiles/peg/publications/report/potentialtourismi mpactofpitcairnmarinereservepdf.pdf, p. 11.

Rapa Nui / Easter Island Forrest Wade Young Forrest Wade Young is a lecturer in anthropology and political science at the University of Hawai‘i at Mānoa.

Rapa Nui is the accepted regional Pacific Island name of the Polynesian people, language and island that constitutes the southeast corner of the Polynesian triangle, known indigenously as Te Pito o te Henua (translated as ‘the navel of the world’), and internationally as Easter Island. There are an estimated 3,000 Rapa Nui people living on the island, organised into 36 ‘extended families’ (hua'ai).1 As a result of Western imperialism and Chilean colonial history, Rapa Nui families live upon approximately 13 per cent of the roughly 103 square kilometres of island land, with the prospect of becoming a minority on an island of approximately 6,000 people.2 Complex local and international social movements challenge Rapa Nui’s contemporary colonial condition and are actively revitalising Rapa Nui culture and language in a context where the Rapa Nui people are building capacity towards self-determination.3

Historical background Rapa Nui genealogies trace their settlement to the acts of Hotu Matu'a – the founding chief of Rapa Nui – and Ava Rei Pua – the founding chiefess and sister of Hotu Matu'a – who are culturally remembered as arriving from a land known as Hiva.4 Critical to contemporary politics on the island was the division of the island kāiŋa5 by Hotu Matu'a into land divisions to which all contemporary hua'ai members trace their familial ancestry. The boundaries of kāiŋa divisions are materially and symbolically marked by the world-

famous monuments, termed moai (enormous statues, carved from volcanic rock), that tourists appreciate in aesthetic terms, but which hua'ai members consider as spiritual tombstones memorialising the chiefs who led each ancestral family.6 That Rapa Nui conduct ritual practices in ceremonial and everyday life when engaging kāiŋa highlights the fact that Rapa Nui belonging and identity with kāiŋa is not only social but spiritual.7 Kāiŋa constitute the familial, sacred places that root Rapa Nui realities in the founding acts of Hotu Matu'a and Ava Rei Pua, grounding the Rapa Nui nation.8 Contrary to 20th-century popular science accounts, life within the Rapa Nui nation founded by Hotu Matu'a and Ava Rei Pua appears to have been relatively stable and successfully adaptive to a Polynesian island with comparatively marginal ecological conditions.9 Profound instability in Rapa Nui, and the tumbling of the moai, follows the beginning of their incorporation into the global world order with the arrival of the Dutch West Indies Corporation, whose admiral, Jacob Roggeveen, named the island Paasch Eyland (Easter Island)10 as a consequence of their arrival to the island on Easter Sunday, 1722. Upon landing, the crew reportedly became fearful as the welcoming Rapa Nui tried to touch their clothing and metal weapons. Consequently, they fired approximately 60 rounds at the unarmed Rapa Nui who came to meet them at shore with food to exchange; at least ten Rapa Nui were murdered.11 While Rapa Nui had a surplus of food to trade with the Dutch, and the moai were noted as erect in Roggeveen’s ship logs, by the time of Captain James Cook’s arrival in 1774 many moai were toppled, agricultural areas had been destroyed and food was noted as scarce; the island appears to have become embroiled in internal warfare that persisted into the early 19th century.12 As Rapa Nui began to stabilise into a provisioning station, it was tragically devastated by the Peruvian slave trade between 1862 and 1863, with the majority of the population dying, indirectly or directly, as a result.13 As French entrepreneurs and missionaries coordinated the emigration of most of the surviving Rapa Nui to work on plantations in French Polynesia in 1871,14 the remaining Rapa Nui began to produce wool for the global market as a sheep ranch; however, amidst

modern ‘development’ the Rapa Nui population had been reduced to only 110 people by 1877.15

Agreement of Wills It is within this tragic historical context that Rapa Nui chiefs and a representative of the Chilean state, Captain Policarpo Toro Hurtado of the Chilean navy, are documented as entering into what a recent Chilean state truth commission has termed an ‘Agreement of Wills’ (Acuerdo de Voluntades), taking place on 9 September 1888. Both parties ‘sort of’ signed the documents, but what was mutually understood and agreed upon between the two parties remains contested along many dimensions.16 Like the more famous Treaty of Waitangi between New Zealand Māori and Captain William Hobson, representing Great Britain, the Agreement of Wills was documented in both indigenous and foreign versions, and competing interpretations of what the agreement establishes, and its contemporary political relevance, persist.17 The Chilean version consists of two parts: a cession of sovereignty signed by 11 Rapa Nui chiefs, and a proclamation signed by Captain Toro that accepts sovereignty on behalf of Chile pending government ratification. The cession of sovereignty signed by the Rapa Nui chiefs is explicit and at the same time equivocal, as even Chile’s version of cession explicitly acknowledges that Rapa Nui chiefs are to keep their chiefly titles. The Rapa Nui version of the agreement does not cede any form of sovereignty to Chile. What Chile has interpreted as a cession and proclamation of Chilean sovereignty is transcribed in the Rapa Nui document as ‘vaai hanga kainga’, which has been translated to mean that Chile was to give care to the Rapa Nui motherland as a friend.18 While the Chilean version does not mention anything about changes in land tenure – only sovereignty19 – the Rapa Nui document is emphatic that Rapa Nui are not ceding any land to Chile.20 Further clues to mutual understandings of the agreement between Captain Toro and the chiefs are perhaps better discerned in terms of the ceremonial activities that were documented as accompanying the agreement, and the historically documented prior efforts of Rapa Nui to secure a protectorate status with France.21 As the Chilean truth commission acknowledges, historians of the events have noted that when a Chilean flag began to be

raised in commemoration of the events, Captain Toro conceded to the demands of Rapa Nui chiefs that Chile’s flag be flown lower than the Rapa Nui flag.22 Thus, even if some form of sovereignty is understood by Rapa Nui to have been transferred at this time, it was a highly qualified one: Rapa Nui were to retain their kāiŋa, fly their own flag higher than any Chilean flag, and govern themselves through their own chiefs. The Agreement of Wills was made under Chile’s eleventh president, José Manuel Balmaceda, and – contrary to the proclamation stipulations – was never ratified.23 By 1892, the Rapa Nui nation, abandoned by a Chilean state preoccupied with its own civil war, ceremonially read a Declaration of Independence to the first Chilean naval commander to visit in at least a year.2 4

Corporate and naval rule In 1895, without consulting Rapa Nui, Chile leased the island to a Chilean entrepreneur, Enrique Merlet, who later partnered with a transnational company that transformed nearly the whole island into a sheep ranch.25 Rapa Nui consequently were forced against their will to build a wall around a 1,000 hectare reservation of land in which they would live in a kind of ‘confinement camp’26 as the rest of the island’s 16,359 hectares were used for sheep ranching. Rapa Nui King Riroroko responded to these violations of the Agreement of Wills as one would expect of a national leader; he diplomatically arranged to visit Chilean officials in Valparaíso, accompanied by a delegation of three Rapa Nui men. Prior to meeting with them he was poisoned at the hands of representatives of Merlet and died in Hospital Van Buren de Valparaíso.27 In 1903 Merlet sold out to the Williamson and Balfour company, who renamed the sheep ranch, frankly, the ‘Easter Island Exploitation Company’ (Compañía Explotadora de Isla de Pascua), and the island became, as one scholar puts it, a ‘company state’.28 In fear of the increasingly powerful company securing title to all of the lands,29 Chile registered all island lands to the state in 1933 without consulting Rapa Nui or informing them of the registration, made under Civil Code 590 which treated all island lands as res nullius (without ownership).30 Subsequently, and also

unbeknown to Rapa Nui, in 1935 the island was designated a national park. Officially, Rapa Nui were ruled at this time by the navy according to Chilean Law 3.220 without any Chilean rights as citizens; they had rights to use the land within Hanga Roa (the island’s main town and harbour), under naval control, but no rights to ownership of land.31 According to Chile’s own truth commission, Rapa Nui during this era were kept, against their will, behind ‘barbed wire’ in conditions of ‘semi-slavery’, effectively ‘stateless’, in direct violation of the Agreement of Wills.32

Civil rights, dictatorship, and indigenous law Law 3.220 was replaced by Law 16.441, known as ‘Easter Island Law’ (Ley Pascua), under Chilean president Eduardo Frei Montalva in 1966. The island was transformed into a civil district of Valparaíso, Chile’s Fifth Region. The change was in response to a large-scale revolt led by Rapa Nui schoolteacher Alfonso Rapu, who envisaged possible secession from Chile and unification with Tahiti.33 The law organised Rapa Nui under the administration of a governor (appointed by the Chilean president), a municipality with a locally elected mayor, and a six-member municipal council (concejal). Beyond these arrangements the administration depended upon a complex of institutions, ministries, organisations and private companies to administer the island. Under this law Rapa Nui gained Chilean civil rights and a degree of political participation and representation in Chilean government for the first time. From a Rapa Nui perspective, civil rights came at an unacceptable cost, with the settlement of a large number of Chilean nationals on the island to work the bureaucracy.34 Rapa Nui representatives wrote a letter to the National Congress of Chile protesting the imposition of the administration,35 which has been described as the first act of Chileanisation36 and colonisation,37 and effectively the beginning of settler colonialism in Rapa Nui.38 Under the rule of Chilean dictator Augusto Pinochet, beginning in 1973, many aspects of Easter Island Law were temporarily extinguished or reorganised, and development plans organised under President Salvador Allende from 1970 to 1973 were replaced by neo-liberal privatisation projects, including a shift from a balanced, self-sufficient, agricultural and

tourist co-op-based economy to a tourism economy centred upon private property, private enterprise and increased imports.39 Locally, Rapa Nui was administered by the Pinochet-appointed governor, Sergio Rapu Haoa, and by Mayor Samuel Cardinali, a former member of the Chilean Air Force. Under Governor Rapu, Rapa Nui social life was reorganised in terms of DecreeLaw 2.885, sometimes known as ‘Pinochet Law’, privatising land under dominion titles within the Hanga Roa town created from the confinement camp of the company state era. Pinochet Law became strongly contested; it was seen as undermining the traditional family lifestyle of Rapa Nui, and as falsely assuming that Chile had the authority to divide land and administer titles.40 The majority of the Rapa Nui initially refused to register lands in terms of dominion title, and a Council of Elders from family leaders of each of the 36 hua'ai formed in opposition to the decree and the way of life the law administered. At a national level they petitioned the Pinochet junta to cancel the decree and annul the 1933 registration of island lands.41 Internationally, in 1983 the Council of Elders organised a petition to the United Nations, requesting decolonisation, signed by 1,200 Rapa Nui – the overwhelming majority of the Rapa Nui population on the island at that time.4 2

Upon the end of Pinochet’s dictatorship, the organisation of government under Easter Island Law resumed, with Rapa Nui again able to elect their municipal council and mayor; however, the much detested Pinochet Law was broadly retained and the United Nations provided no assistance with decolonisation. The governing system was reorganised with the passage in 1994 of the national Indigenous Law 19.253, which legally established the Rapa Nui people as one of the country’s six federally recognised indigenous populations.43 Article 15 created the ‘The National Corporation for Indigenous Development’ (Corporación Nacional de Desarrollo Indígena, or CONADI), which was broadly responsible for the development and management of indigenous populations and land.44 Among other things, CONADI was supposed to protect indigenous lands from transfer to nonindigenous people and maintain a registry of indigenous lands.45 Articles 67 and 68 created the qualifications of the ‘Easter Island Development Commission’ (Comisión de Desarrollo de Isla de Pascua, or CODEIPA), with five of the 15 members elected from the Rapa Nui population. While

Indigenous Law 19.253 officially replaced the Pinochet Law, land continued to be distributed, developed and managed by CONADI and CODEIPA under the structures of the Pinochet Law, and the state retained title to the entire island, limiting Rapa Nui life to the lands of the old confinement camp of Hanga Roa; the rest of the island remained organised as a national park and farm. Two private corporations under this governing system – not CONADI, CODEIPA or the people of Rapa Nui – govern the park and farm, representing over 70 per cent of the island lands.46 And CONADI and CODEIPA participate in governing processes subject to approval by Chile through the Ministry of National Goods.47 Indigenous Law did not achieve self-determination for Rapa Nui, and the institutions under which indigenous life is organised are neither sovereign nor autonomous. Rapa Nui strongly contested the law because it undermined the Council of Elders’ decolonisation goals and operated within what are seen as the colonial constraints of a land tenure system established during corporate and naval rule, and under the Pinochet dictatorship. The original Council of Elders at this time dissolved, as Alberto Hotus, a key leader, came to focus on his role in the office of the president of the Council of Elders (included in CODEIPA) rather than the Council of Elders, and initial members of the Council of Elders began to oppose transformation of the council into a Chilean political entity. As a result, a second, rival Council of Elders was formed, which maintained the decolonisation goals and grassroots organisation of the original and later developed into the Parlamento Rapa Nui (the Rapa Nui Parliament), leading protests against Chilean rule in the new millennium as the original Council of Elders had done in the late 20th century.

Contemporary law and government Under continued Chilean rule, government in Rapa Nui is organised by the 1980 Constitution of the Republic of Chile, created under the Pinochet dictatorship, distributing administrative power through the country’s provinces and regions while retaining significant power in the office of the president. Chile is organised in terms of territorial regions, sub-divided by provinces. Rapa Nui belongs to the territorial region of Valparaíso, within

which ‘Easter Island’ (Isla de Pascua) is both a province and a municipality. In 2007 Rapa Nui became a Special Territory of Chile under Law 20.193, which allowed for a ‘Special Statute Bill’ for reorganising the government of Rapa Nui.48 If the bill (or something similar) is enacted, Rapa Nui would be administered through the Ministry of Interior in the capital, Santiago, rather than Valparaíso, while maintaining a ‘Special Territory’ status within the Fifth Region of Valparaíso; the Rapa Nui Government could be organised by principles of the special statute. In the meantime, Rapa Nui retains the ‘Special Territory’ status established by Law 20.193, but its government has not been reorganised. Until 2013, it was still administered by Easter Island Law and Indigenous Law 19.253;49 in 2014, Law 20.733 was passed as a replacement for the initial Indigenous Law, with the stated intent of reorganising Chilean governance of its indigenous ‘populations’ in conformity with international agreements and declarations on the rights of indigenous peoples, such as the International Labor Organization (ILO) Convention 169.50 Currently, governance works primarily within the aforementioned laws. Suffrage rights in Rapa Nui municipal elections extend to Rapa Nui people and to Chilean nationals settled on the island (with the voting age set at 18 years or older). While many officials and candidates align with national political parties, municipal elections and local politics are focused more on local issues and relationships between and within hua'ai than on questions and platforms of national political parties.51 In the 2012 municipal elections there was a nearly 50 per cent abstention rate;52 the number of eligible Chilean nationals exceeded the number of eligible Rapa Nui voters, partially contributing to non-participation among the latter.53 In addition, many Rapa Nui do not identify with the imposed Chilean political system, and Rapa Nui who occupy Chilean institutions and offices are seen to be betraying Rapa Nui in the pursuit of private interests.54

Current problems and future issues In 2011, American Samoa’s Delegate to the US House of Representatives, Eni Faleomavaega, addressed the House on what he described as two crises in Chilean government of Easter Island: one involving the Rapa Nui nation,

the other a crisis of ecological sustainability.55 While clearly life has improved from the confinement camp days of corporate rule, the Rapa Nui nation does not seem to be in any better condition, and the island ecology is on the verge of collapse due to the development of an unsustainable tourism economy.56 The crisis of the Rapa Nui nation erupted into conflict in 2010– 2011, leading to Chilean state violence against Rapa Nui. Longstanding conflict between Rapa Nui and the Chilean state escalated amidst the expansion of global tourism associated with the development of the Hangaroa Eco Village and Spa, the island’s first fully privately-owned fivestar resort. The development intensified settler colonial migration of Chileans, increasing privatisation and a sense of expanding poverty and ghettoisation.57 In December 2010, in defiance of an October request against the use of armed forces by Chile, made by the Inter-American Commission on Human Rights (IACHR), Chilean special forces burned Rapa Nui national flags and removed Rapa Nui families from lands occupied by state institutions, following attempts to reclaim the hua'ai lands from the state and from stakeholders developing them for state and private interests.58 While Chile’s actions met with international disapproval, the country’s Supreme Court ruled against the Hito hua'ai seeking to reclaim family lands occupied by the resort, and a Court of Appeals rejected an initial ruling of excessive violence by Chilean police against Rapa Nui.59 The court’s ruling declared that the 1888 Agreement of Wills ‘extinguished any and all rights of the Rapa Nui to a traditional and ancestral right to property indefinitely as it made the ancestral inhabitants illegal occupants while at the same time determining the Treasury of Chile gained full possession.’60 The judgment reflected Chile’s continued use of its legal system to dispossess Rapa Nui of land in a manner that the findings of the country’s own truth commission have invalidated. Likewise, international human rights organisations, such as the International Work Group on Indigenous Affairs, regard Chile’s treatment of Rapa Nui as violating various human rights, including the rights to freedom of assembly and association, equality before the law, nationality, property and freedom from slavery and servitude.61 While remaining under Chilean rule, Rapa Nui have proceeded with steps towards self-determination, organising against Chilean policies and

colonial practices.62 Parlamento Rapa Nui held elections in 2013, re-electing Leviante Araki as president on a platform of seeking decolonisation through listing Rapa Nui on the United Nations list of Non-Self-Governing Territories. Following 9 September 2013 marches for independence, symbolically communicated in flags, banners and bumper stickers in protest against the annual celebration of ‘Annexation Day’, Rapa Nui successfully organised against a heavily armed Chilean plebiscite, held in February 2014 without Rapa Nui consent, intended to privatise further lands of Rapa Nui. Chile’s recent political and legal actions do not suggest the state is planning to help Rapa Nui decolonise and achieve self-determination. The proposed Special Statute for governing Rapa Nui as a ‘Special Territory’ would reorganise Rapa Nui governance in ways that establish stronger links to the central government, in Santiago, rather than in a way consistent with rights to self-determination,63 despite Chile being a signatory to the 2007 UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples. Given Rapa Nui’s commitment to self-determination through land protests, the organisation of its own elections and pro-independence protests, Chile’s response has led to further conflict. In March 2015, leading organisations and families of the Rapa Nui nation reclaimed ancestral territories that had been organised into a Chilean National Park since 1935 without Rapa Nui consultation or consent.64 The new conflict led to criminalisation and incarceration of Rapa Nui leaders in August 2015, and a new filing of precautionary measures against Chile at the Inter-American Court of Human Rights.65 The ongoing conflicts suggest that resolution between Chile and Rapa Nui will need to involve alternative state diplomacy with Rapa Nui grassroots leaders, consistent with international law and UN recognition of Rapa Nui as a nonself-governing territory. Within this international legal regime, Chile and Rapa Nui may be able to reorganise their relationship around the terms of friendship that Chile’s own truth commission recognised Rapa Nui attempted to establish with its agreement with Chile in 1888 – an agreement never ratified and often breached, to the detriment of the rights and aspirations of the Rapa Nui people.

Further reading

Coulter, Robert T., ‘The Situation of the Indigenous People of Rapa Nui and International Law: Reflections on Indigenous Peoples and the Ethics of Remediation’, Santa Clara Journal of International Law, vol. 13, no. 1, 2015, pp. 293–306. Haun, Beverley, Inventing ‘Easter Island’, Toronto, University of Toronto Press, 2008. Hito, Santi, ‘Vaai Hanga Kainga Giving Care to the Motherland: Conflicting Narratives of Rapanui’, Journal of Intercultural Studies, vol. 25, no. 1, 2004, pp. 21–34. Hunt, Terry and Carl Lipo, The Statues that Walked: Unravelling the Mystery of Easter Island, Berkeley, Counterpoint, 2012. International Work Group for Indigenous Affairs, The Human Rights of the Rapa Nui People on Easter Island, IWGIA Report 15, Copenhagen, International Work Group for Indigenous Affairs, 2012. Pakarati-Novoa, Manahi, ‘Rapa Nui/Easter Island’, in Stephen Levine (ed.), Pacific Ways: Government and Politics in the Pacific Islands, first edition, Wellington, Victoria University Press, 2009, pp. 196–201. Stanton, Max, ‘I am not a Chileno! Rapa Nui Identity’, in Paul Spickard and W. Jeffrey Burroughs (eds), We are a People: Narrative and Multiplicity in Constructing Ethnic Identity, Philadelphia, Temple University, 2000. Young, Forrest Wade, ‘'I He Koe? Placing Rapa Nui’, The Contemporary Pacific, vol. 24, no. 1, 2012, pp. 1–30. Young, Forrest Wade, ‘Unsettling the Moral Economy of Tourism on Chile’s Easter Island’, in Mary Mostafanezhad, Rodger Norum, Eric J. Shelton and Anna Thompson-Carr (eds) Political Ecology of Tourism: Community, Power and the Environment, New York, Routledge, 2016. Easter Island Blog, Rapa Nui, http://easterislandnews.blogspot.co.nz Isla de Pascua government website, http://www.isladepascua.gob.cl Save Rapanui, http://saverapanui.org Moe Varua Rapa Nui, http://issuu.com/moevarua

Notes 1 The International Work Group for Indigenous Affairs (IWGIA) extrapolates the 3,000 figure based on growth from the 2,269 population recorded in the 2002 census. See IWGIA, The Human Rights of the Rapa Nui People on Easter Island, IWGIA Report 15, Copenhagen, International Work Group for Indigenous Affairs, 2012, p. 11. The only current official census data is dated to 2002; the 2012 census data of Chile have been annulled. See Inter-American Development Bank, Counting Chile’s Indigenous Population, 2014, http://idbdocs.iadb.org/wsdocs/getdocument.aspx?docnum=39334359. 2 In 2012, Mayor Luz Zasso Paoa asserted that Rapa Nui had become a minority population of 2,800 on the island compared to 3,000 Chileans. See Simon Romero, ‘Slow-Burning Challenge to Chile on Easter Island’, New York Times, 2012, http://www.nytimes.com/2012/10/07/world/americas/slow-bur ning-rebellion-against-chile-on-easter-island.html?_r=0. 3 Local island media have emphasised the language as being in a condition of ‘regression’; see ‘Te Mahana O Te Re’o’, Moe Varua, 2012, p. 4. Immersion programmes begun in 2000, graduating its

first class from high school in 2013, are making progress towards revitalising the language; see ‘He Ŋa Poki I Hāpī Hai Re'o Rapa Nui’, Tāpuro Re’o, 2012, p. 5. 4 Archaeological research dates initial Polynesian settlement to approximately 1200 CE: see Terry L. Hunt and Carl C. Lipo, ‘Late Colonization of Easter Island’, Science, vol. 311, no. 5767, 2006, pp. 1603–1606; Christopher Stevenson, et al., ‘Variation in Rapa Nui (Easter Island) Land Use Indicates Production and Population Peaks Prior to European Contact’, PNAS, vol. 112, no. 4, 2015, p. 1029. An additional study refines that approximation to between 1054 and 1279 CE: Mara A. Mulrooney, ‘An Island-wide Assessment of the Chronology of Settlement and Land Use on Rapa Nui (Easter Island) Based on Radiocarbon Data’, Journal of Archaeological Science, vol. 40, 2013, p. 4386. 5 While the term is often crudely translated as ‘land’, official Rapa Nui translations render kāiŋa as ‘útero’ (womb, uterus) in Spanish; see Paloma Huki, ‘Preficio’, in El Consejo de Jefes de Rapa Nui, Alberto Hotus y otros (eds), Te Mau Hatu ‘O Rapa Nui: ‘Los Soberanos de Rapa Nui’ Pasado, Presente y Futuro Santiago, El Centro de Estudios Politicos Latinamericanos Simon Bolivar, 1988, p. 10. In English, the term is translated to signify an ‘umbilical connection to land’; Santi Hito, ‘Vaai Hanga Kainga Giving Care to the Motherland: Conflicting Narratives of Rapanui’, Journal of Intercultural Studies, vol. 25, no. 1, 2004, p. 26. These more complex meanings are critical to understanding why contemporary Rapa Nui families resist Chilean land tenure systems that ignore the acts of Hotu Matu'a in establishing divisions of kāiŋa. 6 See Mati Hitorangi, ‘The Unknown Truth Behind the Moais’, Intercontinental Cry Magazine, 2013, https://intercontinentalcry.org/the-unkown-truth-behind-the-moais/ 7 See Forrest Wade Young, ‘Talking with the Moai on Easter Island: Placing Rapa Nui Language’, in Suzanne Finney, Mary Mostafanezhad, Guido Carlo Pigliasco and Forrest Wade Young (eds), At Home and in the Field: Ethnographic Encounters in Asia and the Pacific Islands, Honolulu, University of Hawai‘i Press, 2015, pp. 93–99; and Jacinta Arthur De la Maza, ‘Now they say that the Land is not Ours: On Rapa Nui Worldviews and Land Being Relations’, UCLA, MA thesis, 2012. 8 Discussing Rapa Nui people in terms of ‘nation’ recognises that Rapa Nui has been demonstrated to meet international law criteria establishing a people as a nation; see Leonardo A. Crippa, ‘Te Pito Te Henua: The Inspiring Rapa Nui Nation’s Efforts to Rebuild its Government and Regain Control of its Territory’, Griffith Journal of Law & Human Dignity, vol. 2, no. 2, 2014, pp. 247–264. 9 Physiologist turned geographer Jared Diamond crafted an ecocide account of Rapa Nui prehistory that popularised an early archaeological understanding of it as a case of self-induced collapse prior to European imperial history: see Jared Diamond, ‘Adaptive Failure: Easter’s End’, Discover, August 1995, pp. 124–133. This understanding became highly challenged in early 21st-century archaeological research: see Terry L. Hunt, ‘Rethinking the Fall of Easter Island: New Evidence Points to an Alternative Explanation for a Civilization’s Collapse’, American Scientist, vol. 94, 2006, pp. 412–419. While recent archaeological research does identify changes in land use in some island sectors prior to European imperialism, these changes are interpreted as signs of moderate declines in agricultural productivity in some island areas rather than societal collapse. Overall, scientific markers of societal ecological collapse – large-scale settlement shifts and abandoned agricultural areas – are not represented in the archaeological record, suggesting continuity rather than collapse in Rapa Nui prehistory. See Mulrooney, ‘An Island-wide Assessment …’, p. 4387. 10 An alternative literal English translation for ‘Paasch Eyland’ is ‘Passover Island’ [ed.]. 11 Beverly Haun, Inventing ‘Easter Island’, Toronto, University of Toronto Press, 2008, p. 17. 12 Steven Roger Fisher, Island at the End of the World: The Turbulent History of Easter Island, London, Reaktion Books, 2005, pp. 45–85. 13 It is estimated that at least 57 per cent of the 4,000 inhabitants of Rapa Nui died as a result of the slave trade. Of the 1,407 Rapa Nui that are estimated to have been enslaved, only 15 are known to

have returned to the island following the end of the slave trade. The 15 who returned carried smallpox back from Peru, infecting and ultimately killing at least an additional 1,000 Rapa Nui; see H. E. Maude, Slavers in Paradise: The Peruvian Slave Trade in Polynesia 1862–1864, Stanford, Stanford University Press, 1981, pp. 170–176. 14 In 1871, 350 of the estimated 525 Rapa Nui people that had survived smallpox and slavery were shipped to French Polynesia for agricultural work: 200 were brought to Tahiti and 150 were sent to Mangareva. See J. Douglas Porteous, The Modernization of Easter Island, Victoria, University of Victoria Press, 1981, p. 120. 15 In 1877 the island was profitably producing wool for the global market under the guidance of the French Polynesian partnership of Jean Baptiste Dutrou-Bornier and John Brander: Grant McCall, Rapanui: Tradition and Survival on Easter Island, Honolulu, University of Hawai‘i Press, 1994, pp. 82–84. 16 While both ‘parties’ signed, there are a number of questions to ask. First, there is a problematic absence. Captain Toro did not actually sign the cession document; only the translator (Alexander Solomon Jr – a French Tahitian with farming business on the island) and witnesses on behalf of Chile (John Brander, Jorge E. Frederick and A. Plotmer – all associated with farming business on the island) signed the cession document. Moreover, the Chilean newspaper La Epoca suggests that Captain Toro’s signature on the proclamation was done at sea and that he was not actually present during the ceremony; see Maria Riet Delsing, ‘Articulating Rapa Nui: Polynesian Cultural Politics in a Latin American Nation-State’, PhD dissertation, University of California–Santa Cruz, 2009, pp. 239– 346. Whether the Rapa Nui chiefs understood what they were signing is ultimately questionable in light of the fact they were illiterate, did not speak Spanish, and signed by inscribing symbolic crosses on the agreement rather than signatures. All of this was coordinated by the aforementioned men with business interests on the island; see Fisher, Island at the End of the World, pp. 140–144. 17 Unlike the Treaty of Waitangi, only copies of the Agreement of Wills are known to exist; see Delsing, Articulating Rapa Nui, p. 85. To complicate matters further, a recent state truth commission into the agreement, and Rapa Nui and Chilean relationships more broadly, again led to the publication of competing documents: one completed by Chilean social scientists and one by Rapa Nui leaders; see Delsing, Articulating Rapa Nui, pp. 239–346. 18 Santi Hitorangi, a leader of Rapa Nui social movements for self-determination at the United Nations, provides a critical review of the document from a Rapa Nui perspective; see Hito, ‘Vaai Hanga Kainga Giving Care to the Motherland’, p. 26. Interestingly, the Chilean truth commission acknowledges the Rapa Nui version and discusses its contrasts with the Chilean version at some length: see Gobierno de Chile, Informe de la Comisión de Verdad Histórica y Nuevo Trato con los Pueblos Indígenas, Santiago, Gobierno de Chile, 2008, pp. 293–295. 19 This is confirmed by the Chilean truth commission; independent legal scholars have also noted the absence of any statement in the Chilean version of the Agreement of Wills with respect to land tenure changes; see Gobierno de Chile, Informe de la Comisión de Verdad Histórica y Nuevo Trato con los Pueblos Indígenas, p. 293; and Maria Pereyra-Uhrle, ‘Easter Island Land Law’, Yearbook of the New Zealand Association for Comparative Law 11, 2005, pp. 133–142. 20 The Rapa Nui version emphasised that Chile was gaining some sort of governmental authority over what was 'i runga te kainga (upon the land), but not 'i raro (below). Recorded oral histories emphasise this contrast of ‘below’ and ‘above’ as symbolically communicated by the actions of the Rapa Nui King Atamu Tekena, who placed grass in Captain Toro’s hand and put soil in his own pocket while motioning that the grass was for him, but the soil belonged to Atamu Tekena and the Rapa Nui; Gobierno de Chile, Informe de la Comisión de Verdad Histórica y Nuevo Trato con los

Pueblos Indígenas, p. 293. Contemporary Rapa Nui sometimes underline this in their own conflicts with Chileans by derogatively calling them mauku (grass). 21 In 1881 a group of Rapa Nui travelled to Tahiti to request a protectorate status, but the request was denied. This experience and Rapa Nui dialogue with missionaries on the island about the meaning of a protectorate are thought to form the historical context in which Rapa Nui entered into the Agreement of Wills with Chile; see Grant McCall, ‘Riro, Rapu, and Rapanui: Refoundations in Easter Island Colonial History’, Rapa Nui Journal, vol. 11, no. 3, 1997, p. 114. 22 In addition to the flag issues, King Atamu Tekena is recorded by Chilean historians as emphasising explicitly that nothing was being sold by Rapa Nui to Chile: Gobierno de Chile, Informe de la Comisión de Verdad Histórica y Nuevo Trato con los Pueblos Indígenas, p. 293. Interestingly, while Chile lost the original agreements, it reportedly retains the aforementioned Rapa Nui flag in the Valparaiso Museum of Natural History; see Fisher, Island at the End of the World, p. 142. 23 Gobierno de Chile, Informe de la Comisión de Verdad Histórica y Nuevo Trato con los Pueblos Indígenas, p. 565. 24 See Fisher, Island at the End of the World, p. 146. 25 The company, Williamson and Balfour, maintained offices in the United States, Great Britain and Chile and specialised in wool and nitrate production between South America and Great Britain, where it was based: Fisher, Island at the End of the World, pp. 157–158. 26 Fisher, Island at the End of the World, p. 152. 27 Hospital records confirm alcohol poisoning as the cause of death: Fisher, Island at the End of the World, p. 153. New historiography elaborates further details of the poisoning and proposes a new interpretation. Historical documentation in military reports, newspaper articles and personal letters suggests that, perhaps unbeknown to King Riro (who is well documented as understanding his actions to be diplomatic), he was actually being deported. Thus his execution may have involved alternative issues: see Rolf Foerster,‘Voluntary Trip or Deportation? The Case of King Riroroko and the Policies of Deportation on Easter Island (1897–1916)’, Rapa Nui Journal, vol. 24, no. 2, 2010, pp. 36–46. 28 Porteous, The Modernization of Easter Island, p. 45. 29 See Victor M. Vergara, La Isla de Pascua: Dominación y Dominio, Santiago, Publicaciones de la Academia Chilena de la Historia, 1939, pp. 37–61. 30 Chloë Baartmans, ‘Rapa Nui: The Struggle for Indigenous Land Rights on Easter Island’, Tilberg Law School, Netherlands, MA thesis, 2013, p. 10. 31 Pereyra-Uhrle, ‘Easter Island Land Law’, p. 136. 32 Gobierno de Chile, Informe de la Comisión de Verdad Histórica y Nuevo Trato con los Pueblos Indígenas, p. 276. Rapa Nui resistance to this ‘confinement camp’ was persistent, with the most intense event of resistance (known as the Angata revolt of 1914) seen as a kind of ‘liberation movement’, to which Chile responded militarily and with intensification of strategies for governing Rapa Nui; see De La Maza, ‘Now they say that the Land is not Ours’, pp. 108–117. Unable to stage revolts like this again due to the intensification of Chilean and corporate power over their lives, and under horrifying conditions of hunger, dehydration and improperly treated cases of leprosy (Hansen’s disease), Rapa Nui unsuccessfully petitioned Rafael Edwards, Military Bishop of Chile, to emigrate en masse to Tahiti (Porteous, The Modernization of Easter Island, pp. 72–73). Despite the failed petition, Rapa Nui at times fled the island to Tahiti clandestinely – typically a lethal trip, although some successfully made it to Tahiti on makeshift crafts; see Max Stanton, ‘Economics and Tourism Development on Easter Island’, in David Harrison (ed.), Pacific Island Tourism, New York, Cognizant Communication Corporation, 2003, p. 113.

33 In a letter Alfonso Rapu and German Hotu sent to President Frei, Rapa Nui threatened unification with Tahiti due to intolerable economic, political and social conditions. Easter Island Law is seen as the government response to the letter; see Miki Makihara, ‘Bilingualism, Social Change, and the Politics of Ethnicity on Rapanui (Easter Island), Chile’, Yale University, PhD dissertation, 1999. The legal response followed an initial military response in which Rapa Nui sheltered Alfonso Rapu from possible execution at the hands of the Chilean military; see McCall, ‘Riro, Rapu, and Rapanui’, pp. 117–118. 34 In 1952 there are no recorded Chilean nationals living on the island (with a population of 807). By 1970 there were 491 Chilean nationals out of a total of 1,666 people: 29 per cent of the population; see Stanton, ‘Economics and Tourism Development on Easter Island’. 35 The 27 September 1966 letter is a rather comprehensive criticism of the administration, addressed to the Chilean Senate and House of Representatives, signed by 52 Rapa Nui. Among other things it complains about the number of police (32) as excessive, and emphasises a lack of consultation with Rapa Nui about the details of administration as well as new policies towards land that assume Chile has title to all island lands; see Delsing, Articulating Rapa Nui, pp. 158–163. 36 McCall, ‘Riro, Rapu, and Rapanui’, pp. 116. McCall points out that prior to the Easter Island Law, Chile did not insinuate itself into Rapa Nui life through institutions like those that came with the administration of the island under the new law, along with the hundreds of Chilean bureaucrats and police that accompanied it. 37 Similarly to McCall but in a more technical legal analysis, Rodrigo Gomez emphasises that following implementation of the Easter Island Law, Chile asserted colonial ‘domination’ of Rapa Nui through ‘the long-term exercise of power’ by ‘its institutions on the island’; see Rodrigo Gomez, ‘Rapanui and Chile, a Debate on Self-Determination: A Notional and Legal Basis for the Political Decolonization of Easter Island’, Victoria University of Wellington, MA thesis, 2011, pp. 63–64. 38 For a nuanced sense of the meaning of ‘settler colonialism’ in contemporary indigenous affairs, see Patrick Wolfe, ‘Settler Colonialism and the Elimination of the Native’, Journal of Genocide Research, vol. 8, no. 4, 2006, pp. 387–409. 39 Porteous, The Modernization of Easter Island, p. 223. 40 Susana Rochona-Ramirez, La Propiedad de la Tierra en la Isla de Pascua, Santiago, Chile: La Corporación Nacional de Desarrollo Indígena, 1993, pp. 55–56. 41 Pereyra-Uhrle, ‘Easter Island Land Law’, p. 138. 42 Makihara, Bilingualism, Social Change, and the Politics of Ethnicity on Rapanui (Easter Island), Chile, p. 139. A letter from the Rapa Nui Council of Elders in 1983 petitioned the United Nations for a self-determination referendum, with independence as one of the options: see Manahi Pakarati-Novoa, ‘Rapa Nui/Easter Island’, in Stephen Levine (ed.), Pacific Ways: Government and Politics in the Pacific Islands, first edition, Wellington, Victoria University Press, 2009, p. 200. 43 The law emerged from a Chilean national ‘Special Commission for Indigenous Peoples’ (Commission Especial de Los Pueblos Indígenas, or CEPI). As the forthcoming Chilean president, Patricio Aylwin, emerged as the replacement for Pinochet, he entered into an agreement with key leaders of Chile’s indigenous peoples: he promised to support them in the new administration, if they would promise to work in a new Chilean system for establishing the rights and development of Chile’s indigenous people rather than their own grassroots organisations. In the case of Rapa Nui, mayor Alberto Hotus agreed, and in 1989 he signed what became known as the Acuerdo de Nueva Imperial (New Imperial Agreement) that became the basis for the system for governing indigenous populations later implemented in President Aylwin’s administration; see Delsing, Articulating Rapa Nui, p. 197. For many Rapa Nui, this agreement of Alberto Hotus and the consequent development

of a CONADI-organised system of indigenous rights and development was unacceptable; they opposed Hotus and what was seen as the Chileanisation of Rapa Nui indigenous rights. 44 The use of ‘populations’ instead of ‘peoples’ in the law accords with Convention No. 107 of the International Labour Organization (ILO 107) which, while progressive at the time it was first adopted in 1959, is seen as assimilationist in strategy according to current UN standards, with its focus on the development of indigenous populations rather than the establishment of political and economic conditions for self-determination; see United Nations, The State of the World’s Indigenous Peoples, New York, United Nations, 2009, p. 2. It was replaced by ILO 169 in 1989. If Indigenous Law 19.253 had been created in terms of ILO 169, CODEIPA would be fully determined by and composed of Rapa Nui rather than an organisation in which they participate alongside the Navy and Chilean ministers. 45 Pereyra-Uhrle, ‘Easter Island Land Law’, p. 139. 46 IWGIA, The Human Rights of the Rapa Nui People on Easter Island, pp. 9-10. Corporación Nacional Forestal (CONAF) manages the national park; Sociedad Agricola y Servicios Isla de Pascua (SASIPA) manages the state lands consigned to farming. 47 Delsing, Articulating Rapa Nui, pp. 211-212. 48 Gobierno de Chile, Mensaje 350-356: Mensaje de S.E. La Presidenta De La Republica Con el que Inicia un Proyecto de Ley que Establece el Estatuto Especial de Gobierno y Administración para el Territorio de Isla de Pascua, Santiago, Gobierno de Chile, 2008. 49 Gobierno de Chile, Ley 20.193. Reforma Constitucional que Establece los Territorios Especiales de Isla de Pascua y Archipiélago Juan Fernández, Santiago, Gobierno de Chile, 2007. 50 Gobierno de Chile, Ley 20.733, Modifica la ley N° 19.253, Sobre Normas de Protección, Fomento y Desarrollo de los Indígenas, Estableciendo Dieta para los Consejeros Nacionales de la CONADI y para los Comisionados de la CODEIPA que Indica, Santiago, Gobierno de Chile, 2014. 51 See Forrest Wade Young, ‘Unwriting “Easter Island”: Listening to Rapa Nui’, University of Hawai‘i at Mānoa, PhD dissertation, 2011, pp. 150–159. 52 See Forrest Wade Young, ‘Rapa Nui’, The Contemporary Pacific, vol. 26, no. 1, 2014, pp. 214–225. 53 See Young, ‘Rapa Nui’, pp. 214–216. 54 See Young, Unwriting ‘Easter Island’, pp. 157–159. 55 In emphasising these two I follow Eni Faleomavaega’s assessment: see United States Congress, House Congressional Record, 16 February 2011, pp. H947–H948. 56 For an overview of some of the key problems, see Petra Campbell, ‘Easter Island: A Pathway to Sustainable Development’, Rapa Nui Journal, vol. 22, no. 1, 2008, pp. 48–53. 57 See Forrest Wade Young, ‘Rapa Nui’, The Contemporary Pacific, vol. 24, no. 1, 2012, pp. 190-199. 58 Twenty-one Rapa Nui were reported injured during the initial police removals on 3 December 2010; additional injuries were reported for removals on 29 December 2010. Seventeen Rapa Nui were hospitalised; two men had to be flown to Chile for more intensive care. For further details, see Young, ‘Rapa Nui’, pp. 190–199. 59 Forrest Wade Young, ‘Rapa Nui’, The Contemporary Pacific, vol. 25, no. 1, 2013, pp. 179–180. 60 Baartmans, ‘Rapa Nui’, p. 52. 61 See IWGIA, The Human Rights of the Rapa Nui People on Easter Island, pp. 35–37. 62 For details and further references on the points listed below, see Forrest Wade Young, ‘Rapa Nui’, The Contemporary Pacific, vol. 27, no. 1, 2015, pp. 281–284. 63 See IWGIA, The Human Rights of the Rapa Nui People on Easter Island, pp. 16–18. 64 See Forrest Wade Young, ‘Rapa Nui’, The Contemporary Pacific, vol. 28, no. 1, 2016, pp. 237–244.

65 See Indian Law Resource Center, ‘Rapa Nui leaders seek protection from Chile armed forces’, htt p://indianlaw.org/rapa-nui/node/1163/edit.

Samoa Iati Iati Iati Iati is a Lecturer in Politics at the University of Otago.

Samoa gained independence from New Zealand in 1962, the first Pacific Islands country to regain its independence from colonial rule. It became independent with the name ‘Western Samoa’ – Samoa i Sisifo – which was changed to ‘Samoa’ in 1997. Encompassing two main islands, Upolu (with the capital, Apia) and Savai’i, Samoa is situated to the north of Tonga, northeast of Fiji, with an estimated population in 2015 of 193,000 (approximately 93 per cent ethnic Samoans; other groups include Chinese and Europeans). New Zealand’s 2013 census included 50,661 people born in Samoa and 144,138 people identifying themselves as ‘Samoan’.1 Samoa has a Treaty of Friendship with New Zealand, signed in August 1962.2 The country is a founding member of the Pacific Islands Forum, attending the inaugural meeting in 1971. Samoa joined the Commonwealth in 1970 and the United Nations in 1976.

Samoan tradition and the Westminster system At independence, elements of Samoa’s traditional political system, fa’a matai, were combined with the Westminster style of democracy. The latter had, in large part, been adopted during a period of colonisation that began in the late 1890s. When Samoa gained independence the Westminster system provided the framework for a national political system, but the strength and influence of tradition continues to be readily apparent.

The fa’a matai – ‘the way of the matai’ (the holders of traditional Samoan titles) – is part of the larger Samoan cultural system, known as fa’a Samoa (‘the Samoan way’). In addition to political institutions and processes, the fa’a Samoa embraces values, norms, practices and principles that Samoans consider part of their way of life. The fa’a matai provides a formal avenue through which the fa’a Samoa can influence the national political system. Beyond traditional institutions and processes attached to the Westminster system, there are also informal political practices attributable to the fa’a Samoa. A traditional gifting exchange between candidates seeking political office and their potential constituents is an example; by one measure it is bribery, by another it is quintessential fa’a Samoa. The eclectic nature of Samoan politics is not limited to its political foundations; it is also evident in what this system has produced. Over the past 25 years, Samoa has been lauded for its political stability3 while at the same time criticised for corruption and a lack of political accountability, transparency and legitimacy.4 Its reputation ranges from being virtually a model developing country5 to being characterised as a ‘one-party state’.6 To understand Samoan politics, it is essential to understand fa’a matai and fa’a Samoa, and how these continue to influence the operation of the Westminster system in Samoa.

The traditional political system The totality of Samoan tradition or customs can be referred to as the fa’a Samoa – a term used to describe the traditional socio-political, economic and religious system that governed life in the societies that constitute modern day Samoa and American Samoa (‘eastern’ Samoa) prior to contact with Europeans. The fa’a Samoa is holistic, its elements intertwine, forming the ‘Samoan way of life’.7 Its political features can be referred to as the fa’a matai,8 central to which is the nu’u, an autonomous political entity with its own hierarchy of leaders,9 made up of resident āiga (extended families) with populations ranging from several hundred to several thousand people. The nu’u is governed by a fono a le nu’u (or, more simply, a fono) which is a council of matai (traditional leaders). By one estimate, there are approximately 330 nu’u in Samoa;10 there may be more. Before colonialism1

1

– German and subsequently New Zealand control – politics was largely confined to nu’u, with the fono the paramount governing entity, exercising executive, legislative and judicial powers in relation to issues beyond the authority of the āiga but within the sphere of the nu’u. Today, nu’u remain a focal point of much political activity, with the fono continuing to exercise powers and functions. The source of political power within the fa’a matai is the āiga. This is evident in its relationship with the matai. The āiga create the matai by bestowing suafa (matai titles) on selected candidates; these are granted and withdrawn at will. Unlike elected representatives in Western systems, matai have no set term of office, retaining their title and the authority that goes with it as long as they fulfil the āiga’s expectations. The matai has considerable authority and is in a position to make final decisions about the use of the āiga’s labour, land and other resources. Individual members of the āiga are usually at liberty to use these as they please. However, there are occasions that require collective action, including weddings, funerals, matai title ceremonies and the cultivation of lands owned and used by the āiga. These events require the exercise of the matai’s authority, and may result in the subjection of individual liberty to collective responsibility. However, this authority must be exercised with caution; making unreasonable demands can provide cause for dismissal. The āiga and the matai have a symbiotic relationship. Control of customary lands is a key element of the matai’s authority. All lands owned by āiga are attached to matai under their control. Matai are responsible for apportioning land areas for individual āiga members to cultivate,12 with distribution determined by need and the extent to which members fulfil their communal obligations. All traditional Samoan political institutions are built on and reflect the relationship between the āiga – the people – and the matai – their leaders. Matai are the āiga’s representatives in the fono – the meeting place for matai.13 An āiga can choose to dismiss a matai for failing to represent and successfully advance the āiga’s interests in the fono. At the same time, the fono can dismiss members of the nu’u – the community – who compromise its interests, going so far as to banish both matai and the āiga they represent.

Other political entities exist beyond the nu’u; for instance, nu’u can form an itumalo (an alliance) for extraordinary purposes (such as war). The framework for the itumalo’s operations is provided by a relevant fa’alupega (the naming of the itumalo’s title holders), which provides a hierarchy of those in authority.14 An itumalo has its own governing council, comprising matai selected by individual fono. Whether Samoan politics ever operated at a truly national level – i.e., at a level higher than itumalo – prior to colonialism is uncertain. Although European explorers could not identify in Samoa the kind of political centralisation they witnessed elsewhere in the Pacific, there existed a ‘unitary system of dispersed power’.15 However, prior to the Europeans, whatever political exchanges occurred at a national level were probably minimal and likely to have been part of largely ceremonial exchanges.16 The power relationships probably paralleled those found at village level; as Davidson notes, ‘Samoan political structure and activity thus showed certain common characteristics from the nu’u to the national level’.17 Regardless of what existed previously, colonisation gave national-level politics an entirely new meaning, leading to nation- and state-building and, in due course, sovereignty and full independence.

The current political system Samoa’s experience with a Western form of centralised government began in 1868. By that year, increased interaction between Samoans and Europeans – often in the form of disputes – encouraged the formation of a national legal and political framework. Samoan leaders’ discussions about the formation of a central government led to the establishment of a government headquarters at Mulinu‘u, an area close to the current capital, Apia.18 In 1873, ‘a Samoan constitution and code of laws were formulated for all Samoa, and a system of native government, national and local, established. The new national polity was a combination of Samoan and western institutions …’19 Another constitution, enacted in 1875, is regarded as ‘the most strongly supported and best organised attempt to form an effective Samoan government that the nineteenth century was to witness.’20 This lasted approximately four years, nominally at least. Several attempts were made to maintain a central

government apparatus controlled, at least in part, by Samoans. However, in 1899, these efforts ceased when Samoa was divided between Germany and the United States. Under colonialism, Samoan people were marginalised from positions of power, unable to gain control of central government institutions until independence was achieved in 1962. The political framework adopted at independence combined the fa‘a matai with the Westminster style of democratic government. This achievement was the product of the Samoan people’s determination to incorporate their traditions into the political framework that its colonial administrator, New Zealand, considered necessary and suitable for the granting of independence.21 The combination was made possible by a constitution which derived its legal authority from the will of the Samoan people, expressed through constitutional conventions (in 1954 and 1960) and the UN-sponsored referendums held on 10 May 1961, which involved two distinct (if interrelated) questions. The first asked: ‘Do you agree with the Constitution, adopted by the Constitutional Convention on 28 October 1960?’ The second asked: ‘Do you agree that on 1 January 1962 Western Samoa should become an independent State on the basis of that Constitution?’ The results were clear-cut: 86.5 per cent (31,426 voters) supported the 1960 Constitution, with 4,909 opposed (and 1,562 ‘invalid’ or blank votes); and 85.4 per cent (29,882 voters) opted for independence, with 5,108 opposed (and 2,907 ‘invalid’ or blank votes). The result of this exercise in national self-determination was a constitution whose preamble describes Samoa as ‘an Independent State based on Christian principles and Samoan custom and tradition’.22

Head of State (O le Ao o le Malo) The head of state is both a significant national symbol and a position with important constitutionally specified functions. The head of state must assent to a bill before it can become an Act of Parliament (Section 60, Articles 2– 3). The head of state has discretion to summon a meeting of the Executive Council to consider decisions from a Cabinet meeting (Article 40 (1)). The head of state can also oppose or request an amendment to a decision from

such a meeting, requiring the prime minister to summon Cabinet to reconsider its decision (Article 40 (3)). In practice, however, following Westminster conventions, the position appears to lack real political power.23 In assenting to (or refusing to assent to) a bill, the head of state must act on the advice of the prime minister (Section 60, Article 2), and is deemed to have accepted this advice if no action is taken within seven days of receiving it. Although Samoa’s head of state has the right to exercise his discretionary powers, this has not been used very often. In 1979, shortly before the elections, the head of state called an emergency meeting of the Executive Council to address the issue of proliferating matai titles for the purposes of electoral participation (since, at the time, only matai were eligible to vote). In 1995, amid widespread public protests against government corruption and the introduction of a goods and services tax, the head of state requested a petition to gauge the level of discontent and dissent; in due course he received a petition signed by 133,354 people. Subsequently he announced a meeting of the Executive Council.24 Apart from such rare incidents, the head of state has largely remained aloof from politics, mostly acting as a ‘rubber stamp’ for Cabinet decisions. Samoans have always held this position in high regard, exemplified by a convention that it is reserved for tama āiga (the holders of Samoa’s most prestigious – or ‘royal’ – titles). This convention lasted until January 2016, when it was ignored by the HRPP Government, who appointed two non-tama āiga members as deputy Heads of State. At independence, Article 17 of the constitution provided that two out of the four tama āiga – Malietoa Tanumafili II and Tupua Tamasese Mea‘ole – would hold the head of state position concurrently for life,25 a provision which ceased to be in force when the last surviving of the two died in 2007. The Legislative Assembly now elects the head of state to a five-year term in office (Articles 18, 19). In 2014, the government introduced a Constitutional Amendment Bill to change the process for nominating the head of state, placing the decision solely with the party in power. Although the reasons for the proposed change were unclear, opposition members argued that it was to provide a position for the current prime minister, Tuilaepa Sailele Malielegaoi, upon his retirement.26 In response the government stated that the current practice

(which allows each MP to make a nomination) was from the period when there were no political parties in Samoa and that accordingly it was no longer relevant, and that the proposed change was in line with countries like New Zealand and Australia.27 If enacted, and a non-tama āiga were to be chosen head of state, the consequence could be a lowering of the prestige of the head of state position – an amalgam of Samoan tradition and constitutional practice – while leaving Samoa’s tama āiga without constitutional recognition.28

The executive As in most Westminster systems, the executive is formally composed of the head of state, the prime minister and Cabinet ministers. As noted, although the head of state appears to hold executive power (Article 31), in practice Cabinet (the prime minister and other ministers) possesses the power to direct and control the executive government (Article 32 (1)), with the head of state acting on its advice. Of the three entities that constitute the executive, it is the prime minister who is generally the most influential. Acting on the advice of the prime minister, the head of state appoints the other 8–12 ministers to Samoa’s Cabinet (Article 32 (2)), as well as the deputy prime minister. Only the prime minister, or a minister acting on his behalf, can summon a Cabinet meeting (Article 36). The prime minister allocates ministerial portfolios and may retain or dismiss ministers (Article 35).

Elections and Parliament Samoa has a unicameral legislature – known as the fono – with 49 seats; elections are held every five years. Initially, the country’s fono comprised 47 seats;29 45 were reserved for matai and two were reserved for candidates (who were not matai) elected under the Individual Voters Roll. Of the mataionly seats, 37 were elected from single-member constituencies, and the rest from four constituencies that elected two members each.30 The Individual Voters Roll was available to Samoan citizens who could trace their descent to non-Samoans.31

At independence, therefore, Samoa adopted a mix of both matai and universal suffrage, a consequence of a Legislative Assembly that had constituencies of both matai and individual voters. Section 16 of the Electoral Act 1963 limited the right to vote to matai over the age of 21 in the 45 constituencies represented by matai. At the same time, Section 19 provided for an ‘Individual Voters Roll’ to provide representation (and voting rights) for citizens outside the matai system (i.e., ‘individual voters’), giving them parliamentary representation. At the 2016 elections the Individual Voters Roll will be abolished – the two seats are to be replaced by ‘Urban Electorates’ – and only matai will be eligible for seats in the Legislative Assembly. At independence, elections were held every three years. In 1992 the legislative term was lengthened by Parliament to five years, the change being given immediate effect (as opposed to being implemented following the next scheduled election) and the Legislative Assembly thereby extending its own term by two years. The nature of democracy in Samoa, with its distinctive electoral and parliamentary system, has often been questioned as a result of the amalgamation of traditional and Western political institutions. For instance, a 1982 Court of Appeal case, Attorney-General v Saipa‘ia (Olomalu) involved an appeal against a Supreme Court decision that had declared sections 16 and 19 of the Electoral Act 1963 void.32 The Supreme Court, reversing a magistrate’s decision, had found both sections inconsistent with section 15 of the constitution, which stipulates that all persons are equal before the law and entitled to equal protection. The Court of Appeal reversed the Supreme Court, noting that section 15 did not include rights to universal suffrage. The Court based its judgment on its ‘understanding of the Matai system and its place in the Samoan constitution’,33 concluding that Samoans considered the matai system to be democratic – understandable given that all family members may be involved in selecting matai to lead and represent them.34 The role of matai in Samoa’s political system has changed over time. A referendum held on 12 November 1990 gave all Samoans (not merely matai) the opportunity to decide whether there should be universal suffrage in parliamentary elections or whether the matai-only voting system should be

allowed to continue. The result was a clear (though by no means overwhelming) victory for giving all Samoans voting rights: 52.6 per cent (20,149 votes) in favour, 47.4 per cent (18,141 votes) opposed.35 Subsequently, the Electoral Amendment Act 1990 gave all adults aged 21 or over the right to vote in elections.36 Election to the national fono was still restricted to matai only, but from the 1991 elections, matai were elected by all qualified adults rather than by only matai.

Samoa’s Parliament: the 10 per cent quota Samoan tradition has also come under the spotlight in relation to gender issues and parliamentary representation. Since 1979 the number of women in Parliament has ranged from none to four.37 Following the 2011 election only two women were elected (4 per cent of the total MPs). The ratio of male to female members of Parliament may be similar to that between male and female matai more generally. In 1993, there were 24,633 matai holders, 1,261 (5.1 per cent) of whom were female.38 Nearly two decades later, in 2011, just over 10 per cent of matai were female.39 The small number of women MPs has been a source of some embarrassment for the Samoan Government.40 In 2012 it announced that a 10 per cent quota for women members of Parliament would be introduced before the next elections (in 2016). In 2013, all 44 members who were in Parliament at the time voted in favour of the Constitution Amendment Act No. 17 providing (in section 2) that at least 10 per cent of members of Parliament must be women.41 The system has implications for the total number of MPs: if five women win seats at the elections, they assume five of the 49 seats. However, if the 10 per cent minimum is not achieved, additional seats will be added, allocated to the female candidates with the highest number of votes until the 10 per cent goal has been reached.

Samoa’s government and the matai The 1990 Village Fono Act was intended to strengthen the authority of matai and fono within the village. The Act validated ‘the exercise of power and authority by Village Fono in accordance with the custom and usage of their

villages and to confirm or grant certain powers.’ However, the national government has also strengthened its own position in relation to the matai (and village governance) through the Village Fono Act. The Act affirms the authority of traditional institutions such as matai, but through it the national government claims the right to determine the limits of this authority.42 Changes to the position of Pulenuu (village authority) or Sui o le nuu (village representative) have been critical in this regard. The position of Pulenuu was created under the German administration of Samoa as ‘an officer to maintain order within’ the village.43 Under the New Zealand administration, the position changed from government agent to conduit for communication between the colonial office (i.e., the New Zealand administration) and the village.44 The Pulenuu became a government paid position, and in the late 1950s it was recommended that the position be renamed Sui o le malo (government agent). Although the recommendation was rejected, the name more accurately reflected the nature of the office. The title Sui o le malo was later adopted by the 1995 Internal Affairs Act. A 2010 amendment to this Act substituted the word sui-o-le-nuu for Pulenuu. Despite the name change, the position remains the same: it is government paid and selected. Pulenuu can have a considerable impact on politics, as they finalise the granting of a matai title by issuing the validation certificate. More importantly, the 2009 Electoral Amendment Act requires all parliamentary candidates to acquire a statutory declaration from the ‘Pulenuu of his or her village’; they will otherwise be disqualified (section 4(c)). The Pulenuu’s authority to disqualify candidates has been exercised by some,45 for a variety of reasons, including a candidate not properly fulfilling the role of a matai within the village.46 Whether this power is used fairly or arbitrarily may be questioned. Following the 2011 elections, the Samoan Electoral Court reported that Pulenuu were ‘displaying a distinct lack of neutrality’ in relation to exercising their powers.47 These elements can also have an impact on Westminster ideas about ministerial responsibility and about the position of a member of Parliament. By tradition, matai are responsible first and foremost to their āiga and nu‘u. It is not only their duty: their tenure as matai depends on this. Therefore, all members of Parliament are accountable directly to āiga and nu‘u, in addition to a constituency and a political party. At the same time, party loyalty has

become a significant feature of contemporary Samoan politics, especially given the rewards and sanctions associated with it. Cabinet ministers are responsible to the Legislative Assembly (and the prime minister) as well as to voters and their own family members. As a consequence, Samoan legislators can be seen as individuals with multiple pressures and responsibilities towards different groups at various levels of Samoa’s social and political structure.

Party politics A party system did not emerge in Samoan politics until 1979. Prior to this, divisions within the Legislative Assembly were defined in relation to preferences for prime minister. During the 1960s, the prime minister was elected unopposed; however, in the 1970 election two candidates contested the position, giving rise in due course to competition between political parties.48 Factions formed around prospective candidates and one of these formed the first political party – the Human Rights Protection Party (HRPP). The HRPP contested and won the 1982 election; for much of the period since, the HRPP has remained in power, its longevity in government leading to suggestions that Samoa is a ‘one party’ state. One of the keys to the HRPP’s success has been its ability not only to retain its own members but also to attract members of the opposition. Party discipline and loyalty have played an important part. In 1988 the HRPP implemented a party-pledge system, under which MPs pledging their support to the HRPP were to be fined $50,000 if they subsequently joined another party.49 This form of party discipline is complemented by other incentives for party loyalty. For instance, the Parliamentary Under-Secretaries Act 1988 created a ‘subsidiary tier of ministerial office through the new position of “Parliamentary Under-Secretary”’.50 The prime minister (or another minister) can direct under-secretaries to carry out the duties and functions of a minister under their direction. In 2006 the Act was amended to change the title of ‘Parliamentary Under-Secretary’ to ‘Associate Minister’, a position over which the prime minister has considerable control. The head of state appoints and dismisses an associate minister on the advice of the prime minister. A Remuneration Tribunal, a three-member body appointed by the

head of state but containing one prime ministerial appointee, helps to determine ministerial salaries and other remuneration.51 Cabinet must finalise any decision by the Tribunal for it to take effect.52 Shortly after its enactment, eight HRPP members of Parliament were selected as parliamentary under-secretaries. In 2015 Samoa’s government included 13 associate ministers, matching the number of ministers in Cabinet (including the prime minister). In a Parliament of 49 seats, the HRPP Government can thus have a guaranteed majority, with HRPP members benefiting from giving their support to the government, the party and the prime minister. A consequence of party politics is that the position of opposition MPs has become highly unattractive. Such members have often found themselves victims of unexplained decisions by the Speaker of the House, including suspensions from Parliament.53 A 2005 investigation by the InterParliamentary Union (IPU) into one such suspension suggested arbitrary decision-making, the IPU delegation recommending that the suspended MP be reinstated, and his salary restored (with back pay).54 In 2006, the government amended the parliamentary rules (Standing Orders) so that political parties with fewer than eight members would not be officially recognised. Lack of recognition has important consequences, for example, only officially recognised political parties are eligible for public funding. The amendment also required MPs who switch parties after being elected to vacate their seats. To remain in Parliament they need to contest, and win, a by-election. At the time, these changes did not apply to parties formed outside of Parliament, such as a loose coalition of MPs without any official standing as a group within Parliament. In 2009, however, the Speaker pressured members of the Tautua Samoa Party, which had formed outside of Parliament, to declare its status. When they refused to do so the Speaker annulled their seats, calling by-elections. In subsequent court proceedings it was ruled that the Speaker had acted illegally; his decision was not supported by the Electoral Act 1963.55 In response the government introduced the Electoral Amendment Act 2009; when enacted, it effectively extended coverage of the revised Standing Orders to parties formed outside of Parliament. The Speaker’s error was thus rectified, the law being changed to accommodate the defective ruling (and, in effect, to overturn that of the court) – a testament to the strength of the HRPP Government in Samoa’s

politics. The current prime minister, Tuilaepa Sailele Malielegaoi, has been in power since 1998, leading the HRPP to victory in three successive elections (2001, 2006 and 2011). In the 4 March 2016 elections, the ruling HRPP (and its prime minister) won a further term in office with its best-ever result, winning 46 of 49 parliamentary seats. The minister of justice, Fiame Naomi Mata‘afa (the daughter of Samoa’s first prime minister), was named deputy prime minister, the first woman to hold the position. As only four women were elected, a fifth seat for a woman MP was to be created (enlarging Parliament to 50 seats) in accordance with the 2013 constitutional amendment.

Conclusion One of the key features of the Westminster system is its adaptability to time and place,56 a feature clearly in evidence in Samoa. The Westminster democratic model, adopted at independence, has been adapted to suit the Samoan people’s desire to maintain their traditional institutions. Key features, such as the matai, most obviously remain an integral part of Samoa’s political system. The Legislative Assembly is composed solely of matai, and until recently, by convention the head of state was reserved for the highest ranking matai, and the government recognises and affirms the village fono’s right to exercise its traditional powers. The merger of the traditional with the Westminster is likely to continue. The legislative quota will provide women with political aspirations greater opportunity at the national level and may also encourage the bestowal of more matai titles on women. More broadly, apart from the 1990 move to universal suffrage, Samoa’s national politics remains virtually the exclusive domain of matai, representing the people, traditions and values of Samoan culture and society.

Further reading Davidson, James W., Samoa mo Samoa: The emergence of the independent state of Western Samoa, Melbourne, Oxford University Press, 1967. Keesing, Felix M., Modern Samoa: Its government and changing life, London, George Allen & Unwin, 1934. Lawson, Stephanie, Tradition Versus Democracy in the South Pacific: Fiji, Tonga and Western Samoa, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1996.

Meleisea, Malama, The Making of Modern Samoa: Traditional Authority and Colonial Administration in the Modern History of Western Samoa, Suva, Institute of Pacific Studies, University of the South Pacific, 1987. So’o, Asofou, Democracy & Custom in Samoa: an uneasy alliance, Suva, Institute of Pacific Studies, University of the South Pacific, 2008. So’o, Asofou, Universal Suffrage in Western Samoa: The 1991 General Elections, Canberra, Research School of Pacific Studies, Australian National University, 1993. So’o, Asofou, ‘Samoa’, in Stephen Levine (ed.), Pacific Ways: Government and Politics in the Pacific Islands, first edition, Wellington, Victoria University Press, 2009, pp. 202–211. Government of Samoa, http://www.samoagovt.ws/ Permanent Mission of the Independent State of Samoa to the United Nations, https://www.un.int/samo a/ Samoa News, http://www.samoanews.com/ Samoa Observer, http://www.samoaobserver.ws/

Notes 1 Statistics New Zealand, ‘2013 Census QuickStats about culture and identity’, http://www.stats.govt.n z/Census/2013-census/profile-and-summary-reports/quickstats-culture-identity/birthplace.aspx; Statistics New Zealand, ‘2013 Census ethnic group profiles: Samoan’, http://www.stats.govt.nz/Censu s/2013-census/profile-and-summary-reports/ethnic-profiles.aspx?request_value=24708&parent_id=24 706&tabname=#24708. 2 ‘New Zealand and Western Samoa, Treaty of friendship’, 1 August 1962, https://treaties.un.org/doc/P ublication/UNTS/Volume%20453/volume-453-I-6515-English.pdf. 3 Asofou So’o, ‘More than 20 years of political stability in Samoa under the Human Rights Protection Party’, in Stewart Firth (ed.), Globalisation and Governance in the Pacific Islands, Canberra, ANU E Press, 2006, pp. 350–351. 4 Iati Iati, ‘Samoa’s Price for 25 Years of Political Stability’, The Journal of Pacific History, vol. 48, no. 4, 2013, pp. 443–463. Transparency International’s ‘Corruption Perceptions Index’ (2014) – measuring perceived levels of public sector corruption – ranked Samoa in 50th place out of 175 countries and territories: http://www.transparency.org/cpi2014/results#myAnchor1. 5 AusAID, ‘Samoa Sets the Standard for Stability’, Focus, Canberra, AusAID, 2001, pp. 11–12; Cherelle Jackson, ‘“Samoa is a pinup star,” says Peters’, New Zealand Herald, 13 July 2007, http:// www.nzherald.co.nz/economy/news/article.cfm?c_id=34&objectid=10451368. 6 Afamasaga Toleafoa, ‘One Party State: The Samoan Experience’, in David Hegarty and Darrell Tryon (eds), Politics, Development and Security in Oceania, Canberra, ANU-E Press, 2013. 7 Patu Falefatu Sapolu, et al., ‘Law and Custom’ in Malama Meleisea, Ellie Meleisea and Penelope Schoeffel Meleisea, Samoa’s Journey 1962–2012: Aspects of History, Wellington, Victoria University Press, 2012, p. 20. 8 See Saleimoa Vaai, Samoa Faamatai and the rule of law, Apia, National University of Samoa, 1999, pp. 29–30; Elise Huffer and Asofou So’o, ‘Introduction’, in Elise Huffer and Asofou So’o (eds), Governance in Samoa: Pulega i Samoa, Canberra, Asia Pacific Press/Suva, Institute of Pacific Studies, 2000, p. 3.

9 Malama Meleisea, The Making of Modern Samoa: Traditional Authority and Colonial Administration in the Modern History of Western Samoa, Suva, Institute of Pacific Studies, University of the South Pacific, 1987, p. 6; Vaai, Samoa Faamatai and the rule of law, p. 39. 10 T. Taule’alo et al, ‘Samoan customary land at the crossroads: some options for sustainable management’, paper presented at the 2002 National Environment Forum Samoa, no. 4, 2003, p. 1. 11 The colonisation of Samoa officially began in 1899, when the Samoan archipelago was partitioned and brought under the control of Germany and the United States. The Germans assumed control of the islands west of the partition, which came to be known as German Samoa, and the United States assumed control of islands east of the partition, which came to be known as American Samoa. German Samoa later became Western Samoa, when New Zealand took control of it following its capture by New Zealand forces on 29–30 August 1914 – the country’s first victory of World War I. Following the end of the war (and the establishment of the League of Nations) New Zealand governed Western Samoa as a League of Nations Mandate, continuing its administration as a Trust Territory when the United Nations was founded in 1945 with the end of the Second World War. 12 Vaai, Samoa Faamatai and the rule of law, p. 42. 13 The āiga is responsible for choosing their matai, but the fono decides whether to include them in their discussions or not (see Vaai, Samoa Faamatai and the rule of law, p. 36). 14 George Turner, Samoa, A Hundred Years Ago and Long Before, Suva, University of the South Pacific, 1884, reprinted 1984, p. 287. 15 Meleisea, The Making of Modern Samoa, p. 1. 16 Meleisea et al, Samoa’s Journey 1962–2012, p. 14. 17 James W. Davidson, Samoa mo Samoa: The emergence of the independent state of Western Samoa, Melbourne, Oxford University Press, 1967, p. 29. 18 Ibid., p. 43 19 Felix M. Keesing, Modern Samoa: Its government and changing life, London, George Allen & Unwin, 1934, p. 64. 20 Davidson, Samoa mo Samoa, p. 58 21 Yash P. Ghai, Law, Government, and Politics in the Pacific Island States, Suva, University of South Pacific, Institute of Pacific Studies, 1988, p. 7; Davidson, Samoa mo Samoa, pp. 401–407. 22 Constitution of the Independent State of Western Samoa 1960, http://www.parliament.am/library/sah manadrutyunner/samoa.pdf. 23 It is a constitutional convention, within the Westminster system, that the head of state (or a similar position such as a governor-general) follows the advice of ministers. Theoretically, the position is endowed with nominal reserve power, but generally the head of state acts as a ceremonial figurehead. See R. A. W. Rhodes, John Wanna and Patrick Weller, Comparing Westminster, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2009, p. 48. 24 Asofou So’o, Civil and Political Liberty: the case of Samoa, Canberra, Asia Pacific Press; Suva, Institute of Pacific Studies, 2000, pp. 143–144. 25 Of the other two tama āiga, one was elected to the Council of Deputies, which is effectively the deputy to the head of state, and the other was made the prime minister. 26 Cook Islands News, ‘Samoa: PM denies wanting head of state role’, 11 July 2014, http://www.cooki slandsnews.com/item/47544-pm-denies-wanting-head-of-state-role/. 27 ABC News, ‘Samoa to Change Method of Appointing Head of State’, 9 July 2014, http://www.abc.ne t.au/news/2014-07-09/samoa-to-change-president-appointment-measures/5584082. 28 This issue has been raised before: see Rodney C. Hills, ‘Predicaments in Polynesia: Culture and Constitutions in Western Samoa and Tonga’, Pacific Studies, vol. 16, no. 4, 1993, p. 122.

29 The total number of seats in the fono was increased from 47 to 49 in 1991. 30 Leulu Felise Va‘a, ‘General Elections in Western Samoa, 1979–1982’, Political Science, vol. 35, no. 1, 1983, p. 79. 31 Graham Harrison, ‘The Adaptation of the Political System in the Development Process under Limited Suffrage: The Case of Western Samoa’, Political Science, vol. 30, no. 2, December, 1978, p. 79. 32 Court of Appeal of Western Samoa, In re the Constitution, Attorney-General v Olomalu [1982] WSCA 1; Misc 5895, 5896, 5897, 5946, 5951 (26 August 1982). 33 Ken Keith, ‘Reflections on Some Pacific Constitutions’, New Zealand Association for Comparative Law Yearbook, vol. 18, 2012, p. 142. See also A. H. Angelo, ‘“Steady as She Goes” – The Constitution and the Court of Appeal in Samoa’, New Zealand Association for Comparative Law Yearbook, vol. 18, 2012, pp. 145–165; and B. H. Arthur, ‘The Significance of Twenty Years’, Victoria University of Wellington Law Review, vol. 14, no. 3, 1984, pp. 295–300, for discussion of the case and its associated issues. 34 Finer details of this debate can be found in Stephanie Lawson, Tradition Versus Democracy in the South Pacific: Fiji, Tonga and Western Samoa, Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 1996; and in Serge Tcherkezoff, ‘Are the Matai “out of time”? Tradition and democracy: Contemporary ambiguities and historical transformations of the concept of chief’, in Elise Huffer and Aofou So’o (eds), Governance in Samoa: Pulega i Samoa, Canberra, Asia Pacific Press; Suva, Institute of Pacific Studies, 2000, pp. 113–133. 35 There were also 1,844 ‘invalid’ (or blank) votes; turnout in the referendum was 74.3 per cent of eligible voters. The referendum actually included two questions, the other being whether or not Samoans wanted to see a second chamber (i.e., an upper house of Parliament) introduced into the legislative system. This latter proposal was defeated: 39.3 per cent in favour and 60.7 per cent opposed. For extensive discussion of the suffrage referendum – its causes and consequences – see Asofou So’o, Universal Suffrage in Western Samoa: The 1991 General Elections, Canberra, Research School of Pacific Studies, Australian National University, 1993; and Peter Leitch, The introduction of universal suffrage in Western Samoa: an analysis of the plebiscite and the 1991 general election, Victoria University of Wellington, 1992. 36 Asofou So‘o and Jon Fraenkel, ‘The role of ballot chiefs (matai palota) and political parties in Samoa’s shift to universal suffrage’, Commonwealth and Comparative Politics, vol. 43, no. 3, 2005, p. 350. 37 Jon Fraenkel, ‘The Impact of Electoral Systems on Women’s Representation in Pacific Parliaments’, A Woman’s Place is in the House – the House of Parliament, Suva, Pacific Islands Forum Secretariat, 2006, p. 67. 38 Ibid., p. 68. 39 Kerryn Baker, Roannie Ng Shiu and Jack Corbett, Women MPs in Samoa and Kiribati, Canberra, Australian National University, 2013. Samoa’s Parliament – notwithstanding its small numbers of women MPs – has had a woman Speaker, Leaupepe Faima‘ala (1970–73), who was the first woman member of Samoa’s Parliament. 40 Inter-Paliamentary Union, Women in Parliament: The year in perspective, 2011, p. 6, www.ipu.or g/pdf/publications/wmnpersp11-e.pdf. 41 Alan Ah Mu, ‘Samoa Parliament Unanimously Approves Women’s Reserve Seat Bill’, Talamua, 22 June 2013. 42 In July 2015 the prime minister called for amendments to the Village Fono Act, stating that, in its current form, village decisions may involve arbitrary judgements that breach people’s constitutional

rights: see ‘Samoa Village Fono Act Amendments to Avoid Rights Violations’, 2 July 2015, http://pidp. eastwestcenter.org/pireport/2015/July/07-03-20.htm. 43 Davidson, Samoa mo Samoa, pp. 80, 314. 44 Ibid., p. 154. 45 See, for instance, Lagi Keresoma, ‘Court rules 3 Tautua Party candidates not eligible’, Talamua, 18 February 2011, http://www.talamua.com/court-rules-3-tautua-party-candidates-not-eligible/; Radio New Zealand International, ‘Samoa village mayor refuses to endorse by-election candidate’, 18 July 2011, http://www.radionz.co.nz/international/pacific-news/198384/samoa-village-mayor-refuses-to-en dorse-by-election-candidate; and Pacific Media Centre, ‘Court battles rife in Samoan elections leadup’, 3 March 2011, http://www.pmc.aut.ac.nz/articles/court-battles-rife-samoan-elections-lead. 46 Radio New Zealand International, ‘Samoa’s Prime Minister defends electoral law’, 22 February 2011, http://www.radionz.co.nz/international/pacific-news/195522/samoa%27s-prime-minister-defends -electoral-law. 47 Samoa Observer, ‘Our elections “unprincipled” – Page 6’, 5 August 2012, http://samoaobserver.ws/ samoana/lauga-a-manatu-faatupu-manatu/228-our-elections-unprincipled?start=5. 48 Samoa’s prime ministers have been: Mata’afa Mulinu’u II (1959–70; 1973–75); Tupua Tamasese Lealofi IV (1970–73; 1975–76); Tupuola Efi (1976–1982; September–December 1982); Va‘ai Kolone (April–September 1982; 1985–88); Tofilau Eti Alesana (1982–1985; 1988–98); and Tuilaepa Sailele Malielegaoi (1998– ). 49 Iati, ‘Samoa’s Price for 25 Years of Political Stability’, p. 448. 50 Ibid., p. 448. 51 Remuneration Tribunal Act 2003, sections 3, 4. 52 Ibid., section 9. 53 Iati, ‘Samoa’s Price for 25 Years of Political Stability’, pp. 454–455. 54 Unasa Va‘a, ‘Samoa’, The Contemporary Pacific, vol. 19, no. 1, 2007, p. 249. 55 Supreme Court of Samoa, Aiafi v Speaker of the Legislative Assembly [2009] WSSC 65 (8 July 2009), http://www.samlii.org/ws/cases/WSSC/2009/65.html. 56 Rhodes, Wanna and Weller, Comparing Westminster, p. 119.

Solomon Islands Gordon Leua Nanau Gordon Leua Nanau is a Senior Lecturer in the School of Government, Development and International Affairs at the University of the South Pacific (Suva).

Solomon Islands had a population of approximately 515,870 people in the latest national census in 2009, with an annual population growth rate of 2.3 per cent. Melanesians accounted for 80 per cent of its population, with Polynesians, Micronesians, Chinese, Europeans and others making up the remaining 20 per cent.1 The country was granted independence in 1978 but nation-building has been an uphill climb due to political events further consolidating people within their own geographical and language wantok groupings (i.e. closely linked people speaking the same language). Some wantok groups have called for political autonomy, and civil uprisings from 1998 to 2003, exemplifying national fragmentation, led to regional intervention to return law and order to the country. The country still needs to strengthen national consciousness and unity after more than 100 years of colonial rule and more than three decades as an independent state.

The making of the modern Solomon Islands The first officially recorded European visitors to the islands were a Spanish explorer, Álvaro de Mendaña y Neira, and his crew in 1567.2 Mendaña’s expedition recorded and mapped the archipelago and named it the Solomon Islands. Mendaña sailed westward across the Pacific in 1567–68 to colonise, find economic opportunities and convert people to Catholicism. He

also sailed in search of ‘a vast austral continent, the Ophir of King Solomon, the lands reported by Marco Polo and golden islands reputed to have been known to the Incas’.3 The unsuspecting locals were unaware of these ideas and influences from beyond their world, which were soon to impact on their lands and livelihoods. Apart from whalers, who began stopping over in the 1760s,4 other groups that exposed the islands to the world were traders, planters and missionaries. Traders and labour recruiters frequented the islands during the 1870s and 1880s, some residing there while others sought labourers for sugarcane plantations in Queensland and Fiji and mines in New Caledonia. The exposure of these labourers to foreign goods, education and ways of doing things had an impact on Solomon Island communities when they returned. On the other hand, experiences with ‘blackbirding’ – kidnapping islanders for forced labour overseas – led to early resentment of the ‘white man’ and his foreign world. The murder of planters, colonial officers and Christian missionaries was partly blamed on Melanesians’ retaliation against ‘blackbirders’.5 Planters who established plantations secured huge plots of land that remained alienated from customary tenure, becoming an ongoing source of conflict in contemporary Solomon Islands. As elsewhere in the Pacific, missionaries were instrumental in creating a sense of oneness among the islanders.6 The missionaries successfully established health and education services in the early contact period. Anglican missionaries sent young local members to New Zealand, where they were educated, returning to teach Christian principles to their own people.7 What transpired was the introduction of foreign goods, modern currencies, foreign education, medicine and religion: ‘[a]ll Europeans have helped to break down the old society … and the missionary has done this more than all others because he has given them a new religion in exchange for the old beliefs which entered into every part of the life of their former society’.8 The British Protectorate, which was declared over the southern Solomon Islands in 1893, consolidated forces of modernisation, nurturing the new identity developed by traders, planters and missionaries in the indigenous population.

Colonial rule and government Imperial rivalry in the Pacific led to a drawing of colonial boundaries that has remained in place to the present day. In an agreement between Germany and Great Britain, the islands of Santa Isabel and parts of what are now Western and Choisuel provinces were traded to Britain in exchange for the islands off German New Guinea. The declaration of the British Solomon Islands Protectorate in 1893 was primarily meant to control the activities of planters, missionaries and traders, particularly the ‘blackbirders’. With the declaration came British law and the identity of the archipelago as a British colony. Three distinct stages in the political evolution of Solomon Islands into a modern nation-state can be identified. The 1893–1960 period can be described as the ‘stagnation period’ because no indigenous Solomon Islanders participated in the governance of the protectorate over these 67 years.9 The colonial power established the Advisory Council in 1921 as the responsible authority for the colony, but Council membership was exclusively European for 30 years.10 A centralised administration was imposed with the appointment of the first Resident Commissioner in 1896, continuing until the 1960s, who was answerable to the High Commissioner for the Western Pacific, based in Fiji. The Resident Commissioner was based in the colony’s capital on the small island of Tulagi, with district officers, police officers and others working under him, administering colonial activities in district stations.11 District officers kept law and order and ensured that villages were kept clean and maintained a healthy standard;12 they later collected taxes, from males between 16 and 60 years of age, under the 1920 Native Tax Regulation. This taxation was a standard British colonial practice, one that moved men out of their homes to work for money elsewhere; in this case, on plantations.13 The 1920 Regulation subsequently gave way to a statutory structure of native administration, with headmen appointed at district and village levels.14 A centralised administrative system slowly emerged around district and sub-district areas; until World War II, rule was exercised through appointed headmen.15 Their appointment, to facilitate tax collection, marked the beginning of Solomon Islanders’ participation in administration. Political

power remained in the hands of the Resident Commissioner, with locals carrying out his directives. The government appointed headmen for each village, and in some instances ‘one over the whole island, but these were for the purposes of carrying out the orders of the District officer’.16 No Solomon Islander had a part to play in governing other than in the carrying out of colonial administrators’ orders. The late 1930s and 1940s saw native courts and councils established. District officers were empowered to establish courts under the Native Courts Regulation; at about the same time, informal councils were instituted at subdistrict levels.17 In both cases, the headmen acted according to orders from government but they were also the individuals who united people in different units for administrative purposes. A difference from previously was that locals took part as headmen in the courts and informal councils, and did not rely entirely on the courts presided over by Europeans. Nevertheless, everything was done according to guidelines established by the Resident Commissioner. Colonisation and Christianisation slowly instilled a general sense of national identity amidst ethnic diversity, with churches providing alternative structures through which modernisation and a sense of identity was fostered.1 8 World events, particularly World War II and the notion of ‘protection’ by Americans, further instilled a sense of national identity and the beginning of thinking towards self-determination. While there was general acceptance by Solomon Islanders that a government was in place, through the work and services provided by District Officers after World War II, the introduction of the overall ‘big man’ overseeing a whole territory was also subsequently accepted.19 The need to administer the colony through decentralisation was sought by various movements that emerged after the war, including the Chair and Rule Movement and the Society for the Development of Native Races.20 A notable nationalist movement was the Ma’asina Ruru Movement, which was strongly influenced by the American Labor Corps during the August 1942–February 1943 battle of Guadalcanal against the Japanese. The movement’s aim was to create a united front when negotiating with colonial rulers on local matters.21 A direct outcome of the Ma’asina Ruru leaders’

efforts was the establishment of the first-ever appointed local council on Malaita in 1953.22 The 1960s onwards was regarded as the ‘participation period’, with constitutional changes introduced in 1960, 1963, 1964 and 1967. In 1963, elected councillors replaced appointed headmen, representing the first real participation by Solomon Islanders in the ‘government of the people’.23 This was in line with wider decolonisation elsewhere at that time, a part of the ‘winds of change’ spoken of by British prime minister Harold Macmillan.24 By then, the identity of the islands as a British colony was already present in people’s minds, as people were paying taxes to the government and systems of punishment for breaking laws were already being imposed. The 1964 constitutional change led to the indirect election (by an Electoral College composed of elected members of Local Councils) of eight people who were not civil servants as members of the 25-member Legislative Council.25 The 1967 constitutional change extended the franchise to all Solomon Islanders 18 years and older, allowing them to vote for Legislative Councillors. As with the 1964 change, elected members remained a minority (14 of 29 members) on the Legislative Council; however, the constitutional changes promoted the sense of a political entity under one administration. Finally, in 1970, a Legislative Council came about with a majority (17 of 26) of elected members. By 1976, all except one of the 39-member legislature were chosen through direct elections.26 The governing council also allowed elected members to participate in policy making in some committees for the first time. This ultimate engagement in government pushed aside any doubts about Solomon Islanders accepting the inevitable transformation to sovereign statehood, achieved on 7 July 1978.

The political system The political system adopted at the time of the country’s independence followed the Westminster model.27 Parliament has 50 seats, with elections held every four years. The country is divided into single-member constituencies, with elections administered under the first-past-the-post (plurality) system. In many instances, seats are won with less than 50 per

cent of the votes, making issues of representation a concern.28 The Cabinet is usually composed of a coalition of MPs and parties that managed to secure seats at the elections. At the village level, the customary form of government is still common; leaders – either through hereditary succession or through the ‘bigman’ system – have considerable influence over their kin groups.29 The relationships and livelihoods of people in rural villages and informal settlements are heavily dependent on this customary form of leadership. It is sometimes referred to as the wantok system, in which people speaking the same language (or from an extended family group) look after each other through the practice of reciprocity and sharing.30 These customary forms of leadership through the wantok system also have considerable influence on the political system in the modern state of Solomon Islands.

Decentralisation and provincial governments A provincial government system exists alongside the national government structure. The country is divided into nine provinces, including the Honiara Municipal Authority, which governs the country’s capital, Honiara (Honiara replaced Tulagi as the capital city following the Second World War). The provinces are replicas of district councils established during the colonial days to assist in the delivery of services to rural areas. Decentralisation continues to serve as a national development strategy.31 The post-colonial provinces were established under the Provincial Government Act of 1984, with each province given specific power on particular dates (called Second Appointed Days). A third tier of government, Local Councils, was removed during the 1996–97 period. Most of the revenue available to the provincial governments comes from the central government, and provincial governments can be dissolved by the minister for provincial governments.

The courts There is a hierarchy of courts in the Solomon Islands, including the Court of Appeals, the High Court and the Magistrates’ Courts. In addition, there are Local Courts, dealing mostly with customary land disputes. When there are appeals to decisions made by local courts, they are heard at the Local Lands Appeals Courts. The independence of the judiciary is constitutionally

protected to some degree ‘by appointments being made on the advice of the Judicial and Legal Service Commission, which is established under the constitution, and by conferring tenure until the age of 60’.32

Political parties As in many other Pacific Island countries, political parties are loosely organised in the Solomon Islands. There are no dominant parties, although some have relatively long histories, such as the People’s Alliance Party (formed in 1977) and the Solomon Islands United Party (launched in 1980). These parties had some ideological basis, while others, emerging later, are mostly reactive and based around particular issues or individuals.33 There has been a history of coalition government since independence, reflecting weak party organisation. The prime minister is elected by Parliament following a general election, with weak party attachments making for a somewhat unpredictable post-election environment, as rival candidates (and their backers) manoeuvre for support.34 In 2014, in a hurried move to strengthen political parties, the government passed the Political Parties Integrity (PPI) Act to encourage party registration and to ensure that elected MPs are members of political parties if they enter Parliament as independents. At the 2014 election, however, 80 per cent of those who passed the PPI Act opted to contest as independent candidates. Moreover, 32 of the 50 MPs who were elected campaigned as independent candidates; the remaining 18 came from six registered political parties – Democratic Alliance (7), United Democratic (5), People’s Alliance (3), Kadare Party of Solomon Islands (1), Solomon Islands Party for Rural Advancement (1) and Solomon Islands People First Party (1) – while six other political parties failed to secure a single seat.35 The strengthening of the Solomon Islands’ political parties thus remains a work in progress, with the PPI Act likely to be reviewed and revised (or replaced).

Decolonisation and civil dissents Although Solomon Islands is a sovereign independent state, the country’s citizens generally see government mechanisms and structures as somewhat

alien. A national leader, Solomon Mamaloni (chief minister prior to independence, 1974–76; prime minister, 1981–84, 1989–93 and 1994–97), once claimed that the amalgamation of small independent communities into one country may have been a gross miscalculation, noting that all islands within the group were independent entities despite similarities in some cultural respects due to inter-island migration. He argued that merging the distinct groups and islands into one sovereign authority was necessary, but ‘for all practical purposes it was the greatest error of the British administration in this region’.36 The establishment of political and administrative boundaries amalgamated distinct communities into seemingly acceptable convenient groupings. Nevertheless, differences in perspectives and ways of doing things persist, being particularly evident in the 1998–2003 tensions between militants from the provinces of Guadalcanal and Malaita, when notions of homogeneous ethnic identities were exploited.37 Solomon Islands’ geographic features, along with its cultural, ethnic and linguistic diversity, are important in understanding not only the past and the present, but also in the charting of future directions in national politics and governance, given that ‘Solomon Islanders have yet to accept each other as one people’.38 Diversity in its various forms influences (and inhibits) governance despite the adoption of Westminster parliamentary democracy. Solomon Islanders continue to utilise the wantok system for different purposes.39 The provincial boundaries have become common identities around which groups have raised political grievances both before and after independence. In 1975, for instance, the Western province made a submission to government stating that there was need for a form of government that could unite the country through recognition and respect for regional differences.40 The submission included arrangements for making the province an independent state, including population movements and a revenue-sharing formula. These sentiments were carried through to independence, when the Western province threatened to secede, boycotting Independence Day festivities41 while insisting on a federal arrangement where provinces determine their own destinies and distinct regional features are acknowledged and respected. This outlook reflected fears of being marginalised by migrant populations, as well as aspirations to control wealth created in the province. Also at issue were problems stemming from

contradictory views about customary and modern land tenure. This call to secede was solved, at least at the time, through concessions and bargaining, but it signalled a continuing trend. During the tensions of 1998, these sentiments of 1978 re-emerged, the Guadalcanal–Malaita tensions in Honiara reigniting the autonomy calls by Western province that had been made on the eve of independence. Both ethnic and economic factors contributed to the conflict, the latter involving resource owners and the government: ‘the 1998–2000 conflict in the West began with ethnic violence, but was quickly channelled away from a specific conflict with Malaitans and propelled into a direct contestation with the State over its failure to serve landowner interests’.42 Demands for autonomy were also orchestrated by the Guadalcanal province, who petitioned the national government in 1978 on similar grounds as those of the Western province.43 In 1988, ten years after their first petition, Guadalcanal people again pressured the government to change the political system, their demands triggered by violence and by allegations of disrespect by Malaitan settlers in Guadalcanal. The Guadalcanal petitioners called for a federal system,44 their petition raising issues related to revenue sharing, population movements and settlements, as well as the distinctiveness of the province, its people and its cultures. Other provincial leaders have likewise expressed such sentiments. A Constitution Review Committee, commissioned in 1987, revealed similar opinions raised by six provincial premiers in a petition seeking federalism for Solomon Islands, their joint statement calling for recognition and respect for cultural differences.45 In 1998, ten years after their second petition, Guadalcanal again urged the national government to change the political system. This time, however, a number of Guadalcanal youths took up arms to pressure the government to address longstanding issues related to the land occupied by settlers and the feeling of being neglected by successive governments. The inter-wantok tensions from 1998 to 2003 highlighted these grievances, as well as the significance of wantokism and its impact on nation-building.

‘Ethnic tensions’: 1998–2003

In November 1998, a group of armed Guadalcanal men calling themselves the Guadalcanal Revolutionary Army (GRA) – later known as the Isatabu Freedom Movement (IFM) – attacked Malaitan settlements in northwest Guadalcanal, destroying properties and displacing settlers. The tensions ultimately led to the displacement of 35,000 people, mostly Malaitans, from Guadalcanal. By 2000 the Malaita Eagle Force (MEF) was formed, representing displaced Malaitans. The group’s main concern was to demand compensation for the killings of Malaitans, and for properties lost and damaged by members of the IFM. Seeking protection of Malaitan interests in Honiara, the MEF spokesman, Andrew Nori, explained that it was a response to the petitioners by the then prime minister Bartholomew Ulufa’alu – that ‘the SIG [Solomon Islands Government] was not responsible for the damages caused and should not pay compensation’ 46 – that forced them to depose the government. The prime minister’s response was seen as an insult to Malaitans who had lost most of their properties and homes in the wake of Guadalcanal militancy. The MEF made incursions into Guadalcanal villages, killing people. By March 2000, confrontations between MEF and IFM had escalated in areas surrounding Honiara. On 5 June 2000, MEF joined forces with elements of the Solomon Islands police, taking over the state armoury, staging a coup, and placing Bartholomew Ulufa’alu under house arrest. He resigned on 23 June 2000 and a new government, led by Manasseh Sogavare, was formed under duress. The national government carried out consultations with conflicting parties, while Australia and New Zealand allowed the use of their warships for various consultative meetings. It was not until the Townsville Peace Agreement (TPA) was signed in Australia on 15 October 2000, however, that hopes for true peace returned to Solomon Islands.

Townsville Peace Agreement and RAMSI As soon as overt hostilities ceased between the warring parties, the government went ahead with processes to review the constitution, the TPA negotiators having agreed that Malaita and Guadalcanal provinces would be given autonomy, with other provinces to follow.47 As a signatory to the agreement, the government was obligated ‘to introduce a form of government

that would give autonomous powers to the people of Solomon Islands to manage their own affairs’.48 A month after the TPA was signed, the government summoned all provincial premiers to a conference in Buala, in Isabel province, where it was agreed that the 1998–2000 events were the consequence of negligence and an imbalance of power between central and provincial governments. The overriding need for national unity was realised and the Buala Conference Communiqué included in its resolutions a commitment to adopt a federal system. The signatories authorised Parliament to immediately amend section 114 of the constitution to facilitate the establishment of state governments. The resolutions also recognised the desire of three provinces – Temotu, Makira-Ulawa, and Rennell and Bellona – to become separate, independent states, and agreed that these provinces could pursue their intentions with the national government. Such resolutions signalled an intention by some provinces to maintain their provincial and wantok identities while determining their own development aspirations. A task force, appointed to revisit the 1987 Constitutional Review Committee’s recommendations on federalism, completed its assignment in 2001, with Cabinet approval being given to the report in June 2001. Presenting the report to Parliament, the responsible minister stated that it was ‘time to reconsider our political history and correct a Government System that was introduced by our past colonial masters, which has proven unsuitable for our interests’.49 Work on a new constitution emphasising secure governance and stability had thus begun. Years later, it is clear that work on introducing the reformed constitution has progressed slowly. The National Coalition for Rural Advancement Government elected in 2010 highlighted constitutional reforms as a priority, prime minister Danny Philip stating in 2010 that his government ‘will be committed to developing a sensible policy on federalism which will take into account the conflicting demands by our people’.50 The Constitutional Reform Unit announced in August 2011 that final nationwide consultations would be carried out in the first quarter of 2012, with a final draft of a proposed federal constitution submitted to Cabinet by December that same year.51

RAMSI and nation-building

The Townsville Peace Agreement brought overt fighting between ethnic factions to an end but it did not eliminate criminal activities. Access to firearms made life difficult for people on Guadalcanal and Malaita. Criminal groups were visible, especially in Honiara, and government coffers were looted by armed militants demanding compensation. Calls by Solomon Islands for Australia and New Zealand to intervene were futile as tensions were regarded as an internal matter. The government bureaucracy ceased to function and most public servants were either laid off or put on indefinite unpaid leave.52 Change occurred in 2001, however, after the events of 9/11, the October 2002 Bali bombings and the subsequent declaration of a ‘War on Terror’. Concerns about ‘failed states’ had an impact on perceptions of the Solomon Islands’ crisis by the Pacific Islands Forum and others, and provisions of the Forum’s October 2000 Biketawa Declaration offered the opportunity to act after the Solomon Islands Parliament passed the International Facilitation Act in 2003, inviting a regional force to intervene. The Regional Assistance Mission to Solomon Islands (RAMSI) was deployed in July 2003, involving military, police and technical assistance contingents.53 RAMSI re-established the rule of law: militant leaders and arms from both sides were surrendered, criminals prosecuted and government mechanisms strengthened. Although there are mixed evaluations of the RAMSI intervention and its effectiveness, without it Solomon Islands would still be under the control of thugs.54 The fragility of peace and security remained evident even with RAMSI present. On 18 April 2006 the Honiara Chinatown shopping district was looted and burned following the announcement of Parliament’s election of Snyder Rini as prime minister, reflecting dissatisfaction with the former government of Allan Kemakeza (2001–06) in which Rini had served as deputy prime minister. Frustrated voters with no control over the election of a prime minister directed their anger towards Asian businesses,55 targeted because of allegations that they had played an important role in financing lobbies that determined the outcome of the prime ministerial election. Another disturbance occurred on 30 November 2010 when a former MEF militant leader turned parliamentarian, Jimmy Lusibaea, was sentenced to prison for violent offences; 37 individuals were arrested in the attempted riots that followed.56 The 2006 incident had been poorly handled by RAMSI

and the Solomon Islands’ police, resulting in the destruction of businesses and buildings. The 2010 incident was quickly controlled by police, realising that it was not only inter-wantok related but also the work of opportunists and criminals.57 The RAMSI mission effectively ended during July–September 2013 with the withdrawal of military forces led by Australia (but including personnel from New Zealand, Papua New Guinea and Tonga). A small police mission remained, assisting with training and oversight.

Constitutional reforms and the future With law and order generally in place and financiers investing again, new opportunities have arisen to facilitate and strengthen nation-building. Most calls for recognition of wantok and provincial autonomy focus on the need to reform the constitution. A UN Development Programme fact-finding mission’s report envisaged that this would occur, observing that ‘[t]he process of constitutional review in the Solomon Islands is on an irreversible track’.58 A mix of modern political structures and local perspectives, recognising the distinctiveness of local communities, appears to be a sensible way to minimise the likelihood of tensions occurring again. The RAMSI intervention, in restoring state institutions, may have inadvertently delayed a broader restructuring, postponing ‘debates that may prove crucial to long term reconciliation or nation-building’.59 These debates are likely to focus on several themes.

Freedom of movement versus freedom of settlement One of the issues that gave rise to the ethnic conflicts related to the free movement and resettlement of people from one island to another, a consequence of adopting Western notions of democracy and land tenure (although movement in the sense of ‘circulating’ to one place and back has long been a practice in the Pacific).60 While the right to move freely must be upheld, the freedom to settle anywhere one wishes needs basic controls to be consistent with how Solomon Islanders have coexisted over centuries.61

Provincial consultations found broad agreement that it is appropriate for people to own land in perpetuity in their own birthplace, rather than elsewhere in the Solomon Islands. Other issues involve compliance with local customs and practices. Behaviour in urban areas, including the capital, as the place of government, represent a different challenge.62 Land and settlements are sensitive issues; however, if properly addressed it should be possible for available land to be utilised for economic development purposes.63 Constitutional changes might be expected to balance rights to free movement with respect for custom and tradition in local communities to which people migrate.

Common properties and resources Since land ownership differs from region to region, provinces and landowners need to decide on how disputes over land are to be managed and income obtained from land distributed. In September 2011, the Tandai people of Guadalcanal reiterated their call for the government to return the land alienated from them to establish Honiara (which became the Solomon Islands’ capital in 1952).64 In Melanesian societies ownership of land is expected to remain with tribal owners, as land is central to peoples’ livelihood and identity. During consultations in the Western province, lands that were alienated provoked concerns, particularly when people not indigenous to the ‘place’ settled on them. Malaitans and Gilbertese65 who made settlements on alienated land were especially singled out, a report noting that ‘[t]he Gilbertese population is seen as growing rapidly so that the lands they currently occupy will not be sufficient to sustain them, thereby putting pressure on them to move into customary land or alienated land’.66 Complaints were also made about settler communities not assimilating into host communities, and there were disputes over resource rights and the sharing of resources. Anything below the surface of the soil (or waters) is considered to belong to customary owners.67 The draft federal constitution of 2009 reflected this view: Every development of customary land or exploitation of resources must have the customary land and resource owners’ free and

informed consent prior to the approval or implementation of any project affecting their lands and other resources, particularly in connection with the development, utilisation or exploitation of forests, minerals, water and other natural resources.68 Exploration would be under the ownership of indigenous landowners, and arrangements to exploit minerals and other resources would need to be made among investors, landowners and provincial governments, with the central government playing a facilitative role.

Redistribution of wealth and service delivery Inherent in inter- and intra-wantok disputes is the redistribution of national wealth. If each province were given powers to raise revenue, dependence on the central government would be limited and service provision boosted. In existing arrangements, provinces’ revenue base is limited and there is heavy dependence on central government for funding. The draft federal constitution accommodated this by expanding the tax base for the proposed states. Other measures seek to ensure sharing of revenue between federal and state governments, with the intention being that no wantok group should be disadvantaged in a manner likely to lead to further unrest.

National reconciliation and unity Nation-building and unity in Solomon Islands requires a linking of local and national, with local identities (including province of origin and ethnic wantok group) serving as building blocks in a diverse nation. The positive side of the wantok system, involving care and support for one another, is a social buffer for the nation.69 Solomon Islands pidgin is widely spoken and represents another pillar in the development of a national identity. The national curriculum is a further means of facilitating nation-building while maintaining cultural diversity. The 1998–2003 events made uniting the country through reconciliation and forgiveness a matter of paramount importance. Important initiatives in this area are the little-known Prison Fellowship International’s ‘Sycamore Tree Project’ and the Solomon Islands Truth and Reconciliation Commission. Other initiatives at family and community levels share the same inclination

towards truth telling, reconciliation and efforts at restorative justice. The Sycamore Tree Project focuses on prison inmates and facilitates reconciliation between warring groups, as occurred when the project brought together prominent former members of IFM and MEF in May 2011 for counselling, reconciliation and forgiveness.70 Such meetings, including truth telling and public apologies by former leaders of militia groups, are a positive gesture for future stability and nation-building. Officially launched in April 2009, the Solomon Islands Truth and Reconciliation Commission was launched with several important goals, including the need to promote national unity and reconciliation; to determine the root causes of the tensions; and to provide both victims and perpetrators a means by which to voice their concerns, share experiences and reconcile. The Commission was also tasked with promoting accountability for human rights abuses and engaging all stakeholders in the reconciliation process, as prescribed by the Truth and Reconciliation Act of 2008. Like the Sycamore Tree Project, the Truth and Reconciliation Commission was an initiative promoted by a civil society organisation, the Solomon Islands Christian Association, which succeeded in getting the idea through Parliament. The Commission carried out public hearings in most provinces, submitting its report to Prime Minister Gordon Darcy Lilo in February 2012. Following delays in making the report publicly available, an unauthorised release (online) took place in April 2013.71 Controversy over the report’s release – and the government’s protracted delay in circulating its contents – did not entirely overshadow the report’s overall message, which focused on the need for reconciliation, seen as critical in efforts to unify and rebuild the country.

Conclusion Understanding the problems of nation-building and insecurity in Melanesia requires an appreciation of ethnic and inter-wantok complexities. In Solomon Islands, once distinct and independent communities have been co-opted into a single political entity as a result of colonial powers and processes. Attempts to incorporate these previously independent features into modern governance structures have not been easy, with conflicts continuing over identity, allegiance and what constitutes the common good. Successive

governments have attempted to address the symptoms of overt conflicts rather than their root causes. It is an ongoing process; in July 2015 the government – through its Ministry of National Unity, Reconciliation and Peace – launched a National Peace-Building Policy, intended to coordinate ‘peace building activities … across all sectors of government’.72 An overriding concern, with respect to the preservation of national unity, has been that giving more autonomy to distinct groups and administrative entities may encourage secession and the break-up of the country. That this remains a possibility can be seen in the August 2015 statement by the premier of Malaita province – the country’s most populous – that the provincial government was moving ahead with plans for a sovereign Malaita nation, and the Provincial Assembly was suspending discussions on a federal system.73 The draft federal constitution of Solomon Islands attempts to recognise and appreciate wantok differences as a basis for stability, nation-building and peaceful co-existence. Likewise, reconciliation efforts need to succeed as part of the foundations for positive nation-building. As in pre-colonial and colonial days, churches and the state need to work together to develop and nurture a sense of identity and oneness. After the wantok tensions these same institutions are once again at the forefront of nation-building. Next steps involve the process through which the draft federal constitution proceeds through Cabinet, Parliament and (if approved) subsequent implementation.

Further reading Corbett, Jack and Terence Wood, Politicians and Political Leaders in Solomon Islands, Australian National University, State, Society & Governance in Melanesia, In Brief 2013/2. Corrin, Jennifer, ‘Solomon Islands’, in Stephen Levine (ed.), Pacific Ways: Government and Politics in the Pacific Islands, first edition, Wellington, Victoria University Press, 2009, pp. 212–220. Fraenkel, Jon, The Manipulation of Custom: From Uprising to Intervention in the Solomon Islands, Wellington, Victoria University Press, 2004. Fraenkel, Jon, ‘The Teleology and Romance of State-Building in Solomon Islands’, The Journal of Pacific History, forthcoming. Fraenkel, Jon, Joni Madraiwiwi and Henry Okole, The RAMSI Decade: A Review of the Regional Assistance Mission to Solomon Islands, 2003–2013, 14 July 2014, http://pidp.eastwestcenter.or g/pireport/2014/July/Independent%20RAMSI%20Review%20Report%20Final.pdf. Keesing, Roger M., ‘Tuesday’s Chiefs Revisited’, in Geoffrey M. White and Lamont Lindstrom (eds), Chiefs Today: Traditional Pacific Leadership and the Postcolonial State, Stanford, Stanford University Press, 1997.

Moore, Clive, Decolonising the Solomon Islands: British theory and Melanesian practice, Geelong, Victoria, Alfred Deakin Research Institute, Deakin University, Working Paper No. 8, 2010. Nanau, Gordon Leua, ‘Solomon Islands’, The Contemporary Pacific, vol. 27, no. 2, 2015, pp. 528–37. Truth and Reconciliation Commission, ‘Goals of the Solomon Islands TRC’, Honiara, Solomon Islands Truth and Reconciliation Commission, 2011. National Parliament of Solomon Islands, http://www.parliament.gov.sb/ Solomon Islands government, Constitutional Reform Program, ‘Reforming the Solomon Islands Constitution’, http://www.sicr.gov.sb/ The Permanent Mission of Solomon Islands to the United Nations, https://www.un.int/solomonislands/ Solomon Star, http://www.solomonstarnews.com/ Solomon Times Online, http://www.solomontimes.com/ The Island Sun, http://www.islandsun.com.sb/

Notes 1 Solomon Islands Government, ‘Statistical Bulletin: 14/2010’, Honiara, National Statistics Office, 2010. 2 Colin Jack-Hilton, The search for the islands of Solomon 1567–1838, Oxford, Clarendon Press, 1969. 3 Ibid., p. xiii. 4 Judith Bennett, Wealth of the Solomon Islands: a history of a Pacific archipelago, 1800–1978, Honolulu, University of Hawai‘i Press, 1987, p. 24. 5 See Alison Dundon, ‘Negotiating the Horizon – Living Christianity in Melanesia’, The Asia Pacific Journal of Anthropology, vol. 12, no. 1, 2011, pp. 1–12. 6 Simione Durutalo, The paramountcy of Fijian interest and the politicization of ethnicity, Suva, Fiji, USP Sociological Society, 1986, p. 12. 7 Robert L. Hunt, Captain Thomas Capel Tilly, R.N.: 19th Century Pacific Mariner Who Feared Nothing, Auckland, PDQ Print, 2011, p. 53. 8 Charles E. Fox, Kakamora, London, Hodder & Stoughton, 1962, p. 136. 9 Bennett, Wealth of the Solomon Islands, p. 312. 10 Barrie Macdonald, ‘Imperial Remnants: Decolonisation and Political Change in the British Pacific Islands’, in F. F. King (ed.), Oceania and Beyond: Essays on the Pacific since 1945, London, Greenwood Press, 1976, p. 248. 11 Roger M. Keesing and Peter Corris, Lightning meets the West Wind: the Malaita Massacre, Melbourne, Oxford University Press, 1980, p. 29. 12 See J. L. O. Tedder, A District Administrator in the Islands 1952–1974: Solomon Island Years, Stuarts Point, New South Wales, Tautu Studies, 2008. James Tedder was a District Administrator from 1954 to 1974; this book provides his perspective on his personal experiences in that role. 13 Keesing and Corris, Lightning meets the West Wind, p. 75. 14 A. M. Healy, ‘Administration in the British Solomon Islands’, Journal of Administration Overseas, vol. 5, no. 3, 1966, p. 198.

15 Ralph Premdas, ‘The Solomon Islands: an experiment in decentralisation’, Public Administration and Development, vol. 2, 1982, p. 242. 16 Charles E. Fox, The story of the Solomons, Taroaniara, British Solomon Islands Protectorate, Diocese of Melanesia Press, 1967, p. 74. 17 Healy, ‘Administration in the British Solomon Islands’, pp. 199–200. 18 Dundon, ‘Negotiating the Horizon – Living Christianity in Melanesia’, p 1. 19 Tedder, A District Administrator in the Islands 1952–1974. 20 Bennett, Wealth of the Solomon Islands, p. 299. 21 Ibid., p. 293. 22 Healy, ‘Administration in the British Solomon Islands’ p. 202. 23 David Kausimae, ‘From local government to provincial government in the Solomon Islands’, in Decentralisation in PNG, Port Moresby, Waigani Seminar Papers, 1978, p. 142. 24 Macdonald, ‘Imperial Remnants: Decolonisation and Political Change in the British Pacific Islands’, p. 247. 25 Warren Paia, ‘Aspects of Constitutional Development in the Solomon Islands’, The Journal of Pacific History, vol. 10, no. 2, 1975, p. 81. 26 Macdonald, ‘Imperial Remnants: Decolonisation and Political Change in the British Pacific Islands’, p. 249. 27 The Solomon Islands Constitution (1978) is available at: http://www.ilo.org/wcmsp5/groups/public/---e d_protect/---protrav/---ilo_aids/documents/legaldocument/wcms_126201.pdf. 28 Terence Wood, ‘The 2014 Elections in Solomon Islands: Did Anything Change? Will Anything Change?’, Development Policy Centre, The Australian National University, 22 January 2014, http://de vpolicy.org/the-2014-elections-in-solomon-islands-did-anything-change-will-anything-change-2015012 2/. 29 Marshall David Sahlins, Tribesmen, Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey, Prentice-Hall, 1968; and Ian Hogbin, A Guadalcanal Society: the Kaoka Speakers, New York, Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1964. 30 Paolo de Renzio, ‘Women and wantoks: social capital and group behaviour in Papua New Guinea’, in WIDER Project Meeting, Group Behaviour and Development, United Nations University, Helsinki, 1999; Gordon Leua Nanau, ‘Solomon Islands’, The Contemporary Pacific, vol. 23, no. 2, 2011, pp. 504–511. 31 Gordon Leua Nanau, ‘Decentralisation reform in the Solomon Islands’ in Peter Larmour (ed.), Governance Reforms in Melanesia, Canberra, Australian National University Press, 1998, pp. 183– 199. 32 Jennifer Corrin, ‘Solomon Islands’, in Stephen Levine (ed.), Pacific Ways: Government and Politics in the Pacific Islands, first edition, Wellington, Victoria University Press, 2009, p. 217. 33 Gordon Leua Nanau, ‘How Political Parties Do and Do Not Contribute to Democratic Governance in the Solomon Islands’, in Kay Lawson, Luc Sindjoun and Marian J. Simms (eds), Political Parties and Democracy, vol. 4, Africa and Oceania, Santa Barbara, Praeger, 2010; and Tarcisius Tara Kabutaulaka, ‘Parties, Constitutional Engineering and Governance in the Solomon Islands’, in Roland Rich, Luke Hambly and Michael Morgan (eds), Political Parties in the Pacific Islands, Canberra, Pandanus Books, 2007. 34 The Solomon Islands’ prime ministers have been: Peter Kenilorea (1978–81, 1984–86); Solomon Mamaloni (1981–84, 1989–93, 1994–97); Ezekiel Alebua (1986–89); Francis Billy Hilly (1993–94); Bartholomew Ulufa’alu (1997–2000); Manasseh Sogavare (2000–01; 2006–07; 2014– ); Allan Kemakeza (2001–06); Snyder Rini (2006); Derek Sikua (2007–10); Danny Philip (2010–11); and

Gordon Darcy Lilo (2011–14). These 11 prime ministers have represented a range of parties (or party labels), including Solomon Islands United Party, People’s Alliance Party, Group for National Unity and Reconciliation, National Coalition Partnership, Solomon Islands Liberal Party, Solomon Islands Alliance for Change, People’s Progressive Party, Association of Independent Members, Solomon Islands Social Credit Party, Reform Democratic Party, and the National Coalition for Reform and Advancement, and some were non-partisan or independent. 35 Gordon Leua Nanau, ‘Solomon Islands’, The Contemporary Pacific, vol. 27, no. 2, 2015, pp. 528– 537. 36 Solomon Mamaloni, ‘The Road to Independence’, in Ron Crocombe and Esau Tuza (eds), Independence, dependence and interdependence: the first 10 years of Solomon Islands independence, Honiara, Institute of Pacific Studies, USP and Solomon Islands College of Higher Education, 1992, p. 10. 37 Tarcisius Tara Kabutaulaka, Beyond Ethnicity: The Political Economy of the Guadalcanal Crisis in Solomon Islands, Canberra: State, Society and Governance in Melanesia Project, 2000, p. 4. Kabutaulaka argues that perceived homogeneity existed only for purposes of social mobilisation, largely collapsing when the unrest ceased. 38 Ruth Liloqula, Ethnic Tension: Causes and Impact, Canberra, State, Society and Governance in Melanesia Project, 2002, p. 6. 39 Nanau, ‘Solomon Islands’, 2011, p. 33. 40 Ralph Premdas and Jeff S. Steeves, Decentralisation and political change in Melanesia: Papua New Guinea, The Solomon Islands and Vanuatu, Suva, University of the South Pacific, 1984, p. 152. 41 Ibid., p. 143. 42 Ian Alexander Scales, The Social Forest: Landowners, development conflict and the State in Solomon Islands, Canberra, Australian National University, 2003, p. 18. 43 Guadalcanal Provincial Assembly, ‘A letter submitted to the Prime Minister’, October 1978, Honiara. 44 Gordon Billy Gatu, ‘Petition by indigeneous people of Guadalcanal’, Honiara, 24 March 1988. 45 J. Buare et al, ‘A petition by Premiers of Western, Central, Isabel, Makira, Temotu and Guadalcanal Provinces in support of the Recommendation No. 1 in the Constitutional Review Committee Report 1987’, Honiara, 14 June 1988, p. 2. 46 Andrew Nori, ‘5th June in Perspective’, Solomon Islands Broadcasting Corporation, 2002. 47 For the text of the agreement, see Solomon Islands Government, ‘The Townsville Peace Agreement’, 15 October 2000, at http://peacemaker.un.org/sites/peacemaker.un.org/files/SB_001015 _TownsvillePeaceAgreement.pdf. 48 Nollen Leni, ‘Speech on presentation (tabling) of the State Government Task Force 2001 Report’, State Government Task Force Committee, Honiara, 2002, p. 2. 49 Ibid. 50 Ednal Palmer, ‘Philip lays bare policies on major issues’, Solomon Star, Honiara, 2010. See also Prime Minister’s Office, ‘The National Coalition for Reform and Advancement (NCRA) Policy Statement’, Honiara, 2010. 51 Solomon Islands Government, ‘Final Public say on Draft Federal Constitution in Provincial Conventions (Press Statement)’, Honiara, Constitutional Reform Unit, 2011, p. 2. 52 Rence Sore, ‘Why Solomon Islands must save its “nationhood”’, Canberra, National Centre for Development Studies, 2002. 53 Greg Fry and Tarcisius Tara Kabutaulaka (eds), Intervention and State-building in the Pacific: The Legitimacy of ‘Co-operative Intervention’, Manchester, Manchester University Press, 2008.

54 Gordon Leua Nanau, ‘Intervention and Nation-Building in Solmon Islands: Local Responses’, in Fry and Kabutaulaka (eds), Intervention and State-building in the Pacific, pp. 149–62. 55 Clive Moore, ‘No more walkabout long Chinatown: Asian Involvement in the economic and political process’, in Sinclair Dinnen and Stewart Firth (eds), Politics and State Building in Solomon Islands, Canberra, ANU E-Press and Asia Pacific Press, 2008, p. 64. 56 Ednal Palmer, ‘37 People arrested’, Solomon Star News, Honiara, 2010. 57 Gordon Leua Nanau, ‘Solomon Islands’, The Contemporary Pacific, vol. 26, no. 2, 2014, pp. 516– 524. 58 Peter Muller, ‘Constitutional Reform – Solomon Islands: UNDP Fact Finding Mission’, Suva, UNDP Governance for Livelihood & Development in the Pacific, 2002, p. 9. See also Josephine Kama Behulu, et al., ‘Choisuel Provincial Report’, Honiara, UNDP Constitutional Reform Project Office, 2003; and Augustine Rose, et al., ‘Central Province consultation report’, Honiara, UNDP Constitutional Reform Project Office, 2003. 59 Sinclair Dinnen, Doug Porter and Caroline Sage, ‘Conflict in Melanesia: Themes and Lessons‘, Background Paper, World Bank, 2010, p. 21. 60 Epeli Hau’ofa, We are the Ocean: Selected Works, Honolulu, University of Hawai‘i Press, 2008. 61 Murray Chapman, ‘Population Movement: Free or Constrained?‘ in Ron Crocombe and Esau Tuza (eds), Independence, Dependence, Interdependence: The First 10 Years of Solomon Islands Independence, Honiara, Government Printing Press, 1992, p. 94. 62 Joe Rausi, et al., ‘Malaita Province Consultation Report’, Honiara, UNDP Constitutional Reform Project Office, 2003, p. 20. 63 Mbella Ngomba, et al., ‘Temotu Province Consultation Report’, Honiara, UNDP Constitutional Reform Project Office, 2003, p. 16. 64 Solomon Star, ‘Return Our Land’, 2011. 65 Families from Phoenix Island and the former Gilbert and Ellice Islands (now Kiribati) were relocated to the Solomon Islands Western District in 1963 during the British colonial rule because their island was no longer habitable after two years of severe drought. See Information Officer, ‘Gilbertese Resettlement‘, BSI News, Honiara, Government Printing Office, 1963, p. 3. 66 Lenore Hamilton, et al., ‘Western Province Report’, Honiara, UNDP Constitutional Reform Project Office, 2003, pp. 11–12. 67 David Bakani, et al., ‘Guadalcanal State Constitution Taskforce Report’, Honiara, Guadalcanal Provincial Government, 2002, p. 18; William Pryo, et al., ‘Guadalcanal Province Consultation Report’, Honiara, UNDP Constitutional Reform Project Office, 2003, p. 16. For further context see Leonard P. Maenu’u, ‘Land within traditional societies of the Solomon Islands’, Renaissance in the Pacific, vol. 4, 1989, pp. 30–35. 68 Solomon Islands Government, ‘1st 2009 Draft Federal Constitution of Solomon Islands’, Constitutional Reform Unit (ed.), Honiara, 2009, p. 24. 69 Gordon Leua Nanau, ‘The Wantok System as a Socio-economic and Political Network in Melanesia’, Omnes: The Journal of Multicultural Society, vol. 2, no. 1, 2011, p. 42. 70 Prison Fellowship International, ‘Former IFM & MEF members attend Sycamore Tree Counselling on Malaita’, press release, 2011, p. 2. 71 The report – Confronting the Truth for a better Solomon Islands, Final Report, (Solomon Islands Truth and Reconciliation Commission, Honiara, February 2012) – is available at: http://pacificpolicy.or g/2013/01/solomon-islands-trc-final-report/. 72 ‘Solomon Islands Launches National Peace-Building Policy’, 23 July 2015, http://pidp.eastwestcenter. org/pireport/2015/July/07-24-05.htm.

73 ‘Malaita Premier Pushing Talks About Sovereignty From Solomons’, 19 August 2015, http://pidp.east westcenter.org/pireport/2015/August/08-19-02.htm’; Solomon Star, ‘Malaita pursues “sovereignty”’, 20 September 2015, http://www.solomonstarnews.com/news/national/8494-malaita-pursues-sovereign ty.

Timor-Leste / East Timor Michael Leach Michael Leach is a Professor in Politics and Public Policy and Chair of the Department of Education and Social Sciences at Swinburne University of Technology.

Introduction Timor-Leste (East Timor) is a 15,000-square-kilometre half-island state located at the eastern end of the Indonesian archipelago. The predominantly Catholic nation of 1.1 million people shares the island of Timor with the Indonesian province of West Timor. This border is a legacy of the island’s division between Portugal and the Netherlands in the colonial era. TimorLeste was a late arrival on the post-colonial scene, gaining its independence at the tail end of the post–World War II decolonisation process. First colonised by Portuguese Dominican priests and traders in the early 16th century, Portuguese Timor remained a neglected colonial outpost, notable mostly for the presence of political prisoners who were deported by Portugal’s Salazar regime. Following the ‘Carnation Revolution’ in Portugal in 1974, and the related and rushed process of decolonisation, Timor-Leste began to develop its first local political parties. In 1975, neighbouring Indonesia began to foment discord between Timor-Leste’s nascent political parties, leading in August to a brief but bloody war between the two largest parties, the Revolutionary Front for an Independent Timor-Leste (Frente Revolucionária de Timor-Leste Independente, FRETILIN) and the Timorese Democratic Union (União Democrática Timorense, UDT). Indonesia soon after engaged in cross-border raids and, in December 1975, just days after

Timor-Leste unilaterally declared independence, it launched a full-scale invasion, followed by progressive occupation and forced integration of the province in 1976. The restoration of Timor-Leste’s independence was to be put off for another quarter of a century. Resistance to Indonesia’s invasion and 24-year occupation led to the deaths of as many as 180,000 East Timorese,1 the establishment of a disciplined underground resistance, and an extensive international support network. Timor-Leste was never recognised under international law as part of Indonesia and remained a major diplomatic, military and financial problem for the occupying state. When Indonesia came under increasing external pressure following the financial crisis of 1997–98, its then recently appointed president, B. J. Habibie, announced that Timor-Leste could vote on whether it wished to remain a part of Indonesia. On 30 August 1999, the East Timorese people voted overwhelmingly for independence in a referendum conducted by the United Nations Mission in East Timor (UNAMET). Violence and destruction, which had accompanied the lead-up to the referendum, broke out following the announcement of the ballot results, leaving more than three-quarters of the population displaced and most of its buildings and infrastructure destroyed. Australian-led INTERFET (International Force for East Timor) military forces intervened under the auspices of the United Nations, and the process of rebuilding the shattered territory and people as an independent state was begun under the United Nations Transitional Administration in East Timor (UNTAET). Under its Security Council mandate, UNTAET exercised full legislative and executive authority from 1999 to 2002, running an international peacekeeping mission in Timor-Leste, while seeking to build new governmental institutions for the emerging state and oversee the formation of an elected constitutional assembly in 2001. This was the UN’s most substantial period of directly administering a territory, and stands as an important exemplar of international state-building. Timor-Leste formally restored its independence on 20 May 2002. Timor-Leste has also experienced two major periods of state-building assistance since independence. The United Nations Mission of Support in East Timor (UNMISET), in operation from 2002 to 2005, was mandated by the Security Council to provide peacekeeping forces and state-building

assistance in the devolution of security functions to East Timorese authorities. This operation wound down in May 2005, and by early 2006, Timor-Leste was widely seen as a UN success story.2 However, unresolved divisions within East Timorese society, together with bitter intra-elite political manoeuvring, contributed to the complete breakdown of security forces in 2006, with open conflict between army factions and between the army and police. This institutional breakdown, precipitated by the sacking of 600 soldiers, was followed by widespread youth gang violence and arson in the capital, Dili, and the resignation of Minister Mari Alkatiri, who had led the FRETILIN Government since independence in 2002. Though ultimately short-lived, the politicisation of regional identity saw Loromonu (western) and Lorosa’e (eastern) gangs in open conflict in the streets of Dili and led to the crisis being widely referred to in media coverage as the ‘east-west’ crisis. The United Nations Mission in Timor (UNMIT 2006–2012) sought to restore stability in the wake of the 2006 political/military crisis, receiving support from the International Stabilisation Force (ISF) led by the Australian military. Following a change of government in 2007 and increasing stability, as evidenced by a peaceful set of elections five years later, both missions departed in late 2012.3

Political system Timor-Leste is a unitary democratic republic, with a semi-presidential system of government. The constitution is closely based on the Portuguese model, with a directly elected president as head of state, a Parliament with primary legislative authority, and a prime minister as head of the executive government and Cabinet. While semi-presidencies differ in specific distribution of powers, the key to the semi-presidential system of government is the idea of a dual executive: 4 a substantive division of executive power between a directly elected president and a prime minister responsible to Parliament. Under Duverger’s famous definition, a political regime should be considered semi-presidential if: (1) the president is elected by universal suffrage (2) the president possesses ‘quite considerable’ powers and

(3) there is a prime minister accountable to Parliament.5 It is therefore useful to review the East Timorese president’s functions and powers under the 2002 constitution. The president serves a five-year term and is elected in the lead-up to parliamentary elections. This ensures a president’s mandate is fresh when appointing a new government. The president’s constitutional powers include the formal appointment of a new government following parliamentary elections, though he or she is bound to appoint the party or alliance with a majority in Parliament. Under certain prescribed circumstances, including a serious institutional crisis or a successful vote of no confidence, the president also has the power to dissolve Parliament and call for new elections. Other powers include a limited veto over legislation (reversible by Parliament), a full veto over decree laws passed by the executive government, and the power to refer legislation for constitutional review by the Supreme Court. The president also has the authority to issue pardons and to make appointments to certain key positions, such as the Prosecutor-General and presidents of the senior courts. Assessing these presidential powers, most commentators agree that Timor-Leste satisfies the definition of a semi-presidential regime.6 However, it is certainly true that executive power is overwhelmingly weighted toward the prime minister in Timor-Leste under its 2002 constitution. The relative weakness of presidential powers in Timor-Leste has led some political scientists to favour the designation ‘parliamentary republic’ to describe the East Timorese political system.7 While the president has no responsibility for specific policy areas, as with the French president’s effective control over foreign policy, his or her directly elected mandate brings considerable public influence in the manner of a ‘bully pulpit’ which, as noted, is reinforced by a partial veto over legislation. Though the prime minister has the exclusive power to select the executive government, such appointments must be formally approved by the president. Recent experience suggests that this is not the nominal power it might appear to be in the constitution, with recent presidents demonstrating clear influence in successfully rejecting some proposed ministerial appointments.

In sum, while the East Timorese president has relatively weak powers compared to some other semi-presidencies, they are more than ceremonial, and it is therefore fair to describe Timor-Leste’s system of government as semi-presidential. Timor-Leste is best seen as an example of the premierpresidential sub-type of semi-presidential regime, in which the Cabinet is exclusively accountable to the assembly, rather than the presidentparliamentary sub-type, in which the prime minister and Cabinet are dually accountable to the president and the assembly.8 The prime minister is designated by ‘the political party or alliance of political parties with a parliamentary majority’ (Timor-Leste Constitution, Article 106), and thus requires the confidence of the 65-member legislature. All power to initiate legislation lies with the Parliament and executive government. Aside from normal legislation, decree laws passed by the executive (sitting as the Council of Ministers) are issued in a wide range of standard regulatory areas as well as some key policy areas, including the penal code and the establishment of the National Petroleum Authority. This has the effect of limiting public debate over key legislation and limiting parliamentary scrutiny of the executive government. As Timor-Leste’s first Parliament was also its constitutional assembly, it was deemed appropriate that it have a larger number of members. In 2001, 88 members were elected, 75 of them in a national proportional vote and 13 as district representatives. Under changes to the electoral law passed in December 2006, the 13 district representative positions were abolished and the number of national seats was reduced from 75 to 65.9 It is important to appreciate the procedural separation of executive and legislature in the East Timorese political system. Although ministers do not need to be members of Parliament, most are, and any MPs subsequently appointed as members of the executive government are replaced in the legislature from party candidate lists.10 This feature is made possible by Timor-Leste’s party-list proportional representation electoral system. When a member is appointed to the executive government, a member of the same political party from the original list replaces that member in the legislature. This shift may also happen in reverse, as evidenced by the return to the legislature of one deputy prime minister after his resignation in September 2010.

While the prime minister requires the confidence of the Parliament, and the executive frequently attends sittings in the legislature (and parliamentary committee meetings in order to be questioned), members of the executive government do not personally have a legislative vote (as in a Westminster parliamentary system).

Electoral system The president is elected in a national vote. Candidates for president run formally as individuals, though they may be members of political parties and receive party support for their campaign. Under Article 75 of the constitution, candidates for president must be East Timorese citizens by birth (‘original citizenship’), at least 35 years old, and supported by 5,000 East Timorese signatories, including at least 100 from each of the 13 districts.11 The presidential campaign period is 15 days, followed by a two-day period in which political campaigning is banned.12 Under Article 76 of the constitution, if no candidate receives more than half of the votes a runoff election between the top two candidates must be held after 30 days. Parliamentary representatives are elected under a party-list proportional representation system to serve five-year terms. Electors cast their votes for parties rather than candidates, in a single national constituency. Parliamentary seats are then distributed proportionally between parties, according to their percentage of the national vote. To this end, each party is required to submit a list of 65 candidates and 25 reserves (suplentes),13 and seats are awarded to candidates according to the party lists. The d’Hondt proportional method was chosen to ensure ‘broad representation in the parliamentary composition’.14 While the d’Hondt system is said to slightly favour larger parties, this bias is only evident in proportional systems consisting of several multi-member constituencies, with a small number of seats in each. Across a single national constituency with a large number of seats like Timor-Leste, any bias effect is negligible. Though it was a ‘pure’ proportional system in the 2001 election, under changes made to the electoral system in 2006 parties or coalitions must now reach a 3 per cent threshold to be eligible for seats. This hurdle requirement, designed to limit the fragmentation of the party system in the interests of

stability, ruled out half the parties running in 2007 and all but four parties in 2012. The threshold has the effect of awarding parties who clear it a percentage of the seats slightly larger than their vote share. Another 2006 regulation required that any elected deputy leaving their party must resign their seat, to be replaced by a candidate or suplente nominated on the original party list. In effect, this meant that ‘crossing the floor’ would no longer be permitted. By law, the parliamentary campaign period is 30 days long, followed by a two-day silence period.15 Voting is voluntary, though turnout rates are high. In both presidential and parliamentary elections, voters are entitled to register upon reaching the age of 17.16 The party-list system tends to gives party leaderships considerable control over MPs, reducing the initiative and independence of individual legislators, who risk losing their positions on the list if they fail to meet party expectations. It thereby tends to reinforce party discipline, especially when compared with political parties in Melanesian states. The party-list system has also enabled Timor-Leste to become a regional leader in women’s representation, with women comprising 38.5 per cent of MPs after the 2012 election. Under Article 12.3 of the parliamentary electoral law, at least every third candidate on all party lists must be a woman.

Elections The Constituent Assembly of Timor-Leste was elected on 30 August 2001 and, as noted, consisted of 88 members: 75 elected by national ballot and 13 district representatives. Initially charged with drafting the constitution, the Constituent Assembly became the first national Parliament upon independence on 20 May 2002. Though proportional systems normally tend to deliver coalition governments, FRETILIN won the Constituent Assembly elections in 2001 with 57.4 per cent of the vote, securing 55 of the 88 seats, including 12 of the 13 district representatives. The largest opposition parties in the first Parliament were the Democratic Party (PD) with seven seats, and the Timorese Association of Social Democrats (ASDT) and the Social Democrat Party of Timor-Leste (PSD), with six members each. The leader of

the independence struggle, Xanana Gusmão, was elected the country’s first president in 2002 with 82.7 per cent of the vote. From December 2006, all elections are supervised by an independent body, the National Election Commission (CNE), which approves electoral regulations and codes of conduct, monitors the impartiality of public entities, and hears electoral complaints. It is also charged with preparing preliminary results to submit to the Court of Appeal for the declaration of final results. The CNE is a permanent and independent body with its own budget, and with 15 commissioners.17 Commissioners must be independent of political parties and are ineligible to stand as candidates or hold party positions. Terms last for six years, with a limit of two terms. Elections are technically administered by the Technical Secretariat for Electoral Administration (STAE), which is responsible for electoral education, voter registration, polling booth administration and vote counting. STAE is not an independent body, being situated within the Ministry of State Administration. The 2007 presidential and parliamentary elections took place in the wake of the devastating 2006 ‘political-military’ crisis, and saw the former foreign minister José Ramos-Horta elected as president. The parliamentary elections led to the recently resigned president Xanana Gusmão taking up the more powerful position of prime minister, leading a coalition of parties headed by his own National Congress for Timorese Reconstruction (CNRT). Though FRETILIN won the largest number of seats, Gusmão’s party was able to form a parliamentary majority with the help of smaller parties. The new government set about restoring stability, spending Timor-Leste’s new oil and gas revenues to resettle thousands of Dili residents displaced by the 2006 violence, and launching a massive infrastructure spending and pensions programme. The 2012 elections were the first in which Timor-Leste had primary responsibility for running its own national elections without major external support; international observers universally declared them to have been free and fair. The 2012 presidential elections were held in two rounds – on 17 March, with the incumbent José Ramos-Horta finishing third; and on 16 April, when Taur Matan Ruak defeated Francisco Guterres in the run-off, becoming the country’s third president.

The parliamentary elections saw CNRT become the largest party in Parliament, though once again short of a majority, forming a coalition which again left FRETILIN in opposition. Relations between the two major parties, which had been fractious since 2007, slowly improved after the 2012 elections. The notable improvement in political stability saw UN and Australian peacekeeping forces depart by the end of that year. In a surprise move, in February 2015 Xanana Gusmão handed over the prime ministership to an opposition FRETILIN party figure, Rui Maria de Araújo, creating what was in effect a ’grand coalition’ between CNRT and FRETILIN, uniting the most powerful parties and solidifying the sense of political stability in Timor-Leste.

Judiciary The East Timorese judiciary is generally regarded as a weak state institution, plagued by inadequate training, staffing problems and judicial shortages, all complicated by a language policy which – unlike parliamentary deliberation – requires processes to be conducted in Portuguese. The result is a court system heavily reliant on cumbersome translation processes, often leading to the effective disenfranchisement of citizens involved with the courts. TimorLeste does not yet have a Supreme Court, so constitutional questions are being addressed by the Court of Appeals in the interim. Controversy attended the sacking of foreign judges in late 2014. Citing concerns over recent tax cases against foreign oil companies operating in the Timor Sea, which had gone against the government, Parliament passed a motion to dismiss the substantial cohort of foreign judges working in the East Timorese judiciary. The senior judicial figure in the country, the president of the Court of Appeal, immediately advised judicial officers that the parliamentary measure offended the doctrine of the separation of powers, and that they should continue to report for work. Ultimately, however, visas were withdrawn and the government position prevailed. Though the government argued that errors had been committed and that it was time to fully ‘Timorise’ the justice system, this episode inevitably led to perceptions of government interference in the independence of the judiciary.18

More generally, in light of wider concerns over Timor-Leste’s poorly functioning judicial system, local people in the districts have in many cases reverted to traditional justice systems, which allowed for greater accessibility, speed and local acceptance in resolving local disputes. How Timor-Leste reconciles the benefits and strengths of tradition with the requirements of a modern liberal citizenship-based polity also remains a key focus in local government.

Sub-national Government Timor-Leste is divided into 13 districts, including the exclave of Oecusse located inside West Timor. Elected district councils are intended to replace national government-appointed district administrators in the near future, although the enabling legislation had not been passed at the time of writing. However, forms of local government known formally as ‘community authorities’ have been in operation since 2005. The principal institutions of local democracy in Timor-Leste are the suco (village) councils, which operate in in each of the 442 sucos across Timor-Leste.19 Each council is directly elected by eligible voting members of the suco, headed by the popularly elected Chefe de Suco. Other council members include each of the elected Chefes de Aldeia (hamlet chiefs) in the suco area, along with one elder, two women’s representatives, and two youth representatives.20 A traditional ritual leader (lia-na’in) is also appointed by council members at their first meeting following an election. These arrangements make explicit the hybrid constitution of suco councils, seeking to incorporate aspects of traditional authority into the local government system while modernising them to include groups normally excluded from decision-making in customary realms, such as women and younger people. Notably, political party competition has been proscribed in suco elections since 2009. This was in response to concerns over the divisive effect of political party campaigning in some local communities, long governed by hereditary customary authority and principles of consensus decision-making.

Foreign relations

Timor-Leste’s two giant neighbours, Indonesia and Australia, remain its most important regional partners. Indonesia is Timor-Leste’s largest trading partner, though bilateral trade is overwhelmingly skewed in favour of Indonesian exports. Despite minor tensions over small unresolved stretches of their land border, Indonesia continues to be the key sponsor of TimorLeste’s predominant foreign policy ambition of membership in the Association of South East Asian Nations (ASEAN). For its part, Australia is the largest bilateral donor of aid to Timor-Leste, and remains involved in developing Timor-Leste’s security sector following the departure of the UN and the Australian-led ISF in late 2012. Tensions between Timor-Leste and Australia over treaties which divide oil and gas royalties in the Timor Sea continue to affect the relationship. Australia and Timor-Leste still have no settled maritime boundary, though a complex series of revenue-sharing agreements has allowed some oil and gas developments to proceed. TimorLeste believes that settling the maritime border would deliver it a larger share of these resources, which are located closer to its shores, and is seeking to overturn a 2006 treaty which delays determination of maritime borders beyond the likely lifespan of known gas reserves, alleging that Australia spied on the East Timorese negotiating team in 2004. Other important relationships include close ties with its former colonial power, Portugal, and multilateral memberships include the Community of Portuguese Language Countries (CPLP), under whose auspices Timor-Leste gains access to diplomatic networks and development cooperation with historically linked countries in Europe, Latin America and Africa. China plays a smaller aid role than Australia or Portugal, though its use of ‘soft power’ through the donation of major government buildings makes it a notable and growing presence. During the Indonesian occupation, East Timorese nationalists strategically emphasised a desire to join Pacific regional groupings. However, the restoration of independence has seen Timor-Leste adopt a more pragmatic approach and align more closely with the economic powerhouse of ASEAN. Though secondary to ASEAN accession, TimorLeste’s increasing participation in Pacific regional activities has seen greater engagement with the emerging states of Melanesia, which in many respects face similar development challenges. These include its observer status in the

Pacific Islands Forum, but also in newer organisations which implicitly challenge Australian and New Zealand dominance of the region, such as the Melanesian Spearhead Group (with headquarters in Vanuatu), and the Fijibased Pacific Island Development Forum (PIDF), sponsored by Fiji’s Prime Minister Bainimarama. This mix of regional engagements reflects TimorLeste’s position at the borderline of Southeast Asia and Melanesia, and could see Timor-Leste grow into its once-promised role as a ‘bridge state’ between the Southeast Asian and Pacific worlds, contributing actively to inter-regional engagement while diversifying Timor-Leste’s opportunities for regional partnerships.

Further reading Constituent Assembly of Timor-Leste, Constitution of the Democratic Republic of Timor-Leste, 2002. Harris, Vandra and Andrew Goldsmith (eds), Security, Development and Nation-Building in TimorLeste: A cross-sectoral assessment, London, Routledge, 2011. Kingsbury, Damien, East Timor: The Price of Liberty, Basingstoke, Hampshire, Palgrave Macmillan, 2009. Leach, Michael and Damien Kingsbury (eds), The Politics of Timor-Leste: Democratic Consolidation after Intervention, Ithaca, New York, Cornell Southeast Asia Program Publications, 2013. East Timor Government, http://www.easttimorgovernment.com/government.htm Government of Timor-Leste, http://timor-leste.gov.tl/?lang=en Office of the President, Timor-Leste, http://presidenciarepublica.tl/?lang=en Guide Post Magazine, East Timor / Timor-Leste, http://www.guideposttimor.com/

Notes 1 See CAVR (Comissão de Acolhimento, Verdade e Reconciliação), Chega!: The Report of the Commission for Reception, Truth and Reconciliation in Timor-Leste, Dili, CAVR, 2005. 2 Simon Chesterman, You, the People: The United Nations, Transitional Administration, and StateBuilding, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2004. 3 See Michael Leach and Damien Kingsbury, ‘Introduction: East Timorese politics in transition’, in Michael Leach and Damien Kingsbury (eds), The Politics of Timor-Leste: Democratic Consolidation after Intervention, Ithaca, New York, Cornell Southeast Asia Program Publications, 2013, pp. 1–23, for more detail on the historical background. 4 Robert Elgie, Semi-Presidentialism: Sub-types and Democratic Performance, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2011.

5 Maurice Duverger, ‘A New Political System Model: Semi-Presidential Government’, European Journal of Political Research, vol. 8, no. 2, 1980, p. 166. 6 See, for example, Rui Grac¸a Feijo´, ‘Semi-presidentialism and the consolidation of democracy’, in Michael Leach and Damien Kingsbury (eds), The Politics of Timor-Leste: Democratic Consolidation after Intervention, Ithaca, New York, Cornell Southeast Asia Program Publications, 2013, pp. 45–68; Dennis Shoesmith, ‘Timor-Leste: Divided Leadership in a Semi-Presidential System’, Asian Survey, vol. 43, no. 2, 2003, pp. 231–252; and Benjamin Reilly, ‘Semi-Presidentialism and Democratic Development in East Asia’, in Robert Elgie, Sophia Moestrup and Yu-Shan Wu (eds), Semi-Presidentialism and Democracy, Basingstoke, Palgrave Macmillan, 2011, pp. 117–133. 7 See, for example, Damien Kingsbury, ‘The constitution: clarity without convention’, in Michael Leach and Damien Kingsbury (eds), The Politics of Timor-Leste: Democratic Consolidation after Intervention, Ithaca, N.Y., Cornell Southeast Asia Program Publications, 2013, pp. 69–84. 8 M. S. Shugart, ‘Semi-Presidential Systems: Dual Executive and Mixed Authority Patterns’, French Politics, vol. 3, no. 3, 2005, pp. 323–351. 9 Article 10, Law on the Election of the National Parliament, Law No. 6/2006, 28 December. 10 Article 15.5, Law on the Election of the National Parliament. 11 Article 15, Law on the Election of the President of the Republic, Law No. 7/2006, 28 December. 12 Article 27, Law on the Election of the President of the Republic. 13 Article 12.1, Law on the Election of the National Parliament. 14 Preamble, Law on the Election of the National Parliament. 15 Article 28, Law on the Election of the National Parliament. 16 Article 4, Law on the Election of the National Parliament. 17 Law of Electoral Administration Bodies, Law No. 5/2006, 28 December. 18 Michael Leach, ‘Concerns over judicial independence in Timor-Leste’, East Asia Forum, 31 October 2014, http://www.eastasiaforum.org/2014/10/31/concerns-over-judicial-independence-in-timor-leste/. 19 See Deborah Cummins and Michael Leach, ‘Democracy Old and New: The Interaction of Modern and Traditional Authority in East Timorese Local Government’, Asian Politics and Policy, vol. 4, no. 1, 2012, pp. 89–104. 20 Decree Law 3/2009.

Tokelau Kelihiano Kalolo Kelihiano Kalolo was head of Tokelau’s government – Ulu o Tokelau – from 2012 to 2013, as Faipule of Atafu, and was appointed Chancellor of the University of the South Pacific in 2012.

Introduction In the first decade of the millennium, Tokelau was poised to become a selfgoverning state. By then the New Zealand-based Administrator of Tokelau had already delegated some of his statutory powers to the Fono Fakamua (Tokelau Parliament). This delegation of administrative and legislative powers signalled a gradual transformational move towards self-rule. Selfrule is not something that Tokelau has eagerly sought; indeed, it has been resisted for nearly 25 years by Tokelauans in the homeland and abroad, and the reluctance to sever ‘colonial ties’ has an even longer history. A brief overview of this history provides necessary context for the present along with a discussion of the difficulties that ensued.

Background Publications usually describe Tokelau as a group of three low-lying atolls: Atafu, Fakaofo and Nukunonu, located in the mid-Pacific ‘in a line from the north-west to the south-east between 8–10 degrees south and 171–173 degrees west’.1 However, Tokelau oral and written traditions claim the inclusion of a fourth island, Olohega (Swains Island), as part of the group. Controversial events during the colonial period saw Olohega eventually

come under the jurisdiction of the United States of America as part of American Samoa. The last official census was held in 2011 and counted 1411 persons: a de jure population of residents in Tokelau on census night (1,143) and a usually resident absentee sub-population (268).2 Tokelau people who had migrated to New Zealand, Australia, Hawaii, the mainland US and elsewhere were not included.

Nuku (village) and nuku institutions There are three villages (nuku) in Tokelau, one on each atoll. Tokelau’s capital rotates yearly between the three nuku. The organisation and operation of the three villages are generally similar but they are also distinctive in certain respects.3

Taupulega Each village has its own council known as the Taupulega, considered the authority in all village affairs.4 The Taupulega used to be composed of senior male members from each extended family but has recently changed. In Atafu, the Taupulega members are all male except one, who attends Taupulega meetings in her capacity as the Fatupaepae Delegate to the General Fono – the first Tokelauan female ever elected as a minister of the Government of Tokelau. Fakaofo has a similar set-up, but Nukunonu went further by appointing females to be family heads, hence allowing them to become members as of right.

Fatupaepae Literally ‘foundation stone’, the Fatupaepae is made up of all the adult females in each nuku. The three organisations are united to form a panTokelau Fatupaepae, whose main roles include operating village development projects, ensuring village cleanliness and hygiene, and imparting weaving skills, as well as many supportive roles for the Taupulega and community. The Fatupaepae evolved from the Women’s Committees of the colonial era.

Aumaga and Taulelea

The Aumaga, an introduction from Samoa, is composed of a village’s ablebodied men. The Atafu and Fakaofo Aumaga have been legitimised by the Taupulega to operate independently, though their main task is to serve their villages under Taupulega direction. Nukunonu did not adopt an Aumaga organisation; instead, all males, the Taulelea, are supervised by the Taupulega through the Pulenuku, an elected official.

Smaller groups There are numerous other smaller groups and associations, either secular or religious, in the three villages. Traditional groupings have been formed on different bases: village residential areas, sports teams, family affiliations and common interests. Other groups are more recently established, such as youth and sports associations competing in international games like rugby and netball.

Malo (government) and malo institutions Elected officials and government positions Each village has its own ways of choosing its elected officials: one Faipule (village leader/representative), one Pulenuku (village ‘mayor’), and a varying number of Fono Fakamua members. Elections for all these offices are held every three years, and in Atafu, any male or female aged 25 and above on election year is eligible to run for the office of Faipule. The candidates for Pulenuku are chosen from the Taupulega (village council) only. The Fono Fakamua representation is demographically based: there is one member for every hundred people from each village. Atafu is eligible for seven; the Faipule and Pulenuku automatically become Fono Fakamua delegates, and there is one member each from the Aumaga (men’s organisation) and Fatupaepae (women’s organisation) respectively and three from the Taupulega.

Council of the Ongoing Government of Tokelau The six-member Council of the Ongoing Government of Tokelau is made up of the three Faipule, and each Taupulega is free to decide who the other member should be: the Pulenuku or another Fono Fakamua member.

Fakaofo and Nukunonu are represented in the current set-up by their Faipule and Pulenuku, but Atafu is represented by the Faipule and the Fatupaepae delegate, the aforementioned first-ever female government minister. Members of the Council of the Ongoing Government hold ministerial portfolios and act like a Cabinet. The chair of this Council is the Ulu o Tokelau (titular head) and the office rotates from island to island on a yearly basis. Tokelau is unique in having no fixed capital, its seat of government moving from island to island, year to year, as the position of Ulu o Tokelau rotates from one atoll to the next.

From colonial outpost to ‘a part of New Zealand’ Tokelau was declared a British Protectorate in 1889, and incorporated into the then Gilbert (Kiribati) and Ellice (Tuvalu) Protectorate, which eventually became the Gilbert and Ellice Island Colony in 1916. In 1925 Tokelau was administered from Western Samoa by New Zealand officials on behalf of Britain. In 1949 the Tokelau Islands Act 1948 came into effect and Tokelau was declared ‘a part of New Zealand’ and its people citizens of New Zealand. This led to the establishment of a separate Tokelau Office in Apia and the appointment of the first Tokelau District Officer, Roger Pearless, who perished in the fateful voyage of the Joyita in 1955.5 In 1967 the Tokelau Act was amended to allow for the establishment of a Tokelau Public Service, with its headquarters in Apia but operated by the New Zealand State Services Commission in Wellington. In 1975 responsibility for Tokelau was transferred from the Department of Maori and Island Affairs to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. Tokelau’s first national government was finally established in 1994 when the three Faipule became ministers responsible for government departments. A number of important documents were released at the time to indicate that Tokelau had agreed to prepare for self-rule. In 1998 a new project called ‘The Modern House of Tokelau’ was launched with the theme ‘Returning to the Village’. This project revived the concept of the elder leader and Taupulega as the main authority in the governance of Tokelau. In 2003 the wider project was cancelled due to differences among the Council of Faipule (the Ongoing Government of Tokelau).6 However, devolution was partially implemented. First, the Public Works Department was relocated from Apia to Tokelau and placed under Taupulega control. The Departments of Education, Health, Economic Development, National Resources and Environment followed, while the departments of Finance, Transport, Support Services and the Office of the Ongoing Government of Tokelau remained in Apia and remain there today. Devolution turned out to be problematic.7

In February 2006, with a newly designed flag, a national anthem and a national symbol, Tokelau conducted a referendum to decide, by a two-thirds majority of voters, whether or not to pursue the United Nations’ (UN) selfgovernment option or otherwise. The question put to voters was: ‘That Tokelau become a self-governing state in Free Association with New Zealand on the basis of the constitution and as in the draft Treaty notified to Tokelau’. There were 615 registered voters; with 584 people participating, turnout in the referendum was 95 per cent. The vote in favour was 349 (60 per cent); the vote against was 232 (40 per cent; there were also three invalid votes) and so the option failed, falling short of the required twothirds margin. The result, however, was another referendum, held the following year, in October. This time, with 789 registered voters, turnout was 88 per cent, with 692 Tokelauans casting a ballot. The result – 446 votes in favour (64 per cent), 246 against (36 per cent) – was again less than the necessary two-thirds required for change, meaning that Tokelau would remain, at least for the foreseeable future, ‘a part of New Zealand’.8

Misunderstandings and confusion As early as 1966 the Administrator informed Tokelau of the interest shown by the UN and to expect UN visitors the following year. In 1967 the UN Regional Representative visited and declared that: ‘The UN is concerned to make a fuller and happier life for all the people on earth … in the case of the Tokelaus the help would come from New Zealand …’ 9 A UN Committee of 24 (Special Committee on Decolonization) Mission made its first visit to Tokelau in 1976; visits were repeated in 1981, 1986 and 1994. The declared purpose of the missions was to ascertain Tokelauans’ thoughts about their political future, the options being independence, integration with another nation-state, or self-government in free association with another nation-state. In 1976, the first UN Mission observed that ‘the people of Tokelau consider that they are not ready [for self-rule] … they wish to maintain their close ties with New Zealand … It was clear to the mission this view had widespread support …’.10

Right from the beginning the preferred option of both New Zealand and the UN was for self-government in free association with New Zealand, following the Cook Islands and Niue examples. Independence, translated in Tokelauan as tūtautahi ( literally, ‘stand alone’), was never considered by any of the parties concerned. Tokelau had been under the tauhiga (care, nurturing), fakamalumaluga (protection) and puleaga (governance, management) of New Zealand for 50 years. The integration option was not seriously considered in any detail. Self-government, like the other two options, is associated with the term malo, the Tokelau word for concepts connoting government, administration, nation, state, empire and kingdom. Any issue related to any government department is a malo issue, distinguishing it from nuku (village) issues. The numerous referents of malo have often caused misunderstanding and confusion regarding political and administrative matters. When the idea of a Malo o Tokelau (Government of Tokelau) was first mooted, considerable anxiety was expressed by Tokelauans in both the homeland and abroad. Dominant among the responses were ‘Tokelau is poor’ and ‘improve the standard of education first’, and Tokelau asked New Zealand to adopt a ‘make haste slowly’ approach. This caution was repeatedly expressed to New Zealand and to the UN Committee of 24. As one elder put it: we think that there should not be any changes in the relationship between Tokelau and New Zealand … we want the canoe of Tokelau to move forward, so we must inquire about the changes and your proposals to implement those changes … This advice is based on the knowledge and experience gained from our own vaka. When it sails before a strong wind, there is a need to control; because if it goes too fast … it will capsize.11 But in the 1990s, Tokelau had a change of heart when a new Council of Faipule declared: Before, we said no! [to New Zealand and the UN]. Now, we are saying – yes, but, only when Tokelau is totoka (ready, confident, well prepared). Therefore, both of you, the UN and New Zealand,

must help Tokelau during the transitional period until Tokelau says – we are ready to paddle our own canoe.12 In 1993, the titular head of Tokelau addressed the UN Committee on Decolonization in New York and metaphorically expressed the view, in a paper titled ‘From the Lagoon to the Dark Ocean’, that Tokelau would venture out on its self-determination journey. The title image was of a Tokelauan canoe leaving the shallow waters of the lagoon for the open seas beyond. The vaka has long been used as an image of Tokelauan society, hence the saying: it is desirable that ‘an elder be at the canoe stern’. However, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs and Trade (MFAT) came up with a vaka that was totally different. In a booklet titled ‘Tokelau, its system of Government and Administration 1980’ it featured a diagram of a vaka with the Council of Faipule placed at the steering paddle in the stern. The elders were represented by the crossbars that link the main hull to the outrigger, which represented the General Fono. This MFAT image was bound to confuse, as Tokelau places the elders at the stern of the vaka, not as crossbars. The next governance model image was ‘The Modern House of Tokelau’, discussed and analysed elsewhere.13 The Modern House was a reaction against the imposition of a modified Westminster model of centralised government that was gradually encroaching into traditional nuku governance. After the ‘collapse’ of the Modern House in 2003, Tokelau’s political leaders and MFAT began preparations for Tokelau’s exercise in selfdetermination, resulting in the unsuccessful referendums of 2006 and 2007. There is no single explanation as to why the two referendums failed; there were many theories, however, and much speculation. The oft-stated reasons for voting ‘no’ include confusion, misunderstanding and disunity, reflecting the lack of consultation, the near absence of educational explanation and the differing interests of certain elected leaders.

Post-referendum reviews and reactions, 2008–2015 In 2011 and 2012, the Taupulega and the Council for the Ongoing Government expressed concern about the quality of services provided by the village and national public servants.14 The devolution of services had not

worked out as planned and the General Fono appointed a Devolution Review Team, led by a former Tokelauan public servant, to conduct consultations in the villages. At the same time, two other reviews were initiated by New Zealand-based institutions: of education by the Education Review Office (ERO) and of health by Litmus, a New Zealand-based research and evaluation consultancy.15 While the Taupulega and the Tokelau people waited for the recommendations from the three villages to be announced, the two New Zealand-initiated reports were publicly released. The New Zealand Ministry of Foreign Affairs and Trade (MFAT) and the Ongoing Government of Tokelau responded by proposing changes to the Tokelau public service management, as well as to Tokelau’s central political structure, in a paper titled: ‘Peleni mo te Pulepulega o na Huiga i Tokelau’ 2014–2015 (‘Plan for the Management of Changes in Tokelau’). The three Taupulega opposed many of the recommendations and the General Fono deferred discussion, referring the paper back to the three Taupulega before further discussion at the February 2015 General Fono, where the remits from the three Taupulega were very similar in their rejection of all the recommendations. In effect, the Taupulega expressed their indignation at the nonappearance of Devolution Review reforms (which were based on consultation with them) by rejecting the ‘Plan for Changes’ (in which they had no say). The following are some of the things they said (my translation of recorded minutes): • … there are quite a number of recommendations in the report. The object of this task should be to look at the poor quality in the implementation of public services, but the proposed changes to the [political] structure interfere with our culture and will impact on the traditions of various institutions. They will have an impact upon our foundation, and changes to the structure, which took a long time for us to do since we started developing a constitution for Tokelau. • Big changes like these should begin from within not from outside. Tokelau is unique and it is not proper for other people to come and impose any changes forcefully.

• The authority of the Taupulega was removed before and it impacted [negatively] on the structure of the public service. The authority of the Taupulega should not be undermined through the proposed structure – the Taupulega are the Foundation of Tokelau. • The writers of this report are not here to answer the questions from the villages … • The General Fono will ensure that the changes are by the people of Tokelau … • The villages are concerned that the changes are proposed by outsiders. • Tokelau must make sure that the changes will be good for Tokelau … • The Plan for Changes will be returned to the villages for further discussions for a way forward. • The views of the Taupulega will be collated by the Office of the Council of Faipule within two months. • The 2015 Ulu o Tokelau will coordinate the work relating to the Plan for Changes until the views from the Taupulega are finalised …

Conclusion: ongoing challenges The General Fono has referred the ‘Plan for Changes’ back to the three villages for further discussion. This referral should be interpreted as disapproval, judging by the Taupulega and General Fono responses. In the meantime, the proposed plan to improve the quality of education based on the ERO review will continue. There are issues that need to be addressed and the team in charge of planning changes to Tokelau’s system of government could learn from the challenges and mistakes of the past and from more recent changes. Administering from a distance will continue to be a barrier, as it separates the administered from the administrator, the village from the malo (government), and the indigenous insider from the expert visitor. History

reveals that any changes that are not gradual or systematic are viewed by the Taupulega as a threat to their authority. Tokelau has actually been ‘self-governing’ for years. In the Modern House project, the Taupulega have been statutorily declared the Authority and the Foundation of Tokelau. In the MFAT ‘Plan for Changes’, however, there is no clear picture of where the Taupulega stand. This is reminiscent of the MFAT vaka image where the Taupulega are represented by the crossbars, signifying passivity, steered by the Faipule and General Fono. Administering from afar contributes to the perpetuation of differing conceptions, as seen in the vaka metaphors. Ever since 1981 the General Fono and Taupulega have requested, even demanded, that the public service be relocated from its headquarters in Apia to Tokelau, yet some key departments remain in Apia. The highest authority in Tokelau is villagebased; correspondingly this is where all the key advisors and managers should be based. Consultation and ongoing discussions with those whose lives would be affected by the changes could bring better understanding of the issues involved. The ‘Plan for Changes’ failed in this respect, as the responses from the Taupulega and the General Fono show. As noted on earlier occasions, ‘Tokelauans were not always asked about the decisions that would affect their way of life’.16 There was no intensive consultation between Tokelau and the team who wrote the ‘Plan for Changes’, as most of them lived outside Tokelau. The Taupulega were surprised and suspicious when new changes were proposed for the pan-Tokelau government political structure (including the reallocation of portfolios and renaming of certain departments) and the overall management of the implementation phase. When the most recent General Fono was in session, one senior elder and former Faipule lamented that the proposed plan ‘E hē manu Tokelau’ (literally, ‘did not smell or taste Tokelauan’) and privately advised an Atafu delegate: ‘Go to Atafu and ask the elders to “Tokelauise” the proposal and to make it Tokelauan.’17 Taupulega and village organisations spent time and resources on the issues they identified as important in the Devolution Review. They focused particularly on ways of improving the management and delivery of services

in the villages and government departments. These issues need to be revisited and actioned as instructed by the General Fono, not kept on the shelf. A united Tokelau is paramount and can only be achieved if the designated political leaders act collectively. Past projects, such as the Modern House and the failed referendums, were not successful because of personal agendas, differing interests and unresolved misunderstanding and confusion. Checks and balances would prevent elitism and unbridled power in the future: more reasons why the roles of the Taupulega must be clearly spelled out. The Taupulega are almost unanimous in their response to the ‘Plan for Changes’ and they provide a clear indication of the people’s wishes. Their traditional role had always been to advise people what to do, as depicted in the wise saying He toeaina ke i te mulivaka (‘An elder to be at the canoe’s stern’). The ‘Plan for Changes’ was not fully endorsed and this serves as a reminder to would-be reformers that it is unwise to go on charging ahead without taking local concerns into account.

Further reading Angelo, Tony, ‘Tokelau’, in Stephen Levine (ed.), Pacific Ways: Government and Politics in the Pacific Islands, first edition, Wellington, Victoria University Press, 2009, pp. 221–225. Huntsman, Judith and Antony Hooper, Tokelau: A Historical Ethnography, Auckland, Auckland University Press, 1996. Huntsman, Judith, with Kelihiano Kalolo, The Future of Tokelau: Decolonising Agendas, 1975– 2006, Auckland, Auckland University Press, 2007. Kalolo, Keli, ‘Tokelau: Polynesia in Review: Issues and Events, 1 July 1998–30 June 1999. The Contemporary Pacific, vol. 12, no. 1, 2000, pp. 246–249. Kalolo, Keli, ‘Tokelau: Polynesia in Review: Issues and Events, 1 July 2005–30 June 2006’, The Contemporary Pacific , vol. 19, no. 1, 2007, pp. 256–262. Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Tokelau, ana faiga faka-te-malo ma na kuikuiga fakaofiha (Tokelau, its system of Government and Administration), Wellington, Ministry of Foreign Affairs, 1980. Ongoing Government of Tokelau, Peleni mo te Pulepulega o na Huiga i Tokelau (Plan for the Management of Changes in Tokelau) 2014–2015, unpublished document, 2015. Pasikale, Talei (ed.), Tokelau: a collection of documents and references relating to constitutional development, fifth edition, Samoa, Government of Tokelau, 2008. Government of Tokelau, http://www.tokelau.org.nz New Zealand Aid Programme, Tokelau, https://www.mfat.govt.nz/en/aid-and-development/our-work-in -the-pacific/tokelau UN Committee of 24, http://www.un.org/en/decolonization/specialcommittee.shtml

Notes 1 Matagi Tokelau: History and Traditions of Tokelau, Suva, Institute of Pacific Studies, University of the South Pacific, 1991, p. 1. 2 Statistics New Zealand and Office of the Council for the Ongoing Government of Tokelau, Profile of Tokelau Ata o Tokelau: 2011 Tokelau Census of Population and Dwellings, p. 14. 3 Judith Huntsman and Antony Hooper, Tokelau, A Historical Ethnography, Auckland, Auckland University Press, 1996, chapter 2. 4 Ibid. 5 See David Wright, Joyita: Solving the Mystery, Auckland, Auckland University Press, 2002. 6 For details, see Keli Kalolo, ‘Tokelau: Polynesia in Review: Issues and Events, 1 July 2005–30 June 2006’, The Contemporary Pacific, vol. 19, no. 1, 2007, pp. 256–262; and Judith Huntsman with Kelihiano Kalolo, The Future of Tokelau: Decolonising Agendas, 1975–2006, Auckland, Auckland University Press, 2007. 7 For details, see Kalolo, ‘Tokelau: Polynesia in Review: Issues and Events, 1 July 2005–30 June 2006’; and Huntsman with Kalolo, The Future of Tokelau. 8 Huntsman with Kalolo, The Future of Tokelau. 9 Visits to the Tokelau Islands, November 1966 and March 1967. 10 UN General Assembly 1976, p. 78. 11 Nukunonu Council of Elders Statement to the 1981 UN Mission (my translation). 12 Keli Kalolo, notes from meetings of Council of Faipule with New Zealand-Tokelau communities in July and August 1996. 13 Keli Kalolo, ‘Tokelau: Polynesia in Review: Issues and Events, 1 July 1998–30 June 1999’, The Contemporary Pacific, vol. 12, no. 1, 2000, pp. 246–249; and Huntsman with Kalolo, The Future of Tokelau. 14 Keli Kalolo, Mata Malama, unpublished document, 2012; H. Lui, Bring the Catch Home. unpublished document, 2013. 15 See Sally Duckworth, Margot Szamier and Lisa Gregg, ‘Iloiloga o te Mataeke o te Ola Malolo I Tokelau’ [evaluation of the Tokelau Health Sector], unpublished document, 2014. 16 Huntsman with Kalolo, The Future of Tokelau, p. 259. 17 Keli Kalolo, personal communication, General Fono Delegate, February 2015.

Tonga Steven Ratuva Steven Ratuva is Professor of Sociology and Anthropology and Director of the Macmillan Brown Centre for Pacific Studies at the University of Canterbury.

Physical features Located north of New Zealand and southeast of Fiji, the kingdom of Tonga is the only constitutional monarchy in the Pacific, as well as the only South Pacific country which was never officially colonised by any European power – although it was, for about 70 years, a protectorate of Britain. With a population of about 105,000, Tonga (which means ‘south’) consists of 177 islands and a total land area of 750 square kilometres spread over 700,000 square kilometres of ocean. The archipelago is divided into four main island groups: Niua in the north, Vava‘u and Ha‘apai in the middle, and Tongatapu in the south. The capital Nuku‘alofa is located on Tongatapu, Tonga’s largest island. Most of Tonga’s islands consist of limestone substructure resulting from elevated coral formation; others have a volcanic base overlaid with limestone. Because of its location near the edge of the Tonga Trench, where the Pacific Plate is being subjected to pressures owing to its convergence with the Tonga and Indo-Australian Plates, Tonga experiences frequent earthquakes and volcanic activity. In early 2015, a small island resulting from an underwater volcano was formed off Tongatapu. In recent years the government has been working on evacuation strategies in response to a possible tsunami.

Tonga is also located in the path of tropical cyclones, which often form close to the Solomon Islands or north of Fiji, moving in a southeasterly direction. One of the strongest cyclones in the country’s history, Cyclone Ian, a category 5 wind system, hit the Ha‘apai group in January 2014, causing unprecedented damage.

Economic features Tonga’s economy is dominated by semi-subsistence production, which cannot be understood separately from the broader socio-cultural structure and sociopolitical process. Land ownership, distribution of land and agricultural production are tied to the authority and power of the monarch and the nobles. Constitutionally, all land belongs to the Crown, which then allocates estates to nobles, who in turn distribute or lease land to commoners in a stratified system of semi-feudal patronage. The major primary products for export have been squash, fish, vanilla beans and root crops. Considerable effort has been put into tourism and in 2014 Tonga received about 59,000 visitors, many of whom were Tongans visiting relatives. Remittances constitute the largest source of foreign exchange: US$112 million in 2012.1 Like many other Pacific Island states the trade deficit is huge: US$164.6 million (2014), with exports totalling only US$15.6 million as against US$180.2 million in imports.2 As in many small Pacific Island states, Tonga’s economy relies considerably on foreign aid, with approximately 59 per cent of the 2014–15 budget (US$259 million) funded by aid donors. The country’s growing debt level was assessed at 45.2 per cent of GDP in 2013. Tonga’s Human Development Index (HDI) has been, by Pacific standards, relatively high – 0.705 in 2013, ranked at 100 out of 187 countries and territories. Some reasons for the high HDI included an increase in life expectancy at birth between 1980 and 2013 (by 5.2 years, to 72 years) as well as the increase in the mean years of schooling by 2.1 years (producing a literacy rate of 99 per cent amongst those affected) and free education. Tonga’s Strategic Development Plan 2011–2014, launched in 2011, had a vision to ensure that Tonga becomes ‘a just, equitable and progressive society in which the people of Tonga enjoy good health, peace, harmony and

prosperity, in meeting their aspirations in life’.3 To boost Tonga’s level of development, the plan attempts to create and encourage strong inclusive communities, dynamic public-private partnerships, appropriate and well maintained infrastructure, high quality universal education, an appropriately skilled workforce, improved health, environmental sustainability and better governance.

Political history Tonga, which is part of the greater Austronesian cultural system, was first settled around 1500–1000 BCE by those who were linked to what archaeologists refer to as the Lapita people. While there was no writing system to record early developments, oral history recorded some preEuropean dynamics in Tongan society. Under Tu‘i Tonga, who was seen as sacred and a direct descendant of the sun god, Tongans expanded their influence in many parts of the Pacific, and by the 12th century they had established an empire which included such places as Niue, Samoa, Rotuma, Wallis and Futuna and New Caledonia and extended as far as Tikopia in the Solomon Islands. Trade and intermarriages between those of chiefly rank involving Fiji, Samoa and Tonga continued into the 1900s. Tonga itself consisted of a number of competing chiefdoms involved in constant warfare, including major civil wars which broke out in the 15th and 17th centuries. The first encounter with Europeans was in 1616 when the Dutch trading vessel Eendracht visited. This was followed by Abel Tasman in 1643, who landed in Tongatapu. Captain James Cook, who graciously gave the islands the name ‘Friendly Islands’, visited in 1773, 1774 and 1777, followed by Alessandro Malaspina, a Spanish sailor, in 1793. In 1797, the first London missionaries arrived, followed by Rev. Walter Lawry, a Wesleyan missionary, in 1822. In 1845 Tonga was united under Taufa‘ahau, who held the chiefly title of Tu‘i Kanokupolu. Baptised with the name Siaosi (George) in 1831, with the help of missionary Shirley Baker he declared Tonga a constitutional monarchy in 1875. His reign (1875–93) incorporated the European royal style; provided emancipation for ‘serfs’; instituted land tenure, a code of law and freedom of press; and weakened the power of chiefs who posed a threat

to his position. The Constitution of Tonga was promulgated by King George Tupou I on 4 November 1875. A ‘Treaty of Friendship Between Great Britain and Tonga’ was signed (in Fiji) on 29 November 1879. On 18 May 1900, under a further ‘Treaty of Friendship’, Tonga became a British protectorate in response to attempts by European settlers and rival Tongan chiefs to oust King George’s successor, King George Tupou II (1893–1918). Britain was represented in Tonga by a British Consul from 1901 to 1970. Despite its protectorate status, Tonga still maintained its sovereignty. As in other parts of the Pacific, including Fiji and Samoa, perhaps one of the most disastrous effects of European contact was the flu pandemic which killed 1,800 Tongans (8 per cent of the population) in 1918. On 4 June 1970 the Treaty of Friendship and Tonga’s protectorate status came to an end, in accordance with arrangements put in place by Queen Salote Tupou III (1918–65) prior to her death. At the same time, in 1970, Tonga became a member of the Commonwealth, later joining the United Nations (in 1999). The British Government closed its High Commission in Nuku‘alofa in March 2006 as part of cost cutting measures, transferring responsibility to the British High Commission in Fiji. Despite being a stable country for much of its modern history, simmering tensions slowly came to the surface as a new generation of educated Tongans started campaigning for more democracy and greater power to the people in the late 1970s, intensifying in the 1980s. This movement was formalised as the Pro-Democracy Movement in 1992, when it held a constitutional convention. Its name changed to the Tongan Human Rights and Democracy Movement (HRDM) in 1998. The name was again changed to the Democratic Party of the Friendly Islands (DPFI) in 2010, under the leadership of ‘Akilisi Pōhiva, to distinguish itself from the People’s Democratic Party (formed in 2005), a breakaway from the HRDM. The HRDM won seven of the nine Legislative Assembly seats at the 2002 election, doing so again in 2005 and proceeding to introduce reform proposals in the Legislative Assembly. Constitutional amendments in October 2003 gave more power to the king and increased state control over the media. Two HRDM supporters, Dr Feleti Sevele and Sione Haukinima, were appointed Cabinet ministers and in 2006 Sevele became the first commoner to be appointed prime minister. He

succeeded ‘Ulukalala Lavaka-Ata, the king’s younger son, whose term (2000–06) had been rocked by scandals. ‘Ulukalala Lavaka-Ata subsequently ascended the throne as King Tupou VI, having served from 2008 to 2012 as Tonga’s first High Commissioner to Australia. The death of King Taufa‘ahau Tupou IV (1965–2006) signalled a new era of political change for Tonga, as his son and successor, King George Tupou V, seemed more attuned to reforms. However, before Parliament could enact any reform agenda, pro-democracy demonstrations erupted into a major riot, with burning and looting killing six people and destroying much of the Nuku‘alofa business district. This was a catalyst to speedy change and the king promised wide reforms in political representation, the powers of the monarch and other areas of governance. This led to the setting up in 2008 of the Constitutional and Electoral Commission, whose task was to engage in wide consultation with the Tongan people and propose changes to the constitution. Constitutional amendments were enacted by the Legislative Assembly in 2010. The reformist King George Tupou V died in March 2012, succeeded by his brother, Crown Prince Tupouto‘a Lavaka, who was sworn in as King Tupou VI. The first election under the revised constitution was in 2010, with one of the Nobles’ Representatives, Lord Tu‘ivakanō, being elected prime minister on 12 December – the first time that the prime minister was elected by Parliament rather than being appointed by the monarch. The second such occasion occurred in 2014, as ‘Akilisi Pōhiva became the first commoner to be elected prime minister of the kingdom.

Political system The monarch is head of state and has considerable executive power, which makes the political system an amalgam of monarchical authority and parliamentary democracy. The power and authority of the monarch is not only constitutionally prescribed, it is also deeply enshrined in the Tongan cultural ethos. While the current socio-political structure has its roots in the forced unification and reconfiguration of Tonga by King George Tupou I, the history of the kings and chiefs of Tonga goes back to ancient times. Early contact

with Fiji and Samoa helped to shape the socio-cultural and political dynamics in Tonga over time. Below the monarch is a class of nobles (nopili), who have hereditary titles and whose role has been pivotal in Tongan politics. Although their powers have been reduced, particularly since constitutional amendments in 2010 saw their parliamentary representation exceeded by those of people’s representatives, the nobles still enjoy considerable power within the community because of their ownership of land and their central role in the local culture and socio-political protocol. The original constitution of the kingdom, one of the oldest in the world (and certainly the oldest in the Pacific), enacted by the King in 1875, consisted of three primary components: a declaration of the rights of the Tongan people; a prescription of the form of government; and laws for land ownership, succession and sale. The declaration of rights provided support for Tongans’ human rights and established Tonga as a ‘free nation’ by prohibiting slavery (except as a form of punishment for particular crimes). It also provided for equality before the law for all citizens. In addition, the constitution provided for freedom of worship, freedom of the press, freedom of speech, and rights of petition and assembly, and established Sunday as the Sabbath when no commercial or professional activity was to take place.4 Some of the constitution’s principles, especially notions about ‘freedom’ and ‘equality’, were highlighted by the pro-democracy movement in the context of changing contemporary circumstances. The constitutional monarch exercised executive power through the prime minister and Cabinet, appointed by the ruling monarch (all of whom have been kings apart from Queen Salote). The monarch had the power to dissolve the Legislative Assembly ‘at his pleasure and command’.5 The monarch was also commander in chief of the military and appointed all officers; the consent of the Legislative Assembly was required to engage in war.6 Some of these powers continue to exist although their application has been regulated, with many administrative duties now falling within the prerogatives of the prime minister.

Legislative Assembly (Fale Alea)

Prior to the 2010 constitutional amendments, the unicameral Legislative Assembly consisted of three groups: the king’s nominees, in the form of Privy Councillors and Cabinet ministers; nine representatives of the nobles; and nine representatives of the people.7 Since 2010 the 26-member Legislative Assembly consists of 17 people’s representatives and the nine representatives elected by the 33 nobles. Women were not given the franchise until universal suffrage was instituted in 1960. The imbalance in representation in the constitution prior to the 2010 amendments was symptomatic of the unequal distribution of power within the kingdom, with nobles and the monarch controlling political and economic power through their privileged position within the state system as well as their control over land. This imbalance helped to bring about the prodemocracy movement. The Speaker of the Legislative Assembly is appointed by the monarch (rather than being elected by Parliament). The Speaker has considerable power in relation to Legislative Assembly sessions and the conduct of parliamentarians. The major responsibility of the Legislative Assembly is to make laws, approve the government’s annual budget and elect the prime minister from its ranks following a general election.

Executive Prior to 2010 the constitution gave the monarch considerable executive power, including, in particular, the choice of prime minister and the appointment of the Cabinet. The revised constitution gives the power to the Legislative Assembly to elect the country’s prime minister, who is then officially appointed by the monarch. The prime minister is responsible for selecting members of the Cabinet. One of the responsibilities of the prime minister is to ensure that the laws are effectively executed. The Legislative Assembly, and especially those members in opposition, acts as a watchdog over government policies and performance. The prime minister may choose up to 12 ministers for Cabinet, including up to four non-elected persons from outside the Assembly. While the coopted Cabinet members become part of and are responsible to the Assembly, they cannot take part in Assembly votes. The government elected at the

November 2010 elections included two members (‘commoners’) appointed to the Cabinet from outside the Assembly; no such appointments were made following the 2014 elections. The executive authority of the kingdom is vested in the Cabinet which in turn, as in Westminster systems, is accountable to the Legislative Assembly. It is quite common for individual ministers to be responsible for a number of ministries, and each minister is required to submit a report to the Legislative Assembly as a means of democratic accountability. The constitution provides various means of executive accountability. This includes the vote of no confidence, impeachment, a legislative committee system (including, in particular, the Public Accounts Committee and the Privileges Committee), mandatory tabling of ministerial annual reports, and ministerial question time. The press also provides an important public accountability mechanism in reporting on parliamentary business, government policies and ministerial conduct. In June 2012, Tonga’s Legislative Assembly experienced its first-ever motion of no confidence (from Pōhiva’s opposition Democratic Party), which was defeated, 13–11, in October. In the event of the prime minister losing a vote of no confidence, Cabinet ministers will also lose their seats and Cabinet will be dissolved, although ministers will remain members of the Legislative Assembly. The constitution requires that a new prime minister be elected by the Assembly within 48 hours. Failure to do so would mean dissolution of the Assembly by the monarch, followed by an election in 90 days. The impeachment of a minister could lead to loss of their Assembly seat. Of the 12 ministers in the government appointed in 2014, five (including the prime minister) are members of the DPFI, six are independents and one is a noble. To ensure that they maintain their loyalty to the government, the independent members were given a substantial number of ministerial portfolios.

Reform and the monarchy Despite the reforms, the monarch still reigns supreme politically as head of state, retaining veto powers; at the same time, culturally the monarch remains

the highest symbol within Tonga’s social cosmology. Although King George V provided his much needed blessing for the reforms, the powers of the monarch were reduced but not entirely extinguished. Rather than directly making executive decisions, the monarch was going to seek the advice of the prime minister as well as the law lords. King George V emphasised this when he said: Officially, the sovereign’s powers remain unchanged, because we are a monarchy, we have a unity of power as opposed to a separation of power. The difference in future is that I shall not be able to exercise any of my powers at will, but all the sovereign’s powers must be exercised solely on the advice of the Prime Minister in most things, and in traditional matters the law lords who advise exercise of power. In that case, I suppose we are different from other nominal monarchies which retain the trappings of monarchy, but actually govern themselves as republics.8 The king still retains veto power as well as the power to dismiss the government. One of the conceptual changes in the constitution in relation to ‘King’s powers’ was the replacement of the word ‘governs’ by ‘reigns’,9 shifting the emphasis away from authoritarian rule towards a a more ceremonial image. However, it remained to be seen as to whether the reform of the monarch’s role would be substantively genuine or more a matter of appearances.

Judiciary Under the 1875 constitution, the structure of the judicial system in Tonga consisted of the Court of Appeal (Privy Council), Supreme Court, Magistrates Court and Land Court. The Privy Council has both executive and judicial roles. As an executive arm of the government, it advises the monarch on matters relating to the exercise of executive authority. In its judicial role it acts as a supreme court. Under the revised constitution, the Office of Lord Chancellor and the Office of the Attorney General, as well as the Judicial Appointments and

Discipline Panel (JADP), were added. As a result, three bodies are now responsible for the judiciary. The JADP consists entirely of Law Lords. The Office of the Lord Chancellor and the Office of the Attorney General are answerable only to the king (who appoints the Privy Council). This has led to questions about the judicial system’s impartiality and effectiveness, with legal experts suggesting the need for further fundamental reforms.10 The chief justice presides over the Court of Appeal; other members consist of judges from other Commonwealth countries. Appeals from the Land Court relating to hereditary estates and titles are heard by the Privy Council. The original jurisdiction of the Supreme Court relates to serious civil and criminal cases. Litigants before the Supreme Court may opt for trial by jury, although this rarely happens in Tonga. The monarch, with the consent of the Privy Council, appoints judges.

Local government Local government in Tonga is not provided for in the constitution but in the Fono Act 1988 and the District and Town Officers Act 1988.11 There is no common local government system across the entire kingdom. For instance, in the Ha‘apai and Vava‘u groups, local administration is the responsibility of the governors, who are appointed by the prime minister. On the island of Tongatapu, where the capital is located, district and town officers report directly to the prime minister’s office. These officers are elected from the local constituency every three years. The power of local authorities is quite limited: for instance, they do not have revenue-raising powers, and their salaries and expenses are paid by the national government.12

Elections under the new constitution Tonga’s electoral process (both before and after the 2010 constitutional changes) is based on the first-past-the-post (FPTP) system, where the winner in a constituency is declared after gaining the largest number of votes (i.e., a plurality). One of the criticisms of the FPTP electoral system is that often it tends not to be fully representative; winners may be declared with less than 50 per cent of the votes. For instance, in 2010 the DPFI won 12 of the 17

people’s seats (71 per cent of the seats) with only 29 per cent of the votes. Similarly, during the 2014 election the only two candidates who polled more than 50 per cent of the votes (i.e., a majority of votes cast in their constituency) were ‘Akilisi Pōhiva, with 53.5 per cent in the Tongatapu 1 constituency (a drop from 62.5 per cent in 2010), and Sosefo Vakata, who polled 54.6 per cent (the highest in the country) in the Ongo Niua 17 constituency (the country’s smallest constituency). The winner with the lowest percentage of the vote was Penisimani Fifita, with only 25.3 per cent for the Tongatapu 9 constituency. Representation is based on single-member constituencies (previously multi-member constituencies). For the People’s Representatives there are 17 single-member constituencies: ten for Tongatapu, three for Vava‘u, two for Ha‘apai and one each for Niuas and ‘Eua. For the Noble’s Representatives there are nine ‘constituencies’: three for Tongatapu, two for Vava‘u, two for Ha‘apai and one each for Niuas and ‘Eua. Of the 26 seats, 17 (65.4 per cent) are directly elected by the people, compared to 9 (30 per cent of 30 seats) prior to the reforms. Candidates must pay a registration fee of 400 Tongapa‘anga (equivalent to approximately US$215) and present the signatures of 50 eligible voters in support of their candidacy. Under the Representatives Electoral Regulations Act 2010, the nobles’ election process was also revised. Each noble is only able to cast a vote in the constituency containing land from which his title of nobility originates. After the 2010 election, the first under the amended 2010 constitution, the five elected independents aligned themselves with the nine nobles and managed to form a government. They were rewarded with Cabinet posts. After the November 2014 election, six people’s representatives turned their backs on the nobles in a dramatic U-turn and realigned themselves with the nine pro-democracy parliamentarians. This won Pōhiva 15 votes for the position of prime minister. One of the reasons for the independents’ change of heart was the threat that there would be a repeat of the 2006 riots if the pro-democracy group did not come to power on this occasion. It should be noted that there were actually three elections before the prime minister was finally chosen. The first was the popular vote for the 17 seats; the second was the election by the hereditary nobles. The nobles had their own kinship-based alliances which they used to mobilise support.

Rather than ticking the names of nominated candidates, the nobles simply had to write down the names of their preferred candidates on a blank ballot paper. In case of a tie, methods such as flipping of a coin or drawing match sticks (as was the case in 2010) could be used. The third election, finally, was the parliamentary vote by elected representatives to choose the prime minister.

The future As the first elected commoner prime minister, ‘Akilisi Pōhiva has helped to redefine a new chapter in Tongan politics, involving a major shift in power dynamics after years of almost absolute control by the monarch and nobles. The contestation for power between the commoners and the upper classes will continue but will probably take different configurations in the future, in the form of more compromises and cooperation. The current monarch may not be as reform-minded as his predecessor, which may pose a challenge in the future when people demand further reforms. The monarch still wields considerable power in the form of his veto and his authority to dissolve the Legislative Assembly. The king’s discretionary powers – and his capacity to exercise considerable influence – were further demonstrated in 2015 when he raised the possibility of holding Tonga’s first-ever referendum (although Tonga has no law on referendums) dealing with the question of whether Tonga’s government should ratify the UN Convention on Eliminating All Forms of Discrimination Against Women. This followed the prime minister’s statement that the government was prepared to do so, leading to protests from those considering the convention to be inconsistent with Tongan traditions and values. The Privy Council’s opposition (declaring the proposed ratification unconstitutional) and the king’s suggested referendum – in the name of democracy – complicated matters.13 Perhaps the government’s real challenge is in rebuilding Tonga’s economy after years of waste and abuse. Addressing economic issues – the need for increased production and growth, more equal distribution of resources, sustainable development, higher levels of employment and reduced poverty – is the true cornerstone for future political stability.

Further reading Campbell, Ian C., Tonga’s way to democracy, Christchurch, Herodotus Press, 2011. Eutis, Nelson, King Taufa‘ahau Tupou IV: The King of Tonga, Sydney, Hobby Investment, 1997. Koloamatangi, Malakai, ‘Tonga’, in Stephen Levine (ed.), Pacific Ways: Government and Politics in the Pacific Islands, first edition, Wellington, Victoria University Press, 2009, pp. 226–234. Latukefu, Sione, The 1975 Tongan Constitution: A Brief History to Celebrate its Centenary, Nuku‘alofa, Tonga Traditions Committee, 1975. Moala, Kalafi, In Search of the Friendly Islands, Auckland, Pasifika Foundation Press, 2009. Powles, Guy, Political and Constitutional Reform Opens the Door: The Kingdom of Tonga’s Path to Democracy, 2nd edition, Suva, University of the South Pacific Press, 2013. Powles, Guy, The Tongan Monarchy and the Constitution: Political Reform in a Traditional Context, SSGM Discussion Paper 2014/9, Canberra, Australian National University, 2014. Pulu, Teena Brown, ‘What reform? Reform stories in the Kingdom of Tonga’, Te Kaharoa, vol. 6, 2013, pp. 110–146. Ratuva, Steven, ‘Pohiva Election Likely to Ignite Fresh Tongan Reform Hopes’, Pacific Islands Report, 14 January 2015, http://pidp.eastwestcenter.org/pireport/2015/January/01-14-an.htm Rutherford, Noel (ed.), Friendly Islands: A History of Tonga, Oxford, Oxford University Press, 1997. Government of the Kingdom of Tonga, Prime Minister’s Office, http://www.pmo.gov.to/ Government of Tonga, Ministry of Information & Communications, http://www.mic.gov.to/ Government of Tonga, http://www.tongaportal.gov.to/ Parliament of Tonga, http://parliament.gov.to/ Matangi Tonga, http://matangitonga.to/ Planet Tonga, http://www.planet-tonga.com/

Notes 1 The World Bank, 2012, http://data.worldbank.org/indicator/BX.TRF.PWKR.CD.DT. 2 Tonga, Department of Statistics, ‘Foreign Trade’, http://www.spc.int/prism/tonga/economic/merchandi se-trade. 3 Government of Tonga, Strategic Development Plan 2011–2014, Nuku‘alofa, Government of Tonga, 2011. 4 See Kingdom of Tonga, Constitution of the Kingdom of Tonga, Nuku‘alofa, Kingdom of Tonga, 1875, ‘Part I – Declaration of Rights’. 5 Constitution, Clause 38. 6 Constitution, Clause 36. 7 Legislative Assembly of Tonga, Law 1 of 1914, Nuku‘alofa, Legislative Assembly of Tonga, 1914. 8 Radio Australia, 25 November 2010. However, Tonga’s government emphasised King George Tupou’s support for political and constitutional change: see, for instance, ‘King George Tupou V: Monarch For A Time of Change’, a press release issued by the Government of Tonga on 29 July 2008 (http://www. scoop.co.nz/stories/print.html?path=WO0807/S00827.htm).

9 Constitution, Clause 41. 10 Kalafi Moala, ‘Tonga’s constitution is the worst in the world’, Pacific Public Policy Institute, http://pa cificpolicy.org/2014/08/tongas-new-constitution-is-the-worst-in-the-commonwealth/. 11 See Legislative Assembly of Tonga, Fono Act 1988, Nuku‘alofa, Legislative Assembly of Tonga, 1989; and Legislative Assembly of Tonga, District and Town Officers Act 1988, Nuku‘alofa, Legislative Assembly of Tonga, 1989. 12 See Commonwealth Secretariat, ‘Tonga’, 2012, http://www.commonwealthgovernance.org/countries/ pacific/tonga/local-government/. 13 See, for example, Radio New Zealand, ‘Tonga’s King and Privy Council say “no” to CEDAW’, 1 July 2015, http://www.radionz.co.nz/international/pacific-news/277663/tonga’s-king-and-privy-councilsay-no-to-cedaw. Subsequently, ratification did not proceed and the prime minister indicated that a bill providing for referendums would be introduced [ed.].

Tuvalu Jack Corbett and Jon Fraenkel Jack Corbett is an Associate Professor in Politics at the University of Southampton and an Adjunct Senior Research Fellow at Griffith University. Jon Fraenkel is a Professor in Comparative Politics at Victoria University of Wellington.

Background The eight inhabited islands of Tuvalu (the name translates as ‘cluster of eight’ or ‘eight standing together’) became independent in 1978 after more than 80 years of British colonial rule. Previously part of the Gilbert and Ellice Islands colony, the desire of Ellice Islanders to separate from the Gilbert Islands (now Kiribati) was underpinned by a strong belief they would be overwhelmed by the more numerous Gilbertese should they achieve independence together. Distinct language, history and culture were also cited as reasons for separation. In the referendum held between July and September 1974, 92.8 per cent of Ellice Islands’ participating voters chose in favour of separation. Initially, the British Government was opposed to the split, arguing that Tuvalu was too small to function as a viable country in its own right. Disadvantageous financial terms were offered (only one ship; no claim on phosphate revenues from Banaba/Ocean Island), and it was made clear that separation would adversely affect living standards.1 The United Nations Committee on Decolonization also opposed separation on the grounds that, as far as possible, they wanted to avoid the fragmentation of colonial

administrative units.2 In the end, both the UK and the UN acquiesced to Tuvaluan demands and the results of the self-determination referendum. At independence, Tuvalu’s institutional arrangements were largely the product of negotiations among senior civil servants, members of the Legislative Assembly and expatriate advisors who favoured retaining the essential features of a Westminster model. Wider public consultations about these arrangements took place but did not affect the design.3 As with many other decolonising small states (but unlike neighbouring Kiribati), Tuvalu’s central government institutions resembled those of the former colonial power.4 Where innovation took place, it was largely in the direction of an emerging quasi-federal relationship between the island governments and the central government in the capital, Funafuti (discussed below).5 Table 1: Tuvalu Population (2012) Region Funafuti Nanumea Nanumaga Niutao Nui Vaitupu Nukufetau Nukulaelae Niulakita Total

Population 6,194 556 481 606 541 1,565 540 324 30 10,837

Percentage of Population 57.2 5.1 4.4 5.6 5.0 14.4 5.0 3.0 0.3 100.0

Source: Tuvalu Population Census, 2012.

Tuvalu is a geographically diverse country whose 10,800 citizens live on 26 square kilometres of land (see Table 1). More than half the population now lives on the main island of Funafuti, where the capital is located. Tuvalu has few natural resources aside from a 900,000-square-kilometre exclusive economic zone. This brings in some revenue from the Parties to the Nauru Agreement scheme for fishing license fees but there are no local commercial

fish-processing facilities. Other revenue streams have included the sale of postage stamps, the internet domain name ‘.tv’, foreign aid, remittances from Tuvaluan seafarers and earnings from migrants under New Zealand’s Recognised Seasonal Employer Work Scheme.6 A trust fund, established at independence, has been reasonably well protected against politically motivated disbursements, with the earned interest helping to sustain government expenditure.7 The civil service and public sector corporations, by far the largest sector of the economy, employ more than 1,000 people. Tuvalu has at times been highly dependent on aviation links through Fiji for its communications with the outside world.8 As with some other Pacific Island states, the international airport was built during the Pacific War, but in Tuvalu’s case using coral materials dug out along the interior of Funafuti, leaving ‘borrow pits’ (referring to the earth ‘borrowed’ to construct the runway) that fill with stagnant water.9 As a low-lying atoll group, Tuvalu is highly vulnerable to sea level rise, and growing awareness of climate change issues on the international stage has helped Tuvalu to become a ‘global icon of aggrieved modern micro-statehood’.10 Average annual household expenditure on the main island of Funafuti was estimated at A$26,683 in 2010 (85.6 per cent in cash), as compared to A$11,251 on the outer islands (64.9 per cent in cash).11 Outer islands are thus both poorer and more reliant on subsistence incomes than Funafuti, where the main source of income is, as noted, government employment.

Constitution In drafting a constitution, the Ellice Island representatives to the Legis-lative Council of the Gilbert and Ellice Islands opted for a Westminster-inspired constitutional set-up that included a 12-member unicameral Parliament (subsequently increased to the present 15 members).12 The British monarch is the head of state, represented by a governor-general appointed on the advice of the prime minister in consultation with Parliament. By convention this position is largely ceremonial in nature. The governor-general does, however, retain important powers in relation to calling and dissolving Parliament, which is required to sit at least once a year. The Speaker and the prime minister are both elected from among the 15 members of Parliament

(MPs). The Speaker has a casting vote on ordinary business and an ordinary vote on motions of no confidence and constitutional amendment bills. The prime minister assumes responsibility for the day-to-day operation of government. The Cabinet is selected from among MPs and is collectively responsible to Parliament. There are several core choices as regards institutional design in postcolonial settings: whether to establish a presidential or parliamentary type of government; whether to opt for a unicameral or bicameral legislature; and whether to agree on a unitary or federal system. Tuvalu opted for a unicameral form of government (there is no second chamber) and a parliamentary rather than presidential system, but its modern arrangements are not strictly ‘unitary’ (discussed further below). The High Court of Tuvalu, under a chief justice, is the country’s superior court, with jurisdiction over constitutional matters. The chief justice is appointed by the head of state and, as in many Pacific small states, an expatriate typically fills the role. Cost is one rationale for this streamlined institutional architecture13 and is among the reasons why Parliament has no permanent facilities, meeting instead in a maneaba (an open air meeting house) centrally located near the main government building on Funafuti.

Political institutions The 1978 constitution has since been revised, most notably in 1986, with changes aimed to reinforce the place of Tuvaluan values and traditions in political affairs.14 A similar rationale underpinned reform of local government institutions undertaken during the 1990s. Tuvalu inherited eight local government councils (one per island) at independence. These councils occupy an important place in Tuvalu’s institutional architecture, as section 111 (2) of the constitution provides for bills to be sent for ‘consideration’ and ‘comment’ to each of the island councils following their introduction into Parliament. Councils cannot block bills but they can propose amendments. In the mid-1990s, the Tuvaluan Government, with technical assistance from the United Nations Development Program, began a review of local government administration.15 This process included the establishment of a Peoples’ Congress, comprising local councillors, traditional leaders and

non-government organisation representatives, which recommended greater devolution of power from Funafuti to island councils, more closely reflecting traditional arrangements. This culminated in the Falekaupule Act 1997, which gave local assemblies on each of the eight islands full jurisdiction over their administrative affairs. As a result, local government fulfils many of the powers typically ascribed to the nation-state.16 However, the role of the Falekaupule relative to the national government is somewhat curtailed by capacity constraints and by the fact that bills referred from Parliament are written in English and use complex legal language, so that communities often find the contents difficult to understand.17 The Falekaupule resemble Parliament in having an executive arm, the Kaupule, but unlike Parliament the Falekaupule bring together all those aged 18 years or over.18 Falekaupule are local assemblies, normally convened at three-monthly intervals. They tend to be dominated by elders and chiefs, and sometimes by church pastors, although women have come to play an increasingly prominent role in the Kaupule committees.19 Decisions are normally made through consensus, although putting matters to the vote has become increasingly frequent. Kaupule members are elected for four-year terms. The Falekaupule also select a Chief Executive, the Pule o Kaupule, who in turn selects a deputy (Tokolua Pule o Kaupule). The Pule o Kaupule may be removed from office by two-thirds of Falekaupule members (as occurred on Vaitupu in 2005). The six-member Kaupule also usually operates on a consensual basis, despite the Falekaupule Act providing for majority voting.20 In recent years, following growing desire among aid donors to promote ‘good governance’,21 Tuvalu has been subject to various assessments of its institutional arrangements. According to the 1999 Report of the National Workshop on Accountability for Leaders of Tuvalu,22 Parliament has ‘failed miserably’, unable to hold ‘officials and public institutions to account for the use of public resources in a timely manner’.23 Assessments such as this have underpinned a push for further institutional reform, including the co-option of members of the public onto the Public Accounts Committee, the most active of the parliamentary committees, and the establishment of a Leadership Code

(in 2006). The Code also established an Ombudsman, the post only recently filled.24 Aside from these formal accountability mechanisms, democratic oversight is largely provided for via informal means stemming from the country’s small size. Close kinship links and personal familiarity among political elites encourage informal transparency, as well as frequent accusations of nepotism and corruption.25 There is no local television station or newspaper, with radio serving as the primary means of media commentary on government performance. Radio services are, however, state-owned, and are often deemed to favour the incumbent government. Transparency International describes Tuvalu’s media environment as ‘ruthlessly’ censored. 26

Elections Tuvalu has a history of free and fair elections, regularly held every four years, under a first-past-the-post electoral system, with universal suffrage for those aged 21 years and over. Since independence, only the short-lived 1993 Parliament failed to see out its full term. There are eight electoral districts, corresponding to the eight inhabited islands. Seven of these islands return two MPs, while the eighth, Nukulaelae, is allocated only one MP. Although more than half the population lives on Funafuti, citizens are required to register and vote on their islands of origin unless they own land or have resided for five years on another island. Even if they do meet these qualifications, they have to show evidence of active participation in island activities, either via church attendance, the payment of Falekaupule fees or involvement in community projects. These arrangements ensure that the islands retain a central place in the organisation and practice of Tuvaluan politics. Election campaigning in Tuvalu is an intensely local and expensive affair. As elsewhere in the Pacific Islands, candidates are typically overseaseducated men, often with public service backgrounds.27 They tend to establish their political credentials via a combination of generous donations for communal projects, funding for entertainment and community gatherings, and provision of gifts (everything from tinned foodstuffs to outboard motors

and motorbikes) given to relatives and supporters. Once elected, MPs are expected to continue this largesse throughout their term in office. The combination of cultural and religious expectations – virtually all Tuvaluans belong to the Ekalesia Kelisiano a Tuvalu, a Protestant Church – and the high costs of electioneering are believed to discourage women from contesting, and winning, parliamentary seats.28 Since independence, only two women have been elected to Tuvalu’s Parliament. The first, Naama Latasi, wife of Prime Minister Sir Kamuta Latasi (December 1993–December 1996), served the Nanumea constituency from 1989 to 1997; the second, Pelenike Isaia, won a 2011 by-election in the Nui constituency after her husband, Isaia Italeli, the sitting member, passed away. On average, around a third of Tuvalu MPs lose their seats at each election, but there were only three new members (20 per cent of the total) after the 31 March 2015 elections (see Table 2). Table 2: Number of New Members, General Elections 1981–2015

Year 1981 1985 1989 1993 (Sept) 1993 (Nov) 1998 2002 2006 2010 2015

New Members 5 3 5 3 3 5 5 8 6 3

% 41.7 25.0 41.7 25 25 41.7 33.3 53.3 40.0 20.0

Note: Membership of Parliament increased from 12 to 15 in 1999.

Political leadership There are no institutionalised political parties in Tuvalu to reflect crosscutting social, ethnic, religious, regional or ideological cleavages. Politics

remains highly island-centric. Following Westminster conventions, the group that commands a majority in Parliament forms the government, with the remaining MPs becoming a de facto opposition. Personal connections, including those from school and work, as well as long-standing disputes and rivalries, influence how coalitions rise and fall, as does the allocation of ministerial portfolios.29 As elsewhere in the Pacific, in the absence of institutionalised political parties, governments formed in Parliament are regularly toppled by votes of no confidence. There have been 17 governments since independence, six of them deposed following successful no confidence motions (see Table 3). Until 2007, Cabinet size was fixed at one member lower than the number required to form a government. The impact of this lone ‘pro-government backbencher’ on coalition formation between 2000 and 2007 has been compared to a game of musical chairs, with MPs regularly switching sides in search of a better deal both for themselves and their constituents. Table 3: Tuvalu Cabinets, 1977–2015

Source: Hansard (Tuvalu).

Attempts to combat this trend and ensure a more stable executive have included the appointment of non-Cabinet MPs as special ministerial advisors (now abolished) and increasing the number of ministerial portfolios. For the most part, however, these reforms have failed to substantially alter existing dynamics. The prime minister changed three times during the 2010–15 Parliament. Maatia Toafa (prime minister, August 2004–August 2006) won a new term as prime minister following the September 2010 general election, succeeding Apisai Ielemia (August 2006–September 2010). Toafa was ousted in a no confidence vote on 15 December 2010, defeated by Willy Telavi by the narrowest of margins (8 votes to 7). Prime Minister Willy Telavi’s efforts to avoid a no confidence vote in 2013 generated a constitutional crisis, ultimately resolved by the High Court, forcing a byelection and intervention by the governor-general, Iakoba Italei, ordering Parliament to reconvene. In August 2013, Enele Sopoaga became prime

minister, serving out the remainder of the term of the ninth Parliament. He returned as prime minister following the 2015 election. During the early 2000s there was some nationwide discussion about changing to a presidential system of government.31 The prevailing view is that the constant manoeuvring by MPs has a negative impact on parliamentary proceedings and the development of public policy. Nevertheless, this behaviour has ensured that no one island or group of islands has been able wholly to dominate the country’s political life. Post-independence politics in Tuvalu has been marked by peace, even if the limited growth potential of an atoll-based economy has ensured that prosperity remains elusive.

Further reading Faaniu, Simati, et al. [17 Tuvaluan authors], edited by Hugh Laracy, Tuvalu: A History, Suva: Institute of Pacific Studies, University of the South Pacific and Funafuti, Government of Tuvalu, 1983. Macdonald, Barrie, Cinderellas of the Empire: Towards a History of Kiribati and Tuvalu, Canberra, Australian National University Press, 1982. Macdonald, Barrie, ‘Secession in the Defence of Identity’, Pacific Viewpoint, vol. 16, no. 1, 1975, pp. 26–44. McIntyre, W. D., ‘The Partition of the Gilbert and Ellice Islands’, Island Studies Journal, vol. 7, no. 1, 2012, pp. 135–146. Taafaki, Tauaasa, ‘Tuvalu’, in Stephen Levine (ed.), Pacific Ways: Government and Politics in the Pacific Islands, first edition, Wellington, Victoria University Press, 2009, pp. 235–248. Government of Tuvalu, http://www.tuvaluislands.com/gov_info.htm The Permanent Mission of Tuvalu to the United Nations, https://www.un.int/tuvalu/

Notes 1 Geoff Bertram and Ray Watters, New Zealand and its Small Island Neighbours: A Review of New Zealand Policy Toward the Cook Islands, Niue, Tokelau, Kiribati and Tuvalu, Institute of Policy Studies, Working Paper 84/01, October 1984, http://igps.victoria.ac.nz/WP%20PDF/1984/IPS%20W P%2084_01.pdf. 2 W. D. McIntyre, ‘The Partition of the Gilbert and Ellice Islands’, Island Studies Journal, vol. 7, no. 1, 2012, pp. 135–146; Barrie Macdonald, Cinderellas of the Empire: Towards a History of Kiribati and Tuvalu, Canberra, Australian National University Press, 1982. 3 David Murray, ‘Constitutional instruments in Kiribati and Tuvalu: a Case Study of Impact and Influence’, in Hermann Hiery and John Mackenzie (eds), European Impact and Pacific Influence: British and German Colonial Policy in the Pacific Islands and the Indigenous Response, London, I. B. Tauris, 1997, pp. 259–74.

4 Roger Wettenhall and Ian Thynne, ‘Machinery of Government Innovation in Micro-States: The Cases of Nauru, Niue, and Norfolk Island’, Asian Journal of Public Administration, vol. 16, no 1, 1994, pp. 60–86. 5 The Tuvalu Constitution includes a provision for the review of all bills, after the first reading, by the ‘local governments’ (now ‘island councils’), except those that have received a ‘certificate of urgency’ (Constitution of Tuvalu, section 111 (2), ‘Rules of Procedure’, S. 31 (A)). Ron Crocombe writes that ‘Tuvalu may have the most extensive articulation between the local communities and the central government’ of any of the Pacific Islands (Crocombe, The South Pacific, Institute of Pacific Studies, USP, 2001, p. 554). See also Michael Goldsmith, ‘Theories of governance and Pacific microstates: The cautionary tale of Tuvalu’: Asia Pacific Viewpoint, vol. 46, no. 2, 2005, p. 108: ‘Tuvalu is best seen as a collection of eight or more local states, with central government acting as a coordinating device.’ 6 Charlotte Bedford, Richard Bedford and Elsie Ho, ‘Engaging with New Zealand’s Recognised Seasonal Employer Work Policy: The Case of Tuvalu’, Asian and Pacific Migration Journal, vol. 19, no. 3, 2010, pp. 421–445. 7 Gerard Finnen, ‘Managing Financial Vulnerability in Small Island States: The Role of Trust Funds in Promoting Sustainable Development’, East-West Center, EWC Pacific Islands Congressional Study Group 5/3/02, http://unpan1.un.org/intradoc/groups/public/documents/un/unpan022606.pdf; Tony Angelo, Brian Bell and Bayley Roylance, ‘Trust Funds in the Pacific Islands’, forthcoming paper. 8 See, however, ‘Tuvalu Foreign Minister Welcomes Increase In Flights’, Radio New Zealand International, 9 February 2015. 9 See ‘Tuvalu’s Piles of Rubbish still a threat as EU Visits’, Radio New Zealand, Dateline Pacific, 7 May 2014. 10 Michael Goldsmith, ‘The Colonial and Postcolonial Roots of Ethnonationalism in Tuvalu’, Journal of the Polynesian Society, vol. 121, no. 2, 2012, p. 129. 11 Tuvalu Government, Central Statistics Division, Household Income and Expenditure Survey, 2010, Table 2.2, p. 24. 12 Stephen Levine and Nigel S. Roberts, ‘The constitutional structures and electoral systems of Pacific Island States’, Commonwealth and Comparative Politics, vol. 43, no. 3, 2005, pp. 276–295. 13 David McIntyre, ‘The Partition of the Gilbert and Ellice Islands’, Island Studies Journal, vol. 7, no. 1, 2012, pp. 135–146. 14 Stephen Levine, ‘Constitutional Change in Tuvalu’, Australian Journal of Political Science, vol. 27, no. 3, 1992, p. 497. 15 Peter Larmour, ‘Decentralisation in Small Developing States: Local Government Reform in Tuvalu and Papua New Guinea’, in Susumu Kurosawa, Toshiro Fujiwara and Mila Reforma (eds), New Trends in Public Administration for the Asia-Pacific Region: Decentralisation, Tokyo, EROPA, 1996, pp. 89–94. 16 Paulson Panapa and Jon Fraenkel, ‘The Loneliness of the Pro-Government Backbencher and the Precariousness of Simple Majority Rule in Tuvalu’, State, Society and Governance in Melanesia Discussion Paper No. 2, Canberra, The Australian National University, 2008, p. 6. 17 Tauaasa Taafaki and Janaline Oh, Governance in the Pacific: Politics and Policy in Tuvalu, Canberra, National Centre for Development Studies, The Australian National University, 1995; Tauaasa Taafaki, National Integrity Systems Transparency International Country Study Report Tuvalu 2004, Blackburn, Transparency International Australia, 2004. 18 Voting rights vary between islands and are determined by customary decision-making (Aganu). In many cases, all those over 18 years of age have entitlement to vote for the Kaupule members, but

not all necessarily participate in decisions taken by the Falekaupule. On Vaitupu, one has to be 40 years of age or older to be eligible to vote. In other Falekaupule only the ‘family head’ may be entitled to vote. 19 Susie Kofe and Fakavae Taomia, ‘Advancing Women’s representation in Tuvalu’, in A Woman’s Place is in the House – the House of Parliament; Research to Advance Women’s Political Participation in Forum Island Countries, Pacific Islands Forum Secretariat, 2006. See also the table, drawn up by Susie Kofe and Fakavae Taomia, appearing in Jon Fraenkel, ‘The Impact of Electoral Systems on Women’s Political Representation in Pacific Parliaments’ in the same volume, p. 95. 20 Falekaupule Act, 1997, section 23. Kaupule members receive sitting allowances, but no salaries. Kaupule staff, including the secretary and treasurer, do receive salaries. For those migrants in Funafuti, separate Falekaupule also exist that cater for the different island populations and sustain linkages back to the home island Falekaupule. The views of urban migrants living in the capital are often greatly valued by their kinsfolk on their home islands, owing to knowledge and skills acquired in education and employment. 21 Michael Goldsmith, ‘Theories of governance and Pacific microstates: The cautionary tale of Tuvalu’, Asia Pacific Viewpoint, vol. 46, no. 2, 2005, pp. 105–114. 22 Cited in Panapa and Fraenkel, ‘The Loneliness of the Pro-Government Backbencher and the Precariousness of Simple Majority Rule in Tuvalu’, p. 2. 23 Taafaki, National Integrity Systems, p. 19; Lisepa Paeniu, ‘How Can Parliamentary Democracy Function More Effectively in Small Pacific Island Countries Such as Tuvalu and Nauru?’, Journal of South Pacific Law, vol. 14, no 2, 2012, pp. 6–19; Quinton Clements, Tuvalu Legislative Needs Assessment, Suva, Fiji, UNDP, 2000. 24 ‘Tuvalu Appoints First Chief Ombudsman’, Radio New Zealand International, 12 August 2014. 25 Niko Besnier, Gossip and the Everyday Production of Politics, Honolulu, University of Hawai‘i Press, 2009. 26 Taafaki, National Integrity Systems. 27 Jack Corbett, Being Political: Leadership and Democracy in the Pacific Islands, Honolulu, University of Hawai‘i Press, 2015. 28 Kofe and Taomia, ‘Advancing Women’s Representation in Tuvalu’. 29 For discussion see Panapa and Fraenkel, ‘The Loneliness of the Pro-Government Backbencher and the Precariousness of Simple Majority Rule in Tuvalu’. 30 Panapa and Fraenkel, ‘The Loneliness of the Pro-Government Backbencher and the Precariousness of Simple Majority Rule in Tuvalu’. 31 Paeniu, ‘How Can Parliamentary Democracy Function More Effectively in Small Pacific Island Countries Such as Tuvalu and Nauru?’

Vanuatu Marc Lanteigne Marc Lanteigne is a Senior Research Fellow at the Norwegian Institute of International Affairs. He dedicates this chapter to Nikki Wrighton, a graduate student in Pasifika studies at Victoria University of Wellington who, as a member of Oxfam NZ, helped greatly with his research in Tuvalu and Vanuatu. She tragically passed away in 2014.

Introduction Vanuatu’s 82 islands, arranged roughly in the shape of the letter ‘y’, are approximately 1,750 kilometres east of Australia. The country’s population, 267,000 as of 2014, is primarily Melanesian, often known collectively as Ni-Vanuatu. The islands are mostly volcanic in origin, prone to earthquakes and exposed to cyclones. Since independence in 1980, the Vanuatu political system has borrowed heavily from European government models, with an elected president as head of state, a prime minister as head of government, and a multi-party parliamentary system. Although Vanuatu has been spared the degree of post-colonial political turmoil which has plagued other parts of Melanesia, including Papua New Guinea and the Solomon Islands, the period since the 1990s has been marked by divisive and oftentimes short-lived governments.

Colonial history Since the 19th century European visitors, including Christian missionaries, became common in the islands which would later become Vanuatu. While explorers and entrepreneurs were attracted to the islands for their supplies of

sandalwood, inhabitants were also targeted by slave traders: a practice known as ‘blackbirding’.1 After 1906, colonial governance in what was then known as the New Hebrides was distinct in the South Pacific in that it took the form of joint administration by two colonial powers, France and the United Kingdom. The form of government was known as a ‘condominium’ system and it allowed for limited self-rule in the islands.2 The arrangement was a marriage of necessity between rival European powers, partially in response to concerns about a growing level of German influence in the Pacific. It also prevented Australia from assuming too strong a role in the region, as British administrators were not convinced that their Australian counterparts were politically mature enough to address New Hebrides affairs.3 Vanuatu was spared the direct military conflict which plagued its neighbours during the Second World War, but it did host American airbases on the main island of Efate and on Espiritu Santo, to the north, until the Japanese surrender in 1945. Although the ‘condominium’ system resulted in much added bureaucracy and legal duplication, leading some critics to label the islands’ administration as ‘pandemonium’, it remained in place with little serious political discord until the 1960s, when protests over the growing amount of land being owned by European and American settlers sparked new political movements and a push for outright independence.4 In the early 1970s, calls for sovereignty were spearheaded by the leftist Vanua’aku Pati (‘Party of Our Land’), led by Father Walter Lini. An opposition force of sorts came in the form of a traditionalist and anti-independence movement known as the Nagriamel, which began to appear on several islands by the late 1970s. Bowing to popular pressure, British and French authorities agreed to the holding of free elections in November 1979. The UK, which during the 1960s had begun the process of pulling away from its ‘East of Suez’ colonial holdings, was far more in favour of a fairly rapid move to independence for the New Hebrides than was France, which feared potential demonstrations in its other Pacific possessions, especially nearby resource-rich New Caledonia. At the November 1979 general election – the last New Hebrides’ election prior to independence – the Vanua’aku Pati, with 62 per cent of the popular vote, won a decisive 26 of 39 contested seats in the New Hebrides

Parliament. Independence for the islands was declared for 1980, but the process was not completely without incident. Members of the Nagriamel, based on Espiritu Santo and opposed to the transition process, attempted to declare a separate ‘State of Vemerana’ in June 1980, with support from French settlers.5 The crisis drove a wedge between Britain and France, and Lini, now prime minister-elect, called for and received military assistance from nearby Papua New Guinea (supported by Australia) to stave off the rebellion. Espiritu Santo was subject to a blockade on orders of the incoming Lini Government, while unrest began to appear in other parts of the country, including on the island of Tanna as well as in the capital, Port Vila.6 The secessionist forces were defeated by August of that year, following brief skirmishes during what members of the foreign press termed the ‘Coconut War’, with the new state of Vanuatu emerging intact. Documentation subsequently revealed that the uprising in Espiritu Santo was supported not only by the French Government, hopeful that the island could eventually become a separate French colony, but also by a private American firm which provided additional funding for the uprising.7 The affair rendered relations between the new state and the Government of France difficult, not helped by a maritime border dispute which developed (and continues) between Vanuatu and New Caledonia. Vanuatu has also given tacit support to the proindependence Kanak movement in New Caledonia, creating another source of regional discord.8

Post-independence politics The legacy of joint European rule can be viewed in several areas of modern Vanuatu governance. The official languages of the country are English and French, along with the local language of Bislama; in addition, there are also over 100 local dialects. Cultural influences from both European nations remain alongside kastom, a Bislama term used to describe traditional practices dating from before Vanuatu’s colonial era.9 Upon independence, Vanuatu became a member of both the British Commonwealth and the Francophonie.

The country retains a parliamentary system (now with 52 seats) with a unicameral legislature, and a unitary structure in which power is concentrated in the central government in Port Vila. The voting process for members of Vanuatu’s Parliament is based on a single non-transferable voting system, a form of semi-proportional representation. Within such a system, voters in multi-member districts (11 out of Vanuatu’s 17 districts have more than one member) cast a single vote despite the fact that their constituencies elect more than one member of Parliament. The country’s president acts as the head of state, elected via a two-thirds vote by an electoral college assembled from the members of Parliament and the presidents of the country’s regional councils.10 The National Council of Chiefs works in parallel with Vanuatu’s Parliament, exercising authority primarily in cultural and linguistic affairs. Vanuatu remained a one-party dominant system, with the Vanua’aku Pati maintaining a clear electoral majority, until 1987, when the party began to lose public support. An attempt by opposition parties in Parliament to arrange a boycott led to both the temporary dissolution of the Parliament in 1988 by President Ati George Sokomanu, and to Sokomanu’s subsequent removal from office. Lini responded by trying to curtail presidential powers and religious freedoms as well as moving more power to chieftains in the country, creating further political opposition.11 A party split in 1991 was exacerbated by Lini’s decision to resign, after governing for 12 years, to lead the more centrist National United Party. Since then, unstable coalition governments, electoral disputes and corruption have become more frequent. Since independence, the number of active political parties in the country has risen from one to 15 (at last count), making often-unstable coalition agreements (and changes of prime minister) a common occurrence.12 While a relatively minor problem compared to other countries within Melanesia, government stability and accountability remain persistent issues in Vanuatu. In addition to the 1988 incident, another attempted coup took place in 1995. Unlike Fiji, Vanuatu does not have a standing army; however, it does retain a paramilitary group, the Vanuatu Mobile Force (VMF), which has at times been accused of political interference and insubordination. For example, VMF forces unilaterally arrested a newly appointed police commissioner in August 2002 after criticising irregularities surrounding his

appointment. The courts subsequently overturned the commissioner’s appointment, but the head of the VMF, the former police commissioner and his deputy were all convicted of mutiny, kidnapping and false imprisonment. The VMF also kidnapped President Jean-Marie Léyé Lenelcau in 1996 in order to protest unpaid allowances.13 Incidents such as these added to the tendency of some policymakers in the region, notably in Australia, to consider Vanuatu to be part of an ‘arc of instability’ stretching across the Melanesian region. However, unlike some neighbours, notably Fiji, Papua New Guinea (including Bougainville) and the Solomon Islands, there has not been a full-fledged security crisis in Vanuatu,1 4 so much as extended periods of brittle government and short-lived administrations. In November 2009, for instance, Prime Minister Edward Natapei was dismissed from his post due to a bureaucratic error, as he had missed three sittings of Parliament without properly informing the Speaker. In 2011, Serge Vohor regained the post of prime minister only to be ousted less than a month later after his victory was judged invalid. His successor, Sato Kilman, was ousted from office after only one month, but then was able to regain the post mere days after being dismissed.15 Concerns have been raised that political divisions in the country, along with the ongoing use of the Westminster parliamentary system, have encouraged an atmosphere of instability. In a 2012 speech, former president Sokomanu publicly called for a stronger presidential system in Vanuatu as a barrier against corruption and misuse of office.16

Economics and foreign relations The economy of Vanuatu is primarily based on agriculture, including staples such as cocoa, coconut oil and copra. The country is also a major producer of kava, with fish and beef also primary exports.17 Tourism, especially from Australia and New Zealand, is also a major source of income for the country, given the natural beauty of many of the islands. However, despite these assets, Vanuatu remains one of the poorest countries in the world, classified by the United Nations as a member of the ‘least developed countries’ (LDCs), although the country’s government has expressed hopes that the label could be discarded by 2017.18 According to 2013 figures by the World Bank,

Vanuatu’s total gross national product (GNP) stood at US$828 million, with per capita income at approximately US$3,130.19 Geographic isolation and the high costs of transportation between islands remain great challenges, along with gaps in development between outlying islands and more central ones, especially Efate. Following independence Vanuatu retained its status as a tax haven, developed in the early 1970s. However, since the 1990s that role has been increasingly challenged by the United States and Australia, which have sought to pressure the island state to end its level of banking secrecy. The terrorist attacks on the United States in September 2001 placed Vanuatu and other Pacific tax havens under even more intense Western scrutiny. Australia’s authorities, including the Australian Taxation Office, have targeted Vanuatu as part of Canberra’s ‘Project Wickenby’ campaign, launched in 2006 to discourage offshore tax havens.20 Nonetheless, Australia remains a major provider of aid to Vanuatu, along with New Zealand and the United States, as aid from Europe has fallen. Vanuatu became a member of the World Trade Organization (WTO) in August 2012 – it had first applied for membership in 1995 – following a suspension of talks between 2001 and 2007 due to concerns within Vanuatu about the implications of WTO membership.21 In 2005, Vanuatu was added to the list of participants in Washington’s Millennium Challenge Programme. However, China has received much current attention as Vanuatu’s most recent great power patron. Like sub-Saharan Africa and Latin America, the South Pacific region has at times been a diplomatic chessboard for the political competition between China and Taiwan for recognition and influence. Both governments have engaged in tacit ‘chequebook diplomacy’ by offering aid and assistance to South Pacific economies in exchange for diplomatic recognition, at times prompting some regional governments to switch allegiances based on financial incentives. Initially, the Government of Vanuatu avoided this competition, having recognised Beijing in March 1982.22 However, in November 2004, Vanuatu Prime Minister Serge Vohor, after only taking office in July of that year, announced, following secret negotiations in Taiwan, that his government was prepared to recognise the Republic of China in exchange for unconfirmed Taiwanese aid (one report suggested

US$28 million over five years),23 seemingly in the hopes of maintaining economic ties with both China and Taiwan. This endeavour failed abruptly when China threatened to sever all Vanuatu economic assistance, as Beijing has repeatedly rejected the idea of ‘dual recognition’ by any of its economic partners. It was unclear whether Vohor was seeking to pressure Beijing into providing increased aid funding, or whether his government actually saw dual recognition as a possibility. This imbroglio took place at the same time as the Australian Government was threatening to sever aid to Vanuatu, citing corruption and governance issues, adding to diplomatic stress levels in the island state. Ultimately, Vohor was ousted by a parliamentary vote of no confidence and replaced with Ham Lini, brother of Walter.24 Ties were restored with Beijing less than a month after the previous agreement with Taiwan had been signed, and the result was a major diplomatic embarrassment for the Taiwanese Government. China’s ties with Vanuatu have been largely untroubled since then, the People’s Republic of China continuing to be a major donor. Since 2008, a diplomatic ‘truce’ has been in place between Beijing and Taipei, with the promise that neither side would seek to influence the other’s allies, including those in the South Pacific. China has been involved as an economic actor in Vanuatu since the days of the condominium, as Chinese settlers worked as farmers, sailors and craftspeople as well as labourers on French plantations.25 Since independence, small and medium Chinese businesses have become more visible in Vanuatu, including in the capital, and Chinese aid has also increased since the turn of the century. Chinese economic assistance to Vanuatu between 2006 and 2013 totalled approximately US$223 million, compared with Australian aid at US$346 million during the same period.26 Although Chinese aid has not been as visible in Vanuatu as in some other South Pacific states, such as Fiji and Tonga, Beijing has established itself as a major economic player in the island state. For example, the Vanuatu Foreign Ministry offices and the headquarters of the Melanesian Spearhead Group (MSG), both based in Port Vila, were underwritten by Chinese financial assistance. Bilateral trade remains in the development stage, but China imports sandalwood along with kava and noni (a medicinal plant popular in East Asia) from Vanuatu, and a memorandum was signed between

the two states in September 2014 to allow more Vanuatu goods to enter the Chinese market.27 The United States has limited foreign relations with Vanuatu, and the closest American embassy is in Suva, Fiji. Under Vladimir Putin, Russia has begun to develop a greater profile in the Pacific region, and the Pacific Islands became involved in Russian efforts to secure international recognition for two breakaway regions, Abkhazia and South Ossetia. Vanuatu agreed to recognize Abkhazia as an independent state in 2011, but appeared to back away from that claim in 2013. According to a statement by former foreign minister Joe Natuman, Vanuatu was offered economic assistance totaling US$50 million in exchange for recognising Abkhazia, which, like South Ossetia, was carved out as a result of the Russia–Georgia conflict in 2008.28 This muddled diplomatic affair further underscored how vulnerable Vanuatu and other Pacific Island states are to various forms of great power diplomacy. In addition to ties with Europe and Asia, Vanuatu has also been a participant in regional South Pacific politics, becoming a member of the Pacific Islands Forum (PIF) as well as the sub-regional Melanesian Spearhead Group (MSG). Vanuatu also agreed to join the Fiji-led initiative to create a Pacific Islands Development Forum (PIDF) in 2013.29 Vanuatu was a signatory to the Pacific Island Countries Trade Agreement (PICTA), which entered into force in April 2003, and participates in the ‘PACER Plus’ trade talks which include Australia, New Zealand and several South Pacific nations.30 Like many of its neighbours, however, Vanuatu is still waiting for stronger economic rewards from these agreements.

Conclusion The 2015 tropical cyclone Pam – a category 5 storm that damaged homes and infrastructure on Efate and other islands – underscored yet again the physical and economic fragility of Vanuatu.31 Yet despite formidable obstacles the country has often been referred to as ‘the Happiest Place on Earth’ due to its environment and people.32 While Vanuatu has not received the same degree of outside attention as some of its Melanesian neighbours, the country has provided a distinct model of post-colonial development in the region as well

as a warning about the effects of unstable political structures. That instability intensified in 2013–15 with several changes of prime minister as a result of parliamentary motions of no-confidence: Moana Carcasses taking over from Sato Kilman in March 2013; Joe Natuman ousting Carcasses in May 2014; and Kilman replacing Natuman in June 2015, a week after being sacked as Vanuatu’s minister for foreign affairs. In October 2015 much of Kilman’s Cabinet, including Carcasses (as deputy prime minister), were imprisoned after being convicted by the Supreme Court for bribery. An attempt by one of the convicted MPs (the Speaker) to pardon himself (while serving as acting president) and his colleagues failed when the country’s president, Baldwin Lonsdale, returned to the country, resumed his office and revoked the pardons. On 24 November 2015 the president dissolved Parliament, with election of a new Parliament taking place on 22 January 2016. Against a background of instability, political deadlock and the conviction and imprisonment of MPs, voters elected a Parliament consisting largely of new MPs. On 11 February Charlot Salwai (from the Reunification of Movements for Change Party) was elected prime minister unopposed as leader of the multi-party Unity for Change bloc. With a Parliament including 18 parties (many of them with only one MP) the task of providing the country with stable, credible government cannot be expected to be an easy one.

Further reading Constitution of the Republic of Vanuatu, http://www.wipo.int/wipolex/en/text.jsp?file_id=195747. Forsyth, Miranda, Understanding Judicial Independence in Vanuatu, SSGM Discussion Paper 2015/9, Canberra, Australian National University, 2015. Jupp, James, ‘The development of party politics in the New Hebrides’, Journal of Commonwealth and Comparative Politics, vol. 17, no. 3, 1979, pp. 264–280. Jupp, James and Marian Sawer, ‘New Hebrides 1978–79: self-government by whom and for whom?’, Journal of Pacific History, vol. 14, no. 4, 1979, pp. 208–220. Paterson, Don, ‘Vanuatu’, in Stephen Levine (ed.), Pacific Ways: Government and Politics in the Pacific Islands, first edition, Wellington, Victoria University Press, 2009, pp. 249–256. Van Trease, Howard, ‘Vanuatu’, The Contemporary Pacific, vol. 24, no. 2, 2012, pp. 414–431. Government of Vanuatu, https://governmentofvanuatu.gov.vu/ Parliament of Vanuatu, https://parliament.gov.vu/

Vanuatu Daily Digest, https://vanuatudaily.wordpress.com/ Vanuatu Daily Post, http://dailypost.vu/

Notes 1 W. P. Morrell, Britain and the Pacific Islands, London, Oxford University Press, 1960, pp. 89–100. 2 The name ‘New Hebrides’ was given to the islands by explorer Captain James Cook during his 1774 visit (Ian C. Campbell, A History of the Pacific Islands, Christchurch, University of Canterbury Press, 1989, p. 145). 3 Deryck Scarr, Fragments of Empire: A History of the Western Pacific High Commission 1877– 1914, Canberra, Australian National University Press, 1967, pp. 227–228. 4 Ian Johnstone and Michael Powles (eds), New Flags Flying: Pacific Leadership, Wellington, Huia Publishers, 2012, pp. 203–204. 5 Norman MacQueen, ‘Beyond Tok Win: The Papua New Guinea Intervention in Vanuatu, 1980’, Pacific Affairs, vol. 61, no. 2, 1988, pp. 235–252. 6 Marc Tabani, ‘A Political History of Nagriamel on Santo, Vanuatu’, Oceania, vol. 78, no. 3, 2008, pp. 342–343. 7 Steven Roger Fischer, A History of the Pacific Islands, second edition, New York, Palgrave Macmillan, 2013, pp. 261–262. 8 Abby McLeod and Michael Morgan, ‘An Incomplete Arc: Analyzing the Potential for Violent Conflict in the Republic of Vanuatu’, Pacific Affairs, vol. 80, no. 1, 2007, p. 73. 9 Lamont Lindstrom, ‘Melanesian Kastom and Its Transformations’, Anthropological Forum, vol. 18, no. 2, 2008, pp. 161–178. 10 See Stephen Levine and Nigel S. Roberts, ‘The constitutional structures and electoral systems of Pacific Island states’, Commonwealth & Comparative Politics, vol. 43, no. 3, 2005, pp. 276–295. 11 Ian C. Campbell, Worlds Apart: A History of the Pacific Islands, second edition, Christchurch, University of Canterbury Press, 2011, pp. 358–359. 12 Tony Wilson, ‘Vanuatu Seeks Political Stability’, Islands Business, January 2015, http://www.islands business.com/2015/1/. 13 Jon Fraenkel, ‘The Coming Anarchy in Oceania? A Critique of the “Africanisation” of the South Pacific Thesis’, Commonwealth and Comparative Politics, vol. 42, no. 1, 2004, p. 10. 14 See Robert Ayson, ‘The ”Arc of Instability” and Australia’s Strategic Policy’, Australian Journal of International Affairs, vol. 61, no. 2, 2007, pp. 215–231; Joanne Wallis, ‘The Pacific: from “Arc of Instability” to “Arc of Responsibility” and Then To “Arc of Opportunity”?’, Security Challenges, vol. 8, no. 4, 2012, pp. 1–12. 15 ‘Vanuatu Court Rules Kilman Election Void, Reinstates Natapei as Interim PM’, Radio New Zealand International, 16 June 2011, http://www.radionz.co.nz/international/pacific-news/197779/va nuatu-court-rules-kilman-election-void,-reinstates-natapei-as-interim-pm. 16 ‘Calls for Presidential-Style Government in Vanuatu’, Radio Australia, 14 May 2012, http://www.rad ioaustralia.net.au/international/2012-05-14/calls-for-presidentialstyle-government-in-vanuatu/942814. 17 ‘Fact Sheet: Vanuatu’, Commonwealth of Nations (2014), http://www.commonwealthofnations.org/ yb-pdfs/vanuatu_country_profile.pdf. 18 ‘Vanuatu Prepares to Shed “Least Developed Country” Status with UNCTAD-led Review of “Green” Export Opportunities’, United Nations Conference on Trade and Development (UNCTAD), 31 August 2014, http://unctad.org/en/pages/newsdetails.aspx?OriginalVersionID=818.

19 ‘Vanuatu’, World Bank, http://data.worldbank.org/country/vanuatu. 20 ‘Project Wickenby’, Australian Government: Australian Transaction Reports and Analysis Centre, http://www.austrac.gov.au/project-wickenby. 21 Yurendra Basnett, ‘The Trials and Tribulations of Acceding to the WTO: Vanuatu’s Experience’, Bridges Africa: International Centre for Trade and Sustainable Development, 22 July 2013, htt p://www.ictsd.org/bridges-news/bridges-africa/news/the-trials-and-tribulations-of-acceding-to-the-wto -vanuatu’s. 22 Jian Yang, The Pacific Islands in China’s Grand Strategy: Small States, Big Games, New York, Palgrave Macmillan, 2011, p. 56. 23 Chung Chienpeng, ‘China’s Multidimensional Diplomacy toward the Pacific Islands’, in Simon Shen and Jean-Marc F. Blanchard (eds), Multidimensional Diplomacy of Contemporary China, Plymouth, UK, Lexington Books, 2011, p. 271. 24 Marc Lanteigne, ‘Water Dragon? China, Power Shifts and Soft Balancing in the South Pacific’, Political Science, vol. 64, no. 1, June 2012, pp. 30–33; David M. Lampton, The Three Faces of Chinese Power: Might, Money and Minds, Berkeley, Los Angeles and London, University of California Press, 2008, pp. 72–73. 25 Ron Crocombe, Asia in the Pacific Islands: Replacing the West, Suva, IPS Publications, University of the South Pacific, 2007, pp. 34–35. 26 ‘Chinese Aid in the Pacific’, Lowy Institute for International Policy, March 2015, http://www.lowy institute.org/chinese-aid-map/#. 27 ‘China Keen to Increase Trade Value for Vanuatu’, Radio New Zealand International, 22 September 2014, http://www.radionz.co.nz/international/pacific-news/255223/china-keen-to-increase-t rade-value-for-vanuatu. 28 ‘Sukhumi Doubts Vanuatu recognized Abkhazia and S. Ossetia as Parts of Georgia’, Interfax, 15 July 2013; ‘Confusion Lingers over Vanuatu’s Links with Abkhazia’, Radio New Zealand International, 18 March 2013, http://www.radionz.co.nz/international/pacific-news/210896/confusion -lingers-over-vanuatu’s-links-with-abkhazia. 29 Sandra Tarte, ‘Regionalism and Changing Regional Order in the Pacific Islands’, Asia and the Pacific Policy Studies, vol. 1, no. 2, 2014, pp. 318–320; ‘Inaugural Meeting of the Pacific Islands Development Forum Ends with Allegations of Sabotage’, ABC (Australia), 8 August 2013, http://ww w.abc.net.au/news/2013-08-08/an-pacific-islands-development-forum-wrap/4873060. 30 ‘Pacific Island Countries Trade Agreement (PICTA)’, http://www.forumsec.org/resources/uploads/a ttachments/documents/PICTA_FAQ_Jun2012.pdf; ‘PACER Plus 10th Inter-sessional Meeting Postponed Due to Cyclone Pam’, Vanuatu Daily Post, 22 March 2015, http://www.dailypost.vu/new s/article_1a4a9f33-3603-5c47-ba31-138f0073ed9f.html. 31 See Rose Troup Buchanan, ‘Cyclone Pam: “Monster” Storm that Devastated South Pacific Island of Vanuatu Caused by Climate Change’, The Independent, 16 March 2015; Michelle Innis, ‘Aid Trickles to Vanuatu as Relief Workers Report Vast Cyclone Damage’, The New York Times, 18 March 2015; and ‘Vanuatu Economy Could Take Years to Recover’, Radio New Zealand International, 19 March 2015, http://www.radionz.co.nz/international/pacific-news/269024/vanuatu-e conomy-could-take-years-to-recover. 32 Duncan Campbell, ‘Vanuatu the Happiest Place on Earth’, The Hindu, 13 July 2006. Vanuatu has several times been judged ‘the happiest place on earth’ in the New Economics Foundation’s Happy Planet Index (see http://www.happyplanetindex.org/).

Wallis and Futuna Hapakuke Pierre Leleivai Hapakuke Pierre Leleivai, formerly a Fellow at the East-West Center (Honolulu, Hawaii), teaches at the Lano Alofivai secondary school on Wallis Island.

Background Situated about 400 kilometres west of the Samoan archipelagoes, Wallis (known locally as Uvea; the population may be described as Wallisians or Uveans) and Futuna are located northeast of Fiji, at the north of the Tongan group. Wallis and Futuna is the third and smallest of the French Pacific territories (the others being French Polynesia and New Caledonia). While Uvea has a hilly landscape, Futuna is divided by a central chain of mountains, marked by numerous streams. Together Wallis and Futuna comprise an area of 142 square kilometres, with a population of approximately 12,200 inhabitants.1 The Uveans and Futunans are spread over three kingdoms, one on Wallis and two on Futuna. Uvea is divided into three districts – Mu’a, Hahake and Hihifo, representing the kingdom of Uvea; Futuna encompasses the two kingdoms of Alo and Sigave. Matā‘utu, on Uvea, with 1,120 inhabitants, is the territory’s administrative and economic centre. Uvea and Futuna were first settled by Austronesian groups around 800– 900 BCE.2 By the middle of the 15th century Uvea was under the political influence of Tonga. This continued until the 19th century when, in 1836, a group of Tongan Wesleyans and their pastor were murdered in south Uvea.3

The first European incursions occurred on Futuna when Dutch navigators Jacob Le Maire and Willem Schouten reached the island in 1616 aboard the Eendracht, naming it Hoorn Island. More than a century later, in 1767, Captain Samuel Wallis of the HMS Dolphin rediscovered Uvea without landing ashore. On 1 November 1837 the missionaries of the Marist congregation of Lyon, France, landed on Uvea, coming ashore on Futuna on 9 November. It took only a few years for Father Pierre Bataillon on Uvea and Father Pierre Chanel on Futuna to convert the islanders to Roman Catholicism. Uvea had become almost entirely Christian by 1840, and Futuna by 1842. In 1842 the Hau (king) Vaimu’a became the first Christian king of Wallis and Futuna, taking the name of King Soane Patita (John the Baptist) Vaimu’a and opening the way to future Catholic kings. Under the leadership of the missionaries the king asked France to establish a protectorate, achieved for both islands on 27 November 1887. Subsequently a governor, named Résident de France (French Resident) or Préfet (Prefect), represented the French State (becoming Administrator-Superior in 1961). Protectorate status gave France control over the islands’ international relationships, as well as all issues dealing with Europeans. The kings retained their prerogatives with regard to the native population and land. The Protectorate gave emphasis to the relationship between the Catholic missions and customary authorities. The missionaries requested that the French Resident either be a missionary himself, or be assisted by a missionary acting as a translator to the king and assisting during royal council meetings. The two world wars had echoes on Uvea, especially during World War II (Futuna being spared due to its mountainous and inaccessible landscape). Uvea rallied to Free France and to General de Gaulle on 26 May 1942, despite some unwillingness from the French governor and from Catholic clergy supporting Marshal Pétain and the Vichy Government. On 27 May 1942, Free France Resident Jean Baptiste Mattei replaced the Vichy Resident, Léon Vrignaud. Uvea welcomed 6,000 American soldiers between June 1942 and February 1944. The period following World War II was a time of uncertainty, with some Uveans yearning for their island to become an American territory. Institutional instability arose with four kings successively deposed. The American presence progressively opened the archipelagoes to

the world, with visits from commercial ships and naval warships. These visits had an impact on society, with Uveans fascinated by the American servicemen with their wealth and technical superiority. As a result, Uveans began to challenge the customary authority, refusing to carry out traditional work on plantations. The US soldiers’ presence on Uvea had two main consequences: the departure of Uveans and Futunans as workers to US military bases in New Caledonia; and the birth of a ‘GIs’ Cult’.4 On 12 March 1959, Tomasi Kulimoetoke was appointed King of Uvea. His 48 years’ rule (1959–2007) was largely a period of political and social stability. In 1961 he signed a treaty under which Wallis and Futuna agreed to the status of a French overseas territory. In March 2003 a French constitutional amendment changed the territorial status of Uvea and Futuna from ‘overseas territory’ to ‘overseas collectivity’, specified in Article 74 of the French Constitution.5 In practice this amendment did not represent much change from the 1961 status of ‘overseas territory’, each permitting an accommodation between the values of the French republic and those associated with local custom and religion.

Geopolitical elements In terms of geopolitics Wallis and Futuna are linked to the Pacific region. Shipping links are maintained by the Pacific Direct Line’s Southern Pearl vessels, which provide one or two visits per month. New Caledonia-based Aircalin provides several flights per week to New Caledonia via Fiji. Since 1989 the public company France Câble et Radio has provided territorial, national and worldwide telecommunications. The small size of the collectivity (Wallis, 77.5 square kilometres and Futuna, 64.5 square kilometres) and substantial emigration make development difficult. Land tenure is officially within the jurisdiction of the Territorial Assembly, which is authorised to deliberate on land issues and matters of property rights governed by custom. In practice, however, land tenure is a customary power since the resolution of land issues is regulated by the chieftainships. Land tenure management embodies the core of custom and chieftainship existence, which discourages some companies from investing in the absence of a legal framework ensuring a well-defined contract between companies and

landholders. Wallis and Futuna are also not spared the effects of global warming, with industrial activity having the potential to irretrievably damage an already poor and fragile ecosystem. Local and French policymakers have been unable to find ways to keep people from leaving the territory for New Caledonia, French Polynesia or France. The first significant wave of migrations began in 1943, when the US forces asked the Free French authorities to recruit 300 workers to be in the service of the US Army in New Caledonia. In 1947 a second wave of migration saw the departure of hundreds of Uveans and Futunans to work for Ballande Mining in New Caledonia. A further round of migration took place between 1969 and 1972, with more than 1,300 Uveans and Futunans migrating to New Caledonia, encouraged by the nickel boom.6 These migrations have become permanent, with the establishment of Uvean and Futunan communities in localities such as Nouméa and suburban areas, and in Thio, Népoui and Tiébaghi further north. In the 1970s and the early 1980s there was a return of some migrants due to their discomfort with political changes in newly independent Vanuatu (the former French-English ‘condominium’ of the New Hebrides), where approximately 300 Uveans and Futunans had been residents, and because of political uncertainty in New Caledonia. In the late 1980s emigration to New Caledonia resumed. In 1989, 17,763 Uveans and Futunans were residents in New Caledonia, as against 14,166 inhabitants in Uvea and Futuna. Since the 1990s the migratory trend has continued. New Caledonia’s 2009 census reported 21,300 Uveans and Futunans.7 New Caledonia remains an emigration target for Uveans and Futunans, although France is the preferred destination for younger people. As observed in neighbouring Polynesian islands, such as Tonga, Samoa and the Cook Islands, emigrants take part in the local economy by sending money or goods back to their relatives at home. These Uveans and Futunans have contributed to the MIRAB (Migration, Remittances and Aid Bureaucracy) economy model, helping to sustain archipelagoes run on foreign aid and money transfers.8 The communities on New Caledonia have a distinctive feature, however, with the presence of informal ‘urban chieftainships’ paralleling the three kings back home and their respective chieftainships. At the level of district representation, migrants to New Caledonia have chosen to maintain the traditional titles for district chiefs –

faipule for Uveans, and pelesita for Futunans. Thus the boundaries of villages in Uvea and Futuna have been transposed to the host country, New Caledonia, the connections maintained by the flow of remittances representing only one part of a process by which traditional beliefs, values and practices are maintained in new surroundings.9

Constitutional framework Main institutions From the first millennium until the middle of the 15th century, governance in both islands appears to have been multipolar, with independent political entities controlled by chiefs whose power was based on kinship. Clan alliances were formed, especially in wartime. Around 1450 in Uvea this political pattern was altered through the Tongan invasions, which federated all the independent political entities under the governance of a king – hau in Uvea and sau in Futuna. The ‘rediscovery’ of Futuna and Uvea by Europeans, in 1616 and 1767 respectively, was not followed by a political takeover until the Roman Catholic missionaries claimed them for the French State in the mid-1800s. Father Pierre Bataillon met with King Vaimu’a in 1842, advising him to request the status of Protectorate. On 5 April 1887 Queen Amelia of Uvea signed a treaty establishing a Protectorate. King Musulamu (Alo kingdom) and King Tamole (Sigave kingdom) ratified the decree for Futuna on 6 February 1888. On 5 March 1888 a common decree was signed by France and the three monarchs, with the two islands forming a single Protectorate under the protection of France while preserving their internal autonomy. As noted, at the end of World War II there was a willingness among Uveans for Wallis to become a US territory. At the end of the war, the poor budget of the Protectorate revealed an outdated structure scarcely adapted to local development. Subsequently, following the establishment of the French Fifth Republic (October 1958), Uveans and Futunans were asked to vote in a referendum on their political status. The question asked by the French Government, on 27 December 1959, was: ‘Do you want the Wallis and Futuna Islands to become an integral part of the French Republic as an Overseas Territory?’ Of 4,576 voters participating – a 97.5 per cent turnout

of registered voters – 94.4 per cent (4,307 votes) were in favour (including every vote on Wallis); only 257 people (5.6 per cent) voted against the proposal. In 1961 legislation was enacted in France formally establishing Wallis and Futuna as a French Overseas Territory. Under this Act, France guaranteed to Uveans and Futunans the free practice of their religion, respecting their beliefs and customs as long as the latter did not conflict with the principles of the French Republic.10 Since October 1961 an Administrator-Superior, appointed by the French Council of State, has been in charge of all issues pertaining to civil status. Based in Matā‘utu, he is represented on Futuna by a delegate. Advances in major infrastructure (educational facilities, electricity and water supply, main access roads, telecommunications and health care) occurred throughout the Territory period. In 2003, Article 74 of the 1958 French Constitution was amended by a Constitutional Act relating to the decentralised organisation of the French state, particularly the overseas territories. As a result, Wallis and Futuna gained the status of French Overseas Collectivity. This new status took account of the specific interests of Wallis and Futuna within the Republic, including the application of laws and regulations, the organisation of government institutions and the collectivity’s electoral system. Four major institutions govern Wallis and Futuna. The French state is represented by the Administrator-Superior, chief of the collectivity, appointed by a decree from the Council of Ministers in Paris. In matters related to defence or maritime affairs the Administrator-Superior defers to the High Commissioner of New Caledonia. Otherwise, as head of the territory he oversees an administration encompassing the government’s services and the collectivity’s finances. An economic and social advisor is nominated by the minister of overseas France, a member of the French Government. Trial and administrative court judges, based in Matā‘utu, adjudicate matters within the common law. The three kings hold the following traditional titles: Lavelua, in the kingdom of Uvea; Tu’iagaifo, in the kingdom of Alo; and Tu’isigave, in the kingdom of Sigave – the latter two, as noted, residing on Futuna. The kings are custodians of tradition and local custom. Each is assisted by a great council, the fa’u, headed by a leader comparable to a prime minister (known as the kivalu in Wallis and the kaifakaulu in Futuna), and by a chiefs council

(called kaifenua and pulekolo in Futuna). These councils deal with issues related to customary law, particularly land tenure. A Territorial Council brings together the three kings and three members appointed by the Administrator-Superior after approval by the Territorial Assembly. The Territorial Council assists the Administrator-Superior in governance of the collectivity and examines major projects before their submission to the Territorial Assembly. The Territorial Assembly sets the main direction in terms of development, influencing funding for various programmes. Well established for more than 175 years, the Catholic Mission is another of the major institutions. The Diocese of Uvea and Futuna is led by a Bishop – presently Bishop Ghislain de Rasilly, ordained in 2005 – who oversees priests and a community of friars and sisters coming from various religious orders. Since 1842 the Marist missionaries have established a theocracy anchored in Uveans’ and Futunans’ daily life, their efforts visible on the landscape through churches, chapels and sanctuaries dedicated to patron saints and other figures. In recent times this Catholic monopoly has been weakened as a result of new influences from abroad. Over several decades both islands have seen the arrival of new religious or pseudo-religious groups and sects, including Jehovah Witnesses, Seventh-day Adventists, Pentecostals/Evangelists and Mormons,11 groups initially unwelcome but now well established. Finally, electoral politics have also played an important role in governance, especially since 1961. The Territorial Assembly, elected for a five-year term (using proportional representation in multi-member constituencies), includes 20 members (13 from Wallis, seven from Futuna – four members for Alo and three for Sigave), elected by universal suffrage from five electoral districts. On 1 April 2013 Nivaleta Iloai was elected president of the Territorial Assembly, the first woman to hold this position. Wallis and Futuna also participates in French national politics. A representative is elected by Wallis and Futuna voters to represent the collectivity in the French National Assembly; the territory is also represented in the French Senate, its senator chosen via indirect suffrage (i.e., a 22member electoral college). Wallis and Futuna’s voters are also eligible to cast votes for the president of France. In 2007 the Wallis and Futuna

electorate voted in favour of Nicolas Sarkozy (who won the election); in 2012, in the second round of voting, with a 76.5 per cent turnout, it voted for François Hollande (who also won). Wallis and Futuna voters may also participate in elections for the European Parliament, in a constituency with three members representing France’s various overseas departments and territories. The main French political parties have their counterparts on Wallis and Futuna, a mixture of left- and right-wing movements, generally affiliated to French political parties. The parties include La Voix des Peuples Wallisens et Futuniens (Voice of the Wallis and Futuna Peoples), Union Populaire pour Wallis et Futuna (People’s Union for Wallis and Futuna) and Sigave L’Association Nationale (Sigave National Association), among others.

Governance Governance of the collectivity is in accordance with Article 3 of the 1961 Act, which set up an unexpected cohabitation involving the French state, the three kings, the Catholic clergy and the politicians: four political actors whose nature is rooted in tradition, modernity or a mixture of both. This arrangement is based on efforts to achieve a balance, matching social and economic realities with development objectives. Over the last three decades, however, strike action against private companies and government entities,12 as well as land disputes, have strained the mediation powers of both the administration and the chiefdoms.13 Wallis and Futuna provides an example of governance involving interaction – not always easy – between the French state, the private sector and civil society (e.g., non-governmental organisations, district and village associations). The process is founded, today, on the idea of sustainable human development as a basis for policies on health, education, and overall living conditions. For instance, through financial transfers from France, the Territorial Assembly was able to set up a housing programme in order to help the disadvantaged, and a pension system for the elderly. On the whole, the major development projects (health, education, youth, agriculture and fishing, telecommunications, digital) and the establishment of key infrastructure (roads, administrative buildings, harbours) began during the 1960s and are still underway today.

This balance between custom and state has been undermined since 2005 by a politico-customary crisis. In 2005 a grandson of King Tomasi Kulimoetoke, while driving, caused the death of a pedestrian. He subsequently took refuge inside the Royal Palace in Matā‘utu, where he was entitled to immunity from the police.14 This was not the first such incident. As a result, the matter became an institutional crisis as Uveans divided into two factions: those wanting the grandson to serve a prison sentence as others would do, and those wishing to ignore the case since it dealt with a king’s direct family member. The two factions set up as the Royalists, supporting the king, against the Renovators, seeking the king’s abdication. Two parallel chieftainships arose, leading to a political and social divide that extended even into the communities in New Caledonia, French Polynesia and France, in part through the internet. Since then, the families, villages and district associations as well as the Catholic clergy have played a role in seeking to settle the dispute. Peace talks have proved protracted.15 Finally, on 26 March 2015 the two chieftainships gathered in Mala’e Sagato Soane, a square in front of the Royal Palace, where both sides agreed to step down.16 They aimed to install a new kivalu who would be in charge of appointing a new king, a position which has been vacant since 5 September 2014. It is unclear, however, that this process will successfully heal the divisions.

Challenges and prospects From the 1970s in the Pacific, the English-speaking states and territories have achieved self-government and independence while implementing economic development, all under the slogan of ‘the Pacific way’.17 At the same time Wallis and Futuna has been undertaking its ‘development’ at its own pace, sustained largely through financial transfers from France.18 Insufficient employment opportunities, lack of available land and slim population numbers – only 12,206 people, according to the 2013 census – represent real challenges. The small size of the territory, combined with the poor quality of its soil and limited resources, hinders development prospects. While local discourse from government administration, news media and political sources often identifies land issues as a barrier to development, local people have their

own perspective, seeing a need to defend the little land that they have. In these small islands, land is all that Uveans and Futunans have, and it is their dwelling that connects them to the fenua (land, country), which cannot be sold to foreigners (except when married to a native person).

Traditional societies more and more anchored in modernity In a work on Wallis and Futuna, Jean-Claude Roux notes that there are two economies, one based on overseas monetisation and the other grounded in tradition, observing that ‘the traditional society is no longer the implicit grassroots of the modern society’, the latter based on government services or overseas remittances. Wallis and Futuna’s future development is based on a mix of tradition and modernity. The steady monetisation of island life is carried on through financial transfers from France and from those living abroad. The public sector provides the main source of employment, supplemented, to a lesser extent, by the private sector, represented by construction and commercial activities. These two processes, brought together in a monetary economy, provide Uveans and Futunans with modern comforts at the same time as they maintain their customs and traditions. Development in such circumstances is based on the idea of sustainable development, with attention to environmental protection and the health of the population. The structural crisis brought about by the 2005 events undermined custom and the status of chiefs within the traditional society, dividing the population into two camps. In the aftermath, the removal from office of a chief (or a king) has now become a common practice, in contrast to the long reign of King Kulimoetoke (1959–2007). While Kapiliele Faupala was crowned King of Wallis in July 2008, the aftermath of the incident involving his predecessor’s grandson meant that his authority was not fully accepted. The positions on Sigave and on Alo have also experienced instability. Petelo Vikena was crowned king of Alo in November 2008 but abdicated in January 2010. After four years of negotiations, in January 2014 Petelo Sea was agreed to as the head of the Kingdom of Alo. In March 2016, after a sevenyear vacancy, King Eufenio Takala was inducted in Sigave.19 In addition to leadership instability, since 2005 there are many who no longer take part in the fatogia, the community’s duties, either because they

are opposed to the incumbent chief or, having had enough of the political crisis, they have chosen to turn their back on custom. In a globalised and digital world in which those on Wallis and Futuna, as elsewhere, are increasingly affected by foreign cultural and economic influences connecting them to monetisation and modernity, the next decades are likely to bring further challenges to customary institutions and islanders’ identity.

Further reading Angleviel, Frédéric, Les missions à Wallis et Futuna au XIXe siècle, Edition CRET-CEGET, Îles et Archipels, No. 18, Bordeaux, University of Bordeaux III, 1994. Angleviel, Frédéric, ‘Wallis and Futuna’, in Stephen Levine (ed.), Pacific Ways: Government and Politics in the Pacific Islands, first edition, Wellington, Victoria University Press, 2009, pp. 257– 273. Chappell, David, ‘Transnationalism in Central Oceania Politics: A Dialect of Diasporas and Nationhood?’, Journal of The Polynesian Society, vol. 108, no. 3, 1999, pp. 277–304. Hau’ofa, Epeli, ‘Our Sea of Islands’, The Contemporary Pacific, vol. 6, no. 1, 1994, pp. 148–161. Leleivai, Hapakuke Pierre, ‘Communication et trajectoires identitaires à Wallis et Futuna’, Hermès, La Revue, no. 32–33, 2002, pp. 181–189. Leleivai, Hapakuke Pierre, ‘Wallis and Futuna’, The Contemporary Pacific, vol. 25, no. 1, 2013, pp. 183–87. Leleivai, Hapakuke Pierre, ‘Wallis and Futuna’, The Contemporary Pacific, vol. 26, no. 1, 2014, pp. 225–29. Mrgudovic, Nathalie, ‘Evolving approaches to sovereignty in the French Pacific’, Commonwealth & Comparative Politics, vol. 50, no. 4, 2012, pp. 456–473. Préfecture des Îles Wallis et Futuna, http://www.wallis-et-futuna.pref.gouv.fr/ Wallis et Futuna 1ère – Actualités, http://wallisfutuna.la1ere.fr/

Notes 1 There is also a third island, Alofi, virtually unpopulated, associated with Futuna. For 2013 census figures, see Service Territorial de la Statististiques et des Etudes Economiques, Authentification des Résultats du Recensement de 2013, http://www.statistique.wf/index.php/component/content/article/1 02. 2 Daniel Frimigacci, ‘La préhistoire d’Uvea (Wallis): chronologie et périodisation’, Journal de la Société des Océanistes, vol. 111, 2000, pp. 135–163; and Christophe Sand, ‘La datation du premier peuplement de Wallis et Futuna: contribution à la definition de la chronologie Lapita en Polynésie Occidentale’, Journal de la Société des Océanistes , vol. 111, 2000, pp. 165–172. 3 Georges Delbos, L’Église Catholique à Wallis et Futuna (1837–2004), Suva, CEPAC, 2004, p. 306.

4 Jean-Claude Roux, Wallis et Futuna: Espace et temps recomposés. Chroniques d’une micro insularité, Bourdeaux, Edition CRET, Îles et archipels, no. 21, 1995. 5 An English language version of the French constitution is available at: http://www2.assemblee-national e.fr/langues/welcome-to-the-english-website-of-the-french-national-assembly. 6 Population Census 1976, p. 8: Institut National de la Statistique et des Etudes Economiques et Fonds d’Investissement pour le Développement Economique et Social, Résultat du recensement de la population des îles des Wallis et Futuna, 1976. 7 See official census and population reports for New Caledonia and for Wallis and Futuna respectively. 8 Geoff Bertram, ‘Introduction: The MIRAB model in the twenty-first century’, Asia Pacific Viewpoint, vol. 47, no. 1, 2006, p. 2. 9 Evelyn Marsters, Nick Lewis and Wardlow Friesen, ‘Pacific flows: The fluidity of remittances in the Cook Islands’, Asia Pacific Viewpoint, vol. 47, no. 1, 2006, pp. 43–44. 10 The French statutes relevant to the political status of Wallis and Futuna include measures enacted in 1958 (Article 74 of the French Consitution), 1961 (‘Law Conferring on the Islands of Wallis and Futuna the Status of Overseas Territory (Law No. 61-814)’) and 2007 (Law No. 2007-224, granting Wallis and Futuna the status of an ‘overseas collectivity’). 11 Filihau Asi Talatini, ‘Lotu Mavae: identité religieuse en mutation à Wallis et Futuna’, Les Cahiers de Wallis et Futuna, vol. 2, Les Amis de Wallis et Futuna, Ono Futuna, 2002, pp. 22–55. 12 In November 2015, for instance, flights to and from Wallis were prevented when traditional leaders organised a blockade of the airport, claiming that the airport was on customary land and that there was an obligation to provide employment to local people. French authorities responded by going to court in an effort to end the blockade; the traditional leaders responsible have asked the French Government to send a mediator. See Radio New Zealand International, ‘Wallis airport blocked by villagers’, 25 November 2015, http://www.radionz.co.nz/international/pacific-news/290534/wallis-airp ort-blocked-by-villagers; and ‘Authorities Seek Court Intervention Over Wallis Airport Blockade’, 26 November 2015, http://pidp.eastwestcenter.org/pireport/2015/November/11-27-13.htm. 13 When land disputes occur, the problem is brought before the village chief, who will try to make a fair settlement. If not, the case will be heard by the great chiefs, and the king will then decide without further possibility of appeal. 14 See Alex Duval Smith, ‘Civil war averted in French Pacific territory’, New Zealand Herald, 11 August 2005, http://www.nzherald.co.nz/world/news/article.cfm?c_id=2&objectid=10340298. The King’s grandson was subsequently surrendered to French gendarmes and flown to jail in New Caledonia. 15 Hapakuke Pierre Leleivai, ‘Wallis and Futuna’, The Contemporary Pacific, vol. 24, no. 1, 2012, p. 202. 16 Wallis et Futuna Ière [a local television station located in Mu’a District South], programmes broadcast 26 March 2015. 17 See Ian C. Campbell, A History of the Pacific Islands, Berkeley and Los Angeles, University of California Press, 1989. 18 In October 2015 some of the chiefs on Futuna were reported as raising the question of seeking independence from France (in a letter to the Administrator-Superior), reflecting displeasure over the allocation of funds between Wallis and Futuna and the possible loss of land ownership (and rights to seabed minerals and fisheries resources) to overseas interests. See Radio New Zealand International, ‘Futuna chiefs raise independence question’, 2 October 2015, http://www.radionz.co.nz/international/p acific-news/285899/futuna-chiefs-raise-independence-question. Wallis and Futuna’s regional profile was raised somewhat by its acceptance from 2006 onwards as an ‘observer’ at Pacific Islands

Forum annual summit meetings. Sensitivities within Futuna were evident when French president François Hollande visited in February 2016: initial plans to visit the kingdom of Alo but not Sigave were altered to include visits to both following objections by Sigave chiefs, who indicated that they would otherwise boycott the visit (only the second by a French president to the territory, Valéry Gisgard d’Estaing having stopped over in Wallis for several hours in 1979). Ultimately tensions amongst rival families in Sigave led to President Hollande’s visit to that kingdom not proceeding, but Hollande’s two-day visit included welcoming ceremonies in both islands, first on Wallis and then on Futuna [ed.]. 19 Radio New Zealand International, ‘New king on Futuna hoped to appease family tensions’, 5 March 2016, http://www.radionz.co.nz/international/pacific-news/298163/new-king-on-futuna-hoped-to-apeas e-family-tensions.

West Papua Gregory B. Poling Gregory B. Poling is a Fellow with the Sumitro Chair for Southeast Asia Studies and the Pacific Partners Initiative at the Center for Strategic and International Studies in Washington, DC.

The western half of the island of New Guinea, popularly referred to as ‘West Papua’, has been part of Indonesia for nearly 50 years. The Netherlands incorporated the region into the Dutch East Indies, but it experienced a much lighter colonial footprint than most of Indonesia. Like the rest of the Dutch East Indies, the region fell to the Japanese during World War II but was regained by the Netherlands following Tokyo’s surrender in August 1945. After four years of fighting, the Dutch Government in 1949 recognised the independence of Indonesia. But the negotiations over independence concluded with the status of West Papua left unclear.1 The Dutch retained control of the territory under the name ‘Netherlands New Guinea’, but the dispute continued to poison relations between the two nations for more than a decade as the Indonesians repeatedly sought redress through the United Nations. International opinion mounted against the Netherlands’ insistence on retaining West Papua, though the Dutch Government maintained it would keep control only until the territory was ready for self-governance. The Dutch organised elections across Netherlands New Guinea for a council to decide the territory’s eventual fate, which took office in 1961.2 It quickly endorsed moving toward independence under the name ‘West Papua’. It also established the independence ‘Morning Star’ flag, which today remains a potent symbol for pro-independence Papuans and a source of continual anger for Indonesian authorities. Indonesia responded to these

moves by launching military incursions into the territory. In 1962, the Netherlands was convinced to sign the New York Agreement, brokered by the United States, which placed the territory under a temporary UN custodianship ahead of a takeover by Indonesia.3 The agreement placed a number of conditions on the Indonesian takeover, most importantly that Jakarta would organise an ‘act of free choice’ for West Papuans to determine the territory’s permanent status.4 Indonesia officially took control of West Papua on 1 May 1963, renaming it ‘Irian Barat’ (West Irian). In 1969, in accordance with the New York Agreement, Indonesian authorities organised the Act of Free Choice. But the Act did not take the form of a referendum on independence open to all adult Papuans, as the agreement required.5 Instead, Indonesia organised a series of assemblies around the territory, comprising just over 1,000 men and women in total. These assemblies voted unanimously, and publicly, to remain a part of Indonesia. This overwhelming decision has been derided by Papuan dissidents and sympathisers abroad ever since. Cables reveal that foreign diplomats on the ground, including those of the United States, firmly rejected allowing independence against Indonesia’s wishes, and believed that Jakarta could not have won a free and fair plebiscite.6 But the United Nations endorsed the result, deciding even beforehand that allowing West Irian to separate from Indonesia would be ‘inconceivable’.7 As a result of its contested modern history, many Papuans and sympathetic outsiders, especially in the Pacific, regard the Act of Free Choice as invalid. They have insisted that West Papuans deserve a chance to determine by popular vote whether to remain with Indonesia or seek independence. Ever since taking control of the region in 1969, the Indonesian Government has faced a persistent, if relatively low-intensity, insurgency in Papua that seeks independence. The primary actor in that fight has been the Free Papua Movement, known by its Indonesian acronym OPM. The insurgency peaked in the late 1970s. It remains active today but is more effective as a symbol of resistance for Papuans and a bogeyman for Indonesia’s government to rationalise heavy-handed rule than as an effective insurgent force.8

West Irian was renamed Irian Jaya (‘Victorious Irian’) in 1972 – the name by which many both inside and outside of Indonesia still think of it. In 2003, the Indonesian Government split the province into two entities – the much larger Papua Province, and West Papua Province, which occupies the Bird’s Head peninsula on New Guinea’s northwest tip and several nearby islands.

Demographics Papua is Indonesia’s largest and most sparsely populated province. According to the last census in 2010, its population was just 2.8 million. West Papua Province contributes another 780,000 citizens.9 Combined, those roughly 3.6 million people inhabit an area of over 419,500 square kilometres. In addition to geography, those 3.6 million inhabitants are separated from most of the rest of Indonesia’s 250 million people by ethnicity, religion and language. Papuans, like their neighbors in the Maluku Islands and some other parts of eastern Indonesia, are ethnically distinct from the predominantly Malay population of western Indonesia. Native Papuans are usually identified as Melanesian, along with their counterparts in Fiji, New Caledonia, Papua New Guinea, the Solomon Islands and Vanuatu. While the boundaries and identifiers of Melanesia are contested, there is no doubt that Papuans are ethnically and culturally distinct from most other Indonesians. Over the years, state sponsored migration to West Papua from other parts of Indonesia has skewed the demographics of cities and coastal regions. In these areas, nonMelanesian Indonesians account for a majority of the population. However, Papuans remain the overwhelming majority in the interior highland areas.10 Papua is also linguistically distinct not only from Indonesia, but also from the surrounding Pacific Islands. The region’s interior is home to hundreds of distinct Papuan dialects that make up a language family entirely distinct from the Austronesian languages spoken throughout most of Southeast Asia and the Pacific Islands. Indonesian is the lingua franca in Papua’s coastal areas, having been bolstered by education, heavy migration from other parts of the archipelago, and the necessities of business; however,

language remains a significant barrier between many Papuans and their Indonesian counterparts, especially inland. The other demographic divide between the region of West Papua and most of the rest of Indonesia is religion. In a country that is nearly 90 per cent Sunni Muslim, Papua is overwhelmingly Christian. According to the 2010 census, Papua Province was home to 1.86 million Protestants, over 500,000 Catholics, and just 450,000 Muslims. The numbers for West Papua Province were a bit closer, with over 400,000 Protestants and 53,000 Catholics compared to 290,000 Muslims.11 In both cases, the Muslim population is largely the result of extensive migration from other parts of Indonesia.

Governance One of the most troubling developments facing West Papua is continued pressure from Jakarta to divide up the enormous region to make it more governable, dilute the sense of Papuan solidarity, and prevent the spread of separatist activity. This process first started in October 1999 when, on the back of its loss of Timor-Leste, the Indonesian Government attempted to make it more difficult for Papuans to follow suit by passing a law dividing Irian Jaya into three separate provinces.12 This initial attempt was passed by the national Parliament but never implemented due to strong opposition by local Papuan leaders. In 2003 President Megawati Sukarnoputri sliced the province in two by presidential fiat. This division remains a source of much anger for Papuans and has helped undermine faith in the intentions of those in power in Jakarta. Since then, the number of districts in Papua and West Papua has ballooned, with governance of the region growing more and more fragmented.13 In October 2013, the Indonesian House of Representatives moved to create the three new provinces of Central, South, and Southwest Papua.14 To date, these have not come into being amid substantial opposition from Papuan elites, but the possibility of further dividing Papua – and Papuans – remains a perennial issue. As a constituent part of Indonesia, West Papua is governed at the national level from Jakarta, which has complete authority over areas such as foreign affairs, defence and monetary policy. But since the fall of the autocratic

President Suharto in 1998, the country has experienced rapid decentralisation of power, and West Papua is no exception. Each of its two provinces is presided over by a governor and a regional legislature, both of whom are directly elected. Below that are regencies and cities, each of which is presided over by a regent or mayor, and a regional or city legislature. Papua Province has 28 regencies and one city, Jayapura; West Papua Province has 12 regencies and the city of Sorong. As with previous attempts to create new provinces out of Papua, there have been regular proposals to further divide the provinces into more regencies. Each regency/city is divided into districts and then into villages. Like all Indonesians, residents of Papua and West Papua provinces vote every five years for the country’s president and for their representatives in the national Parliament, as well as for the provincial governor, provincial lawmakers, regents/mayors, and members of local legislatures. The confusion that followed the division of Papua into two provinces, as well as various election disputes, have caused delays in each of the last two gubernatorial elections in Papua Province (pushed back from 2005 to 2006, and from 2011 to 2013). One oddity for the region is the use in some Papuan highlands districts of the noken system, by which voters place their ballots in a traditional noken bag (a knotted or woven bag traditional to Papua). The votes are then divvied up by consensus, often with entire villages voting for a single candidate. This system has been upheld by the Indonesian Constitutional Court several times, but it remains a source of concern given the relative ease with which it could invite fraud.15 Voter turnout is generally high across Indonesia. It has averaged 76.75 per cent nationwide in presidential and parliamentary elections since 2004.16 It is widely recognised that Indonesian turnout numbers are artificially high due to inflated voter lists, but the problem is especially bad in Papua Province – where the number of registered voters in 2014 was 10 per cent higher than the population of the province in the 2010 census – due to low voter education levels and a lack of independent monitoring or news coverage.17 This is only compounded by the extreme difficulty of tracking individual votes and registered voters in the noken system. In several

highland districts during the 2013 gubernatorial election, the number of eligible voters was 150 per cent or more of the total population.18 What sets the Papua and West Papua provinces apart from the rest of Indonesia is their status as ‘special regions’, thanks to a 2001 law giving the (then unified) Papua Province special autonomy in the hopes of dampening the separatist spirit. The law does extend a number of unique privileges to Papuans, but it is not of the same scope as the far-reaching autonomy granted to Indonesia’s westernmost province, Aceh, whose decades-long insurgency ended in 2005. Papua and West Papua’s special autonomy directly affects the governing structure in two ways. First, the governors of the two provinces must be ethnic Papuans. Second, the provinces have a special legislature, the Papuan People’s Council, which is charged with protecting traditional Papuan values. That council has served as a roadblock to further division of the provinces, as the 2001 law specifically says that it must approve any new provinces.19 Despite the privileges it confers, West Papua’s special autonomy has failed to address the most fundamental grievances of Papuans. One of these is the issue of equitable development and resource sharing. Papua Province is home to rich natural resources, including the Grasberg mine, owned by USbased Freeport-McMoRan. Grasberg is the world’s largest gold mine and third largest copper mine. It is also the largest single contributor of taxes to the Indonesian Government. Despite its rich natural resources, West Papua lags well behind most of Indonesia in development. West Papua on paper enjoys a higher per capita GDP than other parts of Indonesia, but very little of that wealth has trickled down to ordinary Papuans. Papua Province’s overall poverty rate in 2012, at 30.7 per cent, was the highest in Indonesia – nearly triple the national average.20 Its rural poverty rate was nearly 40 per cent and West Papua Province’s rural poverty rate topped 36 per cent, compared to a national average of less than 15 per cent.21 The region lags behind the rest of the nation on many key development indicators. Papua Province has Indonesia’s highest illiteracy rate – nearly 35 per cent among 15–44 year olds in 2011 compared to just over 2 per cent nationwide.22 The infant mortality rate for native Papuans in rural areas is a

sobering 18.4 per cent according to one Dutch scholar, compared to 3.6 per cent for non-Papuan settlers in urban areas.23 In addition to economic inequality, poor resource sharing and lagging development, disgruntlement and separatism in West Papua are fuelled by the heavy handed rule the province has long experienced. Despite decentralisation, special autonomy and the general withdrawal of the military from Indonesia’s civilian life since the fall of Suharto, the security forces maintain a heavy and very visible footprint in West Papua. Indonesian soldiers have for years been accused of acting with impunity in violating the rights of native Papuans and crushing any public indications of separatism. That separatism most often takes the form of rallies for independence, sometimes including public votes for independence at which activists raise the banned ‘Morning Star’ flag. Security forces generally crack down hard on such events, too often with deadly results, as troops have been known to fire dangerously into the air (and been accused of firing directly at protestors). The truth about the scale of such incidents and their details is difficult to determine since Indonesia’s government keeps a tight grip on the flow of information into and out of West Papua, especially by largely banning travel to the region by foreign journalists. Papuan human rights groups regularly report on extrajudicial killings and torture of independence activists. More than 70 political prisoners were held in Papuan prisons at the end of 2013, generally for advocating independence. 24 Papuan courts have proven susceptible to government pressure – like courts throughout Indonesia – while the human rights courts set up after the fall of Suharto have not tackled Papuan issues. Indonesian troops who commit abuses in Papua, meanwhile, are protected by a military justice system that has proven unwilling to either convict soldiers or allow them to be tried by civilian courts.25 Attention on West Papua has always been sporadic and short-lived in Jakarta, hundreds of miles away. Unlike Aceh, violence on the ground has not forced Indonesian leaders to keep a sustained focus on resolving Papuan issues. One promising effort that seems to have run out of steam is the effort to craft a bill on ‘enhanced special autonomy’, or otsus plus in Indonesian, to fix the shortcomings of the 2001 special autonomy legislation. Former president Susilo Bambang Yudhoyono embraced the otsus plus solution, at

least in theory, but the proposal has stalled amid a change of national government and disagreements among Papuans. The Government of Papua Province drafted a proposal for otsus plus in October 2013, which was widely criticised as too light on details on how to protect the privileges of indigenous Papuans. A month later, the governor of West Papua Province released a competing draft that, while far from a finished product, was seen as a significant improvement on the original.26 Unfortunately the otsus plus process stalled as President Yudhoyono became a lame duck during the 2014 presidential and parliamentary campaigns. Should the process be resumed, the two drafts will need to be reconciled, debated and passed by the national Parliament, and then approved by Indonesia’s new president, Joko ‘Jokowi’ Widodo. Jokowi’s ascension to the Indonesian presidency filled many Papuans with their first real hope that Jakarta would finally focus on their concerns. As a candidate, he traveled to West Papua twice to campaign – compared to the three times his predecessor Yudhoyono visited during ten years in office. During those visits, Jokowi met with prominent Papuan political and religious leaders, said he would like to see the ban on foreign journalists lifted, and even proposed building a second presidential palace near the Papuan capital, Jayapura.27 Now Jokowi has five years (at least) to make good on his promise to improve Papuans’ lot and try to address their grievances against Indonesia.

Foreign relations Outside of Indonesia, the decades-long insurgency in West Papua has garnered a modest but vocal pool of supporters, among both foreign governments and private citizens. This is most visible in the Pacific, where proximity and in many cases shared Melanesian ancestry have helped build sympathy for the cause of Papuan self-determination. Much of what news leaks out of West Papua to the wider world does so because of networks of exiles living in Pacific Island countries. Citizens in Australia, New Zealand and many Pacific Island states frequently stage highly visible protests demanding independence for West Papua or railing against human rights

abuses by Indonesian security forces. Those protests translate into embarrassing diplomatic pressure, placed on Jakarta by foreign governments. Official protests by foreign governments against Indonesian sovereignty over West Papua are few and far between. Nearly every interested nation has followed the United Nations’ lead in acknowledging West Papua as an integral part of Indonesia. The most prominent exception to this has been Vanuatu, home to the West Papua National Council for Liberation (WPNCL), a pro-independence umbrella group living in exile. Vanuatu’s former prime minister, Moana Carcasses Kalosil, was a vocal defender of the right of Papuans to decide their own political status. He even went so far as to attack Indonesian control of the region in front of the UN General Assembly, demanding that the organisation place West Papua on its list of territories to be decolonised.28 Carcasses left office in 2014. His successor, Joe Natuman, like many Pacific leaders, voiced support for human rights in West Papua and a greater degree of local autonomy, but not outright independence. The greatest boost for Papuans seeking a higher international profile and foreign support for self-determination has come not from the region’s foremost institution, the Pacific Islands Forum, which has shied away from discussing West Papua issues, but from the Melanesian Spearhead Group (MSG). The organisation includes Fiji, Papua New Guinea, the Solomon Islands, Vanuatu and New Caledonia’s Kanak Socialist National Liberation Front. The grouping in June 2014 set aside a bid for membership by the WPNCL in the face of vehement opposition by Indonesia. Instead, the member states agreed to send a foreign ministers’ delegation at Indonesia’s invitation to examine conditions on the ground in West Papua.29 That trip proved to be something less than a real fact-finding mission – a fact that led Vanuatu’s foreign minister to pull out of the trip. Eventually, Indonesia’s diplomatic efforts bore fruit, but only partially. The Melanesian leaders dismissed the WPNCL’s membership application on the grounds that the group was not sufficiently representative of the Papuan community. They left the door open, however, for a future application, which a new Papuan umbrella organisation, the United Liberation Movement for West Papua, submitted in February 2015.30 The Solomon Islands and Vanuatu, as well as the Kanak Socialist National Liberation Front, appeared willing to accept West Papuan membership. Papua New Guinea and Fiji

were lukewarm on the idea, especially after Indonesia was admitted to the Melanesian Spearhead Group as an observer (in 2011). Papua New Guinea’s prime minister Peter O’Neill shifted position in the face of domestic opinion, vowing in February 2015 to speak out more about the ‘oppression’ of West Papuans.31 In June 2015 the MSG rejected the United Liberation Movement for West Papua’s membership application, awarding the group ‘observer’ status. At the same time the MSG upgraded Indonesia’s ‘observer’ status to that of ‘associate member’, a step described as appropriate for a government with a large number of Melanesians within its borders. The outcome, disappointing for Papuan independence activists (and criticised in Vanuatu), was unlikely to have much of an effect on their long-term aspirations. It is clear that the desire of West Papua for self-determination is not going away. The question is when Indonesia’s leaders will move to address that desire, and how much damage will be done to Jakarta’s international reputation in the meantime.

Further reading Drooglever, Peter, An Act of Free Choice: Decolonisation and the Right to Self-Determination in West Papua, Oxford, Oneworld Publications, 2009. King, Peter, West Papua and Indonesia Since Suharto: Independence, Autonomy or Chaos?, Sydney, University of South Wales Press, 2004. Kirksey, Eben, Freedom in Entangled Worlds: West Papua and the Architecture of Global Power, Durham, Duke University Press, 2012. MacLeod, Jason, ‘Self-determination and autonomy: the meanings of freedom in West Papua’, in M. Anne Brown (ed.), Security and Development in the Pacific Islands, Boulder, Colorado, Lynne Rienner, 2007, pp. 139–168. Rutherford, Danilyn, Laughing at Leviathan: Sovereignty and Audience in West Papua, Chicago, University of Chicago Press, 2012. Widjojo, Muridan S., ‘Papua’, The Contemporary Pacific, vol. 25, no. 2, 2013, pp. 394–403. United Liberation Movement for West Papua New Guinea, http://westpapua.net/ West Papua Independent Human Rights Media, http://westpapuamedia.info/ Free West Papua Campaign, http://freewestpapua.org/

Notes

1 ‘Hague Agreement’, Encyclopaedia Britannica, http://www.britannica.com/EBchecked/topic/25164 1/Hague-Agreement. 2 Harry Gilroy, ‘New Guinea Vote Hailed by Dutch’, New York Times, 2 March 1961, http://wpik.org/Sr c/NYT/19610306.pdf; Associated Press, ‘Hollandia Urged to Set its Aims’, New York Times, 5 April 1961, http://wpik.org/Src/NYT/19610406.pdf. 3 Indonesia and Netherlands, Agreement (with annex) concerning West New Guinea, New York, 15 August 1962, Article II, XII. 4 Indonesia and Netherlands, Agreement (with annex) concerning West New Guinea, Article XVII. 5 Indonesia and Netherlands, Agreement (with annex) concerning West New Guinea. 6 ‘Consular Trip to West Irian, January 6 to February 2, 1968’, Cable from U.S. Embassy Jakarta to Department of State, 10 May 1968, p. 16, http://www2.gwu.edu/~nsarchiv/NSAEBB/NSAEBB128/ 8.%20Airgram%20A-570%20from%20Jakarta%20to%20State%20Department,%20May%2010,%2 01968.pdf. 7 ‘West Irian’, Cable from U.S. Embassy Jakarta to Department of State, 4 October 1968, p. 4, http://w ww2.gwu.edu/~nsarchiv/NSAEBB/NSAEBB128/18.%20Airgram%20A-803%20from%20Jakarta% 20to%20State%20Department,%20October%204,%201968.pdf. 8 ‘Free Papua Movement’, GlobalSecurity.org, http://www.globalsecurity.org/military/world/para/papua. htm. 9 ‘Population by Region and Religion’, Sensus Penduduk 2010, http://sp2010.bps.go.id/. 10 Jim Elmslie, ‘Economic and Social Indicators in West Papua’, Pacific Institute of Public Policy, 19 June 2013, http://pacificpolicy.org/2013/06/economic-and-social-indicators-in-west-papua/. 11 Ibid. 12 Carving Up Papua: More Districts, More Trouble, IPAC Report No. 3, Institute for Policy Analysis of Conflict, 9 October 2013, p. 2, http://file.understandingconflict.org/file/2013/10/IPAC_Car ving_Up_Papua_More_Districts_More_Problems.pdf. 13 Ibid. 14 Markus Junianto Sihaloho, ‘New Provinces Receive the Nod’, Jakarta Globe, 26 October 2013, htt p://thejakartaglobe.beritasatu.com/news/new-provinces-receive-the-nod/. 15 ‘Votes in the Bag? The Noken System and Conflict in Indonesian Papua’, Crisis Group, 11 September 2012, http://blog.crisisgroup.org/asia/2012/09/11/votes-in-the-bag-the-noken-system-and-c onflict-in-indonesian-papua/. 16 Republic of Indonesia, ‘Election Guide’, http://www.electionguide.org/countries/id/102/. 17 Cillian Nolan, ‘How Papua Voted’, New Mandala, 17 April 2014, http://asiapacific.anu.edu.au/newm andala/2014/04/17/how-papua-voted/. 18 Ibid. 19 Carving Up Papua, p. 2. 20 Elsmslie, ‘Economic and Social Indicators in West Papua’. 21 Ibid. 22 Ibid. 23 Ibid. 24 ‘Human Rights in Papua’, European Parliament Subcommittee on Human Rights, 23 January 2014, p. 1, http://www.europarl.europa.eu/meetdocs/2009_2014/documents/droi/dv/132_wpapua_/132_wpa pua_en.pdf. 25 Ibid., pp. 3, 8, 14.

26 Otsus Plus: The Debate over Enhanced Autonomy for Papua, IPAC Report No. 4, Institute for Policy Analysis of Conflict, 25 November 2013, http://file.understandingconflict.org/file/2013/11/IPAC _Otsus_Plus_The_Debate_over_Enhanced_Special_Autonomy.pdf. 27 Michael Bachelard, ‘Joko Widodo Promises to Focus on West Papua’, Sydney Morning Herald, 23 August 2014, http://www.smh.com.au/world/joko-widodo-promises-to-focus-on-west-papua-2014082 3-107jd0.html. 28 Sabrina Wirz, ‘Asia’s Palestine? West Papua’s Independence Struggle’, The Diplomat, 7 November 2013, http://thediplomat.com/2013/11/asias-palestine-west-papuas-independence-struggle/. 29 Communique of the 19th MSG Leaders’ Summit, Noumea, New Caledonia, 20 June 2013, http://ww w.msgsec.info/images/PDF/leaders%20communique%20-%20retreat%20final.pdf. 30 ‘West Papua Resubmits Application for MSG Membership’, press release, United Liberation Movement for West Papua, 3 February 2015, http://freewestpapua.org/2015/02/04/west-papua-resub mits-application-for-msg-membership/. 31 Jemima Garrett, ‘Papua New Guinea’s Prime Minister Peter O’Neill Vows to Speak Out Against Melanesian “Oppression” in West Papua’, Australian Broadcasting Corporation, 5 February 2015, htt p://www.abc.net.au/news/2015-02-06/png-pm-vows-to-speak-out-against-oppression-in-west-papua/6 074572.

Conclusion: Political Institutions in the Pacific Islands Jon Fraenkel The 26 Pacific territories covered in this book include entities closely incorporated with the metropolitan powers located around the Pacific Rim, such as Guam (United States), Rapa Nui (Chile), West Papua (Indonesia) and Tokelau (New Zealand), as well as independent states like Papua New Guinea (PNG), Fiji and Kiribati. The region includes mass democracies with over a hundred years of experience of participatory democracy, like Australia and New Zealand, alongside territories still contemplating decolonisation. It includes an extraordinary ethno-linguistic diversity, mostly in Melanesia, which alone accounts for one fifth of the world’s documented living languages.1 It includes relatively big nations like Australia (24 million people), PNG (7.4 million) and New Zealand (4.6 million), alongside tiny micro-states like Niue, which has a population of only 1,500, and minute dependent territories like Pitcairn with less than 50 inhabitants. Of the 38.7 million people that inhabit the 8.5 million square kilometres of Oceania, 73 per cent are in Australia and New Zealand.2 Classical political science questions have been addressed in strikingly different ways across the region: whether to accommodate ethnic diversity through unitary, devolved or federal systems; whether to handle conflict through majoritarian or proportional electoral systems and/or through power sharing arrangements; and whether to adopt parliamentary or presidential systems or (as in Kiribati and in the autonomous region of Bougainville) some hybrid between the two. Two of the region’s richer states, Australia

and New Zealand, did not greatly shape the initial constitutional choices of their Pacific neighbours, but they have become increasingly influential in subsequent reform processes, not least because of the growth in importance of Australian and New Zealand aid, trade and capital. New players entering the arena, like China, Indonesia and Russia, have shown less interest in influencing political structures, and greater willingness to engage with regimes whatever their complexion.3 Other important questions for the region have been how to meld traditional forms of governance with imported institutions; how to respond to exceptionally low levels of women’s representation; and how to build states in countries where – for many who live in rural areas and engage largely in subsistence cultivation – the state matters little.

Relationship to metropolitan powers Close integration of territories with metropolitan powers is a legacy of the colonial experience. Hawaii became the 50th Pacific state in 1959, while other American Pacific territories – Guam, American Samoa, and the Commonwealth of the Northern Marianas (CNMI) – are described by the US Supreme Court as having become ‘appurtenant to but not a part of the United States’.4 Rapa Nui was annexed by Chile in 1888 but became a ‘special territory’ in 2007, though aspirations for greater autonomy remain unrealised. As Forrest Wade Young details in this volume, the colonial subjugation of the Rapa Nui people still shapes contemporary controversies about sovereignty and land ownership. Military administration of the island after 1966 encouraged an influx of Chileans, who now outnumber Rapa Nui voters. Towards the western end of the Oceania region, inward migration also creates a highly intermixed polity that does not have independence. West Papua was absorbed into Indonesia with United Nations approval after the so-called ‘Act of Free Choice’ in 1969, and, as Gregory B. Poling shows, subsequent transmigration has filled the cities and coasts with people from Java and Sulawesi, leaving Papuans as a majority only in the highlands. New Caledonia, French Polynesia, and Wallis and Futuna are in law part of the French nation state; all participate in elections for the French national assembly and for the French presidency. The CFP franc, the currency in all

three territories, is pegged to the Euro. In 1958, French President General Charles de Gaulle insisted on the doctrine of the ‘one and indivisible republic’, and forced voters in French Polynesia to choose between colonial integration or abrupt secession, with 64 per cent voting in favour of staying with France.5 The pro-independence movement was defeated, and after disturbances in Papeete, its leader, Pouvanaa a Oopa, was imprisoned.6 The peoples of the French Pacific remain confronted with those stark options, although in modified forms: since 2003 they may opt to become ‘overseas collectivities’, with considerable autonomy. French Polynesia went a step further by adopting its own autonomy statute. New Caledonia is unique: as a result of the 1998 Noumea Accord, the territory has special legislative powers and a schedule for phased expansion of domestic political control ahead of a referendum on independence scheduled for 2018. To agree to that accord entailed such a rupture with the doctrine of indivisibility of the Republic that France had to hold a nationwide referendum, the result of which earned New Caledonia a special provision in the French constitution. Of the 17 territories in the world that remain on the United Nations list of non-self-governing territories, the Pacific accounts for six: American Samoa, Guam, New Caledonia, Pitcairn, Tokelau and, as of 2013, French Polynesia. Neither of Tokelau’s two referendums (2006 and 2007) on whether to become self-governing achieved the required two-thirds majority, and Pitcairn’s links with Britain have, if anything, been reinforced in the wake of the adjudication of a series of child abuse cases by the British Privy Council. Guam was ceded by Spain to the US in 1898. An American military build-up on the island in the new millennium makes independence less likely, despite longstanding Chamorro disquiet about existing arrangements. Inclusion on, or exclusion from, the UN list can prove highly controversial, with behind-thescenes manoeuvring at the UN headquarters in New York or Geneva being used to exert leverage to open the way to independence back home. The incentives are clear. In 2008, UN Secretary-General Ban Ki-moon urged the world ‘to complete the decolonization process in every one of the remaining 16 Non-Self-Governing Territories’.7 As Lorenz Gonshor shows in this volume, in 2013 five-time president and pro-independence leader Oscar Temaru ironically succeeded in getting French Polynesia re-inscribed on the

UN list of countries to be decolonised on the very day he was ousted from office.8 Twelve independent countries are covered in this volume – including Australia and New Zealand, but excluding the freely associated states. The six Australian colonies came together in a single independent state in 1901, under a federal constitution with a bicameral federal Parliament. Six years later New Zealand became a self-governing dominion, and then witnessed a gradual weakening of its links with Britain. Samoa was the first of the Pacific Island states to secure independence, in 1962, and the unique constitutional arrangements chosen at that time (discussed later) have probably contributed to that country’s post-colonial stability. Tonga formally became independent in 1970, but here the colonial hand was, for the most part, light. Financial irregularities under King George Tupou II (1893–1918) led the colonists to demand closer control.9 But Britain became preoccupied with Europe during the First World War, and on its heels the Great Depression enabled Tupou II’s more capable successor Queen Salote to preserve Tonga’s political autonomy. Fiji’s independence in 1970 was, as Robert Norton shows in this volume, inevitably problematic because of the need to reconcile the competing aspirations of Fiji Indian and indigenous Fijian leaders.10 Since the chiefs ceded Fiji to Britain’s Queen Victoria in 1874, Fijian ethno-nationalists claimed that it should have been returned to indigenous leaders in 1970, not left with a multi-ethnic constitution that gave extensive political rights to Fiji Indians. This was a rallying cry of those who overthrew elected governments in 1987 and 2000, but Fiji’s third coup in 2006 reversed that agenda.11 This was a coup not just against the ethno-nationalists, but also against those who aspired for a government based on a compromise between indigenous Fijian and Fiji Indian communal self-interest. The coup-makers’ preference was instead to transcend and quash ethnic politics through an integrationist strategy. Nevertheless, as Robert Norton shows in this volume, the ‘necessary keystone in Fiji’s political architecture’ remains preservation of indigenous Fijian power in the state. The Great Council of Chiefs once anchored the state to indigenous authority, but ‘Bainimarama’s political takeover marked the ending of chiefly pre-eminence in Fiji’s political life’. Now ‘indigenous power in the state has shifted from the chiefs to the

“warriors”’, Norton shows, and in the process the Republic of Fiji Military Forces has reshaped itself as an ‘autonomous political agent, taking upon itself authority as guardian for the government and development of a multiethnic nation’. Constitutional choices made at independence also had enduring implications elsewhere in the region. The extent of consultation made a difference to the subsequent political authority of structures chosen. Papua New Guinea (1975) and Kiribati (1979) used constitutional conventions that left institutional arrangements with a lasting political legitimacy.12 By contrast, although there was more local consultation than is often appreciated in the Solomon Islands, the 1978 Independence Order dealt with issues of citizenship in ways that pleased the British Colonial Office and swelled the size of the golden handshake, but provided no durable answer to what has been the perennial issue in Solomon Islands politics: how to balance the powers of the central government against those of the separate islands (or provinces).13 The western breakaway movement that emerged in 1978 was echoed by demands for devolution during a constitutional review a decade later, and then again in the wake of the June 2000 coup when many provinces threatened to secede from the nation.14 In this volume, Gordon Nanau cites the view of three-time prime minister Solomon Mamaloni that combining the scattered islands ‘into one sovereign authority’ was ‘the greatest error of the British colonial administration in this region’. Nevertheless, Nanau is notably more positive about Solomon Islands’ achievement of ‘sovereign statehood’ than most non-indigenous scholars, many of whom believe that independence came too early in 1978 or are enthusiastic about fashionable models of ‘shared sovereignty’.15 Given its exceptional diversity and the strength of highly localised identities in Melanesia, it is remarkable that the region has not witnessed more secessionist breakaways. The only actual case of partition in the Pacific Islands was exceptionally peaceful: in 1976, the British Gilbert and Ellice Islands decided to go their separate ways and a few years later became independent as Kiribati (1979) and Tuvalu (1978).16 Nevertheless, the region’s most protracted conflicts – those in West Papua, Bougainville, French Polynesia, Timor-Leste and New Caledonia – have revolved around efforts to forge new nations. In Vanuatu, the Santo rebellion in 1980 was the

most severe of the secessionist crises accompanying independence anywhere in the Pacific region; Jimmy Stevens’ Vemerana Provisional Government on Santo threatened to break up the emerging state, until the rebellion was halted by the deployment of British, French and Papua New Guinean troops. Bougainville’s decade-long conflict, first with PNG and then internally, is the most severe of the modern-day secessionist disputes. Its settlement, like that of the New Caledonian crisis of the 1980s, included a provision that delayed the decision on independence for at least a decade.17 No such offer has been extended to West Papua, which was instead offered substantial autonomy, but many suspect that the motive here is to ‘dilute the sense of Papuan solidarity, and prevent the spread of separatist activity’.18 In between the extremes of independence and incorporation, the Pacific Islands hosts some intriguing experiments in ‘free association’. New Zealand introduced free association arrangements with the Cook Islands in 1965 and Niue in 1974. The Federated States of Micronesia (FSM), the Republic of the Marshall Islands and Palau entered into Compacts of Free Association with the United States that gave them considerable autonomy (allowing them, unlike the Cook Islands and Niue, to join the United Nations), but left the US with ‘strategic denial’ rights preventing rival superpowers from establishing military bases. As a result of an associated deal, missiles can be fired from Vandenberg air base in California across a 6,760-kilometre arc through the Pacific sky before plunging into the lagoon of Kwajalein Atoll in the Marshall Islands. From there, they can be retrieved and studied by US scientists working at the nearby Ronald Reagan Ballistic Missile Defence Test Site. For this, Kwajalein’s chiefs receive substantial rental payments, only a fraction of which trickles down to the estimated 12,000 people who inhabit Ebeye Island, adjacent to the American base, which has only one quarter of a square kilometre of land. In May 2011 the Marshall Islands Government facilitated a land use agreement between the US and Kwajalein landowners that extends this lease until 2066 (with the option to continue further until 2086). For the FSM and the Marshall Islands the 1986 Compacts of Free Association expired in 2001. They were extended two years before being renewed for a further 20-year period in 2003, although now with greater scrutiny by the US Department of the Interior. Palau commenced its 15-year

compact later than its neighbours, in 1994, and agreement on a new compact was reached only in 2010. Renewed compacts provide the US-associated states with sizeable additions to government revenue – US$3.2 billion over 20 years for the FSM and the Marshall Islands, and US$250 million for Palau until 2024. The Marshall Islands, French Polynesia and Christmas Island (in Kiribati) have had to deal with the long-term repercussions of nuclear testing. Between 1966 and 1975, 41 atmospheric tests were conducted on French Polynesia’s remote atolls of Moruroa and Fangataufa, followed by 137 underground tests, ending in 1996 when France signed the Comprehensive Nuclear Test Ban Treaty. Aid subsequently declined, but due to French finance, New Caledonia and French Polynesia still have the highest income per capita in the Pacific. For the American nuclear-affected islands, independence comes at a price. The Marshall Islands earned global notoriety because of the Bravo nuclear test on Bikini Atoll in 1954. In total, 67 tests were carried out on Bikini and neighbouring Enewetak between 1946 and 1958, the effects of which spread eastwards to Rongelap and Utrik. Washington insists that the US$250 million paid to the Marshallese Nuclear Claims Tribunal under the first compact, and the similar amount paid for federal programmes to affected victims, was ‘full and final’ compensation. The Marshallese Government disagrees. MPs representing the nuclearaffected islands have at times made common cause with Kwajalein’s chiefs to urge a more strident negotiating stance over the new compact, nuclear compensation and the land use agreement for the Ronald Reagan Ballistic Missile Defence Test Site. Close integration with a wealthy metropolitan power brings economic advantages; the independent Pacific states tend to be poorer than those which have been incorporated by powerful neighbours around the Pacific Rim or those that have retained close ties with former colonial powers.19 Yet the direction of causation is not always clear. For the French territories, the link to Paris entails large aid subventions which ensure a much higher level of GDP per capita than they would achieve as independent states. For Kiribati, independence occurred in the same year (1979) as the country’s phosphate ran out, thus ensuring a post-colonial future as one of the UN’s ‘least developed countries’. Colonial authorities were less keen to retain

burdensome responsibilities for the larger and poorer Melanesian states than they were to retain formal linkages with the Pacific micro-states. For many in the French territories, ‘free association’ arrangements such as those that connect Pacific states to America and New Zealand would be preferable to the controls from Paris, but the conventional French Government position is to insist that post-colonial linkages can only be decided after the territory settles upon independence. Financial incentives thus act as strong deterrents to loosening ties, even where internal inequalities are so marked that indigenous groups still back political parties pushing for independence.

Electoral systems Oceania has a history of electoral experimentation. Colonially inherited firstpast-the-post systems have been ditched in favour of single-member preferential systems in Papua New Guinea and (temporarily) Fiji, although in both cases without the expected results.20 Nauru has a unique scoring rule or ‘points system’ which oddly resembles the arrangements invented by 18thcentury French mathematician Jean-Charles de Borda.21 New Zealand’s switch from a first-past-the-post system to mixed member proportional representation in 1996, as Stephen Levine shows in this volume, encouraged a shift to coalition governments and a more ethnically diverse Parliament. French Polynesia has seen frequent electoral system changes enforced from Paris, as Lorenz Gonschor discusses, most recently in 2011 to a complex multi-member constituency, two-round model with a one-third seat bonus. This is designed to deliver both countrywide proportionality and stability. Fiji’s adoption of the alternative vote (AV) system in 1997 was the most ambitious of the region’s contemporary electoral system reforms. When it was introduced in the mid-1990s, AV was intended to boost the chances of the moderate centrists, and to disadvantage ethnic extremists. As Robert Norton shows in this volume, it unexpectedly encouraged ‘strategic alliances even between ideologically opposed parties’, under ‘the principle that our enemy’s enemy is our friend’. That made the 1999–2000 governing coalition highly precarious, says Norton, and this was a weakness that contributed to the overthrow of Prime Minister Mahendra Chaudhry’s Labour Government in May 2000. The alleged unfairness of the electoral laws was also a

significant point of reference for the 2006 coup-makers, largely because it helped them resist Commonwealth and Pacific Islands Forum pressures for early post-coup elections.22 Ultimately, however, the main focus after 2006 was not on the deficiencies of the AV system, but on Fiji’s use of communal electoral rolls, which were believed to encourage race-based voting. Changing proportions, with i-Taukei (as indigenous Fijians are now called under the 2013 constitution) now reaching 62 per cent of the population and Fiji Indians down to around 34 per cent, were ‘favourable to a strengthening of indigenous power in the state’, and linked to this ‘the common franchise now takes central place in the ideology of a mainly indigenous government’.2 3

List proportional representation (PR) systems are used in New Caledonia and Wallis and Futuna, and now also in Fiji. Unlike majoritarian systems, list PR systems aim to make the share of seats won by each party roughly equivalent to its share of votes, although in Fiji and in the French territories there is a 5 per cent threshold below which parties gain no seats at all. By definition, list PR requires multi-member constituencies. New Caledonia, for example, is divided into three constituencies: the south (with 32 seats), the north (with 15) and the Loyalty Islands (with 7) for elections to the 54member territorial congress.24 Voters simply tick the ballot paper next to their favoured political party, and the parties submit lists of their candidates in order of preference. After the votes are tallied, electoral officials calculate which members are elected according to each party’s share of the vote. In 2004, President Gaston Flosse modified French Polynesia’s list PR voting system so as to give a 30 per cent seat bonus to the winning party, thus deliberately removing the system’s proportionality. His aim was to give his Tahoeraa Huiraatira Party a stable working majority and to end many years of dependence on coalition government. The result was a crashing defeat for Tahoeraa Huiraatira, and the election instead of pro-independence leader Oscar Temaru. Instead of opening an era of stability, French Polynesia entered a politically chaotic period, with the presidency switching back and forth between the various factions. Paris stepped in to quash Flosse’s failed reform in 2007, and French Polynesia no longer uses list PR for elections to its territorial assembly.

Fiji’s list PR system, introduced ahead of the 2014 election, is an open rather than closed list system. Voters must indicate support for individual candidates rather than party lists. Votes cast for candidates are aggregated by party to calculate each party’s number of seats in the 50-member Parliament. Once this number is known, the candidates declared as victors are the highest vote-getters in their own party. Fiji’s system worked reasonably well at the September 2014 elections, but it ensures that some candidates get elected who have lower vote tallies than those who lose. In 2014, Bainimarama personally obtained 40 per cent of the national vote, and thereby ensured that many of his Fiji First party’s candidates were elected even though they had smaller tallies than some of the opposition’s candidates. This is a characteristic feature of all open list PR systems, but it generates more disquiet than usual in Fiji because the country’s ballot paper design is so exceptionally candidate-centred. Vanuatu is one of the few countries in the world to use the single nontransferable vote (SNTV) system. In an effort to bind francophone secessionists into the emerging Vanuatu state, British and French colonial authorities agreed on SNTV in the hope of avoiding a clean sweep for Walter Lini’s anglophone Vanua’aku Pati. Under SNTV, voters have a single vote, but constituencies have multiple members. The system worked fairly well in the initial elections after independence, when the parties were reasonably disciplined and the contest was a bipolar one between the Vanua’aku Pati and the francophone Union of Moderate Parties. From the late 1980s, however, the francophone/anglophone cleavage faded in significance, and parties splintered.25 As political parties have multiplied and as the number of independents has increased, SNTV has become less predictable. To work in a non-erratic way, the system depends on political parties accurately gauging the extent of their support, fielding the appropriate number of candidates, and adopting sophisticated vote management techniques. Debates about electoral system change in the Pacific have often been linked to controversies about the franchise. In Fiji, racially based communal constituencies – with indigenes, Fiji Indians and the so-called ‘general’ voters (or ‘others’)26 enfranchised on separate ethnic rolls – were introduced in 1929 but were strongly opposed by Fiji Indian political leaders, who called for a ‘common roll’. Tonga still has separate electoral rolls in

Parliament for nobles and commoners, though the former contains just 33 holders of noble titles. In the unincorporated US territories, citizens are not entitled to vote in American presidential elections. New Caledonia has a varying suffrage (as Nic Maclellan shows in this volume) depending on whether elections are held for the territorial congress and provincial assemblies, or for French and European institutions, or for the scheduled independence referendum in 2018. In its 1962 constitution, Samoa restricted the franchise to holders of matai titles (a term often misleadingly translated as ‘chief’, but possibly better translated as ‘family head’), but also provided separate seats for socalled ‘individual voters’. In 1990, the franchise was extended to all Samoans, but it remains the case that candidates who stand for Parliament must hold matai titles. In a 2015 Electoral Amendment Act, Samoa abolished its two ‘individual voter’ seats and replaced them with two urban constituencies. As Iati Iati points out in this volume, this change means that as of 2016 all seats in the legislature can now only be filled by matai candidates. Neighbouring American Samoa does not have any similar restrictions regarding either the franchise or candidates for office. Yet, as Robert Shaffer and Cheryl Hunter show in this volume, ‘the importance and relevance of matai titles remains paramount in the territory at all political levels’, and so ‘the chances of an individual being elected governor without holding a matai title are slim’. They see this as indicative of the successful integration of ‘tried and trusted principles of fa‘a Samoa and fa‘a matai into the American democratic system of government’. In many parts of the Pacific, principles of universal suffrage and voter equality sit awkwardly alongside traditional systems of authority. In Tonga, the king was not – as often characterised – an ‘absolutist’ monarch. Tonga’s kings have been bound by the 1875 Constitution. Until 2010, the prime minister and Cabinet were selected directly by the king, and sat in the legislature alongside nine nobles and nine peoples’ representatives. The holders of the 33 noble titles selected the nine noble representatives, while the rest of Tonga’s 100,000 people chose the nine people’s representatives. In 2010 the number of people’s representatives was raised to 17, and the 26member Parliament (rather than the king) now chooses the prime minister. At

the first election under the new arrangements in 2010, conservative people’s representatives banded together with the nine nobles to select a noble, Lord Tu’ivakanō, as prime minister. Only after a second election under the new arrangements, in 2010, was longstanding democracy campaigner ‘Akilisi Pōhiva able to become head of government.

Presidential or parliamentary systems The Pacific’s presidential systems are mostly found in the north where the US influence exerts greatest sway. Freely associated Palau most closely resembles the US model, with a president and congress and even a miniature replica of Washington’s Capitol building. The Commonwealth of the Northern Marianas, Guam and American Samoa have governors, rather than presidents, but these heads of government are chosen by direct popular elections. The Marshall Islands and Nauru depart from the pattern in having ‘presidents’ that are more like prime ministers in the Westminster system: i.e., they are elected by Parliaments. East Timor is the region’s only semipresidential system, with both a president and a prime minister. Kiribati is a unique hybrid: although it has a directly elected president, the nominees for the presidential election are selected through a complex parliamentary ballot, the president must form his Cabinet from within Parliament, and the president, despite being directly elected, can be ousted by a no confidence vote within Parliament (although doing so precipitates a general dissolution of Parliament). Those choices are aimed at lessening the possibility of gridlock between an unpopular president and a hostile Parliament, giving the president a direct popular mandate and diminishing the likelihood of being removed mid-term. As a result, Kiribati has experienced much less political instability than neighbours like Tuvalu and Nauru. In Vanuatu, Nauru, PNG, Solomon Islands, Tuvalu and the Cook Islands, parliamentary systems have been characterised by regular ‘no confidence’ challenges and frequent turnover of governments. Political parties have been absent (Nauru, Tuvalu), or party affiliations have been too fluid to stop ambitious politicians from crossing the floor, often in search of cash rewards or ministerial portfolios (PNG, Solomon Islands, Vanuatu, Cook Islands). In

Vanuatu, half of the government was sent to prison in 2015 after being convicted for giving or receiving bribes to support a no confidence motion. Nowhere in the Pacific Islands do left–right ideological cleavages (such as remain dominant in Australia and New Zealand) shape the divide between government and opposition. The only Pacific Island territories with fairly robust political parties are Fiji and New Caledonia, although Vanuatu and French Polynesia have some history of political party organisation.27 In Fiji, until 2014 there was always one party that appealed to the vast majority of ethnic Fijians28 and another that represented the Fiji Indians.29 The Fijian party stood little chance in the Indian-dominated constituencies and vice versa. In 1997, when Fiji abandoned the first-past-the-post system in favour of the AV system, politicians were persuaded that adopting this modified majoritarian system would be likely to encourage multi-ethnic government. That proved false. Over the three elections under AV the party system polarised, so that by the third election in 2006 one party claimed 80 per cent of the indigenous Fijian vote while the other had 80 per cent of the Fiji Indian vote. Despondency as a result of the failure of the AV system to generate anticipated pro-moderation outcomes helps to explain why former centrist politicians and associated civil society activists sympathised with the military coup of December 2006. Bainimarama’s 2014 election victory, with 59 per cent of the national vote, drew on support from the vast majority of the Fiji Indian community, but also a sizable share of indigenous Fijian voters. In New Caledonia, issue-based political polarisation has also proved sharp, but not on the ethnic pattern of Fiji. Rivalry in the 1980s between the Front de Libération Nationale Kanak et Socialiste (FLNKS) and the French loyalist Rassemblement pour la Calédonie dans la Republique (RPCR) was intense, but ethnicity was not coterminous with political allegiance; some indigenous Kanaks backed the RPCR, while the pro-independence parties always obtained at least some support outside their core Melanesian voter base. The Noumea Accord process in New Caledonia may also have served to soften the bipolar divide, with parties on both sides fragmenting. The territory had long used a closed list proportional representation system. The 1998 Noumea Accord devolved power to the provincial assemblies and made it so that Cabinet had to be formed through mandatory power-sharing

rules. The contrast between the experience of Fiji and New Caledonia illustrates the perils of using majoritarian systems in bipolar societies with race-based voting. In western Melanesia, Nauru, Tuvalu and the Cook Islands, frequent turnover of governments and fluidity of allegiances on the floor of Parliament have encouraged reformists to propose legislation aimed at strengthening political parties and/or limiting ‘no confidence’ challenges. Papua New Guinea’s 2001–2 Organic Law on Political Parties and Candidates aimed to fast-track the development of strong parties by requiring MPs who back a prime minister after a general election to stick with that choice in any votes of confidence, budgetary votes and votes on constitutional amendments. This provision was, however, ruled unconstitutional by PNG’s Supreme Court in 2010. Likewise, a law extending PNG’s 18-month ‘grace period’ (during which ‘no confidence’ motions are forbidden) to 30 months was rejected as unconstitutional in 2015. Influenced by PNG’s reforms, Solomon Islands introduced a law to encourage political parties ahead of the 2014 polls, but this too failed to work as expected. The law encouraged formerly partyaffiliated candidates to escape the new constraints by contesting as independents. An alternative response to the issue of government instability and frivolous no confidence challenges is to adopt a presidential system, either on the classical US model or via the hybrid models adopted in Kiribati and Bougainville. The key advantage of presidential systems over parliamentary arrangements is that they allow a nationwide vote for the head of government. The key advantage of parliamentary systems over presidential systems is that they allow mid-term removal of unpopular governments. If one retains a parliamentary system but prevents or restricts mid-term government changes, the result is arguably to embrace the worst aspects of both systems. In many cases, collapses of Melanesian governments have been driven by venal politicians seeking personal advancement, but there have been cases when votes of no confidence triggered changes of government that enabled both PNG and Solomon Islands to resolve major crises. Kiribati’s method of making a successful no confidence challenge trigger an automatic dissolution of Parliament could be adopted by Melanesian countries even without nationwide elections for the head of government.

Women’s representation The Pacific Islands accounted for four of the six countries worldwide that had no women members of Parliament in 2015–16 (FSM, Nauru, Palau and Tonga).30 Yet change is in the air, at least in some parts of the Pacific. The Marshall Islands, a country that has had only five women elected to its Parliament (the Nitijela), elected a female MP as president in 2016: Hilde Heine. In western Melanesia, a growing number of women are now contesting elections. By contrast, in some of the smaller and more remote islands, few women seek elective office and those that do are subjected to extraordinary pressures. In some Pacific Island polities, female leaders prefer to keep out of the male-dominated political world, and to concentrate instead on influencing decisions behind the scenes or through civil society activism. Temporary special measures have been used to increase the number of women in Parliament in the French territories, East Timor, Samoa and on Bougainville. The French law on parity has given New Caledonia and French Polynesia territorial assemblies that are close to 50 per cent female. That law has not yielded similar results in the third largest French territory, Wallis and Futuna, where constituencies are smaller and where numerous parties enter the contest. Although the parity law requires parties to lodge lists that alternate men and women, since most ‘parties’ in Wallis and Futuna obtain only a single member the law does not have the intended effect. East Timor also has a law that requires gender-balanced party lists, with every third candidate having to be female. Since that country also has a reasonably robust party system, as Michael Leach shows in this volume, 38.5 per cent of MPs elected in 2012 were women. Adopting parity laws would have similar results to those in Wallis and Futuna in the other party-less Pacific micro-states. Where political parties are absent or weak, reserved seats are the only legal measure likely to increase the number of women in Parliament. The autonomous region of Bougainville is the sole Pacific Islands entity to have adopted reserved seats for women, with three of its 41 seats reserved for women. In Samoa, a ‘best loser’ system was introduced ahead of the 2016 elections, aimed at ensuring that at least 10 per cent of parliamentarians are women. If there are fewer

than 10 per cent elected by ordinary channels, those women candidates achieving the highest number of votes nationally enter Parliament, even if they did not win in their constituency contests. Under those conditions, Parliament temporarily expands in size. Although women are poorly represented in Pacific Parliaments, they tend to be better represented at the top levels of the civil service. In Solomon Islands, Kiribati, Nauru and Samoa, the percentage of women in top positions in the ministries is considerably higher than the share of women in Parliament. The secretaries who head the I-Kiribati ministries are paid more than parliamentarians. Much of the consultation around new legislation occurs through the ministries, prior to agreement in Cabinet and before bills are tabled in Parliament. In Kiribati, as in many other Pacific countries, highly qualified women prefer to take positions formulating and implementing policy, rather than going on the election campaign trail or joining male-dominated legislative assemblies.

Power-sharing accords Although it is not well known internationally, the Pacific has an interesting experience with mandatory power-sharing accords. Nowhere in the world has witnessed such extensive litigation about mandatory power-sharing rules as Fiji. In the 1997 Fiji constitution, a power-sharing provision required that all parties with 10 per cent or more of seats be proportionally represented in Cabinet. The provision was modelled on that in South Africa during the transition from apartheid. When Mahendra Chaudhry formed his Labour-led People’s Coalition Cabinet after the 1999 Fiji election, he proved able to exclude the majority Fijian party, Rabuka’s Soqosoqo Vakavulewa ni Taukei, on the grounds that its disappointed leaders imposed conditions on Cabinet. When Chaudhry’s arch-adversary Laisenia Qarase tried to follow that legal precedent after the elections of 2001, the Court of Appeal rejected his efforts as contrary to the 1997 constitution. Qarase appealed, and the court cases dragged on until 2004 before the Supreme Court left no option but for Qarase’s Soqosoqo Duavata ni Lewenivanua party to draw Chaudhry’s Fiji Labour Party (FLP) into Cabinet. Qarase reluctantly complied by offering the FLP a series of fabricated minor portfolios in a Cabinet so swollen that his

former ministers also retained their portfolios. It was, unsurprisingly after so much legal action, a compromise within the letter but not the spirit of the law. The FLP condemned the expansion in Cabinet size as a costly imposition on Fiji’s people and criticised the portfolios as trivial. Since a fresh election was looming on the horizon anyway, Chaudhry chose instead to take his party onto the opposition benches. After the 2006 election, Qarase complied more wholeheartedly with Fiji’s multi-party Cabinet rules, drawing nine senior FLP parliamentarians into Cabinet, and giving them substantial portfolios. It proved an enormously popular decision, but Fiji’s political leaders again failed to make the arrangements work. Chaudhry stayed out of Cabinet and eventually expelled two of the participating FLP ministers. The short-lived 2006 power-sharing Cabinet was the first government since independence to have brought members from country’s two largest parties – one representing indigenous Fijians and the other the Fiji Indians – into Cabinet.31 It lasted just seven months before being overthrown by military commander Frank Bainimarama. In New Caledonia, power-sharing provisions agreed as part of the 1998 Noumea Accord worked better than those in Fiji. In all post-accord Cabinets the loyalist parties dominated, based on their ascendancy in the more densely populated Southern Province and their ability to gain a minority of seats in the majority Kanak Northern Province. During the initial post-Noumea Accord government, the pro-independence groups regularly took legal action regarding the composition of government. However, after the 2001 assumption of the presidency by the RPCR’s Pierre Frogier, Kanak activist Déwé Gorodé was selected as vice president, thus meeting one of the major FLNKS demands. The 2004 election saw a fracturing amongst the loyalist parties, with the emergence of Avenir Ensemble, and then further splits before and after the 2009 and 2014 elections, culminating in the collapse of Cynthia Ligeard’s Front pour L’unité coalition in late 2014, and the protracted failure to choose a new president thereafter. As Nic Maclellan shows in this volume, ‘this instability reflected their uncertainty over the best way to respond to the looming deadline for a referendum on selfdetermination’. Pro-independence parties have also been prone to schisms. The other Noumea Accord provisions of devolution of powers from Paris to Noumea, and a rebalancing of income towards the predominantly Kanak

Northern and Loyalty Islands Provinces, have helped to encourage the emergence of new alignments among the Kanak parties. New Caledonia’s arrangements had a stronger foundation than those in Fiji. In Fiji, the power-sharing rule was a belated addition to a 1997 constitution that had initially been assembled on a Westminster basis. The prime minister was selected first on the basis of ability to command confidence in Parliament, and only then confronted with the need to compose a multi-party Cabinet. In New Caledonia, the power-sharing government (Cabinet) is selected first, and then decides among itself the preferred president. Provisions for the proportional distribution of ministerial appointments fitted better with New Caledonia’s list PR electoral system than with Fiji’s majoritarian AV system. Whereas Fiji’s power-sharing rule generated incentives for each ethnic group to avoid splits that might entail parties falling below the 10 per cent threshold required for Cabinet participation, New Caledonia’s rules allowed smaller parties to combine with larger parties to boost Cabinet entitlements. Despite the superior design of New Caledonia’s institutions, these have not overcome the fundamental cleavage that animates the territory’s politics between those who favour, and those who oppose, independence.

Conclusion: Post-colonial trends After decolonisation, the new Pacific nations mostly experienced a brief honeymoon period, presided over by a generation of relatively strong national leaders: Ratu Sir Kamisese Mara (Fiji), Michael Somare (PNG), Walter Lini (Vanuatu), Amata Kabua (Marshall Islands), Ieremia Tabai (Kiribati) and Hammer de Roburt (Nauru) . The late 1980s and 1990s saw the demise of the initial post-colonial optimism. Fiji witnessed its first coup in 1987, and a year later the Bougainville civil war began in earnest. Vanuatu’s bipolar party system began to fracture in the late 1980s, and intense government instability reigned across the 1990s. For nations that were decolonised later, like Tuvalu, the watershed was also later; the two elections of 1993 proved the catalyst for an end to the early era of stability, after which the fall of governments became more frequent. In the Marshall Islands, the death of Amata Kabua in 1996 ended a protracted phase of

unipolar government, with no genuine opposition, initiating a much more unstable period. As David Kupferman points out in this volume, Amata Kabua is ‘popularly acknowledged as the last iroijlaplap (paramount chief)’ in the Marshall Islands, a figure able to combine traditional standing across the group’s Ralik and Ratak island chains with constitutional authority as president. In the western Melanesian countries, heightened instability during the 1990s was encouraged by foreign companies’ increased interest in extracting their natural resources. The Solomon Islands Government remained reasonably stable until Solomon Mamaloni’s second government, when most ministers acquired strong links with logging companies.32 Political links of mining and forestry companies became more important in both Solomon Islands and PNG politics, particularly around election time. Issues of corruption became a focal point for the assembly of loose opposition coalitions; the reformist governments that took power in the Solomon Islands under Francis Billy Hilly in 1993 and under Bartholomew Ulufa’alu in 1997 both tried to define themselves through opposition to the ‘Mamaloni men’. Even in Tonga, where the monarchy remained in charge, ‘Akilisi Pōhiva and the other pro-democracy activists turned from agitation against abuses of office to radical demands for a shift away from royal control over government in the 1990s. The contrast with Australia is considerable: both geologically and politically, as Nigel Roberts points out, Australia is old and stable. Pacific Island states are young and towards the new millennium became increasingly unstable. Does the closing of the post-independence honeymoon era represent a shift to permanent volatility or merely a hiatus before some new leadership consolidation? Efforts by elites to stabilise and regiment the political order have been most ambitious in Papua New Guinea, but, as noted, similar devices have been used in Solomon Islands. Samoa’s HRPP is the only political party across the region which has remained in office for close to a quarter of a century, consolidating its control by expanding Cabinet size, increasing the parliamentary term to five years, outlawing party switching and creating new sub-ministerial positions for pro-government backbenchers. Solomon Islands and Tuvalu have also sought to increase Cabinet size, so as to render the executive more resilient to parliamentary challenge. Whether

those efforts prove successful, or prove harbingers of the emergence of more authoritarian political elites, or whether the post-independence era’s highly contested and fluid styles of politics reassert their influence, remain matters for observers of Pacific Islands politics to consider.

Further reading Corbett, Jack, ‘Two Worlds? Interpreting Political Leadership Narratives in the 20th Century Pacific’, Journal of Pacific History, vol. 47, no. 1, 2012, pp. 69–91. Corbett, Jack, Being Political: Leadership and Democracy in the Pacific Islands, Honolulu, University of Hawai‘i Press, 2015 Dinnen, Sinclair, Doug Porter and Caroline Sage, ‘Conflict in Melanesia: Themes and Lessons’, World Development Report, 2011, World Bank, Background Case Study, November 2010. Filer, Colin, ‘The Double Movement of Immovable Property Rights in Papua New Guinea’, Journal of Pacific History, vol. 49, no. 1, 2014, pp. 76–94. Firth, Stewart, ‘Political Status and Political Development: the Implications for Australian Policy towards the Pacific Islands’, SSGM Discussion Paper 2013/6. Firth, Stewart and George Carter, ‘The Post-RAMSI Mood in Melanesia’, Asia and the Pacific Policy Studies, vol. 3, no. 1, 2016, pp. 16–25. Fry, Greg, ‘Recapturing the Spirit of 1971: Towards a New Regional Settlement in the Pacific’, SSGM Discussion Paper 2015/3. Fry, Greg and Sandra Tarte (eds), The New Pacific Diplomacy, ANU E Press, 2015, http://press.anu.e du.au/titles/pacific-series/the-new-pacific-diplomacy/. Gabriel, Jennifer and Michael Wood, ‘The Rimbunan Hijau Group in the Forests of Papua New Guinea’, Journal of Pacific History, vol. 50, no. 3, 2015, pp. 322–343. Ingram, Sue, ‘Building the Wrong Peace: Reviewing the United Nations Transitional Administration in East Timor (UNTAET) Through a Political Settlement Lens’, Political Science, vol. 64, no. 1, 2012, pp. 3–20. Lawson, Stephanie, ‘The “Pacific Way” as Postcolonial Discourse: towards a Reassessment’, Journal of Pacific History, vol. 45, no. 2, 2010, pp. 297–314. Lawson, Stephanie, ‘Melanesia: The History and Politics of an Idea’, Journal of Pacific History, vol. 48, no. 1, 2013, pp. 1–22. Smith, Graeme, ‘Chinese Reaction to Anti-Asian Riots in the Pacific’, Journal of Pacific History, vol. 47, no. 1, 2012, pp. 93–109. Ware, Helen, ‘Melanesian Seasonal Migration as a Contribution to Security’, Global Change, Peace and Security, vol. 19, no. 3, 2007, pp. 221–242.

Notes 1 Based on data from the US Summer Institute of Linguistics, http://www.ethnologue.com/ethno_docs/d istribution.asp?by=area.

2 For data sources, see the South Pacific Commission’s PRISM database (http://www.spc.int/prism/), the Australian Bureau of Statistics (http://www.abs.gov.au) and Statistics New Zealand (http://www.s tats.govt.nz). Figures do not include West Papua and East Timor. 3 Stewart Firth, ‘New Developments in the International Relations of the Pacific Islands’, Journal of Pacific History, vol. 48, no. 3, 2013, pp. 286–293. 4 Robert Underwood, ‘Micronesian Political Structures and American Models: lessons taught and lesions learned’, The Journal of Pacific Studies, vol. 29, no. 1, 2006, p. 7. 5 As Hapakuke Pierre Leleivai discusses in this volume, a similar vote in Wallis and Futuna gave a 94.4 per cent vote in favour of that territory remaining an integral part of the French Republic. 6 Stephen Henningham, France and the South Pacific; A Contemporary History, Sydney, Allen and Unwin, 1992, pp. 123–126. 7 ‘Colonisation has no place in Today’s World, says Secretary-General’, Decolonisation Seminar, 14 May 2008, http://www.un.org/News/Press/docs//2008/sgsm11568.doc.htm. 8 See also Nic Maclellan, ‘“Hijacking decolonisation”: French Polynesia at the United Nations’, Inside Story, 31 May 2013, http://insidestory.org.au/hijacking-decolonisation-french-polynesia-at-the-united-n ations. 9 ‘Eseta Fusitu‘a and Noel Rutherford, ‘George Tupou II and the British Protectorate’ in Noel Rutherford (ed.), Friendly Islands; A History of Tonga, Melbourne, Oxford University Press, 1977, p. 180. 10 Robert Norton, ‘Seldom a transition with such aplomb: from confrontation to conciliation on Fiji’s path to independence’, Journal of Pacific History, vol. 39, no. 2, 2004, pp. 163–184. 11 Commentators often talk of four or five coups in Fiji, and one could equally talk of six because each of the main coups (14 May 1987, 19 May 2000 and 5 December 2006) has been followed by a subsequent abrogation of the Constitution (25 September 1987, 29 May 2000, 10 April 2009). What in African or Latin American coups tends to occur compressed into a single moment occurs over two stanzas in Fiji. 12 Barrie Macdonald, Cinderellas of Empire; Towards a History of Kiribati and Tuvalu, Canberra: Australian National University Press, 1982. For PNG, see Narokobi in this volume. 13 For background on the constitution-making process, see Yash Ghai, ‘The Making of the Independence Constitution’, in Peter Larmour (ed.), Solomon Islands Politics, Suva, University of the South Pacific, 1983. 14 Ralph Premdas, Jeffrey Steeves and Peter Larmour, ‘The Western Breakaway Movement in Solomon Islands’, Pacific Studies, vol. 7, no. 2, 1984; Solomon Mamaloni, 1987 Constitutional Review Committee Report, vol. 2, Honiara, Government Printer, 1988; Jon Fraenkel, The Manipulation of Custom: From Uprising to Intervention in the Solomon Islands, Wellingon, Victoria University Press, 2004, p. 182. 15 On verdicts regarding independence, see Judith Bennett’s concluding chapter on independence titled ‘Independence: Coming, ready or not!’ and the conclusion in the epilogue to her book that the independent Solomon Islands ‘joined the long line of Pacific mendicant states’ (Judith Bennett, The Wealth of the Solomons, Honolulu, University of Hawai‘i Press, 1987, pp. 311, 346); see also Judith Bennett, ‘Roots of Conflict in Solomon Islands – Though Much is Taken, Much Abides: Legacies of Tradition and Colonialism’, SSGM Discussion paper 5, 2002. On ‘shared sovereignty’, see Aila M. Matanock, ‘Governance Delegation Agreements: Shared Sovereignty as a Substitute for Limited Statehood’, Governance: An International Journal of Policy, Administration, and Institutions, vol. 27, no. 4, 2014, pp. 589–612; Julien Barbara, ‘From Intervention to Partnership – Prospects for Development Partnership in Solomon Islands after RAMSI’, Asia & Pacific Policy Studies, vol. 1,

no. 2, 2014, pp. 395–408; David Craig and Doug Porter, ‘Post-Conflict pacts and Inclusive Political Settlements: Institutional Perspectives from Solomon Islands’, ESID Working Paper 39, September 2014; Joakim Eidenfalk, ‘Australia, Solomon Islands and Sovereignty’, in Robin Gerster and Christine De Matos (eds), Occupying the ‘Other’: Australia and Military Occupations from Japan to Iraq, Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 2009. 16 Excluded here is the break-up of the Trust Territory of the Pacific Islands into the Commonwealth of the Northern Marianas, the Republic of the Marshall Islands, the Republic of Palau and the Federated States of Micronesia. 17 New Caledonia’s 1988 Matignon Accord put off the scheduled independence vote for a decade. However, in 1998, parties signed the Noumea Accord which put the scheduled independence vote back further, to some point between 2014 and 2019. Bougainville’s peace agreement provides that there will be a vote on independence at some point between 2015 and 2020. 18 Gregory B. Poling, this volume. 19 See Geoff Bertram, ‘The MIRAB Model Twelve Years On’, The Contemporary Pacific, vol. 11, no. 1, 1999, Table 1, p. 114. For a reappraisal of his earlier position, see Geoff Bertram, ‘Economic consequences of decolonisation in small island economies: a long-run analysis’, paper presented at the conference on ‘Tourism specialization and vulnerability: evidence and challenges for sustainable development in small island territories’, Reunion Island, 5 December 2014, available http://www.geoff bertram.com/publications/?no_cache=1#c73. 20 On Fiji, see Jon Fraenkel and Bernard Grofman, ‘Does the Alternative Vote Foster Moderation in Ethnically Divided Societies? The Case of Fiji’, Comparative Political Studies, vol. 39, no. 5, 2006, pp. 623–651. On Papua New Guinea, see Ron May, The 2007 Election in Papua New Guinea, SSGM Briefing Note 7, 2008, http://rspas.anu.edu.au/melanesia/BriefingNotes/BriefingNote_The%20 2007ElectionsInPapuaNewGuinea.pdf. 21 Jon Fraenkel and Bernard Grofman, ‘The Borda Count and its Real World Alternatives: Comparing Scoring Rules in Nauru and Slovenia’, Australian Journal of Political Science, vol. 49, no. 2, 2014, pp. 186–205. 22 See Jon Fraenkel, ‘The Great Roadmap Charade; Electoral Issues in Post-Coup Fiji’, in Jon Fraenkel, Stewart Firth and Brij Lal (eds), The 2006 Military Takeover in Fiji: A coup to end all coups?, Canberra, ANU E Press, 2009. 23 Citations from Robert Norton, this volume. 24 Arrangements for the territorial congress sit atop those for the provincial assemblies: the Southern Province has 40 seats, the Northern Province has 22 seats and the Loyalty Islands Province has 14 seats. 25 Howard van Trease, ‘The Operation of the Single Non-Transferable Vote System’, Commonwealth & Comparative Politics, vol. 43, no. 3, 2005, pp. 296–332. 26 These were all those not enrolled on the Fijian and Indian rolls, i.e., including Europeans, partEuropeans, Chinese, and after 1990 other Pacific Islanders. 27 For a survey of political parties across the region, see Roland Rich, Luke Hambly and Michael G. Morgan (eds), Political Parties in the Pacific Islands, Canberra, Pandanus, 2006. 28 First the Alliance, then the Soqosoqo Vakavulewa ni Taukei and then Laisenia Qarase’s Soqosoqo Duavata ni Lewenivanua. 29 First the National Federation Party and then the Fiji Labour Party. 30 Data from the Inter-Parliamentary Union website: http://www.ipu.org/wmn-e/classif.htm. The other states without women members are Yemen and Qatar. The IPU records only states that are

members of the United Nations, not territories like American Samoa and the Commonwealth of the Northern Marianas (which also have no female legislators). 31 See Michael Green, Fiji’s Short-lived Experiment in Executive Power-Sharing, May–December 2006, SSGM Discussion Paper, 2009, http://rspas.anu.edu.au/melanesia/discussion.php. 32 Ian Frazer, ‘The Struggle for Control of Solomon Islands Forests’, The Contemporary Pacific, vol. 9, no. 1, 1997, p. 41.