BEACHCOMBING 101 with P.F. Kluge

As with any books written with regards to Micronesia, I always say it is a good thing. This statement does not attest to the veracity, nor the quality of any book, only that it exists, and that in itself is worth noting. The region of Micronesia is one that has been underreported, and under researched, and therefore nearly every text is canonized. And with the canon growing slowly every year and decade, and more and more of the indigenous peoples becoming aware of the world around them, and the gentle systems of academia and global discourse, soon the time will be ripe for the neo-colonials to strike back. And it is canonical additions such as P.F. Kluge’s work, The Edge of Paradise: America in Micronesia, which are perfect pressure points, on which islanders in Micronesia can fight back, trying to make more balanced inroads into the canon.

            A brief description of Kluge is of course important, in obtaining the best possible understanding of the book, in that it is narrative, and personal flowing narrative, rather than an academic effort. Kluge was a product of the sixties. Already with a PhD in the 1960’s, and in fear of being sent to Vietnam, he became one of “Kennedy’s Children,” in joining the Peace Corps, and being sent to Micronesia. For the next twenty plus years, Kluge was a piece of the Micronesian mosaic, he befriends both the beachcombers of the islands, as well as the Japanese mestizos (of mixed descent, Japanese and native), and several scattered natives.

            The book begins with the death of his friend, the President of Palau, Lazarus Salii. Over his checkered tenure, in and out of Micronesia, Salii was always at the center, the voice which called him back, or the hand which offered him work. For the past two decades Salii, and others mentioned throughout the book, were diligently and not so diligently trying to make sense of their political status, wavering back and forth between commonwealth, free association, and independence. Kluge remembers Salii as a fiery personality, one destined to be overshadowed by more conservative and mellow figures. Another ex-peace corps volunteer remembers him as the “Patrick Henry of Micronesia.” He was one who could bring order to the disheveled world the Trust Territory had left behind, one who could bring dignity to the shanty towns, spread all throughout the islands.

            The suicide of his friend brings him back into the islands once again, and naturally, as he hops to each island, more memories come back and nostalgia ensues. The route which he uses itself is in a way part of his tradition in the islands, and he therefore assumes it to be part of the culture of the islands themselves.

          I resisted the temptation to fly directly to Palau. Instead I’m doing the islands the old way, hopping through what used to be the Trust Territory, now divided into a gaggle of post-territorial states, all linked to the United States. First Majuro, capital of the Republic of the Marshall Islands, then Ponape and Truk, parts of the Federated States of Micronesia, then through Guam, a US territory-to Saipan, capital of the US Commonwealth of the Northern Marianas Islands, then back through Guam to Yap, which will return me to the Federated States of Micronesia. Then at last I will come to the Republic of Palau (42).

          All in one paragraph Kluge gives us both a geography lesson, as well as a warning. First it is important to note that Kluge is not a native, and never became one of the beachcombers he meets throughout the book. Sure, he guzzled beer with natives, and he sat on the beaches, but he never gave into the islands. He was never truly at home there, and that is one thing that belies his narrative.

            In one section, Kluge notes why he could never live in the islands, he mentions things he would miss, amenities mainly. Little details on services, you could get anywhere on the mainland, but are in harsh demand in the little isolate islands. He then asks Salii, what he misses in the states, what if he were living in the scattered wastelands of California or Hawaii, would he miss from his island homes. Salii, quickly remarks, “Nothing.”

            Whereas Salii had completely accepted the culture of America and the West, and lived comfortably in both, being therefore bi-cultural, Kluge cannot give away his “whiteness.” He can’t let go of his biases, his stereotypes, his aura of superiority in the islands, that he receives merely because of his place of birth, place of education, and color of skin.

Part 2

Ono magi yanggen esta o'son hao nu huhungok pot este, ya pau makonne' hao tatte