Appendix 3

The scene of this study was the little island of Taū. Along one coast of the island, which rises precipitately to a mountain peak in the centre, cluster three little villages, Lumā and Siufaga, side by side, and Faleasao, half a mile away. On the other end of the island is the isolated village of Fitiuta, separated from the other three villages by a long and arduous trail. Many of the people from the other villages have never been to Fitiuta, eight miles away. Twelve miles across the open sea are the two islands of Ofu and Olesega, which with Taū, make up the Manu’a Archipelago, the most primitive part of Samoa. Journeys in slender outrigger canoes from one of these three little islands to another are frequent, and the inhabitants of Manu’a think of themselves as a unit as over against the inhabitants of Tutuila, the large island where the Naval Station is situated. The three islands have a population of a little over two thousand people, with constant visiting, inter-marrying, adoption going on between the seven villages of the Archipelago.

This study took place on the small island of Taū. The island rises steeply to a mountain peak at its center. Three small villages cluster along one coast. Lumā and Siufaga stand side by side, and Faleasao is half a mile away. At the other end of the island is the isolated village of Fitiuta. A long, difficult trail separates Fitiuta from the other three villages. Many people from the other villages have never been to Fitiuta, eight miles away. Twelve miles across the open sea lie the two islands of Ofu and Olesega. Together with Taū, these islands make up the Manu’a Archipelago, the most primitive part of Samoa. People often travel between these three small islands in narrow outrigger canoes. The people of Manu’a see themselves as one group, distinct from the people of Tutuila. Tutuila is the large island where the Naval Station is located. The three islands have a population of just over two thousand people. Visiting, intermarriage, and adoption take place constantly among the Archipelago’s seven villages.

The natives still live in their beehive-shaped houses with floors of coral rubble, no walls except perishable woven blinds which are lowered in bad weather, and a roof of sugar-cane thatch over which it is necessary to bind palm branches in every storm. They have substituted cotton cloth for their laboriously manufactured bark cloth for use as everyday clothing, native costume being reserved for ceremonial occasions. But the men content themselves with a wide cotton loin cloth, the lavalava, fastened at the waist with a dexterous twist of the material. This costume permits a little of the tattooing which covers their bodies from knee to the small of the back, to appear above and below the folds of the lavalava. Tattooing has been taboo on Manu’a for two generations, so only a part of the population have made the necessary journey to another island in search of a tattooer. Women wear a longer lavalava and a short cotton dress falling to their knees. Both sexes go barefoot and hats are worn only to Church, on which occasions the men don white shirts and white coats, ingeniously tailored by the native women in imitation of Palm Beach coats which have fallen into their hands. The women’s tattooing is much sparser than the men’s, a mere matter of dots and crosses on arms, hands, and thighs. Garlands of flowers, flowers in the hair, and flowers twisted about the ankles, serve to relieve the drabness of the faded cotton clothing, and on gala days, beautifully patterned bark cloth, fine mats, gaily bordered with red parrot feathers, headdresses of human hair decorated with plumes and feathers, recall the more picturesque attire of pre-Christian days.

The islanders still live in beehive-shaped houses with floors of coral rubble. The houses have no walls except woven blinds that do not last long and are lowered in bad weather. The roofs are thatched with sugar cane, and palm branches must be tied over the thatch during every storm. The islanders now wear cotton cloth for everyday clothing instead of bark cloth, which takes great effort to make. Traditional clothing is reserved for ceremonies. But the men wear only a wide cotton loincloth, the lavalava, secured at the waist with a skillful twist. A little of their tattooing shows above and below the folds of the lavalava. The tattoos cover their bodies from the knees to the small of the back. Tattooing has been forbidden on Manu’a for two generations. As a result, only part of the population has made the necessary journey to another island to find a tattooist. Women wear a longer lavalava and a short cotton dress that reaches their knees. Both men and women go barefoot and wear hats only to church. For church, the men put on white shirts and white coats. Local women skillfully tailor these coats, copying Palm Beach coats that have come into their possession. Women’s tattoos are much sparser than men’s, consisting only of dots and crosses on their arms, hands, and thighs. Flower garlands, flowers in the hair, and flowers twisted around the ankles brighten the dull, faded cotton clothing. On festive days, beautifully patterned bark cloth and fine mats with bright borders of red parrot feathers appear. There are also headdresses of human hair decorated with plumes and feathers. These festive clothes and ornaments recall the more picturesque clothing of pre-Christian days.

Sewing-machines have been in use for many years, although the natives are still dependent upon some deft-handed sailor for repairs. Scissors have also been added to the household equipment, but wherever possible a Samoan woman still uses her teeth or a piece of bamboo. At the Missionary boarding-schools a few of the women have learned to crochet and embroider, using their skill particularly to ornament the plump, hard pillows which are rapidly displacing the little bamboo head rests. Sheets of white cotton have taken the place of sheets of firmly woven mats or of bark cloth. Mosquito nets of cotton netting make a native house much more endurable than must have been the case when bark cloth tents were the only defence against insects. The netting is suspended at night from stout cords hung across the house, and the edges weighted down with stones, so that prowling dogs, pigs, and chickens wander through the house at will without disturbing the sleepers.

Sewing machines have been used for many years, although Samoans still depend on a sailor skilled with his hands for repairs. Scissors have also become part of household equipment, but whenever possible, a Samoan woman still uses her teeth or bamboo. At missionary boarding schools, a few women have learned to crochet and embroider. They use these skills especially to decorate the plump, firm pillows that are quickly replacing small bamboo headrests. White cotton sheets have replaced sheets made of tightly woven mats or bark cloth. Cotton mosquito nets make a Samoan house much more comfortable than it must have been before. Back then, bark cloth tents were the only protection against insects. At night, the netting hangs from strong cords stretched across the house, with stones weighing down the edges. This lets prowling dogs, pigs, and chickens wander freely through the house without disturbing the sleepers.

Agate buckets share with hollowed cocoanut shells the work of bringing water from the springs and from the sea, and a few china cups and glasses co-operate with the cocoanut drinking cups. Many households have an iron cook pot in which they can boil liquids in preference to the older method of dropping red hot stones into a wooden vessel containing the liquid to be heated. Kerosene lamps and lanterns are used extensively; the old candle-nut clusters and cocoanut oil lamps being reinstated only in times of great scarcity when they cannot afford to purchase kerosene. Tobacco is a much-prized luxury; the Samoans have learned to grow it, but imported varieties are very much preferred to their own.

Enamel buckets and hollowed coconut shells are used to bring water from springs and the sea. A few china cups and glasses are used alongside coconut drinking cups. Many households have an iron cooking pot for boiling liquids instead of using the older method. That method involved dropping red-hot stones into a wooden container holding the liquid to be heated. Kerosene lamps and lanterns are widely used. The old candlenut clusters and coconut oil lamps return only during severe shortages, when people cannot afford kerosene. Tobacco is a highly prized luxury. The Samoans have learned to grow tobacco, but they much prefer imported varieties to their own.

Outside the household the changes wrought by the introduction of European articles are very slight. The native uses an iron knife to cut his copra and an iron adze blade in place of the old stone one. But he still binds the rafters of his house together with cinet and sews the parts of his fishing canoes together. The building of large canoes has been abandoned. Only small canoes for fishing are built now, and for hauling supplies over the reef the natives build keeled rowboats. Only short voyages are made in small canoes and rowboats, and the natives wait for the coming of the Naval ship to do their travelling. The government buys the copra and with the money so obtained the Samoans buy cloth, thread, kerosene, soap, matches, knives, belts, and tobacco, pay their taxes (levied on every man over a certain height as age is an indeterminate matter), and support the church.

Outside the household, European goods have brought very little change. Samoans use iron knives to cut their copra and iron adze blades instead of the old stone ones. But they still tie their house rafters together with cinet cord and sew the parts of their fishing canoes together. They have stopped building large canoes. Now they build only small fishing canoes, and they build keeled rowboats to haul supplies over the reef. Samoans make only short trips in small canoes and rowboats, and wait for the Navy ship to travel farther. The government buys the copra. With the money, Samoans buy cloth, thread, kerosene, soap, matches, knives, belts, and tobacco. They also pay their taxes and support the church. (Taxes apply to every man over a certain height, since age is uncertain.)

And yet, while the Samoans use these products of a more complex civilisation, they are not dependent upon them. With the exception of making and using stone tools, it is probably safe to say that none of the native arts have been lost. The women all make bark cloth and weave fine mats. Parturition still takes place on a piece of bark cloth, the umbilical cord is cut with a piece of bamboo, and the new baby is wrapped in a specially prepared piece of white bark cloth. If soap cannot be obtained, the wild orange provides a frothy substitute. The men still manufacture their own nets, make their own hooks, weave their own eel traps. And although they use matches when they can get them, they have not lost the art of converting a carrying stick into a fire plow at a moment’s notice.

Yet although Samoans use these products of a more complex civilization, they do not depend on them. Apart from making and using stone tools, it is probably safe to say that no traditional skills have been lost. The women all make bark cloth and weave fine mats. Childbirth still takes place on a piece of bark cloth, and the umbilical cord is cut with bamboo. The newborn is then wrapped in a specially prepared piece of white bark cloth. If soap is unavailable, wild orange provides a foamy substitute. The men still make their own nets and hooks and weave their own eel traps. And although the men use matches when available, they still know how to turn a carrying stick into a fire plow at a moment’s notice.

Perhaps most important of all is the fact that they still depend entirely upon their own foods, planted with a sharpened pole in their own plantations. Breadfruit, bananas, taro, yams, and cocoanuts form a substantial and monotonous accompaniment for the fish, shell fish, land crabs, and occasional pigs and chickens. The food is carried down to the village in baskets, freshly woven from palm leaves. The cocoanuts are grated on the end of a wooden “horse,” pointed with shell or iron; the breadfruit and taro are supported on a short stake, tufted with cocoanut husk, and the rind is grated off with a piece of cocoanut shell. The green bananas are skinned with a bamboo knife. The whole amount of food for a family of fifteen or twenty for two or three days is cooked at once in a large circular pit of stones. These are first heated to white heat; the ashes are then raked away; the food placed on the stones and the oven covered with green leaves, under which the food is baked thoroughly. Cooking over, the food is stored in baskets which are hung up inside the main house. It is served on palm leaf platters, garnished with a fresh banana leaf. Fingers are the only knives and forks, and a wooden finger bowl is passed ceremoniously about at the end of the meal.

Perhaps most important of all, they still depend entirely on their own food, planted with sharpened poles in their plantations. Breadfruit, bananas, taro, yams, and coconuts provide a substantial but monotonous accompaniment to fish, shellfish, land crabs, and occasional pigs and chickens. The food is carried down to the village in baskets freshly woven from palm leaves. The coconuts are grated on the end of a wooden “horse” fitted with a shell or iron point. Breadfruit and taro are held on a short stake topped with coconut husk. Their skins are scraped off with a piece of coconut shell. Green bananas are peeled with a bamboo knife. Enough food for a family of fifteen or twenty for two or three days is cooked all at once. The cooking takes place in a large, circular pit lined with stones. First, the stones are heated until white-hot. Then the ashes are raked away, and the food is placed on the stones. The oven is covered with green leaves, beneath which the food bakes thoroughly. After cooking, the food is stored in baskets hung inside the main house. The food is served on palm-leaf platters decorated with fresh banana leaves. Fingers are the only knives and forks. At the end of the meal, a wooden bowl for rinsing fingers is passed around ceremoniously.

Furniture, with the exception of a few chests and cupboards, has not invaded the house. All life goes on on the floor. Speaking on one’s feet within the house is still an unforgivable breach of etiquette, and the visitor must learn to sit cross-legged for hours without murmuring.

Apart from a few chests and cupboards, furniture has not invaded the house. All life takes place on the floor. Speaking while standing inside the house is still an unforgivable breach of etiquette. Visitors must learn to sit cross-legged for hours without complaining.

The Samoans have been Christian for almost a hundred years. With the exception of a small number of Catholics and Mormons, all the natives of American Samoa are adherents of the London Missionary Society, known in Samoa as the “Church of Tahiti,” from its local origin. The Congregationalist missionaries have been exceedingly successful in adapting the stern doctrine and sterner ethics of a British Protestant sect to the widely divergent attitudes of a group of South Sea islanders. In the Missionary boarding-schools they have trained many boys as native pastors and as missionaries for other islands, and many girls to be the pastors’ wives. The pastor’s house is the educational as well as the religious centre of the village. In the pastor’s school the children learn to read and write their own language, to which the early missionaries adapted our script, to do simple sums and sing hymns. The missionaries have been opposed to teaching the natives English, or in any way weaning them away from such of the simplicity of their primitive existence as they have not accounted harmful. Accordingly, although the elders of the church preach excellent sermons and in many cases have an extensive knowledge of the Bible (which has been translated into Samoan), although they keep accounts, and transact lengthy business affairs, they speak no English, or only very little of it. On Taū there were never more than half a dozen individuals at one time who had any knowledge of English.

The Samoans have been Christian for almost a hundred years. Except for a small number of Catholics and Mormons, all native people in American Samoa follow the London Missionary Society. In Samoa, the Society is known as the “Church of Tahiti” because of its local origins. The Congregationalist missionaries have been extremely successful in adapting a British Protestant sect’s strict teachings and even stricter moral code. They have adapted these to the very different attitudes of a group of South Sea islanders. In missionary boarding schools, they have trained many boys as Samoan pastors and as missionaries for other islands. They have also trained many girls to become pastors’ wives. The pastor’s house is the village’s educational and religious centre. In the pastor’s school, children learn to read and write their own language. The early missionaries adapted our alphabet to Samoan. The children also learn simple arithmetic and sing hymns. The missionaries have opposed teaching Samoans English. They have also opposed drawing Samoans away from aspects of their simple, traditional way of life that the missionaries considered harmless. As a result, church elders speak little or no English, although they preach excellent sermons. In many cases, the elders also know the Bible extensively, and they keep accounts and conduct lengthy business dealings. The Bible has been translated into Samoan. On Taū, there were never more than half a dozen people at any one time who knew any English.

The Naval Government has adopted the most admirable policy of benevolent non-interference in native affairs. It establishes dispensaries and conducts a hospital where native nurses are trained. These nurses are sent out into the villages where they have surprising success in the administration of the very simple remedies at their command, castor oil, iodine, argyrol, alcohol rubs, etc. Through periodic administrations of salvarsan the more conspicuous symptoms of yaws are rapidly disappearing. And the natives are learning to come to the dispensaries for medicine rather than aggravate conjunctivitis to blindness by applying irritating leaf poultices to the inflamed eyes.

The Naval Government has adopted a highly admirable policy of offering help without interfering in local affairs. It sets up clinics and runs a hospital where Samoan nurses are trained. These nurses are sent to the villages, where they have surprising success with the very simple remedies available to them. These include castor oil, iodine, argyrol, alcohol rubs, and others. With regular doses of salvarsan, the more noticeable symptoms of yaws are rapidly disappearing. And Samoans are learning to seek medicine at the clinics rather than apply irritating leaf poultices to inflamed eyes. Those poultices can worsen conjunctivitis to the point of blindness.

Reservoirs have been constructed in most of the villages, providing an unpolluted water supply at a central fountain where all the washing and bathing is done. Copra sheds in each village store the copra until the government ship comes to fetch it. Work on copra sheds, on village boats used in hauling the copra over the reef, on roads between villages, on the repairs of the water system, is carried through by a levy upon the village as a whole, conforming perfectly to the native pattern of communal work. The government operates through appointed district governors and county chiefs, and elected “mayors” in each village. The administrations of these officials are peaceful and effective in proportion to the importance of their rank in the native social organisation. Each village also has two policemen who act as town criers, couriers on government inspections, and carriers of the nurses’ equipment from village to village. There are also county judges. A main court is presided over by an American civil judge and a native judge. The penal code is a random combination of government edicts, remarkable for their tolerance of native custom. When no pronouncement on a point of law is found in this code, the laws of the state of California, liberally interpreted and revised, are used to provide a legalistic basis for the court’s decision. These courts have taken over the settlement of disputes concerning important titles, and property rights; and the chief causes of litigation in the “courthouse” at Pago Pago are the same which agitated the native fonos some hundred years ago.

Reservoirs have been built in most villages, supplying clean water at a central fountain where all washing and bathing happens. Copra sheds in each village store the copra until the government ship comes to collect it. The whole village must contribute to work on copra sheds and village boats used to carry copra over the reef. The same requirement applies to roads between villages and repairs to the water system. This arrangement fits perfectly with the local tradition of communal work. The government works through appointed district governors and county chiefs, and elected “mayors” in each village. The higher these officials rank in the local social structure, the more peacefully and effectively they govern. Each village also has two policemen who serve as town criers and couriers during government inspections. They also carry the nurses’ equipment from village to village. There are county judges as well. An American civil judge and a local judge preside over a main court. The penal code is a haphazard collection of government orders, notably tolerant of local customs. When the code does not address a legal question, the court turns to the laws of the state of California. Those laws are broadly interpreted and revised to give the court’s decision a formal legal basis. These courts have taken over the settlement of disputes about important titles and property rights. The main disputes in the “courthouse” at Pago Pago are the same ones that stirred local fonos about a hundred years ago.

Schools are now maintained in many villages, where the children, seated cross-legged on the floor of a large native house, learn the haziest of English from boys whose knowledge of the language is little more extensive than theirs. They also learn part singing, at which they are extraordinarily adept, and to play cricket and many other games. The schools are useful in instilling elementary ideas of hygiene, and in breaking down the barriers between age and sex groups and narrow residential units. From the pupils in the outlying schools the most promising are selected to become nurses, teachers, and candidates for the native marine corps, the Fitafitas, who constitute the police, hospital corpsmen and interpreters for the naval administration. The Samoans’ keen feeling for social distinction makes them particularly able to co-operate with a government in which there is a hierarchy of officialdom; the shoulder stars and bars are fitted into their own system of rank without confusion. When the Governor and group of officers pay an official visit, the native-talking chief distributes the kava, first to the Governor, then to the highest chief among the hosts, then to the Commander of the Naval Yard, then to the next highest chief, without any difficulty.

Schools now operate in many villages. Children sit cross-legged on the floor of a large traditional house and learn the vaguest basics of English. Their teachers are boys who know little more English than the children do. The children also learn to sing in parts, something they do extraordinarily well, and play cricket and many other games. The schools help teach basic hygiene. They also break down barriers between age groups, between the sexes, and between small residential groups. The most promising pupils from outlying schools are selected to become nurses, teachers, and candidates for the Samoan marine corps. These marines, the Fitafitas, serve as police, hospital corpsmen, and interpreters for the naval administration. The Samoans’ strong sense of social distinctions makes them particularly good at cooperating with a government organized by official rank. They fit the stars and bars worn on officers’ shoulders into their own ranking system without confusion. When the Governor and a group of officers make an official visit, the Samoan talking chief distributes the kava. He serves the Governor first, then the highest-ranking chief among the hosts, then the Commander of the Naval Yard. The next highest-ranking chief follows, and the talking chief manages this order without any difficulty.

In all the descriptions of Samoan life, one of the points which must have struck the reader most forcibly is the extreme flexibility of the civilisation as it is found to-day. This flexibility is the result of the blending of the various European ideas, beliefs, mechanical devices, with the old primitive culture. It is impossible to say whether it is due to some genius in the Samoan culture itself, or to fortunate accident, that these foreign elements have received such a thorough and harmonious acculturation. In many parts of the South Seas contact with white civilisation has resulted in the complete degeneration of native life, the loss of native techniques, and traditions, and the annihilation of the past. In Samoa this is not so. The growing child is faced by a smaller dilemma than that which confronts the American-born child of European parentage. The gap between parents and children is narrow and painless, showing few of the unfortunate aspects usually present in a period of transition. The new culture, by offering alternative careers to the children has somewhat lightened the parental yoke. But essentially the children are still growing up in a homogeneous community with a uniform set of ideals and aspirations. The present ease of adolescence among Samoan girls which has been described cannot safely be attributed to a period of transition. The fact that adolescence can be a period of unstressed development is just as significant. Given no additional outside stimulus or attempt to modify conditions, Samoan culture might remain very much the same for two hundred years.

Throughout these descriptions of Samoan life, readers must have been especially struck by the extreme flexibility of present-day Samoan society. This flexibility comes from blending European ideas, beliefs, and machines with the old traditional culture. These foreign elements have been thoroughly and harmoniously absorbed into Samoan culture. Whether this reflects some special gift within Samoan culture itself or a fortunate accident is impossible to say. In many parts of the South Seas, contact with white civilization has completely degraded native life. Native skills and traditions have been lost, and the past has been wiped out. In Samoa, this has not happened. A growing Samoan child faces a smaller dilemma than an American-born child of European parents. The gap between parents and children is narrow and painless. It shows few of the unfortunate features usually found in a period of transition. By offering children alternative careers, the new culture has somewhat eased parental control. But children are still essentially growing up in a community with a shared culture and uniform ideals and aspirations. The current ease of adolescence among Samoan girls, described here, cannot safely be attributed to a period of transition. The fact that adolescence can be a period of development without stress is just as significant. Without further outside influence or attempts to change conditions, Samoan culture might remain much the same for two hundred years.

But it is only fair to point out that Samoan culture, before white influence, was less flexible and dealt less kindly with the individual aberrant. Aboriginal Samoa was harder on the girl sex delinquent than is present-day Samoa. And the reader must not mistake the conditions which have been described for the aboriginal ones, nor for typical primitive ones. Present-day Samoan civilisation is simply the result of the fortuitous and on the whole fortunate impetus of a complex, intrusive culture upon a simpler and most hospitable indigenous one.

But in fairness, before white influence, Samoan culture was less flexible and less kind to people who broke social norms. Samoa before white influence treated girls who broke sexual rules more harshly than present-day Samoa does. Readers must not confuse the conditions described here with those before white influence, or with typical conditions in so-called primitive societies. Present-day Samoan society is simply the result of a chance encounter that was, on the whole, fortunate. A complex outside culture intruded upon and spurred change in a simpler, very welcoming indigenous culture.

In former times, the head of the household had life and death powers over every individual under his roof. The American legal system and the missionary teachings between them have outlawed and banished these rights. The individual still benefits by the communal ownership of property, by the claims which he has on all family land; but he no longer suffers from an irksome tyranny which could be enforced with violence and possible death. Deviations from chastity were formerly punished in the case of girls by a very severe beating and a stigmatising shaving of the head. Missionaries have discouraged the beating and head shaving, but failed to substitute as forceful an inducement to circumspect conduct. The girl whose sex activities are frowned upon by her family is in a far better position than that of her great-grandmother. The navy has prohibited, the church has interdicted the defloration ceremony, formerly an inseparable part of the marriages of girls of rank; and thus the most potent inducement to virginity has been abolished. If for these cruel and primitive methods of enforcing a stricter régime there had been substituted a religious system which seriously branded the sex offender, or a legal system which prosecuted and punished her, then the new hybrid civilisation might have been as heavily fraught with possibilities of conflict as the old civilisation undoubtedly was.

In the past, the head of a household had power over the life and death of everyone under his roof. Together, the American legal system and missionary teachings have outlawed and ended these powers. Individuals still benefit from shared ownership of property and from their claims to all family land. But they no longer suffer under an oppressive rule enforced through violence and possibly death. Girls who broke the rules of chastity were formerly punished with severe beatings and humiliating head shaving. Missionaries have discouraged beatings and head shaving, but have failed to provide an equally strong incentive for careful sexual conduct. A girl whose family disapproves of her sexual activities is far better off than her great-grandmother was. The navy and the church have both forbidden the defloration ceremony, in which a girl’s virginity was ritually taken. This ceremony was formerly an inseparable part of marriage for girls of high rank. Its abolition has therefore removed the strongest incentive to remain a virgin. These cruel and primitive methods enforced stricter rules. Suppose they had been replaced by a religious system that severely stigmatized girls who broke sexual rules. Or suppose a legal system had prosecuted and punished those girls instead. Then the new, mixed civilization might have held as much potential for conflict as the old civilization undoubtedly did.

This holds true also for the ease with which young people change their residence. Formerly it might have been necessary to flee to a great distance to avoid being beaten to death. Now the severe beatings are deprecated, but the running-away pattern continues. The old system of succession must have produced many heartburns in the sons who did not obtain the best titles; to-day two new professions are open to the ambitious, the ministry and the Fitafitas. The taboo system, although never as rigorous in Samoa as in other parts of Polynesia, undoubtedly compelled the people to lead more circumspect lives and stressed more vividly difference in rank. The few economic changes which have been introduced have been just sufficient to slightly upset the system of prestige which was based on display and lavish distribution of property. Acquiring wealth is easier, through raising copra, government employment, or manufacturing curios for the steamer-tourist trade on the main island. Many high chiefs do not find it worth while to keep up the state to which they are entitled, while numerous upstarts have an opportunity to acquire prestige denied to them under a slower method of accumulating wealth. The intensity of local feeling with its resulting feuds, wars, jealousies and conflicts (in the case of inter-marriage between villages) is breaking down with the improved facilities for transportation and the co-operation between villages in religious and educational matters.

This is also true of how easily young people move from one home to another. In the past, they might have needed to flee far away to avoid being beaten to death. Now severe beatings are frowned upon, but the pattern of running away continues. The old system of succession must have caused much resentment among sons who did not receive the best titles. Today, ambitious people have two new professions open to them: the ministry and the Fitafitas. The taboo system was never as strict in Samoa as in other parts of Polynesia. Even so, it undoubtedly forced people to live more cautiously and made differences in rank more apparent. The few economic changes introduced have been just enough to slightly disrupt the system of prestige. That system rested on displaying property and giving it away lavishly. Acquiring wealth is easier through producing copra, government work, or making souvenirs for tourists arriving by steamer on the main island. Many high chiefs do not consider it worthwhile to maintain the grand lifestyle their rank entitles them to. Meanwhile, many upstarts can gain prestige they could not have gained when wealth accumulated more slowly. Strong local loyalties are weakening, along with the resulting feuds, wars, jealousies, and conflicts when people from different villages marry. This weakening comes with improved transportation and cooperation between villages in religious and educational matters.

Superior tools have partially done away with the tyranny of the master craftsman. The man who is poor, but ambitious, finds it easier to acquire a guest house than it would have been when the laborious highly specialised work was done with stone tools. The use of some money and of cloth, purchased from traders, has freed women from part of the immense labour of manufacturing mats and tapa as units of exchange and for clothing. On the other hand, the introduction of schools has taken an army of useful little labourers out of the home, especially in the case of the little girls who cared for the babies, and so tied the adult women more closely to routine domestic tasks.

Better tools have partly freed people from the master craftsman’s control. A poor but ambitious man can acquire a guest house more easily than before. Previously, the work required great effort and specialized skills using stone tools. Using some money and cloth bought from traders has freed women from part of an enormous workload. Women now make fewer mats and less tapa for use in trade and as clothing. On the other hand, schools have taken an army of useful young workers out of the home. This is especially true of little girls who cared for babies. As a result, adult women are more tied to routine household tasks.

Puberty was formerly much more stressed than it is to-day. The menstrual taboos against participation in the kava ceremony and in certain kinds of cooking were felt and enforced. The girl’s entrance into the Aualuma was always, not just occasionally, marked by a feast. The unmarried girls and the widows slept, at least part of the time, in the house of the taupo. The taupo herself had a much harder life. To-day she pounds the kava root, but in her mother’s day it was chewed until jaws ached from the endless task. Formerly, should a defection from chastity be disclosed at her marriage, she faced being beaten to death. The adolescent boy faced tattooing, a painful, wearisome proceeding, additionally stressed by group ceremony and taboo. To-day, scarcely half of the young men are tattooed; the tattooing is performed at a much more advanced age and has no connection with puberty; the ceremonies have vanished and it has become a mere matter of a fee to the artist.

Puberty used to receive much more emphasis than it does today. Menstrual taboos against joining the kava ceremony and doing certain kinds of cooking carried weight and were enforced. A girl’s entry into the Aualuma was always marked by a feast, not just occasionally. Unmarried girls and widows slept in the house of the taupo, at least some of the time. The taupo herself had a much harder life. Today she pounds the kava root. But in her mother’s day, the root was chewed until jaws ached from the endless task. In the past, if her marriage revealed that she had not remained chaste, she faced being beaten to death. Adolescent boys faced tattooing, a painful, exhausting process given added importance by group ceremonies and taboos. Today, barely half of young men are tattooed. Tattooing happens at a much older age and has no connection with puberty. The ceremonies have disappeared, and tattooing has become simply a matter of paying the artist a fee.

The prohibitions against blood revenge and personal violence have worked like a yeast in giving greater personal freedom. As many of the crimes which were formerly punished in this fashion are not recognised as crimes by the new authorities, no new mechanism of punishment has been devised for the man who marries the divorced wife of a man of higher rank, the miscreant who gossips outside his village and so brings his village into disrepute, the insolent detractor who recites another’s genealogy, or the naughty boy who removes the straws from the pierced cocoanuts and thus offers an unspeakable affront to visitors. And the Samoan is not in the habit of committing many of the crimes listed in our legal code. He steals and is fined by the government as he was formerly fined by the village. But he comes into very slight conflict with the central authorities. He is too accustomed to taboos to mind a quarantine prohibition which parades under the same guise; too accustomed to the exactions of his relations to fret under the small taxation demands of the government. Even the stern attitude formerly taken by the adults towards precocity has now been subdued, for what is a sin at home becomes a virtue at school.

Bans on revenge killings and personal violence have acted like yeast, expanding personal freedom. Many offenses once punished through such violence are not considered crimes by the new authorities. So no new punishments have been established for a man who marries the divorced wife of a higher-ranking man. Nor are there punishments for a troublemaker who gossips outside his village and so damages its reputation. The same goes for an insolent critic who recites someone else’s genealogy. Or for a naughty boy who removes the straws from pierced coconuts, thereby offering visitors an unspeakable insult. And the Samoan is not in the habit of committing many of the crimes listed in our legal code. He steals and is fined by the government, just as he was once fined by the village. But he has very little conflict with the central authorities. He is too used to taboos to mind a quarantine ban presented in the same form. He is too used to his relatives’ demands to resent the government’s small tax demands. Even adults’ formerly stern attitude toward children who develop ahead of their age has now softened. For what is a sin at home becomes a virtue at school.

The new influences have drawn the teeth of the old culture. Cannibalism, war, blood revenge, the life and death power of the matai, the punishment of a man who broke a village edict by burning his house, cutting down his trees, killing his pigs, and banishing his family, the cruel defloration ceremony, the custom of laying waste plantations on the way to a funeral, the enormous loss of life in making long voyages in small canoes, the discomfort due to widespread disease—all these have vanished. And as yet their counterparts in producing misery have not appeared.

The new influences have stripped the old culture of its power to harm. Cannibalism, war, blood revenge, and the matai’s power over life and death have all vanished. So has the punishment for a man who broke a village rule. His house was burned, his trees cut down, his pigs killed, and his family banished. The cruel ceremony of breaking a woman’s hymen has also vanished. So has the custom of destroying plantations on the way to a funeral. The huge loss of life during long voyages in small canoes has ended, along with the discomfort from widespread disease. And so far, no new sources of misery have appeared to take their place.

Economic instability, poverty, the wage system, the separation of the worker from his land and from his tools, modern warfare, industrial disease, the abolition of leisure, the irksomeness of a bureaucratic government—these have not yet invaded an island without resources worth exploiting. Nor have the subtler penalties of civilisation, neuroses, philosophical perplexities, the individual tragedies due to an increased consciousness of personality and to a greater specialisation of sex feeling, or conflicts between religion and other ideals, reached the natives. The Samoans have only taken such parts of our culture as made their life more comfortable, their culture more flexible, the concept of the mercy of God without the doctrine of original sin.

Economic instability, poverty, and the wage system have not yet reached an island with no resources worth exploiting. Nor has the separation of workers from their land and tools. Neither have modern warfare, industrial disease, the loss of leisure, or the frustrations of bureaucratic government. The subtler costs of civilization have not reached the islanders either. These include neuroses, philosophical confusion, and personal tragedies caused by greater self-awareness and more specialized sexual feelings. Nor have conflicts between religion and other ideals reached them. The Samoans have adopted only the parts of our culture that made their lives more comfortable and their culture more flexible. They have accepted the idea of God's mercy without the doctrine of original sin.