Abstract
In a recent policy address on “America’s Pacific Century,” U.S. Secretary of State Hillary Clinton asserted the essential importance of “substantially increased investment—diplomatic, economic, strategic, and otherwise—in the Asia-Pacific region” (Clinton 2011: para. 1). Stressing the centrality of stronger U.S. relations with major Pacific countries and offering an imperial assessment of the expected U.S. leadership role, she said nothing specific about the U.S. Pacific Islands. But their strategic importance as a permanent U.S. military presence and staging arena in the region is clear. Insular Empire, produced and directed by Vanessa Warheit, helps us understand the human implications of this long-term U.S. presence in the Marianas Islands.
The majority of mainland U.S. citizens of “the good war” generation may remember Saipan, Tinian, and Guam as important and bloody sites in the World War II Pacific theater. But few of them, and even fewer of the generations since, have any knowledge of the contested and problematic relationship of the United States with the indigenous peoples of these islands. As U.S. territories, currently organized under different sovereignty models, they are examples of the few remaining colonies in the world with limited rights of self-rule subject to U.S. policy oversight in exercising the rights they do have.
Insular Empire seeks to bring this little-known story to light. Produced over an eight-year period, the film explores the experience of the indigenous Chamorro (and to a lesser extent Carolinian) peoples of Guam and the Northern Marianas Islands by following four native politicians and social-activist members of these communities. The documentary offers historical background and contemporary analysis of the U.S. dominion over these islands, with powerful images of the pervasive military presence and threats to traditional indigenous culture. Director Warheit states that attempts to interview U.S. military personnel for the film were unsuccessful, so we hear only from islanders experiencing the effects of this imperial occupation. We also do not hear much from residents who have prospered from the U.S. military presence or who are content with the Islands’ relationship with the United States and their own current citizenship status.
Tracing ancestry on these islands for over 4,000 years, natives of the Marianas were granted U.S. citizenship in 1950 (Territory of Guam) and in 1986 (Commonwealth of the Northern Marianas Islands [CNMI]). However, the Islands do not have a voting representative in the U.S. Congress and do not have the right to vote in U.S. national elections (Guam was granted a non-voting Congressional representative in 1972 and CNMI in 2008). Indigenous citizens are also not fully protected by the U.S. constitution, and many aspects of daily life are subject to agreements negotiated between their local elected officials and the U.S. Department of the Interior. Despite their lack of full citizenship rights, native residents of Guam and CNMI have served and died as members of the U.S. armed services in numbers more than four times that of mainland citizens. Through historical footage and contemporary interactions, the film shows a complex love/hate relationship with the U.S. military and its enormous impact on all aspects of life in these Islands.
The documentary argues that the current relationship between the U.S. and the native residents of the Marianas continues the legacy of oppressive colonization despite the existence of democratic institutions and improvements in living standards and opportunities. We see evidence of the continued erosion of respect for communal land ownership and for protection of sacred sites, the doggedly persistent efforts of social activists to reclaim what has been lost, and efforts to gain all of the rights taken for granted by U.S. mainland citizens.
Labeled for the tourist trade as the place “where America’s day begins,” the Island of Guam has since 2006 been the site of active plans for a massive military build-up and the redeployment of 8,000 U.S. marines, their families, dependents, and infrastructure supports (upward of 80,000 persons as the base is completed) from a diplomatically sensitive U.S. military base in Okinawa. Current U.S. budget constraints and heritage preservation lawsuits have put these plans on hold, but the estimated effects of such a large military presence, even with welcome economic effects and popular support, could increase the population temporarily by up to 40 percent, require dredging 70 acres of coral reef, and turn a cultural heritage site into a live firing range (Eugenio 2010; Kan 2010; McAvoy 2011).
The film reviews Guam’s long-standing relationship with military occupation. During World War II, most of the Island was taken over—first by the Japanese and then by the United States—without any (or minimal) compensation to native peoples, in order to provide an essential staging arena for military operations. While under U.S. control, much of the land was returned to local people over the succeeding years, with one-third of the island remaining under military control. For the Northern Marianas, with a somewhat different experience from Guam, concerns about the experiences of such occupation and desire for cultural integrity are reflected in the 1978 inaugural Commonwealth Constitution (specifically Article XII) that restricts the ownership of real property to persons of Northern Marianas descent. This constitutional provision is hotly debated today, as blood quantum questions arise due to increasing intermarriage and negative economic effects are attributed to the unwillingness of non-native business enterprises to invest without the right to buy property. Due to increasingly difficult economic conditions, many land-rich but money-poor Islanders favor removing this original constitutional provision, as do affluent local families who have purchased land from poorer members of their communities in hopes of selling at a significant profit upon repeal of Article XII.
These historical and political issues are recounted in the film through the voices of Hope Cristobal, a former Guam senator who for 30 years has testified at the United Nations to seek support for greater island sovereignty; Carlos Taitano (1917–2009), who served in the U.S. Army under General McArthur, was an important figure in securing a civil government for Guam and promoted U.S. statehood for the territory; Lino Olopai, with a past in the CIA and the Peace Corps and one of the few people with ancient Carolinian celestial navigational skills in the twenty-first century, who is shown exploring the paths of his Carolinian ancestors and passionately trying to connect his people’s past to his American present; and Pete Tenorio, who was instrumental in negotiating the Northern Marianas’ covenant with the United States, a compromise that exchanged sovereignty for the chance to participate in the promise of U.S. citizenship. Each is shown embracing the dream of free and full participation within a democratic society while revealing the deep contradictions involved in attempting to bridge the gap between the traditions that sustain their spirits and the realities of contemporary economic survival and global politics.
Given its critical perspective, this documentary will be a useful resource for courses focused on social inequality, race and gender, indigenous rights and identity, colonization and postcolonial theory, as well as political or military sociology. It could be used effectively with undergraduates at any level as well as with community groups. Although the focus on issues of indigenous sovereignty and strategic U.S. interests makes the appeal of the film somewhat narrow, it may be most effective in simply making students aware of the existence of these U.S. territories. While students in the Marianas are taught U.S. history as well as their own, this is not true for mainland students. “We don’t show up on anybody’s radar screen in terms of curriculum,” notes Northern Marianas College educator Sam McPhretres in a response to Insular Empire. “This project may be one of the first things to help out on that. You pick up any U.S. geography book or civics book—you don’t find the Marianas anywhere in it” (McPhetres 2010). After viewing the film, most students admit they could not have named these territories, described any issues affecting them, or located them on a map. Exposed to constant coverage of 10 years of U.S. military engagement in Iraq, Afghanistan, and other global conflicts, they are aware in a general sense of the worldwide presence of the U.S. military and are not surprised to learn of the Islands’ importance for U.S. strategic interests in the Pacific region. This film can help students develop a critical understanding of the aspirations of empire by comparing military activities in very different regions of the world and assist them to discern the patterns of behavior that characterize a nation committed to a strategic presence in every corner of the globe.
The producers of Insular Empire offer a comprehensive screening and study guide for free download with rental or purchase of the film. This contains useful suggestions for facilitating discussion of the film in classrooms and community settings; provides historical background, numerous discussion questions, and action ideas; and offers an impressive list of print and online resources for further study. For a moving musical glimpse of the importance of these Islands to those who carry thousands of years of memories, listen to Falúw Kkaa Efáng, a short contemporary composition by members of the Kaipat family of the Northern Marianas, which is available in an online video titled “Falúw Kkaa Efáng-with Lyrics.wmv.” A partial English translation reads: I sat beneath a pine tree, I looked up above and saw a star, Oh, so beautiful. I’m reminded of my island, so far, way up in the north . . . The beauty of these northern islands will soon be taken from the people. Here come the outside influences, to take away from the people . . . . . . the beauty of the northern islands . . . (Kaipat, Kaipat, and Kaipat 2011).