Colonization

This was the name of a computer game in the 1990s that I greatly enjoyed playing. It is a round-based strategy game, cousin of the legendary “Civilization”, but the aims are slightly different. Representing one of the European nations, you embarked to the new world with some caravels and settlers. Then you did the usual stuff: you set up a settlement, started exploiting the natural resources of the new world, trading with the mother country, accumulating wealth and expanding your territory by founding new colonies. Occasionally, some natives would stir up things, but you could usually calm them down by the persuasive force of guns and cannons. Other colonizing nations provided more serious threats. But the greatest challenge consisted in repelling the formidably equipped expeditionary force of the motherland, that you would have to face after producing lots of liberty bells and declaring independence.

Back in those happy and innocent days, even educated adolescents such as myself would find colonization a very natural and inevitable process. True, the thing with the Indians… not very nice. But after all, hey, we have got the Statue of Liberty, the Golden Gate Bridge, Silicon Valley and Starbucks. (Task for readers: find the mistake in this sentence.) Decolonization? That’s presumably what was achieved when the fireworks were celebrating defeat of the expeditionary force, and my computer congratulated me with a new high score. After all, if we Europeans had decided to stay in good ol’ Europe, they might still hunt buffalos with spears these days.

New Caledonia, a French pays outre-mer in the Coral Sea (Southwestern Pacific Ocean) with ca. 268,000 inhabitants, is an excellent example that you can have both at the same time. (I will drop the adjective from now on. Since the locals call themselves “Caledonians” and also refer to “la Calédonie”, this strikes me as justified.) Some countries with colonial history have established a fairly homogenous standard of living and development across their territory, such as the US, Canada and Australia. Others, like Brasil, Kenya or South Africa, see a sharp gap between more and less developed regions. But these are large or very large countries. Few countries of the relatively small size of Caledonia (Grande Terre: 400 km length, 50km width) feel in the Western half like an average corner of Europe, and in the Eastern half like a place where Western civilization arrived not more than 50 years ago.



The geography of the place has facilitated this phenomenon. The main island, Grande Terre, is divided by a mighty mountain range, La Chaîne, which is up to 1,600 meters high. The entire country is thinly populated, with the exception of the capital, Nouméa, and its surroundings. Nonetheless, the Western side strikes the tourist as European: good roads, clear signposting, familiar retail shop chains, and in Nouméa, almost everything that you know from France. Including decent croissants, quiche lorraine, éclairs, and so on.

 Place des Cocotiers, Nouméa.

Centre Culturel Jean-Marie Tjibaou, Nouméa (designed by Renzo Piano).


French Breakfast in a Café at the Place des Cocotiers, Nouméa.

Almost all Whites (native Caledonians and metropolitan French, together ca. 30% of the population) live in that part of the country. So do the Asians and immigrants from other Pacific island nations (Fiji, Vanuatu, Wallis, …) who came to Caledonia during the Nickel boom. This metal is Caledonia’s main natural resource and it is either exported or processed in two large factories, one in Nouméa, one in Koné, both on the West Coast.

However, the places where the “green gold” is extracted in a process of ablating and tearing down entire mountains, are mainly on the East Coast. That notwithstanding, development has been minimal in those areas: roads are adventurous or nonexistent, even the most basic shops are rare (you may have to drive 50km or more for a bottle of water), economic activities are restricted to subsistence agriculture. The locals, predominantly Melanesians (“Kanak”), still live in clan and tribal structures, in homes that we would call primitive. (They do not seem to perceive this as a shortcoming; it cannot be about money alone, since they often own 4WD drives.) The year is structured around traditional celebrations; I am fortunate enough to witness the fête des ignames, where ignames, taros (=nutritious root-based vegetables, similar to our potato) and other frugal products are exchanged between different clans and tribes. Typically, these fruits and vegetables are accompanied by something that is typical of a particular clan: the ones from the mountains bring freshwater fish, the ones from the coast seafood or, for the festive occasion, three giant live turtles (not poached, but caught with special permission). Everything is laid on the lawn in front of the church, blessed by a priest, and shared between the clans.


In those regions, there is a feeling of spite toward the colonizers and the government in Nouméa that transports off the country’s natural resources without doing anything for the local population. The name “Côte Oubliée”---the part of the East coast south of Thio, which I visited in my first two days in Caledonia---may be more than telling.

As you can see, the landscape of the Côte Oubliée is solitary bordering on desolate, but strikingly beautiful. Like in no other country I know, two strong colors mark the Caledonian landscapes: the red of the soil and the green of the lavish, tropical vegetation, especially on the East coast. Here, you can buy the same fruits which are sold for horrendous prices in Nouméa for a shilling by the street. You just take what you want and leave the money in a box.

Back to politics. There will be a referendum on independence in 2018. Roughly speaking, the Melanesians or Kanak favor independence, while the other Ethnic groups (white Caledonians, Asians, Fijieans, Wallisians, …) oppose it. Metropolitan French are mostly not entitled to vote. Odds are on preservation of the status quo, nonetheless. “What would change if we were independent?” asks my Kanak host in Thio, a lady who leans toward staying with France. Yes, it is a shame that parts of the country are so underdeveloped, that liberté, égalité, fraternité are empty words, removed from Caledonian reality. On the other hand, France provides services (education, health, defense) which an independent Caledonia would struggle to deliver. There are few homegrown teachers, professors and doctors, and the country possesses a large maritime zone of exclusive economic exploitation, which is often perpetrated illegally by fishing boats from Vietman and other countries. Moreover, the Kanak community is plagued by internal strifes and disagreements, as well as a generation gap. The elders used to be authorities to whom one deferred; this has changed in recent years, also as a result of the arrival of modern media. Finally, the problem may be less with the Élysée palace in Paris, but with the inefficient and negligient government in Nouméa. An Australian acquaintance characterized the typical Caledonian civil servant as Captain Louis Renault from Casablanca: “I am just a poor corrupt official, what can I do?”.

On that night in Thio, I share my homestay with two Italians students who spend one semester in Caledonia for anthropological research. They argue that the status quo has failed profoundly, that nothing has changed in recent years. I bring up the example of South Africa, and the danger of disintegration and rising tensions in an independent state. “Yes, this may well be the case. But at this point, even the completely unknown may be better than the known misery.” Fair enough, I think, while noting similarities to how Brexit and Trump voters argue. Another question is whether the Kanak---the original inhabitants---should have some sort of privilege vis-à-vis the white Caledonians (“Caldoches”), the descendants of detainees who were sent to the island in the late 19th century, and other early settlers. Do the enormous wrongs done to the native population justify that they have a special say in determining the future of the country? It is an argument that often simmers beneath the surface, though it is seldom made explicit. Personally, I do not think that historical injustices are any reason to restrict the rights of later generations. What this means, however, is that Caledonia will stay French, and that the present situation is unlikely to change substantially: the coalition of the lately arriving nations (Whites, Asians, and other Pacific island nations) will carry the day for the remain camp and solidify the status quo. Accepting injustice may be the price that is paid for a democratic decision on the basis of equal participation.

The game of colonization, and dealing with its consequences, is more challenging than ringing the bells of liberty. Even in a country blessed with stunning natural beauty and resources.