Wisdom Is In The Basket

John Mangefel, 71, is stationed on his foot-high chair in the afternoon heat. With his crowbar and leafy shoots, Mangefel is beautifying the road's edge, even though that newly paved, multi-million-dollar road severed his land. Even though his family lost a taro patch without any financial compensation.

There are no hard feelings. Mangefel, also the first elected governor of Yap State and a long-time political leader, gave the land when asked, as did every other landowner in the municipality of Fanif caught in the road's path. There were no fights with government, no demands for money, no opposition.

"Put death in the house," says Mangefel, translating an old Yapese saying that illustrates the traditional perspective that continues to guide Yap as a developing island state in the Federated States of Micronesia. It literally means even in the case of a family death, if the community requires you, you must wait to bury your dead. It means even in extreme circumstances the community is more important than the individual. So for the public good, even funeral tears wait, even generations-old taro patches are sacrificed.

That belief is the foundation of Yap, leaders here say. And Mangefel, his plants, his crowbar, his land and the road give a telling glimpse into the heart of Yap. The western-most state in the FSM, Yap-population 11,000-is a place where traditions remain strong in the 21st century.

John Mangefel, the first elected governor of Yap, beautifies the roadside that cuts through his land. Photo By Scott Radway

Here you can find outer islanders surfing the Internet comfortably dressed in thus, the Yapese loincloth. Here people compete for the nicest, best-kept villages and seldom for money. Here people donate land for the community. There are many examples, such as the Sports Complex. For that, Gagil gave 200 acres. Or schools, like the new one in Dalipebinaw.

And strong tradition fused with democracy has yielded more than smooth public land transfers: Yapese values have created an island state marked by conservative fiscal policies, a deliberately slow pace of development and a political stability uncommon in Micronesia, let alone the rest of the Pacific.

Take a look at some of the financial indicators: In 2003, Yap State expects to spend US$13.6 million on general operations and anticipates as much as $5 million in surplus. In 1999, 2000, 2001-years audited by Deloitte Touche Tohmatsu-there was a $2.9 million surplus, a $4.3 million surplus, and $3.7 million surplus, respectively.

Then consider that Yap, of all four FSM states, was the only one to invest substantial funds from the first, 15-year Compact of Free Association with the United States. Yap now has a portfolio that could probably finance Yap operations for two full years if the Compact ran out.

And after extensive interviews with traditional leaders, government officials and business executives about the Yapese perspective, Pacific Magazine found many positives, along with some shortcomings and concerns about the future.

The Yapese have another revealing saying. "Wisdom is in the basket," wrote the Council of Pilung after the council discussed a question about why Yap remains so conservative and traditions so strong.

"It means before you open your mouth, look into your basket, take out your betel nut, leaf, and lime and make a chew. While doing all this you are thinking," explains the council of chiefs, which governs traditional matters for Yap's main islands where 7,400 people live. In other words, think before speaking.

Yapese values include this notion of the public good over the individual, as well as another, which holds that one should never make trouble in the community. Just as in times past, village meetings are standard operating procedure. People meet and discuss issues, always working until a consensus is achieved and avoiding discord.

Those values are easy to spot in the Yap state government. Take the political arena: The wild political rhetoric of Islands such as Guam is nonexistent. There are no public battles between the Legislature and governor. In fact, until this past election, there was never even a real competitive race for governor, the highest-ranking state official.

Along with the Council of Pilung, the Council of Tamol, which covers the about dozen inhabited outer islands where 3,900 people reside, has played a key role in the continued strength of traditions. The councils of chiefs have exerted much indirect power on Yap government, not to mention the direct constitutional right to veto legislation concerning culture.

In the past, the councils reached a consensus on who would "run" for public office and the case was closed, no public discord. Only in the most recent election, with younger chiefs coming on the council, did two candidates vie for governor, says Mangefel, who never intended to be governor before he was asked.

That attitude has carried over into fiscal management, because to ensure the public good you have to spend wisely and, unlike many other American-affiliated jurisdictions in the Western Pacific, misuse of funds has been almost negligible, officials say. Shame is a sort of stopgap. And that attitude controls development, too.

Slow consideration, slow growth, avoiding mistakes and discord. "They want to slow things down, digest, think about it and come up with the right change," says Peter Tairuwepiy, a translator during a two-hour interview with the Council of Tamol.

The idea is that Yap remains essentially the same, just with better services and economic opportunity. The Yapese are well aware of neighboring, more developed islands that now look like weary-eyed, distant cousins of themselves.

"We are not so much looking forward, but looking backward. You have to come from somewhere to go somewhere. We know we cannot move without our backbone," says James Lukan, director of the Yap State Historic Preservation Office. But there are many measuring sticks for a developing state.

"Everything is not rosy," says Tony Ganngiyan, speaker of the state legislature. The biggest shortcoming, he says, is that Yap fell well short of economic self-sufficiency under the first Compact. In 2001, Yap received $6 million from Compact funds for a $10.5 million general operations budget.

But the solution is not rapid growth, Ganngiyan says. The biggest need in Yap is developing its human resources, not private sector. The idea, put forth by many interviewed, is to educate Yapese to operate the businesses; otherwise, development will benefit only foreign investors. "The Yapese need to rediscover their old work ethic," he says.

From the viewpoint of Gov. Robert Ruecho's administration, says Joseph Giliko, his director of resources and development, the infrastructure for the main islands is good. There are decent roads, most people have power, telephones and there is dependable water.

But the need for infrastructure remains in the outer islands, Giliko says. Also, like developing nations everywhere, Yap needs to improve in areas such as education and health care. Some of its schools need basic supplies and health indicators such as infant mortality rates remain high.

"I would not say we are a success story," Giliko says.

Ruecho, like his predecessors, is putting heavy emphasis on private sector growth. There is less talk of commercial offshore fishing now as the industry has proven capital intensive and the market fickle. Agriculture is discussed more as a way to reduce the skewed import-export ratio. Tourism is marked as the main revenue engine.

Statistics from FSM tourism officials put visitor numbers at the peak in 1996 at about 4,000 tourists a year, with Yap primarily known as a dive destination and benefiting from its location along the Guam and Palau flight path. But numbers dropped and then flat-lined in the early-2000s.

Yap has some very good hotel properties, with most centered in slightly developed Colonia, the state capital. The total number of rooms available is about 125, according to Bill Acker, an American operator of Manta Ray Bay Hotel and a pioneer for tourism here. Acker believes Yap could double its visitor numbers without adding more hotels.

Rosendo Primo, research assistant at Yap Visitors Bureau, says an economic summit in the mid-90s put the annual visitor goal at 15,000 and that remains the target. Primo says Yap wants to diversify its tourism market from divers and attract cultural tourists. "We want to bring tourism to the villages," Primo says.

Don Evans, another American tourism pioneer who's had a hand in developing numerous tourism ventures, says when Yap first opened up to visitors everyone feared they would lose their islands to foreigners. "They didn't," Evans says. "The new generation is less threatened."

But maybe now there is more reason for worry. Charles Chieng, director of the Yap Community Action Program, says the younger generation is not as steeped in Yapese values and is not spending as much time with elders. Although cultural change is markedly slower than other island groups, it is happening here as the lifestyles change and more Yapese receive western educations. He says for the next generation the weight of community values versus the individual are closer to equal. Down the road, there is a risk that Yapese foundations will fade.

Mangefel sees the need for stronger leadership with a clear vision. Though tradition could use some modification-he wants to see aspects such the caste system modified and women's rights improved-change must be slow and the core values must be upheld.

As the late afternoon sun throws shadows on a hunched Mangefel and his foot-high chair, his crow bar and his plants and this quiet, paved village road, it does not appear that change will come too fast.