Fiji’s dilemma — promotion of new-old or old-old

Press, 2 October 1979, Page 19

Fiji’s dilemma — promotion of new-old or old-old

Story:

ANNE BLOXHAM

Pielures:

A million miles or a million years might as well separate the luxurious Pacific Harbour resort and the remote, humble village of Namuamua: two worlds could hardly be less alike. But the two communities are, in fact, only 25 km apart and they both share a common goal — to package Fiji’s culture for the tourist dollar. Together they represent the extreme alternatives now facing Fiji at this stage of its tourism development: a choice that will be forced upon the country in the next decade and will shape its future. Foreign investors have sunk about 57.5 M into the Cultural Centre and Marketplace of Fiji at Pacific Harbour, 40 kilometres from Suva. Twenty-two acres of swamp have been transformed into an artificial Disneyland environment.

It is complete with m o c-Victorian buildings (the marketplace), for curio-seeking tourists), a man-made waterway, and a centre island. The latter functions as a stage on which Fijians demonstrate the customs of their pre-European heritage to an audience which is rowed gently past in twinhulled, punt-type canoes.

Communication between Fijian and tourist is restricted to eye-level contact. The one is observed, the other is the observer; the guide in the canoe is the intermediary who explains all that happens. And everything happens on cue. For $8.50 the tourist has bought a programmed “cultural ex-

perience,” the experience is cerebral, not emotional. By contrast, Namuamua exists in its own timeless way for itself alone. Isolated and lonely, this village of 250 people is accessible only by way of the Navua River. The most modern form of transportation in use is a long, open punt propelled by outboard motor. Namuamua, 16 miles upriver, is worth the journey, through a beautiful gorge clothed in ferns and thick stands of bamboo entangled in jungle vine. The river flows and sparkles with the natural spontaneity of the Fijians themselves — men on bamboo rafts, villagers accompanying their produce to market on over-laden punts, bare-legged boys riding bare-backed horses through the shallows, women washing clothes and bathing youngsters. And. along the river bank, tree-fellers roasting coconuts over open fires, creating delicious aromas that waft out over the water.

The village is perched atop a cliff at. a fork in the river, which Hurricane Bebe once lifted by 40ft. Women and children lined the bank to await our arrival, smiling broadly and shyly as we gingerly climbed the primitively carved steps up the bank to learn about the chief’s intention to attract paying tourists to the village. After a welcoming kava ceremony, feast, and dancing, we left several hours later feeling we had been held close to the heart of Fiji. Yet it seemed improbable that the village

— in its natural, spontaneous, and genuine state — could survive the realisation of the Chief’s proposal. A barrage of complaints from touirsts demanding value for their dollars would do lasting damage. With its people totally defenceless against the relentless onslaught of the outside world, it seemed .the village was precariously balanced on a precipice. The Cultural Centre at Pacific Harbour is as artificial as Namuamua is natural, as carefully de-

signed as Namuamua is spontaneous, as unreal as the latter is real. But a successful marriage between tourism and culture seemed more likely in an environment specifically created for that union. The marriage may be one of convenience, but at least no innocent party is in danger of being hurt.

And under the guidance of its director of presentations, Manoa Rasigatale, it is possible that the cultural centre may even contribute a good deal to the revival of Fijian culutre.

Manoa, aged 30, is deeply conscious of the warning that “without a village there is no race.” A former pop singer and journalist, he has led the Dance Theatre of Fiji for the last four years and is dedicated to ensuring the authenticity of the setting,

displays, and dramatisation of pre-European life. Since very little of this early Fijian history is recorded, Manoa Resigatale relies upon his own knowledge gleaned from eight years of extensive travel throughout Fiji, and his contact with the elders in more remote areas. He says the cultural centre has two roles — to entertain and inform tourists and to encourage young Fijians to iearn about their place in their own village and tribe. The tour is intended to

LES BLOXHAM

show the visitor our guide explained how “every natural thing that surrounds the Fijian influences his life as deeply as if these things were part of his own body . . .”

As it is now, the centre fulfils that aim easily and painlessly. The great care and attention to detail is obvious in the way the setting of natural materials corresponds to the craft bures.

For example, the matweaving bure is surrounded by pandanus trees and flaxes whose leaves are used in the making of mats, and the masi bure is situated next to the paper mulberry whose inner bark is treated to become the masi or tapa cloth. The visitor watched the entire process from the cultivation of nature to the craft-making and sub-

sequent culture of village life.

Tourists can learn a great deal in a very brief time, but Manoa Rasigatele believes that the centre has had a far more telling effect on local Fijians than on overseas toursits. The Fijians had been thrilled to see with their own eyes the traditional custcfms they had previously only heard about when stories were told over a bowl of yaqona.

The real promise of Pacific Harbour’s cultural centre may still be felt. It is not too late for the centre to avoid some of its most jarring commercialised trends. The plastic Disney image that first strikes the casual visitor on arrival may disappear with time and under Fijian influence. Certainly, Manoa Risigatale intends the cultural centre to be alive and to play an active role in promoting Fijian culture in a constructive, not ex-

ploitative sense. One major project being planned is the construction of a traditional double-hull canoe to sail to Hawaii; another is a children’s island where Fijian youngsters can recreate the past for themselves, learning how their ancestors planted crops, sailed canoes, fought battles, and lived in the early days. The cultural centre may not provide the thrill of a visit to an unspoilt village, but neither does it create a devastating culture shock to a defenceless people. The real danger of tour-

Ism in Fiji lies In the fact that the Fijian is a "welcoming person," Bill Raikuna, New Zealand manager of the Fiji Visitors’ Bureau, says. “He’ll give anything and everything — and unfortunately that includes his own soul.

“I hope our people will stay intact. I've seen the damaging aspect of this in Other parts of the world.”

Bill Raikuna acknowledges that the Fiji way of life has now reached a critical point. For the first time in his 18 years with the bureau he believes that his own family’s old

fear of the effect of tourism on traditional life is being justified.

But he views the future with hope. Because he would like to see people in the rural area share in the receipt from tourism, he believes a compromise may be possible in the establishment of a satellite mini-cultural village outside the hereditary village, with tourists making payment by way of gifts to the village school, for example. He sees reason for optimism in the Fijian people, whom he believes are generally aware of the need to protect their own culture; in the totally Fi jian management of the Fiji Visitors’ Bureau; in the great number of Fiji islands (300); and in the tourist potential of the two cultural centres — Suva's Orchid Isle and Pacific Harbour.

“These centres should be enough to tel! the visitors who and what we are,” he adds.