Dancing from the Heart: Movement, Gender, and Cook Islands Globalization

M O V E M E N T, G E N D E R , A N D C O O K I S L A N D S G L O B A L I Z AT I O N

Dancing from the Heart

kalissa alexeyeff

dancing from the heart

dancing from the heart M O V E M E N T, G E N D E R , A N D

C O O K I S L A N D S G L O B A L I Z AT I O N

KALISSA ALEXEYEFF

UNIVERSITY OF HAWAI‘I PRESS H O N O L U L U

Publication of this work was assisted by a publication grant from the Central Publication Grants Scheme and the Research and Training Committee, Faculty of Arts, the University of Melbourne.

© 2009 University of Hawai‘i Press All rights reserved Printed in the United States of America 14 13 12 11 10 09

6 5 4 3 2 1

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Alexeyeff, Kalissa.    Dancing from the heart : movement, gender, and Cook Islands globalization / Kalissa Alexeyeff. p. cm.    Includes bibliographical references and index.    ISBN 978-0-8248-3244-5 (hard cover : alk. paper)   1.  Dance--Social aspects--Cook Islands. 2.  Culture and globalization--Cook Islands. 3.  Sex role--Cook Islands. 4.  Cook Islands--Social life and customs.  I. Title.    GV1728.C66A54 2009    306.4’846099623--dc22 2008040723

Maps by Manoa Map Works University of Hawai‘i Press books are printed on acid-free paper and meet the guidelines for permanence and durability of the Council on Library Resources. Designed by Julie Matsuo-Chun Printed by Maple-Vail Book Manufacturing Group

Contents



ac k nowled gments

vii



p ro l o g ue

xiii



On the Beach: An Introduction

1

1. ‘Are Karioi, Houses of Entertainment: Dance in History

29

2. The Politics of Contemporary Dance

57

3. Shy Girls and Show-offs: Dancing Local Values

84

4. Paramount Queens: Femininity and Global/Local Dissonance

107

5. Outing: Dancing after Dark

125

6. Over the Reef: Dance in a Time of Transition

147



epi l o gue

161



a p pe ndix

165



n ot es

169



g l o s s ary

183



b i b l io g raphy

185



index

201

acknowledgments

I have had wonderful support from a range of people while writing this book, which began as a doctoral thesis. First, I would like to acknowledge my supervisory panel, in particular my inspiring supervisor Nicholas Thomas, in the earlier stages of the thesis, and Don Gardner, who kindly took on the job in the final stages. Thanks also to my advisers, Francesca Merlan and Lissant Bolton, for their insightful comments. The thesis and then book would not have been completed without the encouragement and practical assistance of several academics who so generously gave of their time, especially Mandy Thomas, Rose Lilley, Andrew Walker, Martha Macintyre, and Ray Madden. Thanks to all the staff and students in the anthropology program at the Australian National University, especially Ian Bryson, Sophie Creighton, Katie Glaskin, Roberta James, Makiko Kuwahara, Jane Lydon, Stephen McNally, Yasmine Musharbash, and Michael Ward. The advice, encouragement, and thought-provoking comments of my thesis examiners, Margaret Jolly, Jeffrey Sissons, and David Murray, have been invaluable in shaping this book, as have the comments of two anonymous readers engaged by the University

viii

acknowledgments

of Hawai‘i Press. Masako Ikeda at the University of Hawai‘i Press and free-lance editor Rosemary Wetherold have also been of great assistance. Beryl Langer, Martha Macintyre, and John Morton deserve acknowledgment as such fine teachers who both encouraged and inspired me to undertake postgraduate study. My friends and colleagues at the University of Melbourne provided a positive and supportive environment and made publishing look easy, in particular Pat Grimshaw, Joy Damousi, and Antonia Finnane, and I especially thank Tracey Banivanua-Mar, Kate Ellinghaus, and Kate McGregor for being such great friends and role models. I am grateful to all the “uni girls” for their support with teaching and research and the essential nights out: Jane Carey, Monica Dux, Julie Evans, Catherine Kovesi, Maree Pardy, Ann Standish, Zora Simic, Mary Tomsic, and Stephen Angelidies. Thanks also to my friends who helped me keep my perspective, particularly Matthew Absalom, Nicole Brady, Deborah Burton, Dianne Currier, Steve Francis, Alison Leach, Sophie Pinwill, Astrid Scott, Jack Taylor, and Monica Zetlin. My appreciation goes to my family, who mean everything to me: Nan, Pop, Mum, Pa, Pete, Luke, Andrei, Eloise (and kids), Nick, and Kate. My mum’s support throughout my life, but especially in practical terms in the last stretch, was lifesaving. My wonderful extended family—all the Croalls and the Maddens, two families who really know how to have a good time—played an essential role. And of course, Ray and Frank, I am very lucky to have you. My greatest debt is to those in the Cook Islands who assisted with this project. I hope I can repay you one day. My thanks go to the National Research Committee for permitting me to undertake research in the Cook Islands, and especially to the chairman, Temu Okatai, and to Tauepa Tutakiau for her continual support and interest in my project. I extend my appreciation to the minister for culture and education, Ngereteina Puna, and all the staff at the Ministry of Cultural Development, especially Carmen Temata, Ota Joseph, Tepoave Raitia, Reu Urirau, Dwayne Murarai, Ake Makimoa, and Ngatuaine Maui. I would also like to thank John, Ina, and Tepaeru Herrmann for their interest and kindness, the late Papa Mana Strickland and Papa Maeva Karati for Cook Islands Māori lessons, and the late Taria Kingstone, an amazing scholar. The Orama dance group deserve particular thanks for putting up with me and so generously involving me in everything. Thanks especially to the Orama leaders, Sonny Williams and Gina Keenan-Williams, and to beautiful Tia Mai, Api‘i and Dan Turua, and Mata Arnold (and Tim and kids). I am grateful to those in the outer islands who gave me accommodation and lots more: in Aitutaki, all the Tunuis,

acknowledgments

ix

especially Papa Tunui; in Mau‘ke, No‘o and Kamoe Aiturau and their girls, and all the Tararos; and in Tongareva, Wilkie Rasmussen, for his academic insights and generosity, and all his family, in particular Rara, Rama, and Vic. In New Zealand, I wish to thank Rose Tunui and family, and Ute and Moe Tereu. Finally, to my friends in the Cooks, I can’t thank you enough: Ngatuaine Maui, Audrey Brown-Pereia, Teresa O’Connor, Mike Alexander, Vaea and Fletcher Melvin, Tuteru Tuteru, Liana Scott, Tina Vogel, Pam and Tepora Solomona, and Alex Sword. And I especially thank Mamia Tunui Savage and Utivaru Hewett for giving me a home and taking me into your lives. I miss you very much.

Map 1 Oceania

PROLOGUE

Mamia sat at the kitchen table with her ukulele. I sat opposite her with my laptop. It was around ten in the evening on a cool night during the Rarotongan winter. Mamia was trying to compose a song; her eldest sister Rose’s fiftieth birthday was coming up in a few months, and Mamia wanted to write a song for the occasion. I was trying to record field notes. Neither of us was particularly absorbed in our activities—we talked more than worked. Our conversation was interspersed with Mamia’s strumming occasional chords and singing fragments of melodies. At one point, Mamia suddenly stopped her casual playing and talking. She sat up straight, gazed into the distance, and began to sing. I remember thinking how beautiful she looked—she was wearing a long maroon velveteen dressing gown, her dark hair offset by a single white flower behind her ear. She sang confidently, in a voice that stretched from deep and rich to sweetly high. The song’s melody was melancholy and the lyrics sorrowful:

xiv

prologue

Māmā Kuramaeva

Mother Kuramaeva

Koe tāku e mi‘i nei

It is you I yearn for

Tōpata roi mata

My tears are falling for you

Auē ra te manini e

Oh, how my heart hurts

No‘ou e

For only you

Kuramaeva

Kuramaeva

Much later I found out that Mamia’s song about her mother belonged to a popular tradition of lament songs. At the death of a family member, or in the case of other tragic events, a person might compose a song to express the sadness that was felt. When she finished singing, Mamia began to tell me a little bit about her life. She had written the song about her mother, Kuramaeva, who died when Mamia was a teenager. After her mother’s death, Mamia said she went koka (roaming about); she was wild, she did not listen to her elder siblings or her father, and she stayed out all night and slept all day. If she was punished, she still didn’t listen to them, because she just didn’t care. She was so sad. Although she was close to a number of her sisters and her father, from the point of her mother’s death she felt that she was alone: “I had to look after myself.” Mamia said that her clearest image of her mother was that of her playing the piano in the village hall and the organ at church, skills she had learned at boarding school in New Zealand. Her mother was also a singer and composer, and Mamia was viewed as having inherited her talents. Family members had also suggested that Mamia had inherited some of her mother’s personality traits. Both were reputed to be tough, straightforward, and sometimes scary: “With Mum,” Mamia observed, “if something was wrong she would say it straight to your face, not go behind [your back].” The evening was an unusual one. Mamia was not given to reflection about her past, particularly not difficult periods in her life. She had, however, composed a number of songs about sorrowful events. For instance, she had written a song about a friend who died suddenly and another about her sister’s marriage breakup. Mamia had recorded these songs in the 1970s on a cassette that included her original compositions and her favorite songs. In the 1990s her songs were still being played on the national radio and by live bands around the islands. Despite the exceptional nature of the evening (or perhaps because of it), the occasion is pivotal in my recollections of Mamia—the song, ­its sorrow, the night, and the figure of Mamia in her dressing gown were captivating. Mamia’s musical abilities meant that she was often asked to play the ukulele and sing at functions and informal parties. Whenever she went out to an evening

prologue

xv

function, she always traveled with her ukulele in the boot of the car. At a party where Mamia and some other women had been singing and playing for two hours, someone turned to me and said: “You know how at parties sometimes we can’t think of songs to sing? Not if Mamia’s here. She always knows what songs to sing, and she can play the ukulele nonstop.” In her twenties and thirties Mamia had danced in a number of dance groups, had won a number of dance competitions, and was considered one of the most beautiful dancers of her generation. A number of people I spoke to about recent dance history and dancers would, without prompting, reminisce about Mamia’s dancing and singing abilities. Now in her forties, she mainly confined performing to informal occasions. Sometimes Mamia would perform a solo dance at a family event—a dance to honor a wedding couple, for example—but more often she would dance spontaneously at parties and at nightclubs. At a small party Mamia had at her house, her sister Api‘i and brother-in-law Dan (both accomplished musicians and singers), played guitar and ukulele while next-door neighbor Mama Kan beat out drum rhythms with a spatula and a plastic bowl. It was a hot night, and we sat on the veranda, leaning against its pillars,

Mamia Tunui Savage, Dancer of the Year, 1980. From Mamia T. Savage’s personal collection.

FIGURE 1

xvi

prologue

enjoying the sea breeze, and swaying with the music. They mainly played local “island music,” particularly songs from Aitutaki, the home island of the women. The songs were sentimental and laid-back, songs about village life, school, and love. Some were papa‘ā songs from the 1950s and 1960s, like “Over the Reef ” and “Be Faithful,” sung with alternating English and Cook Islands Māori lyrics.1 Late in the night Mamia got up to dance. She danced in a joking style called ‘ura vi‘i vi‘i—literally, “dirty dancing”—that is common at parties and at nightclubs. Our musicians laughed and made ribald comments. The music became faster and faster. We all watched Mamia, whose hips were the epitome of aka‘uka, an effortless, graceful, and fast style. She was laughing as she danced, a cheeky gay laugh. She shone.

On the Beach A n I n t r o d u c ti o n

This book is about contemporary Cook Islands dancing and, more generally, about expressive culture.1 It explores the variety of ways in which expressive practices generate aspects of Cook Islands social life. Dancing, I suggest, plays a key role in articulating the aesthetic, moral, political, and economic agendas of postcolonial Cook Islanders. The mediational power of expressive practices serves to engage local identities with broader global processes. One crucial aspect of this dialogue is that it is fundamentally gendered. Ideas about Cook Islands femininity and female dance practices are powerful conduits through which notions of Cook Islands locality, modernity, and globalization are explored. As the prologue makes clear, expressive practices are also a vital aspect of the production of more intimate forms of social life. I began with them to give a feel for the centrality of dance and the deeply affective nature of dancing and other expressive practices in the lives of many Cook Islanders. In many situations and contexts, Cook Islands social life is assembled through performance practices, ranging from dancing and singing to informal jokes, lively conversation, and



on the beach

amenable dispositions. The prologue is also a dedication. Mamia died of breast cancer on June 24, 2002. She played a highly influential role in my fieldwork in the Cook Islands. As well as being a significant source of information, she provided enormous support. She organized a place for me to live on Rarotonga (with her next-door neighbor Mama Kan), assisted in arranging interviews, gave me dance lessons, and took me to her home island of Aitutaki on numerous occasions. Among other things, Mamia’s death made me think about her life in historical terms, and it struck me that her biography followed the trajectory of performing arts in the Cook Islands since independence. The parallel between government policies toward the performing arts and Mamia’s life history is somewhat uncanny. Here I present these histories in tandem, for they serve to show the influence that government policies have on the ground (“on the beach,” as Cook Islanders say) and the significance of performing arts in many people’s daily lives. Mamia was born on the island of Aitutaki in the village of Ureia in 1953. She was the youngest of seven children; four girls and three boys (one of whom was adopted). Her mother was heavily involved in the Cook Islands Christian Church (CICC); she played the organ and ran the Sunday school. Her father, Papa Tunui Tereu, worked as a seaman, tug captain, and harbormaster. He is a tumu kōrero (expert in traditional matters) and a mata‘iapo (subchief) for Tamatoa ariki (chief) and was a choreographer, dancer, and composer. He is also a CICC deacon and the chairman of the Ureia village committee. Mamia’s parents began what was possibly the first commercial dance group on Aitutaki in the 1950s. Aitutaki was a refueling point on the “Coral Route” of the Tasman Empire Airways Limited (TEAL) service, which flew from Auckland, Fiji, Samoa, and Aitutaki through to Tahiti during the 1950s. Papa Tunui was asked by the airline to provide passengers with an island meal and a dance performance while the plane refueled. He then became the leader for the Aitutaki dance team, formed in 1964. He managed the team’s tere pati (traveling party) to Tahiti in 1964, where they performed at the Turai (Bastille celebrations), and he managed tours to Hawai‘i in 1978 and Tahiti in 1980.2 Mamia was not formally taught how to dance or play instruments. Her first recollection of dancing as a child was of a Sunday evening on Aitutaki: You know you can’t do anything on a Sunday except go to church and sleep. Before, it was much stricter. But when the sun set, then everything came alive. Mum would put coconut oil in our hair, and she would make us all dance to a song before we could go out on the road and play with other children. Sometimes

an introduction

FIGURE 2



Girls in Aitutaki, circa 1970. From Mamia T. Savage’s personal collection.

other family members would come around, and they would play music for hours. Sometimes if we danced, they gave us money or sweets.

Aside from these informal Sunday night dances, organized dance performances took place only at a few official events throughout the year. Mamia said she danced at primary school on special occasions such as parents’ day and when important visitors such as government ministers and school inspectors came to visit. The Cook Islands became self-governing in free association with New Zealand in 1965.3 The first premier (then prime minister) of the Cook Islands was an Aitutakian, Albert Henry. Henry’s Cook Islands Party saw the revival of local traditions as a key way of forging an independent nation-state. His initiatives included the establishment of a Culture Division to record and collect local customs and traditions. He also made Cook Islands Māori culture a compulsory subject in schools, which included the study of the national language, Cook Islands Māori, and he created a government-sponsored national dance team (Sissons 1999; Baddeley 1978). Mamia attended Tereora College on Rarotonga from 1968, because education on Aitutaki, as on most of the “outer islands” (the collective name for all of the Cook Islands except Rarotonga), only extended to junior high school



on the beach

levels.4 At Tereora College, Mamia joined the school dance team, which was run by Turepu Turepu, a highly influential composer and choreographer. This group traveled to New Zealand and Tahiti and performed in the annual Constitution Celebrations “festival of dance.” This festival was another Albert Henry initiative aimed at forging national sentiment and unifying the islands. The Constitution Celebrations began in 1966 and included participants from many outer islands. The competition between each island group was fierce, but, according to Mamia, because of Turepu’s talents the Tereora College team won every year. “Dancing was how I saw the world,” Mamia once told me. She first went overseas with the Tereora College dance team that performed in Tahiti to raise money for the college. In 1969 she was asked to join the Cook Islands National Arts Theatre (CINAT), the government-funded national performing arts group. With CINAT she performed at the opening of Australia’s Sydney Opera House in front of Queen Elizabeth II in 1973. She also toured with CINAT to Fiji, New Zealand, and Australia while participating in the Festival of Pacific Arts. From 1974 until 1978 Mamia was employed in the Culture Division (which included an anthropological division and archives) within the Ministry of Internal Affairs. She was one of only five employees. Her role was to record oral histories and coordinate cultural events. In this position she spent three months at Auckland University transcribing tapes from, and recording songs for, the Culture Division’s archives. The Cook Islands Democratic Party under Tom Davis (1978–1988) abandoned support of the arts, closing the Culture Division and, among other actions, stopping funding to CINAT. Economic development, particularly the development of tourism and related service industries, took precedence. Mamia got a job as a tourist officer, welcoming visitors at the airport and then at the Bank of Nauru branch on Rarotonga. Because CINAT had disbanded, Mamia joined a newly formed dance group, Te Ivi Māori (the Bones of the Ancestors) and traveled to Hawai‘i, the US mainland, Europe, France, Germany, and Italy. These trips were primarily for the purpose of tourist promotion and were organized by the Cook Islands Tourist Authority. Te Ivi Māori also began the Dancer of the Year competition for solo male and female dancers, which is now an integral component of the annual dance calendar. Mamia won the competition in 1980, 1981, and 1983. She retired from competitions in 1985. When the Cook Islands Party returned to power in 1989, “culture” again became a funding priority.5 Mamia was employed as a cultural officer in the performing arts division of the newly formed Ministry of Cultural Development. She was involved in coordinating the Constitution Celebrations, in particular assisting

an introduction



secondary school students with their performances. When I met Mamia in 1996, she had recently left the Ministry of Cultural Development. As a result of severe economic recession, the government was in the process of radically restructuring the economy. Mamia had taken a “transition package,” which included three months’ pay and retraining. After this time she was offered a job as sports development officer at the Cook Islands Sports and Olympic Association (CISOA). This job was a culmination of her long association with netball; she had been the secretary of the Cook Islands Netball Association for sixteen years and had represented the Cook Islands at various South Pacific Games tournaments in the 1970s and 1980s. She was also a qualified netball umpire and umpire examiner for the Cook Islands and the Oceania region. In this capacity she attended a number of sporting events such as the South Pacific Games in Micronesia, the Commonwealth Games in Malaysia, and the Olympic Games in Sydney. The very first day I met her, she had just returned from a trip to introduce Cook Islands Tattslotto, a lottery game, to Cook Islander communities in New Zealand. CISOA’s funding came from Tattslotto, and the new scheme Mamia was promoting was called Home Free—each month, two Cook Islanders who lived in New Zealand would win free airline tickets home. On that day she said, laughing: “Culture is no longer where the money is. It is all going into sport, so I am following the trend.” That Mamia performed jobs and undertook activities in a number of diverse fields is not particularly unusual. Many Cook Islanders can sing, dance, play musical instruments, compose songs, and play sport. What might be considered specialized skills in Western contexts are regarded as everyday activities in the Cook Islands. Mamia just happened to excel at these activities, owing, I believe, to a particular mix of talent, confidence, determination, and charisma. Doing things well distinguished Mamia in the eyes of the Rarotongan community. She was often interviewed about cultural and netball activities in the local newspaper as a “wellknown personality” on the island. One reason that Cook Islanders consider performing arts to be things “you just do” is their everyday nature. Young children are constantly being bounced on the knees of adults to the rhythm of various drumbeats. The beat is also sung: “Te, tete te te te.” Most households I visited had a guitar or ukulele, and the active creation of music and singing (rather than listening to music) was also widespread. At many parties I was urged to sing along but would excuse myself, explaining that I couldn’t. Every time someone would say, “But everyone can sing.” I would then explain how I was asked to leave the school choir at primary school and as a result



on the beach

never sang again. This story was received with incredulity: “Papa‘ā [white people] are so strict! Here no one is out—you just go up the back row.” This being said, talent in the performing arts is categorized differently from talent on, for example, the netball court or rugby field. People who are considered to be particularly talented or have a gift are called ta‘unga (expert in some aspect of Māori culture). The term has semimystical qualities; people have “gifts” either from God, ancestors, or talent that is “in the family blood.” The term ta‘unga is used in reference to dancers, musicians, composers, singers, and costume makers. Ta‘unga is usually reserved for older people. For instance, people called Mamia’s father, Papa Tunui, a ta‘unga. Mamia was not directly described as one, but she was recognized as “the next one,” that is, the next ta‘unga of the Tunui family. In this sense, those who excel in Māori culture are often attributed with sacred qualities. Some speak of having dreams or visions that inspire them. Mamia, however, was extremely pragmatic about her talents, never speaking of them as divine or mystical. Mamia always struck me as very cosmopolitan. As a well-seasoned traveler, she did not get particularly excited before a trip and would casually pack on the day of her departure. Her house was full of souvenirs she had purchased or been given in other places: Samoan mats, a mask from Papua New Guinea, flags, figurines, and snow globes. From Paris in 2000 she sent me a postcard of the Arc de Triomphe with a message that began: “Bonjour Kalissa!! Am in Paris for an IOC world conference for WIS.” I think that her easy use of acronyms, which took me a considerable time to work out (International Olympic Committee, Women in Sport), impressed me as much as her urbane location. Despite her worldliness, Mamia was also considered a “local local.” “Local local” is a term used to describe Cook Islanders who are proud of their home and their culture, as opposed to locals who act like papa‘ā. The latter tend to speak primarily in English, wear Western-style clothes, denigrate Māori culture, and go only to particular bars and restaurants on Rarotonga.6 Mamia went to both “highclass” and “local local” bars but preferred having parties at home. She was fond of wearing island print dresses (mu‘umu‘u), although she did wear papa‘ā clothes. Although Mamia spoke English very well, as a “local local,” she spoke Māori as often as possible, particularly to her son who refused to speak it. She was also concerned about maintaining knowledge of Aitutakian cultural forms and was preparing a manuscript of Aitutakian songs for Aitutakian children to learn at school. Although she had not lived long-term on Aitutaki since the mid-1970s, she professed a deep attachment to it as her “homeland.” She returned there every few months (Aitutaki is only fifty minutes away by plane), usually on official sport

an introduction



business, and stayed extra days to see family (her father and one brother still lived there) and friends. Her dream was to return to Aitutaki permanently and support herself by building a small guesthouse for tourists. Mamia’s life story and its location in Cook Islands postindependence history illustrates the centrality of dance and other expressive forms (including netball) in the life of one individual. It also demonstrates the importance of cultural production to government’s vision of a postcolonial nation-state. Finally, Mamia’s story shows the forms of personal, social, and geographical mobility that dancing can produce. By dancing, Mamia made a living, traveled throughout her country, and saw the world. Her songs and stories about her dancing and netball playing still circulate among Cook Islander communities at home and abroad. Expressive culture made Mamia a person of renown. Locating the Cook Islands

The Cook Islands is a colonial category. Linguistic and archaeological research suggests that the northern Cook Islands were settled from Samoa and the southern islands from the Society Islands (Craig and King 1981; Bellwood 1979). Prior to European invasion, economic, political, and artistic links existed between the various islands that now make up the Cooks and neighboring islands, and these ties were maintained despite efforts of early missionaries to control the movement of indigenous populations. It was not until the British made the Cook Islands a protectorate in 1888 that the islands of the north and south were grouped together as the Cook Islands. They were then annexed to New Zealand in 1901. Today the Cook Islands are a group of fifteen islands in central Polynesia. They are named after Captain James Cook, who charted the southern islands in 1773 and 1777. The larger southern group (Aitutaki, Atiu, Mangāia, Manuae, Ma‘uke, Miti‘āro, Rarotonga, and Takutea) is mainly composed of upraised coral and volcanic formations, while the northern group (Manihiki, Nassau, Tongareva, Pukapuka, Rakahanga, Palmerston, and Suwarrow) are low-lying coral atolls. The islands are dispersed over two million square kilometers of sea; their total landmass is 241 square kilometers. Rarotonga, in the southern group, is the administrative and economic capital of the group. In 2007 well over half the population of the Cooks, approximately 9,000 people, resided on Rarotonga, fewer than 3,000 lived in the southern group, and about 1,000 lived in the northern group (Cook Islands Statistics Office 2007). Because the two major industries, tourism and offshore banking, are based on Rarotonga, the island’s population includes large numbers of outer islanders, and

Map 2 The Cook Islands

an introduction



those with outer islands heritage.7 Papa‘ā expatriates, mainly from New Zealand, constitute approximately 5 percent of the Cook Islands population, and they tend to work in the upper levels of the tourist and banking industries. Visitors to the Cook Islands (a category that includes both tourists and expatriate Cook Islanders) make up a quarter of the total population on Rarotonga.8 The Cook Islands population is largely diasporic. Approximately 58,000 Cook Islanders live in New Zealand, and an estimated 10,000 in Australia (Australian Bureau of Statistics 2007; Statistics New Zealand 2006). The main reason for this is that limited arable land, cyclones, and transportation costs all place restrictions on economic development. The Cook Islands has relied heavily on the export of agricultural produce to New Zealand; however, when New Zealand deregulated its economy in the mid-1980s, the Cook Islands lost preferential access to this market and was unable to compete with larger exporters such as Australia. Some tropical fruit, taro, and fish are still exported, and pearls are the major export industry in the northern-group islands of Manihiki and Tongareva. In terms of internal trade, Rarotonga and Aitutaki are the only two islands to produce tropical fruit and vegetables for commercial sale; other islands in the southern group purchase fresh produce at considerable cost from Rarotonga. Most basic foodstuffs are imported from New Zealand, and shop-bought foods (tinned corned beef and fish, rice, and savory biscuits) are staples on all islands, supplemented with local fruit, coconut, and root vegetables. The only products that are exported from outer islands to Rarotonga are pearls and handicrafts (such as carved pearl shells and woven mats), which are highly sought after by locals and tourists alike. The country is also dependent on foreign aid and remittances. Like many small Pacific nations, the Cook Islands is characterized as having a MIRAB (migration, remittances, aid, and bureaucracy) economy (Bertram 1999; Bertram and Watters 1985). Mainstream economic assessment of MIRAB economies is largely negative; they are viewed as inefficient welfare systems that retard productive economic growth. These assumptions are being challenged through an examination of the worldviews of Pacific Islanders and their understandings of economic and social security (see Connell and Brown 2005; Poirine 1998; Hau‘ofa 1994). Certainly in the Cook Islands case the MIRAB system gave the islands the highest per-capita GDP in the Pacific, enabling many Cook Islanders to remain in the nation-state rather than move abroad for employment possibilities (NZODA 1997). This ended in 1996 when a structural adjustment program, aimed at reforming and revitalizing the Cook Islands economy, implemented among other things the reduction of the public service by half. Given that 60 percent of the paid workforce



on the beach

were employed by government (up to 75 percent in the outer islands) and the lack of other income-generating opportunities, this led to a dramatic increase in emigration (NZODA 1997). In 1996 the residential population of the Cook Islands was 18,000. In 2001 the residential population dropped to 15,000, and in 2006 to 11,800 (Cook Islands Statistics Office 2007). Assuming constant demographic variables, these figures suggest that in ten years about 6,000 Cook Islanders—a third of the total population—left the nation-state, particularly those of workforce participation age, and especially those between the ages of fifteen and twenty-four years have migrated overseas (Secretariat of the Pacific Community 2005). Cook Islands Māori (Rarotongan) and English are the official languages of the group. In each outer island, and between outer islander communities on Rarotonga, local dialects are spoken. Retention of linguistic diversity reflects a pride in, and connection to, home islands that older people attempt to encourage in younger generations born on Rarotonga. Island music (popular Cook Islands songs) is one particularly effective vehicle for this transmission, as composers from the outer islands or from outer islands communities consciously utilize their islands’ dialect in lyrics. These songs are broadcast on Radio Cook Islands, the national radio station, and they also circulate through audio and video recordings produced by the burgeoning local recording industry. The national television station, Cook Islands Television (CITV), stopped broadcasting to the outer islands during the economic reforms, because outer islanders could not afford the electricity required to transmit from their local stations. The national newspaper has only small circulation in the southern group and an even smaller circulation in the north. Outer islanders display little interest in these mediums anyway, for they perceive them to be biased toward Rarotongan content. Despite the lack of national communication vehicles, a number of cross-cutting networks connect the islands and communities abroad. Travel within the Cooks is undertaken primarily by plane (Air Rarotonga is the locally owned airline) and less frequently by ship. Rarotonga has the only international airport and is principally serviced by Air New Zealand. Along with these contemporary economic factors, three forms of social differentiation—rank, gender, and religious belief—all shape expressive practices, cultural production, and reception. Rank is an important form of social classification in contemporary Cook Islands society. Most of the islands in the group have a system of hereditary chieftainship that determines land ownership and defines social obligations.9 Rarotonga, for example, is divided into three districts (vaka)—Takitumu, Te Au O Tonga, and Puaikura—and each district has one or

an introduction



more chiefly lines associated with it.10 Land is further divided into subdistricts (tapere) owned by a descent group (ngāti) headed by a subdistrict chief (mata‘iapo) and a number of junior chiefs (rangatira) who represent extended family groups (kōpū tangata). Since independence, the ‘Ui Ariki (House of Ariki) has formed the upper house of parliament and includes representatives from each island. Subdistrict and junior chiefs make up an advisory council called the Kōutu Nui, which also advises government on customary matters. Neither body has legislative power, but they act as advisory committees to national and local government on land use, land ownership, community welfare, and culture issues (see Baddeley 1978; Sissons 1994, 1999). The latter area ranges from imposing rā‘ui (a system whereby access to a particular resource or area is forbidden for a given period) to expressing concerns about teenage drinking and crime. Family descent groups are ranked by their proximity to titleholders. While these rankings are often disputed, an individual’s position within this system is largely ascribed. As one young expatriate Cook Islander returning to the islands for the first time expressed it: “I mean nothing; what I have achieved means nothing. All that matters here is who your family is.” At the same time, alongside hereditary rank other forms of achieved status provide alternative, or supplementary, forms of prestige. Educational achievement, accomplishment in the performing arts, business acumen, and leadership in political and religious organizations are all important sources of status. Rank and gender intersect to shape the social status of individual men and women. Women who hold titled positions have higher social standing in relation to untitled men, for example.11 Concurrently, gender is crucial to the organization of social roles in both public and domestic spheres. Much domestic work is gender segregated. Work such as laboring on plantations and reef fishing are considered men’s work. Housework, cooking, and tending gardens are largely women’s responsibilities. Child care, however, is often the domain of grandparents, who take up this role so that both parents can earn wages to support the extended family. Rather than being an expression of gender-based difference and inequality, the gender division of labor is largely viewed as expressing “natural” complementariness. As a further example of this, men and women tend to socialize primarily in gender-segregated groupings, both sexes stating a preference for the company of their own sex. In the public sphere both men and women undertake paid work. On Rarotonga, women and men engage in waged employment in roughly equal numbers, although women are underrepresented in the upper strata of workplaces, politics, and religious institutions.



on the beach

Forms of religious practice pervade most aspects of everyday life in the Cook Islands. Regardless of denomination or an individual’s degree of religious belief or involvement, at each community event the proceedings open and close with a prayer. Even small activities, such as a staff meeting or a fishing trip, begin and end with prayer. The majority of Cook Islanders (55 percent) belong to the Cook Islands Christian Church (the descendant of London Missionary Society Protestantism). Roman Catholic (17 percent) and Seventh-day Adventist (8 percent) are the next-largest groups (Cook Islands Statistics Office 2001). Evangelical churches are becoming increasingly popular, particularly Assemblies of God and the Apostolic Revival Fellowship. There are also followers of Baha’i and the Church of Jesus Christ of the Latter-day Saints (Mormons), particularly on Rarotonga. Anthropology, Dance, and Expressive Culture

Within Pacific anthropology, the Cook Islands has received little attention. The northwestern atoll Pukapuka is the exception.12 Aside from Jeffrey Sissons’ informative works (1995, 1997, 1999), which explore the link between Cook Islands dance and nationalism, there have been no anthropological studies of Cook Islands dance. As Cook Islands dance is a polyphonic form, involving poetic song texts, vocals, drums, string instruments, artifacts, and costumes, I draw upon a number of ethnomusicological and material culture analyses of Cook Islands (Lawrence 1992, 1993; Jonassen 1991; Laird 1982; Salisbury 1983; McLean 1980). The focus of this work diverges from mine, however, in that it tends to concentrate on the structural and formal features of the Cook Islands performing arts rather than on the contextual nature of these practices.13 This book is more closely aligned with anthropological studies that examine dance and other expressive forms as practices and mediums of social action rather than as fixed aspects of “culture,” “tradition,” or “identity.” I draw on analyses of performance that examine its mediational nature and that emphasize the political significance of expressive forms.14 However, in arguing for the politicization of expressive forms, I am not suggesting they are simply reflections of outside forces such as politics, economics, religion, and so on. Rather, I take my lead from approaches that view cultural production and artistic practice as generative forces rather than passive mirrors of other aspects of social life.15 By analyzing specific examples of Cook Islanders’ expressive practice, I show how they are imbricated in shaping contemporary political, economic, and other social agendas.

an introduction



Arguing for the dynamic nature of expressive practices does not negate the possibility that these forms also mark out particular identities. Indeed, Cook Islands dance makes strong statements that evoke and affirm group identities. For instance, throughout Cook Islands postindependence history, dance has been used as a politicized symbol to articulate local, national, regional, and international aims. Culture (dance and music particularly) has been an important aspect of nation making, an instrument for both fostering and displaying national pride at independence celebrations, national and regional competitions, and the various community events held in the Cook Islands diaspora. So while I have no argument with the idea that dance can reinforce or demarcate particular identities, my point is that these identities are not stagnant, and thus dance practice is tied up not only in signification but explication. The work that people put into creating personal and group identities through expressive forms makes these identities emergent rather than predetermined. Dance, because of its visual and affective immediacy, is a particularly productive arena for the performance and contestation of important personal and social identities. Dance is compelling because it communicates at affective and embodied levels as well as cognitive ones. In order to capture the multisensorial nature of dance performance, I approach dance performances from a number of angles. I explore song texts and the themes they raise, I include the analysis of dance choreography and music compositions given by their creators, and I analyze the talk that surrounds dance—the evaluations of dance performances and of dancers, and the gossip, commentary, and other verbal narratives that dance produces. At the same time, I allow for the possibility that not all aspects of dance practices can be translated into verbal form. In a number of the examples presented here the meanings of certain movements and gestures are extralinguistic and interactional bodily realms of experience. This extralinguistic quality tends to occur when performers are expressing, thinking, or feeling values that are not hegemonic, such as nonnormative sexualities. Things that are difficult to speak— intimate emotions such as personal grief and sorrow—also find expression in dance, song, and music, when other forms of communication are not capable of serving this need. I chose to use the phrase “dancing from the heart” as the title of this book because it is the evocative expression most often used by Cook Islanders to explain the key characteristic of their dance. The importance of emotions to successful dance practice is an important component of dance practice throughout the world; what is particular to Cook Islands dance practice is the centrality of “happiness.”



on the beach

When I asked Cook Islanders why they danced, the most frequent responses were “Because it makes me happy” and “The main thing about dancing is to express happiness; then you are dancing from the heart.” I would answer these statements with probing questions about the possibility of “deeper” and more “serious” meaning. But, as people kept insisting that dancing was really about pleasurable emotions, I began to question my own assumptions that “happiness” was a trivial state, and started to seriously investigate the significance of happiness. Finding academic studies to assist understanding the meaning of dancing from the heart presented a challenge. Anthropological studies of emotion tend to focus on negative emotions such as pain, loss, grief, and trauma, not on pleasurable ones.16 These states are put forward, often implicitly, as foundational, as somehow more real and certainly more significant than positive emotional states. Balancing this trend, this book analyzes states like happiness and pleasure to illustrate that happy bodies and happy movements, rather than being transitory or epiphenomenal, are worthy of analysis and have a bearing on Cook Islands norms and ideals. In Cook Islands Māori, the most commonly used words for pleasurable emotions are mataora and rekareka. The two terms cover a range of emotions, including happiness, joy, festivity, merriment, delight, and fun. The causative prefix tā is often employed to emphasize the “performative” characteristics of these states— that is, the way pleasure is able to be induced, particularly by expressive forms. So, for instance, tāmataora is defined in a Māori-language dictionary as “to entertain, to make joyful; to do those things or acts that will be a source of joy, pleasure, etc., to others” (Savage [1962] 1980, 149). The terms tārekareka and tāmataora are most commonly used to describe expressive forms such as dance, singing, drama, and sport.17 As such, tāmataora and tārekareka explicitly link pleasurable feeling and expressive forms. While there are Māori terms for dancing (‘ura), singing (‘imene), and playing musical instruments (for example, hitting drums, rutu pa‘u, and playing string instruments, akatangi), there is no overall term for performance, art, or music. Although English terms are occasionally used, dance and music are referred to by their specific genres in Cook Islands Māori—for instance, ‘ura pa‘u (drum dance) or ‘imene tuki (religious songs). Rather than simply an expression of a state internal to an individual, mataora and rekareka denote a mode of social action. Mamia most clearly articulated the connection between pleasurable states, dance and music to a general philosophy for living: “You see, the point of life is to have fun, ‘anga‘anga tāmataora. You know, we try to enjoy our life over here, and dance is part of that. It is very important in a stressful situation that you pick up a guitar and sing—then you will be happy.

an introduction



When you hear the drums, it makes your blood move, you must dance—it is me coming out dancing, me being happy.” Mamia’s explanation was in English, except for one Māori phrase she used to supplement her thoughts. The term ‘anga‘anga tāmataora (literally, “to work pleasure”) is close in sentiment to the English expression “the good life.” Mamia’s formula for the good life is one in which aesthetics inform everyday dispositions; music and dance both enhance and create life’s enjoyment. More particularly, happiness is communicated through bodily means. Embodied expressive practices are emotionally transformative and are recognized as such. Mamia’s definition also gestures to music’s role in playing out personal emotions of sadness and its role in soothing negative feeling. This solitary form is replaced by the sound of drums, a sound that heralds social events and celebrations and a sound that, in her poetic description, forces her to emerge, dancing. Mamia’s expression “coming out dancing” is a neat condensation of values that are considered important to Cook Islanders. As in many small, kin-based communities, sociability and collective life are valued, while introspection, individual pursuits, and solitary behavior are variously considered rude, selfish, and unhealthy. The idea of desiring to have “time to yourself,” “personal time,” “downtime,” and the like, so fundamental to Western individualism, is largely incomprehensible. Sociability is seen as both natural and obligatory to Cook Islanders, and integrative practices are emphasized over solitary ones. The case studies examined throughout the book will make clear that happiness is very much linked to sociability. From formal occasions to spontaneous events, the gathering of people to eat, drink, and converse is vital to Cook Islands notions of “the good life.” Expressive forms such as dance and song are essential to creating successful social exchanges; they convey the heart of those values and ideals that Cook Islanders hold dear. Dancing from the heart is not just embodied in the virtuosity of the dancers but also created through interaction with audience members. Most dance performances that take place in local contexts aim at eliciting a response from the audience. This response involves vigorous clapping and crying out as the performance takes place, as well as members of the audience getting up to dance with, and give money to, performers. To show appreciation, individuals will rise from their seats and dance up to the performers, waving money above their heads; the money is then placed either in a contribution bowl or in dancers’ costumes. Humor is a highly significant vehicle to evoke “happiness” in many performance contexts. Both audience and dancers may perform humorous movements, a practice termed “clowning” by scholars of Pacific comedic traditions (Hereniko



on the beach

1995; Mitchell 1992; Sinavaiana 1992; White 1991; Huntsman and Hooper 1975). Dancing in the manner of the opposite sex and combining Cook Islands and Western dance movements are two particularly popular strategies that I draw attention to in this book. Making people laugh is not the only aspect of clowning performances, however. Many dance performances are highly competitive—village competes against village at Christmas dance celebrations, and island groups compete against each other at national dance competitions. Adding humorous elements to dance performances may guarantee a win in a competition. Conversely, members of the audience may dance in humorous ways to tease and hopefully infuriate performers into making mistakes and, as a result, lose the competition. Humor is also a critical aspect of other competitive events. Church groups compete in formal and informal singing competitions, while youth church groups have competitive sports days. Intervillage rugby and netball competitions take place each Saturday. Feasts held for village events are also framed in terms of competition, with different groups striving to provide the most food. Competitions are considered to make people try harder (‘akamāro‘iro‘i) and incite them to display their village, family, or themselves in the best light, through physical or aesthetic prowess and the provision of food and money. Some events involve the announcement of a winner and the awarding of prizes; many do not. The latter are considered unofficial competitions, in that a winner is not announced, but a particular group will consider themselves to have won and tease or jokingly boast about it to others. Winning status is often judged on the amount of money received from a performance or the amount of laughter, dancing, and applause a group was able to extract from the audience.18 A theme running throughout the book is the way that humorous expressive forms are a vehicle for structuring interactions with “outsiders,” be they from other families, villages, islands, or nations. I take my lead from work undertaken on the Pacific and elsewhere that considers the role of humor in negotiating and resisting colonial and postcolonial relations. Like Donna Goldstein in her analysis of the role humor and laughter play in expressing power relations, I view humor as “a vehicle for expressing sentiments that are difficult to communicate publicly or that point to areas of discontent in social life. The meanings behind laughter reveal both the cracks in the system and the masked or more subtle ways that power is challenged” (2003, 5). I focus particularly on the ways Cook Islanders have used performance humor to express power imbalances resulting from incursions from papa‘ā: missionary and colonial administrators and now tourists, as the embodiment of Western affluence and the inequities of global capitalism more generally.

an introduction



In these instances humor operates as both critical commentary on and an oppositional aesthetic to extant status, race, and economic hierarchies. Happiness is not a “natural” emotional state, a point important to stress given the deep history of the idea of the “smiling carefree native” (Desmond 1999; Trask 1993). Indeed, as Mamia suggests, achieving the good life is a social duty that takes work. The term tāmataora emphasizes that effort is required to make or cause happiness. Of course, not all dance performances or contexts aim at eliciting happiness, merriment, or laughter. Particular music genres, ceremonies, and associated chants and songs are performed to convey grief, sorrow, and loss. These kinds of performances are taken up throughout the book and serve, by their stark contrast, to underline the sociability, attachment, and belonging that lies at the heart of Cook Islands dance. Dance And Gender

Dance is one arena where bodily ideas about gender are obviously reproduced. In Cook Islands dance, male and female movements suggest ideals of masculinity and femininity, respectively. Dance movements, techniques, choreography, costumes, and singing all present notions of normative femininity and masculinity. Men (tāne) dance as warriors; they are strong and muscular, they exaggeratedly dance the physicality of “traditional” work; they fish, row canoes, and husk coconuts with their teeth. In contrast, women (va‘ine) dance the beauty of nature; their hand movements suggest gently undulating waves; their hips, clothed in grass skirts, allude to swaying palms. Their movements are graceful, demure, and gentle. A “third gender” category, called laelae, also exists in the Cook Islands (Herdt 1994). As is discussed in chapter 4, laelae are biological men who adopt female comportment and dress and may express sexual preference for heterosexual men. Laelae are prominent in the performing arts as choreographers, composers, costume and set designers, and event organizers. Additionally, a number of Cook Islands dance performances involve parodic gender reversal. These range from Western-style drag queen competitions (performed primarily, but not exclusively, by laelae) to fund-raising performances of cross-dressing and dancing (usually male-to-female performances by both heterosexuals and laelae) for various sport, church, and village associations. These performances in part reinscribe normative and highly codified gendered movement. They are also potential explorations of other nonnormative movements and practices. Either way, Cook Islanders find these reversals highly entertaining and humorous, suggesting there is certain



on the beach

pleasure to be derived from the representation of deviance from hegemonic gendered norms and practices. My focus in this work is primarily in the relationship between femininity (articulated by both women and laelae) and Cook Islands expressive forms.19 This is because femininity figures prominently in assessments of Cook Islands dance practice and debates about cultural authenticity and tradition. Cook Islands femininity is often represented as the paragon of both traditional and moral ideals and in relation to Cook Islands dance. For instance, almost all of the debate about demarcating the traditional from the modern in dance is centered around female dance movements and female costumes, with traditional forms being seen as refined as opposed to sexually explicit modern ones (see chapter 2). The connection of female bodily presentation with issues of prestige, reputation, and sexuality is central. Furthermore, there is clear asymmetry in the evaluations of femininity and masculinity, a point feminist scholars have made across all societies. As YuvalDavies (1997, 23) argues, women act as “symbolic border guards” in debates about national identity and perceived threats to cultural integrity from outside forces. In the Cook Islands such debates primarily center on threats posed by Westernization and globalization. The expression of certain emotions in the public sphere is also highly gendered. Public joking and parodic dancing are primarily a male preserve. Women who are past child-rearing age and not of high status may publicly cross-dress and dance, but young women and women of chiefly status are constrained from doing so unless they are in all-female company. Women who flaunt these rules (and certainly some do) are open to criticism and speculation about their virtue. To understand how and why dance is often problematic for women in ways that it is not for men, I have found valuable the work of Jane Cowan (1990) on dance in northern Greece. Cowan argues that this problem centers around the containment and expression of female sexuality. Women are placed in a contradictory position; they are encouraged to display their beauty, skill, and sensuality. Women who dance well represent the pinnacle of femininity. Simultaneously, they cannot dance “too much” (ibid., 200) or in ways that are potentially damaging to their reputation. The ambiguous potency of dance in relation to femininity demonstrates the complex and polysemous nature of expressive forms. As Cowan states: “Dance is associated with control by others . . . but also with freedom; suffering but also release; sociability but also competition; display but also exposure; sensuality but also the potential for loss of status; power but also vulnerability; expressions of individuality but also of social accountability” (ibid., 20).

an introduction



Layered Mobility

Movement is the controlling theme of this book. Most literally, this theme is taken up in the examination of bodily motility in Cook Islands dance. The ability to move people, to provoke emotional responses, is another vital component of dance practice. The focus on moving bodies has crucially informed the analytical framework employed. Questions about the corporeal production of identities, the embodied nature of self-presentation and social exchange, and the dynamic interplay between human agency and societal norms all came to the fore as I attempted to understand the significance of expressive forms in the lives of Cook Islanders. In many ways, dance is an ideal subject for the exploration of the processual and provisional nature of identities and social life. As a moving medium, it can serve only to stress the creative work that goes into crafting selves and societies. It is also necessary to stress that this creativity does not take place in a free-for-all vacuum; social action is shaped and constrained by hegemonic ideologies and concomitant power relations. Particularly relevant in the Cook Islands context are prevailing gender ideologies and notions of female sexuality and reputation. Wider historical and global forces are also brought to bear on expressive practices and the people who engage in them. Arjun Appadurai (2001) characterizes globalization as involving the ever-increasing flow of ideas, images, and people at the service of the economic imperatives of capitalism. Movement, in all these forms, is a fundamental component of Cook Islanders’ experience of global capitalism. Cook Islanders, like other Pacific Islanders, have long traditions of migration, travel, and exploration involving economic and cultural exchange. Movement was, and still is, a central component of Pacific history and Pacific Islanders’ contemporary experience (Jolly 2007; Lockwood 2004; Spickard 2002; Hau‘ofa 1994, 1998). In the Cook Islands, familial and community networks are maintained across the diaspora through frequent visits home and abroad for weddings, funerals, family reunions, village and island events, and Christmas celebrations. The transnational nature of Cook Islands communities is also evidenced in the frequent travel undertaken for business. Government employees and members of nongovernmental organizations are regularly abroad, attending regional meetings and conferences. Tourist operators take dance groups on promotional tours in Europe and the United States, and business entrepreneurs travel to attract investment in agricultural and tourism projects. Cook Islands communities, both at home and abroad, also actively consume non–Cook Islands aesthetic forms. These include papa‘ā popular music, movies,



on the beach

and television and regional artistic products, particularly Tahitian and Samoan music and fashion. In addition, a sizable expatriate community and the large tourist industry mean that many Cook Islanders engage with papa‘ā on a daily basis. These interactions are largely experienced ambivalently. On the one hand, tourism and tourist-related industries are major employers on the islands, providing income and other benefits such as opportunities to travel. On the other hand, tourism emphasizes disparities in wealth and opportunity that exist between tourists and those employed to serve them. These social and economic inequities are further reinforced in diasporic Cook Islander communities, where many undertake low-paid and unstable work in factories, construction, and security. Expressive forms, dance in particular, are often the focal point of this ambivalence toward the cultural, economic, and political movements of global capitalism. Intense debate about what constitutes Cook Islands dance movement, costuming, and music communicates anxieties about cultural homogenization, Westernization, commodification, and attempts to codify what constitutes authentic cultural traditions. These debates are primarily framed in oppositional terms; Cook Islands versus papa‘ā, local versus global, traditional and modern. In analyzing these debates, I consider these categories not as antithetical but as a zone of contestation where various sectors of the Cook Islands population struggle over their meaning and aim at legitimating their understandings of the terms “local” and “nonlocal.” What I call local is a concept informed by the interplay between competing perspectives—colonial, postcolonial, Western, global, and regional. Studies of modernity, nationalism, and globalization, which aim at understanding the dynamics of the contemporary global-local nexus, provide the analytic tools to understand Cook Islands expressive forms in relation to these wider historical, social, and political movements (especially Tsing 2002, 2005; Appadurai 1996, 2001; Clifford 1997; Miller 1995; Friedman 1994). As Appadurai analyzed global media and mass migration, I explore expressive culture as a series of practices that experiment with modernity. I view Cook Islands dance as the “work of imagination,” which is “neither purely emancipatory nor entirely disciplined but is a space of contestation in which individuals and groups seek to annex the global into their own practices of the modern” (Appadurai 1996, 4). This view of globallocal relations complicates simple understandings of globalization as a force of modernity that is either accommodated or resisted by local communities. It moves us beyond the distinction of “global” forces and local places, as all force making and place making are both local and global (Tsing 2002, 477). As the case studies examined in this work demonstrate, global cultural flows are placed; they are actively

an introduction



assimilated into local styles. Local forces are often simultaneously oriented toward global (and regional and transnational) sites. My aims also intersect with scholarship undertaken in the Pacific region that problematizes static notions of cultural production, tradition, and authenticity.20 With the formation of independent nation-states throughout much of the Pacific there has been a revival of tradition and an increasing importance placed on forms understood to be precolonial. Artistic production and the refashioning of cultural institutions are often singled out as areas around which these questions of identity and tradition are articulated. The performing arts in particular are a key vehicle through which Pacific Islanders assert and negotiate who they are at the local, national, regional, and global levels (Lockwood 1993; Stevenson 1992; Nero 1992). In the Cook Islands, contemporary dance practices are shaped by competing ideas about the islands’ past. Debates about precolonial traditions, missionization, and colonialism pervade discussions concerning contemporary dance and expressive culture. What is seen to constitute tradition is the subject of heated debate, primarily between contemporary dance group leaders and members of the older generations who organized dance and youth groups. Both younger and older performers claim that their dance forms are more traditional and, as such, more authentically Cook Islands. The Politics of Location

My main period of fieldwork in the Cook Islands was from November 1996 until May 1998 when I was primarily located on Rarotonga.21 It was, in retrospect, an extremely significant time to be engaged in fieldwork, as the stringent economic reforms discussed above were just being implemented. As a result of the reforms, a number of government-sponsored cultural activities were postponed during this period. The year 1997 was the first in which the Constitution Celebrations were held without any outer islands delegation. Celebrations were to be held on each island, but no islands actually celebrated the day. The mayor of Tongareva told me subsequently: “What was there to celebrate? This government has sold us away.” On Rarotonga the celebrations were held in an attenuated form. The main event, the festival of dance, was a (supposedly) noncompetitive dance performance featuring four Rarotongan dance groups. Other cultural events were “postponed” due to budget cuts. In terms of the performing arts, the withdrawal of government funding was seen by many to pronounce the end of an era. Those involved in running private dance groups and event organizations spoke of the benefits of



on the beach

privatization; government sponsorship was considered “old hat” and unreliable. Others reminisced about days gone by when culture was treated as an important national resource, expressing their dissatisfaction with a dismissive quip that now “we only have the dollar.” This period of economic restructuring brought into stark relief opposing beliefs about the nature of paid work and community obligations, economic and social exchange, and the role of expressive forms in these realms of social life. Despite the decline in government-funded performing arts, dance remained an important aspect of many community events. Dance and other cultural activities that serviced the tourist industry also continued. At the more local level, dance performances, both spontaneous and choreographed, were held at life-stage events such as weddings, haircutting ceremonies,22 and twenty-first birthdays and during island and village events like Christmas and New Year celebrations. Dance, music, and song performances also took place at functions such as school productions, beauty contests, talent quests, song contests, drag queen shows, and community fund-raisers, as well as at nightclubs and parties. Religious-based events involving singing and dance were held weekly across the various denominations, and forms of religious singing and movement (dancing is prohibited by many denominations) were included across a range of community occasions. p

p

p

The network of people I came in contact with over the course of my fieldwork was very much influenced by Mamia and her family. In the initial stages I had expressed an interest to Mamia in learning Cook Islands dance, and she kindly offered to teach me. Many of these lessons ended up being held over at the house where Mama Kan (a fellow Aitutakian) lived. Mamia wanted to “keep her company,” because Mama Kan worked the night shift at Telecom Cook Islands and was home alone during the day. A few months later, both women decided I should live with Mama Kan so that we could provide company for each other. These two women, and their extended families and friends, have fundamentally shaped my understanding of Cook Islands social life. During the 1996–1998 period of fieldwork, Mamia’s cousin Carmen Temata was the permanent secretary of the Ministry of Cultural Development. Carmen generously gave me an office at the ministry. In return I did occasional work for them such as typing, research, and ushering at ministry events such as the Constitution Celebrations. Mamia’s uncle Ota Joseph (OJ) also worked at the ministry as

an introduction



a special projects officer, collecting oral histories and overseeing cultural events. OJ would spend a lot of time talking about cultural matters and Cook Islands history with me and the anthropologist at the ministry, Ngatuaine Maui (who was also OJ’s niece on “his wife’s side”). Being located at Ministry of Cultural Development gave me firsthand insight into the organization and promotion of government-sponsored performing arts. Mamia’s sister Api‘i belonged to the Orama dance troupe, which became the central dance group in my research. This group was run by Sonny Williams and Georgina Keenan-Williams, both of whom were also enormously influential to my work. Both have devoted their lives to the performing arts, Georgina as a dancer, choreographer, and graphic artist, and Sonny as a dancer and drummer, and, eventually, the head of the Ministry of Cultural Development. I participated in Orama’s weekly rehearsals and also attended hotel shows twice a week, where I was promoted from spectator to babysitter (of dancers’ children) and then operator of stage lights, a job that meant timing the lights with drumbeats. I also assisted in costume preparation, which involved making fresh components of costumes on the days of performance, such as flower wreaths (‘ei) and leafy girdles (rautī titi). I also worked on biannual costume workshops, which involved treating pandanus in order to make grass skirts (pāreu kiri‘au) and sewing, screen-printing, and weaving other more permanent costume components. Learning Cook Islands dance was a frustrating and often humiliating experience. As well as learning the formal aspects of Cook Islands dancing, I also had to learn a great deal of contextual knowledge, including how to dance, in what costume, in what style, with whom, and when. Foreign representations of Polynesian sensual exoticness shaped my initial understanding of Cook Islands dancing.23 The dancers were young and slim, scantily clad in coconut bras and grass skirts, and shaking their hips in ways that seemed highly sexual. As I came to know Cook Islands norms of bodily display and movement, the picture became far more complicated. Although display of the upper thigh is viewed as immodest by Cook Islanders, revealing the stomach is not. Young Cook Islands women will rarely wear a bikini in mixed company and will go to great lengths to cover their upper thighs with pāreu or shorts. Similarly, dancing styles—particularly the hip movements of female dancers—while certainly meant to be sensual in some contexts, also signify grace, skill, and technical competence. Although based on Rarotonga, I also traveled to a number of outer islands, as well as to Tahiti and New Zealand. Often it was the travel undertaken by Cook Islanders I knew that necessitated my own travel. I visited Aitutaki with Mamia



on the beach

on numerous occasions, often laden with goods purchased by Mama Kan for her relatives. I also spent a few months in Ma‘uke and Tongareva and undertook a trip with the Orama dance troupe to Tahiti when they went there to perform. These trips were invaluable as they allowed me to experience the to-and-fro movement between islands and between urban situations and village ones, that characterizes the lifestyles of many Cook Islanders. The trips were also important because they provided comparative material for my main fieldwork on Rarotonga. People I spoke to about dance always classified dances into southern group and northern group styles (and then further categorized them into island differences). In addition, people on Rarotonga constantly compared Rarotongan expressive practices with those of the outer islands. The outer islands (except Aitutaki) were considered both to be backward (“like Rarotonga was twenty years ago”) and more culturally “authentic.” Rarotonga, in this comparison, was described as a “cultural fruit salad” that had lost a lot of traditional knowledge and practices. As a consequence my fieldwork was necessarily multi-sited. It followed the geographical movements of people I knew on Rarotonga to their home islands and to communities abroad. Although most of my writing is about events and people based on Rarotonga, it was impossible to limit it to Rarotonga or even to easily use the term “Rarotongans.” Key people on Rarotonga, such as Mamia and Mama Kan, defined themselves as Aitutakians. Similarly, Orama co-leader Sonny Williams was born on Rarotonga but identified strongly with his Manihikian “side,” and he represented himself as a Manihikian. Rather than attempting to create a study about a geographically bounded group—and in the process incarcerating local residents (see DeLoughrey 2007, 197)—this book foregrounds the mobility of people’s lives to give a sense of how expressive culture, and dance in particular, travels through local, national, and international milieus. As well as observing and participating in various dance contexts, I conducted and recorded around sixty informal interviews with dancers, choreographers, and musicians. I attempted to interview performers from different age groups, as generational differences of opinion about dance and music are quite marked. I also interviewed people who had previously been dancers but now were not, because their acquired religious beliefs prohibited dancing. My formal interviews were based on questions about individuals’ life histories. Interviewees tended to speak passionately and with endurance about dance. Many interviewees did not separate stories of their involvement in performing arts with other aspects of their lives. Dancing, singing, and playing instruments were connected to other significant events and passions. In general terms, the two main passions were land claims and

an introduction



the concomitant issue of relationships with kin.24 Often these local issues would be linked to more global concerns about the influence of papa‘ā ways on the maintenance of identity, traditions, and performing arts genres. The observations made in this work are obviously shaped by my personal history and intellectual interests. They are also shaped by the way Cook Islanders perceived me, essential to which was my status as twenty-something, single, white, and female, a collection of attributes that equated me with tourists and their hedonistic desires. My research was often “jokingly” discussed as a thinly veiled excuse to have a good time. People would frequently say to me, “You have just come here to get yourself a husband,” or “You should learn the dance of love—the only way to really know the Cook Islands is to be with a Cook Islander.” The point I took from comments such as these is that knowledge acquisition is positional, situated, and partial (Marcus 1998; di Leonardo 1991). That this analytical perspective is as relevant to the strategies Cook Islanders used to locate me (as both a gendered and sexualized researcher/tourist), as it is to my position as a Western researcher, provides a reflexive element that permeates the book. I aim to use reflexivity as a “politics of location” to show how I am located not only by my personal history but also by wider political social relations. The people I was close to attempted to turn me into a different kind of young woman than the free and easy tourist. Mama Kan in particular wanted to me to be a “good girl” and reflect the training that Mamia and herself were putting into me. This training included teaching me how to dance properly, not to be stingy with money (as most papa‘ā were considered to be), and to tend to personal grooming. It will become clear as the book progresses that evaluation of female dancers incorporates their moral and physical comportment. At home, I was required to participate in everyday domestic chores. Mama Kan was a particularly tidy person and she would survey my sweeping or raking, sometimes remarking, “You want a Ph.D., but I wouldn’t even give you a master’s in housekeeping.” Furthermore both Mamia and Mama Kan were shocked that I rarely ironed clothes, and they insisted that I do so. My hair was also problematic, as it was curly and I often wore it loose. Most Cook Islander females wore their hair tied back in buns that I considered severe. Mama Kan told me once that women at her workplace had mentioned to her that my hair was very messy, and she asked me to buy a comb and “make it nice”: “You can’t live here with hair like that. It will shame us.” Despite my desire to conform to the norms of Cook Islands femininity, my researcher role continually thwarted these attempts. Mama Kan once told me that a woman at the market said I was a pana‘akari. I was offended because I understood



on the beach

the word to mean “crazy.” However, Mama Kan explained that in this instance it probably meant that, unlike most papa‘ā on the island, I talked to and socialized with locals. She wasn’t entirely convinced, however, and said enigmatically, “But you know more people on the island than I do.” This comment referenced another sense that being pana‘akari is opposite to the way an ideal Cook Islands young woman would behave. While they were demure, graceful, and poised, I was loud, forthright, and “clownish.” I mentioned this to a local girlfriend who said, “Well, if you acted like a proper Rarotongan girl, all shy, it would have taken you ten years to get your research done!” Rather than be reassured by this assertion, I felt that I had failed to conform to Cook Islands standards of femininity and that I had confirmed negative assessments of papa‘ā femininity held by Cook Islanders. Most anthropologists are keenly aware that their discipline bears the marks of exploitative colonial and postcolonial relations. Anthropology has been both the “handmaiden of colonialism,” involved in the subjugation of indigenous people, and an instrument for recording and understanding “other” cultures. The contradictory nature of the discipline is still evident today. Anthropologists are caught up in postcolonial power relations while they simultaneously press for equality and understanding of those who suffer the ongoing impacts of colonialism. Having keenly experienced ethical dilemmas about the voyeurism of undertaking fieldwork and about the writing and representing of others (part of it self-indulgent guilt and part of it a necessary act of acknowledging the complexity of my chosen discipline), I can only write this book because I believe the practice of anthropology—engaging with people for long periods of time and attempting to accurately present their worldviews—is a valuable endeavor that can enrich understandings of the gamut of human experience, within the scholarly community and beyond. p

p

p

In the following two chapters I examine Cook Islands dance in a broad political, social, and historical context. Together the chapters provide a chronological overview of important issues and debates surrounding contemporary Cook Islands dance practices. Two related themes emerge. The first theme is the negotiation of Cook Islands modernity. Traditions such as dance are crucial to this negotiation in a global, postcolonial setting. The second theme is the central role that discourses about Cook Islands femininity—expressed through idioms of morality, respectability, and containment—play in the evaluation of both tradition and modernity.

an introduction



In chapter 1, I discuss the role of dance and other expressive forms in precolonial and colonial social life to show the complex historical processes that inform contemporary dance practice. My primary focus is on the way forms of entertainment, tārekareka, have been transformed and renegotiated since European invasion. Chapter 2 examines debates surrounding contemporary dance practice principally on the island of Rarotonga, where the contiguity between dance, government sponsorship, tourism, and other global forces gives these contests an urgency that is not experienced to the same degree on the outer islands. The contemporary dance scene on Rarotonga and the relationship between cultural producers and the tourist industry are my starting point. While tourism is crucial to the performing arts, debates about the industry inflect local concerns about globalization and its impact on Cook Islands values. The main areas of concern that emerge are the perceived rise in individualism over communalism, the commodification of cultural forms, and the influence of religious belief in shaping moral evaluations of tradition and modernity. I pay particular attention to the stark generational difference of opinion about tradition and modernity, and local and global, in contests about culture. The relationship between dance and Cook Islands femininity is the main focus of the next three chapters. In chapter 3, I discuss the ways in which Cook Islands women perform their femininity—primarily through an analysis of the Miss Cook Islands beauty pageant. In this competition, the contradictions of performing femininity in the Cook Islands are apparent. On the one hand, women who perform have the potential to become paragons of Cook Islands femininity. On the other hand, they are required to maintain their modest, self-effacing characteristics. These contradictions forcefully illustrate the ways in which dance is a constant play between social constraint and social agency. In chapter 4, I investigate the culturally specific ways in which cross-dressing and dancing connect with issues of gender, sex, and sexuality through femininity. Both chapters 3 and 4 also illustrate how Cook Islanders use global forms such as beauty pageants (both drag and straight) as performative commentaries on various local social tensions. I move from public to less formal and visible areas of Cook Islands dance culture in chapter 5, where I consider how Western nightclubs, music, and dance have been transformed and incorporated into Cook Islands performative contexts. Again, these more informal dance contexts are linked to evaluations of femininity and the construction of gender relations more broadly. I explore how tāmataora and tārekareka, the pleasurable, genial aspects of social life, are configured and constructed after dark. Parties and events at nightclubs I attended in the Cook



on the beach

Islands, aimed to achieve heightened states of happiness through drinking, dancing, and socializing, and yet many ended with drunken arguments, accusations, and sometimes physical fights. While such conflict is not considered ideal, it is commonplace. The embodied contradiction between the convivial and adversarial nature of collective participation fills out the picture of the gendered and exploratory aspects of Cook Islands performance contexts. Chapter 6 concludes the book by focusing on the role of expressive culture in the maintenance of transnational communities. The chapter follows the movement of Cook Islanders to and from the nation-state, showing how aesthetic exchange is a pivotal component in the arrivals, departures, and events associated with this geographical movement. These exchanges are also related to broader affective and economic concerns and demonstrate the ways in which global and local flows are negotiated by contemporary Cook Islanders.

chapter one ‘ARE KARIOI, HOUSES OF ENTERTAINMENT D ANC E IN H I STORY

In 1992 the sixth Festival of Pacific Arts was held on Rarotonga.1 In order to host this event, which included participants from the majority of the Pacific Island states, the Cook Islands government built a large complex, Te Puna Kōrero—also known as the Sir Geoffrey Henry National Culture Centre, named in honor of the prime minister. The $12 million complex houses the National Library, the National Museum, and the Ministry of Cultural Development.2 The centerpiece is a 2,300seat auditorium called the ‘Are Karioi Nui (Big House of Entertainment). This name comes from legends about ‘are karioi (houses of entertainment or amusements) that existed before European invasion. Savage ([1962] 1980, 41) describes them as “the place where the lighter side of tribal life was taught and indulged in, such as games, dances, etc.” The best-documented ‘are karioi is on Aitutaki. According to oral history and archaeological research, the Aitutaki ‘are karioi was built by the son of a man called Mareara around 1400 and then finished by Ra‘ui. The structure, covering an area of twenty-five by nine meters, was made from wooden posts (the interior ones

chapter one



carved with designs), the roof and walls were made from pandanus leaves, and the floor was covered with white coral gravel (Bellwood 1978). The following story about the ‘are karioi was told to me by Mamia’s father, Papa Tunui, in January 1997. It is a tragic love story and is the most popular of the ‘are karioi tales: The ‘are karioi is the house of tārekereka. It is the first house of entertainment on the island [Aitutaki], maybe in the Cook Islands. It was famous, not only to us but to people from all over the islands [the Pacific]. It is like you young people and your discos. It is a place to meet and the young people to go there and have a good time. Dancing day and night, day and night. Go and come back, go home and come back.

There is this fella named Ikaroa and his wife is named Otaua. He is from

Tahiti. And he tells his wife, “I have heard of this place where everybody enjoys themselves. I am going to go around the islands and find it. When I find that place that is good for us I will come back and I will get you and we will go there”. So he travels around and he comes to Aitutaki. When he gets here he sees so many young people walking. He asks, “Where are you going to?” The young people say, “We are going to the entertainment house”. Ikaroa asks, “Can I come with you?”, and the people say, “Okay come on”.

Ikaroa went into the ‘are karioi and, you see, it is like young people today.

When a fella is coming from somewhere new they are all interested in him. They say, “Ohh!!” And they all are on that fella. He is dancing there day and night, all the girls dancing around him.

So his wife, Otaua, stays in Tahiti one year, and she begins to think that

Ikaroa isn’t coming home. So she decided to go and look for her husband. She makes a canoe and paddles day and night, day and night. She lands here on Aitutaki, on the other side, on the east of the island. When she came close to the land, she heard the sounds of the beats of the drum. So she pulled the canoe onto the land. She walked, looking for where the music is coming from. She came up the hill and she saw the house, and she saw her husband dancing with the ladies, the ladies circling around him.

Otaua goes into the house, and she tries to dance close to her husband. Her

husband pushes her away. She tries again and again and for a third time. But it is like her husband doesn’t recognize her. Otaua weeps. She left the ‘are karioi and went down to the beach. There is a coconut tree. It doesn’t grow straight but on an angle, a slant. She cried and climbed the tree. When she got to the top, she sang a chant, a very sad song. She cried and she jumped down from the top, down the bottom. She killed herself.

dance in history





So people are dancing and getting hot and they come out to get some fresh

air. The sun was nearly up, and they go down to the beach. They see something lying on the beach, and they came down there and looked. When they came they saw the body: “Hey! There is somebody down on the beach. It’s a lady. She has a black spot [a mole] on her back.” And the words are coming to the ear of Ikaroa, the man from Tahiti. He knows that his wife has got a spot on her neck. It is like he is out of a trance; he remembers his wife now. So he comes down the beach, and he cried. He wept, he cried, he dug a hole and buried the body.

Stories about the ‘are karioi on Aitutaki were told to me on many occasions as evidence of the importance of expressive entertainment forms in precolonial times. One striking aspect of Papa Tunui’s account is the connection he makes between the ‘are karioi and contemporary entertainment forms. The ‘are karioi in Papa Tunui’s version is an olden-day disco, or dance hall, a place for young people to meet and have a good time—the house of tārekareka. Throughout the book I also make links between past and present entertainment practices, but rather than viewing these connections as an argument for the immutable continuity of tradition, I consider tradition as the distinctive way in which change proceeds (Sahlins 1994, 380). Contemporary Cook Islands dance practice can be seen both as possessing continuity with past practices and as reflecting disjunctures produced by European rule. Furthermore, the ways in which these changes were negotiated by Cook Islanders also reflect tradition—a distinctive style of local response to outside forces. This chapter provides a historical account of Cook Islands expressive culture, paying particular attention to the way dance and gender ideals are related in the precolonial, missionary, and colonial periods. Two key themes emerge from this examination: the connection between geographical and aesthetic movement, and the role of expressive forms in shaping relationships with outsiders. As Papa Tunui’s narration of the trials of Ikaroa and Otaua suggests, the ‘are karioi had regional significance. Its fame meant that people from all the Pacific would visit the ‘are karioi to exchange dance styles, songs, and drumming techniques, thereby both initiating and cementing relationships. The chapter also feeds into a broader theme of this book—namely, an exploration of the ways in which Cook Islanders consume and negotiate outside cultural flows.3 Rather than view these processes as either appropriation or rejection of outside forces, these interchanges between Cook Islanders and outsiders reveal “complex dialectics of identification” (Miller 1995: 4), which results in a number of strategies, ranging from incorporation of novel forms to new ways of expressively being in the world.4

chapter one



DANCE IN PRECOLONIAL SETTINGS

Unlike Papa Tunui, Te Rangi Hiroa (Sir Peter Buck), a New Zealand Māori anthropologist and colonial official, suggests that each village on Rarotonga and Aitutaki had an ‘are karioi (or ‘are kariei).5 This claim is supported by oral traditions that tell of other islands in the southern Cooks group having similar sites (Tumu Korero Conference 1974). Hiroa (1927, 36) observes: “They were usually built to the order of a high chief to add to his own prestige and for the entertainment of his unmarried daughters. In them, dancing, singing, and all indoor games and amusements took place, and it was the ambition of all to excel in these entertainments.” That entertainments were held for wealthy unmarried women is supported in the work of William Wyatt Gill, a London Missionary Society missionary in the Cook Islands from 1852 until 1883. In what follows below, he describes a rite of female maturity and provides some insight into the aesthetics of femininity and masculinity during this period.6 He does not mention ‘are karioi houses but says that this rite takes place in the open air (presumably the ‘are karioi had been destroyed by missionaries): She is expected to make her debut by taking part in the next grand dance. The greatest requisites of a Polynesian beauty are to be fat and as fair as their dusky skins will permit. To insure this, favorite children in good families, whether boys or girls, were regularly fattened and imprisoned till nightfall, when a little gentle exercise was permitted. If refractory, the guardian would even whip the culprit for not eating more, calling out, “Shall I not be put to shame to see you so slim in the dance?”

These dances invariably took place in the open air, by torchlight. About a

year was required for getting up one such entertainment. This long interval was needed, first, for the composing of songs in honor of the fair ones, and the rehearsal of the performers; secondly, for the growth of “taro,” &c., &c., to provide the grand feast necessary. The point of honor was to be the fairest and fattest of any young people present. I know of no more unpleasant sight than the cracking of the skin as the fattening process proceeds; yet this calls forth the admiration of the friends. (Gill [1892] 1979, 5)

Both Gill’s and Hiroa’s interpretations of precolonial entertainment practices suggest that a certain amount of prestige was attached to holding festivities. This

dance in history



prestige affixed first to those who built entertainment houses, hosted feasts, and provided entertainment. Second, those who participated in these events embodied this status; they were fair and fat, both signs of wealth and luxury, unlike people who engaged in manual outdoor work who were thin and dark. It also seems that personal prestige could be enhanced by excelling at singing, dancing, and game playing. This connection between status and expressive practices is significant throughout Cook Islands history. As mentioned above, the ‘are karioi was one site where visitors were welcomed and entertained. Throughout the Cook Islands, receiving and welcoming guests was (and still is) expressed through formal ceremonies that involved speeches, an exchange of gifts, eating, and entertainment. Valuable descriptions of both ceremonial ritual and more informal amusements in the Cook Islands are contained in E. H. Lamont’s Wildlife among the Pacific Islanders ([1867] 1994). Lamont was a trader aboard the American ship Chatham when it was wrecked at Penrhyn (also referred to as Tongareva) in 1853. He preceded the first missionaries, who arrived in 1854, and his book is an account of his year of enforced stay on the island. Unlike many other commentators of the time, Lamont describes in great detail costumes and dance formations and speculates about the emotional content of events. His work is particularly enlightening when it deals with ceremonies involving the receiving and incorporation of guests into host communities. Lamont describes a ceremony that took place not long after the wreck of the Chatham. He and his fellow sailors were taken to a place of worship (marae). On their arrival a chief (ariki) made human effigies out of coconut leaves and performed a ritual to the gods. The sailors, who were then removed to be washed and redressed, were convinced they were about to be sacrificed and eaten. Instead, they traveled to a beach where a group of women danced for them. Lamont ([1867] 1994, 123–124) describes the dance as follows: A very absurd dance, though (unlike the other islands of the South Seas) there was nothing indecent in it. Raising one hand in the air and lowering the other towards the ground, they waved them rapidly, at the same time . . . rising on their toes, with their knees partially bent. Then looking wildly sideways at each other they commenced a quick-step, beating the ground as rapidly as they could hop from one foot to the other . . . accompanying these gestures with a low guttural sound not unlike that made in calling chickens. This dance, called the “shukai” is performed on all public occasions, and much admired, though the fair dames sometimes require a little pressing to commence.



chapter one

After this dance, the women sat cross-legged on the ground in two long rows, and the men were arranged behind the women. They began to sing a low melancholy chant: The women shook their heads in a mournful way, by no means reassuring, as they looked at us, and while their song continued tears fell from their eyes. Their voices, before low and plaintive, now rose to a piercing and unearthly yell, and the hands were clapped more quickly and violently, an act to which they were stimulated by sundry pokes behind from the men’s spears. The men themselves also now joined in with their deep voices, and, strange to say, they too commenced crying. The women became so excited that they began to cut their arms with small clam shells, which, in the midst of all their distress, they had been leisurely sharpening on stones for the purpose. The more they cut the more they screamed, with the most discordant sounds, the men also joining in, and accompanying them in this outrageous proceeding. Before they ceased their legs, arms, and faces were streaming with blood, and, as they wiped away the ever-flowing tears, now mingling with the red stream on the cheeks, their visages became perfectly horrific. (Lamont [1867] 1994, 124; see also Hiroa 1932b, 72–75)

This rite, says Lamont, was an adoption ceremony in which he and other members of the crew were incorporated into different families, becoming their “children.” In his Ethnology of Tongareva (1932b, 72–73), Te Rangi Hiroa contextualizes Lamont’s experience as a welcoming complex consisting of introductory and welcome speeches, community weeping (pehu), and dances (kapa and saka—Lamont’s “shukai”). Lamont’s vivid description points to the ways in which expressive forms such as singing, ritualized wailing, and bodily scarification were used in such ceremonies. Lamont describes another performance that indicates the existence of a tradition of dramatic performances on Tongareva. One morning he and members of the crew were invited “in a mysterious manner” to a meeting on the beach: “On our way we were joined by several groups, and as they were all talking about the ship, I supposed that some more of the wreck had been washed ashore.” When he arrived at the beach, he saw “a number of the natives occupied in erecting a platform which I was informed was intended to represent our ship, the wreck of which was to be enacted in several scenes. As I had never heard of any such entertainment amongst the natives, I awaited the performance with much interest. I even assisted them a little in rigging the vessel, as their ideas on this point were rather imperfect” (Lamont [1867] 1994, 317).

dance in history



When the stage was prepared, a dozen Tongarevans started acting out a play to the large crowd. It begins with a woman approaching the beach at night “with what object those who have resided on these islands will understand,” remarks Lamont ([1867] 1994, 317). He is referring to the custom whereby young women signaled their sexual availability by going to the beach at night with a piece of coconut husk in hand. Reaching the sea, the woman spies a ship and runs back to the village. She wakes up a group of men who, shouting and brandishing weapons, launch an attack on the ship: During the performance a number of boys frequently passed me on all-fours, making a noise something like that of dogs. On the return of the men these youths scampered off amongst the woods, pursued by men with their spears who, pretending alarm when the boys turned and shouted “Bow-wow!” fled in their turn. The actors themselves were so amused that they could scarcely play their parts, and on the conclusion of their performance they all sat down in the highest good humor to partake of our “dejeuner sans fourchette” (Lamont [1867] 1994, 318).7

It is commonly assumed that plays were introduced to the Cook Islands through European contact. However, this play demonstrates that expressive forms were used in retelling significant events before contact. Performances of this type are called nuku ‘enua or nuku tupuna (plays of the land or plays of the ancestors). They have as their themes local myths and legends and topical events and continue to be performed on many of the islands today (Lawrence 1993, 170; Hiroa 1932a, 198–203). Nuku were transformed under missionization into holy plays (nuku tapu), and they quite possibly drew upon premissionary performance forms as well as missionary ones. Another important aspect revealed by Lamont’s account of the Chatham play is the ways in which parodic humor was used to represent a cross-cultural encounter. Both Sinavaiana (1992) and Hereniko (1995) note a long tradition of both comedic and dramatic performances in the Pacific Islands. Both also highlight how comic satire has been used to negotiate difference, in terms of local hierarchies and interactions with outsiders. Similarly, throughout Cook Islands history, humor has been an important emotional style for dealing with outsiders, be they from other villages, islands, or countries. Certainly, humorous performances, along with other expressive practices, have been used to formalize interactions, as well as to define and create relationships between insiders and outsiders.



chapter one

The London Missionary Society, 1823–1888

The expressive practices outlined above and the sentiments they displayed and evoked—pleasure, sensuality, grief, and sorrow—were subject to punishment and suppression upon the arrival of the London Missionary Society. In 1821, John Williams of the London Missionary Society (LMS) landed on Aitutaki. He left two Society Islander converts, Papeiha and Rio, to proselytize and returned two years later with more Society Islanders, landing them on Atiu, Ma‘uke, Miti‘āro, and Rarotonga. The first European missionary, Charles Pitman, and his wife settled on Rarotonga in 1827, followed by Aaron Buzacott and his family in 1828. Rarotonga became the center for LMS activity in the region. Takamoa Theological College, “the first training institution for native evangelists in the South Seas” (Sunderland and Buzacott [1866] 1985, 133), was established in 1839. The pastors trained there then traveled to the northern Cook Islands, Samoa, New Hebrides, and Papua New Guinea. By 1824 the southern Cook Islands were subject to missionary control. The northern Cooks were converted later, primarily by Rarotongan teachers. In 1849 the LMS went to Manihiki and Rakahanga, and society members arrived on Pukapuka in 1857 (Beaglehole and Beaglehole 1938, 5). Before the wreck of the Chatham, Tongarevan inhabitants had been seen as dangerous cannibals; the island was called Danger Island. It was not until Lamont and the other crew members were rescued and taken to Rarotonga that the LMS thought it was viable to send missionaries to Tongareva. Native missionaries were landed in 1855. By 1864 each island of the Cooks group was considered by the LMS to be under Christian influence. This outcome is attributed to three main factors. First, the use of Society Islands and Cook Islands teachers is credited as accounting for local acceptance: “Only by means of native agents could so many islands in so few years have seen the glorious light of the gospel” (Sunderland and Buzacott [1866] 1985, 132). The second factor was that European LMS ministers learned to speak local dialects and translated the Bible into Māori. The final reason for rapid conversion was the missions’ top-down approach. From the beginning, missionaries focused their attention on political hierarchies that existed on the islands. They worked to convert chiefs who would in turn impose Christianity upon their own people. Chiefs were by no means powerless in their interactions with LMS missionaries. They provided missionaries with land, food, and protection in return for access to European goods and a role in the burgeoning European trade markets that were developing in the region. In short, chiefly power and status are said to have increased during the nineteenth century (Baltaxe 1975). Missionary laws

dance in history



were enforced by chiefs (who became deacons) and their appointed policemen. The local police force on Rarotonga was substantial. By the end of the nineteenth century there was around one policeman to every ten inhabitants. Other islands had a similar ratio (Beaglehole 1957, 57). The main form of punishment for offenders was fines, and incentives to extract them were great, as they were divided between the chiefs of the area, the local judge and police officers, and often the missionary representative (Lamont [1867] 1994, 84). LMS missionaries set about introducing laws aimed at improving Cook Islanders’ moral comportment. These “blue laws” were aimed at the transformation of Cook Islander social organization, political and economic relations, and belief systems. One of the first laws to be instituted by the LMS was the prohibition of interisland travel. Intraisland movement was also curtailed—an 8:00 p.m. curfew was implemented on all islands, and attempts were made to centralize island populations. On Rarotonga, centralization was not successful. Papeiha attempted to create a Christian settlement in the district of Avarua under Makea ariki. The settlement lasted for only three years, from 1824 to 1827, as alliances between converts from the three districts were tenuous. From 1827, when English missionaries arrived, mission stations were established in each of the original three districts. Chiefs were asked by missionaries to allocate land near village chapels for their followers to live on. Indigenous places of worship, the marae, were destroyed and replaced by large limestone churches built by early converts (Gilson 1980, 21–23). The blue laws also extended into private realms: houses, gardens, bodies, hair, dress, movements, and sentiments. In the villages small, European-style houses were built to accommodate—and construct—nuclear families, as the large extended family group houses were seen as “hoarding perversity” (Gilson 1980, 26). The promotion of certain types of gendered behavior was also part of the broader missionary project of conversion. This involved the reorganization of patterns of work and leisure and the imposition of European notions of the public and private spheres. The change in housing arrangements, for example, was aimed at reorienting domestic relations toward nuclear family units and imported ideas about normative femininity and masculinity. The durability and extent of kinship networks proved to be a problem for missionary efforts.8 Cook Islands women of high rank wielded considerable power. They were involved in the political and economic machinations of their communities and were exempt from menial labor such as cleaning or cooking. Other women shared child socialization and food production and preparation with their kin. Local women’s autonomy contradicted gendered norms of



chapter one

Christian piety and propriety, resulting in intensive efforts to promote the latter in local hearts and minds. Proper femininity was equated with domesticity; wives were encouraged to concentrate their material and emotional labor in the domestic domain in an attempt to intensify the conjugal tie and the bonds of motherhood.9 Instruction in domestic arts with a particular emphasis on cooking, cleaning, and sewing were introduced. Adoption practices, called ‘āngai tamarīki (feeding children), were condemned. Purportedly lascivious leisure activities were replaced with a Christian education—Bible-reading groups, church meetings, and classroom instruction. One of the principal means of instituting Christian morality was through alteration of local forms of self-presentation. Dress codes and changes in personal adornment were viewed by missionaries as visible evidence of interior conversion and civilized Christian behavior. Before European invasion, women and men of the southern Cooks wore items made out of worked tapa (bark cloth). Men wore tapa around their waists, and women wore it like a “petticoat” that covered their chests: “an unmarried girl wore her petticoat nearly to the knee; when married it was brought down just below the knee” (Gill [1892] 1979, 12; Hiroa 1927). Women’s native dress was replaced by Mother Hubbards, long gowns reaching from neck to ankle that are now called mu‘umu‘u. Trousers, shirts, and coats were introduced for men. As well as the introduction of European clothes, men’s hair, previously worn long, was cut short in European style, and women’s long hair came to be tied back in buns (Hiroa 1932b, 144). Wearing flowers as adornment and oil on the skin were banned, because “when they do, it is almost always found to be for the worst of purposes” (Pitman, 1833). Tattoos were also prohibited. According to Major Walter Gudgeon, an early resident commissioner on the islands, “Pa [a Rarotongan chief] told me that two men had their legs tattooed in the old style and he saw them tied to a tree and the marks holystoned out so that the skin was entirely torn away” (Gudgeon 1910). The LMS also attempted to establish what they deemed productive activity among locals and to make the mission economically self-sufficient. John Williams, in 1833, brought spinning wheels, a warping machine, and a loom so that Rarotongans could begin production of their own clothes. Aaron Buzacott, for example, reported: “The chief ’s wife and daughter, and most of the respectable girls of the settlement, were taught to spin, and soon thirty spinning-wheels were in motion all day long” (Sunderland and Buzacott [1866] 1985, 92). This image of respectable women involved in morally and economically productive labor is contradicted in other accounts that suggest European clothing was used as ornamentation rather

dance in history



than as a symbol of pious reevaluation of nakedness. Reverend George Eastman, for example, complained that female church members on Manihiki were wearing “ultra-fashionable gowns or ball dresses which were considered unseemly” (Eastman 1925). John Williams proudly detailed an incident in which a chief ’s wife told him that she wanted to be become a Christian. His confident appraisal of her desire for conversion is undermined somewhat by his rendering of her claims: “When she compared herself with the Christian females, she was much ashamed, for they had bonnets, and beautiful white garments, while she was dressed in ‘Satan’s clothes;’ they could sing and read, while she was in ignorance” (Williams 1837, 258). Here it would seem that access to beautiful clothing and European literacy and forms of expressive culture were as much this woman’s objective as any repudiation of past beliefs and customs. Her reported comments imply that access to European knowledge and power or, at the very least, the tools to negotiate European invasion, provided the impetus for her conversion to Christianity. LMS missionaries’ attempts to assert their authority and local compliance through clothing, housing, and social organization in general were also appropriated for local purposes. Objects of Christian ideology such as dresses, bonnets, hairstyles, and floral adornment did not have singular effects as they became entangled with local relations and practices. The ways in which chiefs used European markers of status to confirm and express their own eminence is one such example.10 Chiefs amassed large amounts of capital from fines and the control of trade (particularly in food) with missionaries. In contrast to the modest dwellings missionary representatives lived in, chiefs constructed grand Western-style “palaces” to house themselves and their families (Gilson 1980, 33). By 1882 four of the five chiefs on Rarotonga were women. Missionaries disparagingly noted that these women were impressed that Britain’s sovereign, Queen Victoria, was a female and desired to adopt the protocol of the English court. The excesses of local adoption of European material culture disturbed missionary teachers, who were attempting to teach sobriety and austerity. According to Gilson: The adoption of European models was pursued on all levels of society. Each district built its own schooner; horse-drawn carriages were de rigueur for all chiefs of importance; uniforms were adopted by some men; the female wardrobe was enlarged by parasols and as many colorful frocks as the owner could accumulate; and European foods, tinned meats in particular, became very popular. It became fashionable to undertake extensive voyages to Tahiti and other islands. (Gilson 1980, 51)



chapter one

The extravagant and conspicuous consumption of Rarotongan chiefs suggests that control over expressive forms was one important arena in which power was materialized. European clothing, food, and style of travel became the cultural cargo for high-ranking Cook Islanders and helped cement their position as economic and political leaders. The role of dancing in Cook Islands social life is rarely mentioned in the missionary record. The work of LMS missionary William Wyatt Gill is a notable exception. His writings (1876, 1885, 1892, [1892] 1979, 1894) reflect a keen interest in “tribal” customs, myths, and material culture. His work is invaluable because of these interests and fascinating because of the tension between his ethnographic leanings and religious ideology, as the following description indicates: Their great national amusement was the dance. In this singular performance the joints seem to be loose. I do not believe it possible for any European to move their limbs as a Polynesian loves to do. At a very early age mothers carefully oil the hands, &c., and then knead the tiny limbs, stretching and “cracking” each joint. Respecting the morality of their dances, the less said the better; but the “upaupa” dance introduced from Tahiti is obscene indeed. (Gill [1892] 1979, 13)

These observations draw attention to the centrality of dancing and the role of maternal nurture in the education of young bodies for expressive culture.11 Dancing was banned, however, during the height of the missionary period, along with related activities such as singing local music, local-style drumming, and drinking kava. These practices were considered to form a complex of lascivious behavior leading to fornication. If people were caught in an adulterous situation, they were variously kept in stocks, fined, and flogged. Women were further punished by having their long hair cut off (Beaglehole 1957, 62).12 It would seem that entertainment practices did continue in inland regions, away from missionary eyes and ears. Certainly in the islands farthest away from Rarotonga, which had less of a missionary presence, expressive practices continued unabated. Beaglehole (1937, 320) mentions that on the island of Pukapuka, the end of hurricane season was celebrated by a month of dancing, singing, and feasting. This celebration was never banned by missionaries; however, the forms changed to incorporate biblical legends or approved incidents from traditional history. As missionaries attempted to replace “suspect” expressive practices with Christian activities, it appears that Cook Islanders took to these with enthusiasm:

dance in history



“The natives are devotedly fond of singing, and seem to have no sense of fatigue. Their urgent requests to be taught new tunes, often deprived our brethren of their rest. Mr. Buzacott says, ‘Fortunately Mr. Williams and I could take turns, and one rest while the other was teaching. With this exercise, my throat has sometimes been so sore, as to cause me to spit blood for several days’” (Sunderland and Buzacott [1866] 1985, 114). Whether this devotion was to Christian hymns or simply to singing per se, Buzacott’s comments reveal the active engagement of Cook Islanders in molding Christianity to suit their own needs. They also imply that local zeal for (Christian) expressive forms proved to be at times unmanageable for certain missionaries and even detrimental to their health. A New Zealand Colony, 1901–1965

Foreign traders and planters did not settle in significant numbers until the 1860s, and around this time missionary control began to decline (Siikala 1991, 7; Gilson 1980). From 1865 on, chiefs and British and New Zealand traders residing on Rarotonga began petitioning for Britain to make the Cook Islands a protectorate. Requests were consistently refused, as the islands were seen to have little to offer in the way of natural resources and commerce. It was the rivalries between French and British interests in the Pacific that saw Britain reluctantly make the southern group of the Cook Islands a British protectorate in 1888. Both the northern and southern groups became annexed to New Zealand in 1901. The first resident commissioner, Fredrick Moss, aimed at fostering self-government. He was under instructions to recognize authority and to help chiefs maintain law and order (Gilson 1980, 64). Moss attempted to separate church and state power by establishing a local government on each island, consisting of local representatives. The Rarotongan General Council was made up from the three districts and consisted of three chiefs, a representative of mata‘iapo in each subdistrict, three district judges, and one European representative. He also established a federal government of all the islands of the Cooks in 1891. Moss encouraged self-government by creating a public service staffed by locals and by establishing public schools and hospitals. His initiatives were routinely sabotaged by the LMS and European settlers (both found the possibility of local autonomy alarming) and by a lack of funding from the British and New Zealand governments. Due to protests from European residents and chiefs, Moss was eventually recalled to New Zealand. His replacement, Major W. E. Gudgeon, was resident



chapter one

commissioner on Rarotonga for eleven years (1898–1909). Unlike Moss, he did not think self-government was achievable and concentrated on consolidating New Zealand trade interests. He set about centralizing federal government on Rarotonga and aimed to crush chiefly authority. Gudgeon achieved this by disbanding the chiefly council and replacing it with a federal high court, which was headed by a European chief justice—Gudgeon himself. He was also in charge of the police and public services. These actions ensured that attempts at self-government were quashed (Gilson 1980, 123). After these two most influential resident commissioners, Moss and Gudgeon, those that followed implemented policies that were dependent largely on the state of trade with New Zealand. The 1920s to mid-1930s were prosperous in terms of trade, and New Zealand’s Labor government increased spending on education and health both within the Cook Islands and in the form of scholarships for Cook Islanders in New Zealand. From 1909 until 1934 the Cook Islands were administered by New Zealand’s Ministry of Native Affairs. During this period the taihoa (go slow) policy was implemented to bring about the gradual Europeanization of Cook Islanders (Thompson 1994, 80). Formal Western education was stressed as the primary means of assimilation. However, to ease the transition toward Europeanization, local practices such as “native arts” and Polynesian history were included in school curriculum (Gilson 1980, 174–175). Throughout the colonial period it was the contexts in which expressive culture was performed, rather than the forms per se, that colonial administrators found problematic. Indigenous dancing, singing, and music were performed for local entertainment, which usually meant parties or dances involving alcohol—practices that were considered unwholesome and detrimental to the civilizing mission of the colonial regime. Attempts were made to curtail these performance contexts. At the same time, local cultural practices were foregrounded and displayed throughout the islands on special official occasions, particularly those involving Commonwealth events and the arrival of visitors on the islands. Queen Victoria’s golden (1887) and diamond (1897) jubilees were celebrated on many of the islands with officially sanctioned dance and sport competitions. In 1938 Rasmussen wrote a memorandum to the resident commissioner concerning the preparations for the visit of the governor general, Viscount Galway, to Tongareva: Drums are sounding through both Villages every afternoon, as the population is training up in the Chants and Dances for the reception of the Governor General

dance in history



and his Lady and all his company with him. . . . We have prepared presents of mats and native hats and we are attempting to make a little collection of pipi pearls, that will be all we can do here on this poor island; but it is a small amount, when you compare what Rarotonga will be doing. So I am still certain that the Governor and his Lady will look with kindness to us for our little entertainment, and that they will realize that it is from the heart and that it will be a “red letter day” in our lives. (Rasmussen 1938; emphasis mine)

In addition to the preparations of gifts, food, and entertainment, the islanders also spent considerable effort to beautify Tongareva for the event. Houses were cleaned, the best quilts and embroidery were put on display, and roads were swept and gardens tidied for the governor general’s tour of the island. New forms of entertainment were also sanctioned by the colonial administrators (but not by religious groups on the island), especially European forms. In the 1920s, world trade prices favored primary produce growers in the Cook Islands and increased the flow of traders, money, and capital, on Rarotonga in particular. Motion pictures arrived and were played every night except Sunday. On Rarotonga there were fifteen cinemas (now there is only one). Westerns were particularly popular: “Overseas visitors were startled to see roving bands of cowboys in full costume (no Indians) riding through the palms, hitching scrub ponies to the trading store and walking stiff-legged to the counter” (Scott 1991, 176). Today older people still remember a truck circling the island, loaded with men playing Cook Islands drums and handing out flyers for forthcoming movies.13 In his book A Doctor in Paradise (1941), S. M. Lambert tells of his time administering in the Cook Islands. He notes with approval that “innocent” (aka Western) dances were being held in contrast to more suspect (presumably local) dance forms: “In Rarotonga it was pleasing to see the young people, the boys in white trousers, the girls in simple frocks, throwing their souls into the dances of 1925. . . . [T]he Government had encouraged innocent dances, away from the temptations of bush beer and petting parties on the beach” (Lambert 1941, 267). Before moving on to discuss the linking of education and expressive forms in the 1950s, I break with the orthodox historical narrative in order to examine the life of one woman, Jane Tararo, and her dealings with the colonial administration about dance and entertainment. Her life provides a fascinating personalized account of the themes discussed above, in particular women’s status, the link between dance and femininity, the impact of colonization on geographical and aesthetic mobility, and questions of local agency.



chapter one Jane Tararo: A Case Study

Papa Maeva Karati, an old man on Rarotonga, gave me Māori lessons once a week at his home. He would often also talk to me about his past and his family. His aunt Jane Tararo ariki was born in the early 1900s and died in the 1980s, and his mother now held the title. Jane Tararo was chief of the Aretoa family line, on the island of Ma‘uke, from the 1930s until her death, and she remains the best-known composer on the island. When I visited Ma‘uke, I spent a lot of my time asking people about her, and the highlight of my trip was being taught, by an old woman, the dance to a famous song Tararo wrote called “Tūrama.” This song has political allusions. The Cook Islands under colonialism is likened to a pearl lost under the sea, and a light is needed to find this pearl and restore it to its rightful place. That is, independence (the light) will restore the islands’ dignity and self-worth. Jane Tararo formed a dance group from members of her family and her village, Oiretumu, in the 1930s. The group performed at celebrations held to commemorate the arrival of Christianity (known as Gospel Day), Christmas festivities (including intervillage dance competitions), staged performances for important visitors, and fund-raising occasions for village projects. They also undertook a traveling party (tere pati) to Rarotonga in the 1950s to raise money for the village. I talked with a number of older women about this dance group, and most spoke about Jane’s talent with reverence and awe. One woman was more pragmatic: “Jane was a favorite girl; she didn’t have to do washing or cleaning, just sit around and eat. So all she could do was dance.” Another woman also tied dance practice to broader notions of gendered comportment and behavior: “[Jane] taught young people to dance just behind the big Tararo house. She would hit them with a stick—if boys didn’t dance properly or the girls didn’t sway properly [or] even if we were not washed. You had to have a bath before you came to practice. Everything about you had to be nice, and girls couldn’t have any underarm hair.” In the 1930s the resident agent for Ma‘uke was Captain C. Vellenoweth. Most of his reports to the resident commissioner, Judge Ayson, were about trade and problems with stray pigs and excessive drinking on the island. In reference to the last concern, Jane Tararo’s name is mentioned regularly, and one gets the impression she pushed the boundaries of colonial rule through her dance practice and associated activities. On August 16, 1934, Captain Vellenoweth wrote to Judge Ayson. “Jane Tararo Ariki came to see me and asked permission to have a picnic,

dance in history



she states that she wished to go with her dancing party to catch fish and come home afterwards (this is often done). I gave her and her party permission to do so” (Vellenoweth 1934). Ensuing letters described the drunkenness of members of her party and public disturbances. On April 27, 1935, Captain Vellenoweth penned the following to Judge Ayson: People started to hold dances inland at the houses of William Tararo and Tamapi, so far I have given them permission whenever asked for to dance on Thursday nights until 11 p.m. [O]ther nights they have danced as they wish until 9 p.m. I am finding of late that there are a lot of drunks attending these dances, and being inland it is hard for the police to catch them, whereas if they dance at the beach it is more easy to check and catch the drunks. . . .

I have the power to stop the dancing in these two houses after 9 p.m. but

what I wish to know is can I stop the dancing in these two houses before 9 p.m.? Anyone is welcome in these two houses except the police, I have been sending the police as I consider a house open to anyone who comes along is a public place. W. Tararo disputes this. (Vellenoweth 1935a)

On May 10, 1935, Vellenoweth wrote another letter, frantic in tone: “Last night there was dancing at Tararo’s house and boys drunk. I had stopped all dancing until after the S.S. Waipahi sailed[;] when the Police called there last night and told them to stop their dancing as all the boys would be wanted fresh for working on the steamer, Jane Tararo Ariki refused to do so and told the Police I could not stop dancing before 9 p.m.” (Vellenoweth 1935b). The ability of the Tararos to direct colonial laws to their own advantage is quite clear in this correspondence. Vellenoweth’s attempts to control the island’s population were made more difficult because the police were locals who were presumably caught up in indigenous rules and protocol. The agent’s frustration is palpable in his letters to the resident commissioner. Vellenoweth’s letters never explain what kind of dancing was done at these parties, so when I visited the island, I asked a number of old people about the content of the dances. They said that gramophones had played papa‘ā music and that they danced the waltz, fox-trot, and one-step. A number mentioned that live music was played—“local songs” and European songs with Māori lyrics. To these songs they danced local style as well as “Māori waltzing.” Like European waltzing, Māori waltzing is a partnered dance, but instead of a series of even three-quarter



chapter one

steps, the movements are syncopated and faster (it is a style that is still performed today). What is most revealing about these songs and waltzing style is that they clearly point to the ways in which European dance styles and music were adopted, imitated, and transformed to suit local musical and movement aesthetics. Jane Tararo also had a habit of bypassing Captain Vellenoweth and writing directly to Judge Ayson. In a letter she wrote to him on April 30, 1936, she proposed that she organize a “visiting party” consisting of eighty people, to travel to Tahiti in November of that year (Tararo 1936). She requested that Ayson organize the necessary passports. Ayson (1935a) then wrote to Vellenoweth, noting that “80 seems a very large number.” Ayson was concerned that the travelers would have insufficient funds to pay for fares and “to keep themselves decently while in Tahiti.” In particular, he was anxious that they would be staying in “slum areas” of Tahiti: “If they propose to stay in a bad quarter then the question will arise whether we should give passports.”14 Vellenoweth responded on May 20, 1936: “If Papeete is anything like it was when I was last there a few years ago they are much better out of it, for their own good and the good of the Cook Islands. I am afraid the Tararo crowd is a very hard drinking crowd. I think they would be better at Ma‘uke” (Vellenoweth 1936). In the margin a handwritten note stating “not this year” and initialed by Ayson reveals that Tararo’s trip was, at least on this occasion, unsuccessful. Jane Tararo’s appearance in the colonial record illustrates a number of points. First, it shows how many types of local movement were circumscribed under colonialism. Permission had to be gained to travel around the island, to other islands, and overseas. Second, certain dance contexts were banned or heavily policed. In the colonial correspondence there is also a sense that the Tararo crowd, and Jane in particular, kept the resident agent “on his toes.” They appeared to have a good grasp of colonial laws and regulations and aimed to manipulate them to their advantage. Jane’s dance party seemed to both comply with and undermine the colonial administration on Ma‘uke. They performed at official events and were active in village affairs and fund-raising, thus assisting the colonial regime. Concurrently, they flaunted their disregard for the colonial administration and attempted to adapt circumstances to suit their own purposes. A final story told to me by Jane Tararo’s great-granddaughter exemplifies these tensions between local and colonial relations and also illustrates the use of humor and parody in shaping cross-cultural interactions, especially those with powerful outsiders (cf. White 1991, 156). It is a story about a visit of a governor general to Ma‘uke:

dance in history



When ships would come in, all the villagers would come down to the wharf and have a competition amongst themselves about who can do the most lively and funny performance. When the Governor General left by boat one year he was so moved by the farewell he got. He didn’t know that while he was wiping the tears from his eyes the māmā’s were waving him goodbye and singing: Mei te mea ra dingdong to‘ou

I would like your dingdong (penis)

Ko tāku ia e inangaro nei

I desire you sexually

‘Aere mai ra e tāne

Good-bye, my man

Kia ‘amiri atu au i koe

I want to hammer you

Later Colonial Policy: Dance and Education

In 1956 a Ministry of Social Development was established by New Zealand’s minister for island territories. The ministry’s role was to promote economic development, because the Cook Islands were becoming an economic burden on New Zealand. Encouraging local political agency was seen as the way out of long-term dependency. The minister’s announcement of this new initiative explained: “There is an urgent need to promote community life in the villages to provide opportunities for the training of leaders, and what is just as important, to awaken a sense of responsibility to exercise leadership. The aim of the Government is to create a spirit of self-help and self-reliance from the community upwards” (Cook Islands Archives [CIA], n.d., file 11/14/3). According to a policy directive of 1956, the Community Development Section of the ministry was to target three main areas: youth education, housing, and village councils. Of particular interest here are the views expressed about the “problem” of post-school youth (the age for leaving school was fifteen at the time), who were seen as having few opportunities for “intellectual exercise and vocational training.” Organizations already in existence were seen as inadequate: The Boys’ Brigade and Girl Guides offer a certain beneficial interest, but both these organizations provide only a small outlet for youthful energies. . . . The Church supplies an emotional outlet and Bible reading and discussion certainly has an intellectual value, but its doctrine is, in the eyes of the youth, far removed from reality. There are weekly cinema shows, but these provide no benefit whatsoever and their crudely sensational and sexual films have a damaging effect upon youthful minds. Dances are held occasionally and these in moderation have



chapter one

a wholesome effect. Games played in the daytime occupy a very important place in the young man’s life—often so important as to distract him from other more useful occupations. . . . Extravagant feasts often occur, particularly under the aegis of the Church, but these no longer have any ritual value and merely encourage waste and add to poverty already dire. (CIA, n.d., file 11/14/3)

The picture presented is of physically and sexually active youth, with few wholesome outlets for their energies. Because the instruction provided by the church, Boys’ Brigade, and Girl Guides was considered inadequate, plans were made in 1956 to establish separate youth centers for each sex. The idea of centers was to be explained at village meetings with “stress being laid upon the fact that the basic idea really stems from ancient tribal practices—the ‘Are Vānanga (House of Learning)” (CIA, n.d., file 11/14/3). At young men’s centers, members would receive instruction in English, bookkeeping, civics, citizenship, general knowledge, health education, agriculture, tribal history and customs, crafts, and woodwork. It was suggested that in the young women’s centers the “accent should be placed on the following areas: Formal English, House Craft, Diet, Cooking, Mothercraft, Hygiene, Health, Dress Making, Crafts, Tribal History and Customs, Civics, Citizenship and General Knowledge” (CIA, n.d., file 11/14/3). The buildings for the young women’s centers were to be model houses with a kitchen garden attached. In 1959 a National Youth Council was established on Rarotonga. By the 1960s there were youth groups on a number of outer islands and in each village on Rarotonga. The youth centers aimed at offering young men and women European forms of education and access to “modern” skills. Many older women I spoke to reflected fondly on the Young Women’s Centers. One woman stressed the importance of these groups: “We learnt to be real ladies. We made jam, we learned how to serve food the papa‘ā way. So when we went overseas we knew exactly what fork to use at a papa‘ā dinner.” This woman—like many of her generation—was proud to have learned skills that were seen as both civilized and cosmopolitan. Her statement reflects the role colonial officials played in regulating the colonized via “‘character development’ . . . through seemingly unimportant body habits and practices: posture, movement, dress, eating” (Stoller 1995, 72–73). Youth centers also aimed at keeping young people on Rarotonga rather than having them migrate to New Zealand for work.15 Naomi Iro, one of the founders of Titikaveka village youth group in 1959, explained:

dance in history



The purpose of it was to keep the young people in the village. Percy Henderson and others from Social Development would go around to villages and present who they are and explain how you set up a youth group. We would visit other youth clubs, have lectures, cooking activities. We would mix and learn from each other. And there were socials, so we invite another youth group, [and] they would bring their families and have team games and treasure hunts, song competitions, debates, picnics, and visit historical places, heaps of things.

She added that belonging to a youth group facilitated her composing career: “The youth group is how I started composing because there were no songs about our village. . . . I would take a song to the youth, and everyone would help making the actions.” Both the songs and dance movements drew on local performance traditions. This remark highlights contradictory aspects of youth groups. As well as providing youth with European skills, they also fostered aspects of “traditional culture” such as sharing of local history and customs, singing, and dancing. As Iro says, there were “no songs about our village.” As Rarotonga was the center of missionary and colonial administrations, Rarotongan actions and behaviors were subject to greater surveillance than those on other islands in the Cooks group and had more exposure to European ideologies. One Rarotongan woman told me: “Rarotongans were snobs in those days, we would leave the dancing and drumming to the outer islanders [who resided on the island].” Indigenous singing and dancing did not conform to ideas about Rarotongan modernity and progress. This same woman said that as a result of becoming active in her village youth group, she learned how to dance and sing. Another woman elaborated this point: “I grew up thinking dance was a Manihikian thing. In the past if they needed a dance group to perform at Ngatipa [the resident commissioner’s house], they would go to Tutakimoa [the settlement where migrants from the northern group lived]. It was seen as a bit ‘primitive’ for Rarotongans to dance, you know. My mother wanted good things for us and she would never let us girls dance, she thought it was unladylike.” I can offer two partial explanations for the reassessment of the value of performing arts on Rarotonga. The first is that independence movements began to develop in the Cook Islands, starting in the 1940s, accompanied by decolonialism and a revaluation of precolonial forms. The other related explanation is that traditional expressive forms came to play a key role in the burgeoning tourist industry on Rarotonga.

chapter one



Independence and Cultural Revival

After World War II, decolonization and self-government became important issues in Cook Islands politics. A number of indigenous trade unions were formed (in Aitutaki, Rarotonga, and Auckland) that promoted workers’ rights and conditions, improved wages, and transportation of produce. These demands drew upon nationalistic discourses of freedom and autonomy. From the early 1960s, in line with the United Nations’ “Declaration on the Granting of Independence to Colonial Countries and Peoples” (1960), New Zealand attempted to shed its colonies—Samoa, Niue, and the Cook Islands. However, these islands’ economic survival depended on preferential access to New Zealand markets and shipping. As a result, Cook Islands leaders negotiated with New Zealand for self-government in “free association,” which came into effect in 1965. Cook Islanders were granted dual citizenship (which meant they could freely work in New Zealand), and New Zealand handled both financial and foreign affairs. The Cook Islands Party, under Albert Henry, was in power from 1965 to 1978. Henry’s government focused much of its attention on the revival of cultural practices in an attempt to forge an independent nation-state. In a pamphlet titled Rambling Thoughts of the Premier Hon. Albert R. Henry (1971), he reflects on his mission to unite the islands of the Cooks group: [Because of] the fragmentation of our people due to the scattered nature of the small islands on which many of them live in isolation from the centre [Rarotonga] . . . very few visualize us as a nation. . . . Because of this, our people on the Outer Islands are apt to consider themselves as of a separate identity, hence our second basic aim which is clearly defined in our Party’s Manifesto: “To mould the scattered people of our new Nation into one united people.”

The revival and preservation of our traditional customs and culture. This

can also be a part of the “molding together” aim. We know that this part of our way of life has been mutilated by previous Administration policies because they did not think it had any value. (A. Henry 1971, 1–2)

To oversee the preservation of “traditional culture,” Henry adopted a number of measures such as reinforcement of traditional leadership and sponsorship of arts and crafts production. In 1974 he held a workshop for tumu kōrero (experts in traditional matters) from various islands to discuss matters of tradition and custom. The first item for discussion was the existence of four houses of knowledge

dance in history



in pre-European times that could be models for contemporary independent governance. These were the ‘are karioi, ‘are kōrero (house of knowledge), ‘are ta‘unga (house of experts), and ‘are toi korero (house of research). Initially, the ‘are karioi was talked about. Each elder told stories of its existence in legend on their islands. At the end of the session, Henry presented his view on the relevance of the ‘are karioi in the present: So I am looking back to the beginning of the ‘are karioi in ancient times and their meanings. . . . I am trying to compare the spirit of the ‘are karioi in ancient times with the ‘are karioi that we are seeing today. Today two new ‘are karioi have been born. One is for entertainment, to be happy [mataora]; it has no meaning. You go to the Maruraiai [a dance hall on Rarotonga], pay thirty cents, and you get drunk.

The second one is the youth clubs. The purpose of these are to gather young

people together for entertainment [tāmataora], entertainment with meaning. This is the purpose, to search for good entertainment through the spirit of Christianity. In youth clubs you can find stories of the past, and that is when you know where you come from. (Tumu Korero Conference 1974; my translation)

Entertainment with meaning, in Henry’s view, is the acquisition of local traditional knowledge overlaid with healthy and moral entertainment (the product of Christian values). The conduit for this type of entertainment is the youth groups. As Jeffrey Sissons (1999) notes, under Henry’s government “dancing youth” came to embody both the nation’s traditions and its future as a young, progressive, and modern nation. Indeed, youth groups came to play a significant role in facilitating tourist entertainment. They performed at hotels and on tourist ocean liners. They were used by government for state functions, providing dance performances for visiting dignitaries and welcoming and bidding farewell to local government members at the airport. As well as official and tourist performances, youth groups also provided entertainment at socials held at packing sheds and theaters in town. The other two projects, which became central to Henry’s vision of a proud, united nation-state, involved foregrounding expressive culture, in particular music and dance. These projects were the Constitution Celebrations and the Cook Islands National Arts Theatre. August 4 is Constitution Day, marking the official declaration of Cook Islands independence. Each year a festival is held to celebrate and commemorate internal self-government. The celebrations began in 1966 at Taputapuatea, the grounds of Makea ariki in Avarua, as a relatively small two-day affair. In 1969 the celebrations were moved to the newly built Constitution Park



chapter one

and from then on took place over a ten- to fourteen-day period. Outer islands’ traveling parties were transported at government expense to take part in a series of events that made up the celebrations. From the beginning, the celebrations have had four main components: an opening ceremony, which includes the lighting of the constitution flame and is followed by a float parade; a multidenominational church service; an official ceremony on August 4; and sports and dance competitions (the festival of dance).16 The competitions are the most popular elements, as they allow the various island groups to vie against each other. This sense of competition has somewhat undermined the government’s promotion of “unity” and “togetherness” (Sissons 1995). Former dance festival participants have told me that the main aim of the dance festival is to express interisland cultural differences and to judge and rank these expressions. Intrigue, suspense, and accusations of favoritism and vote rigging are main themes in the history of the dance competition. Judges and government officials are all suspected of displaying bias toward their home island.17 Attempts have been made to make the festival of dance a noncompetitive event. However, in the years when such attempts have been implemented, the attendance and participation of outer islands groups have dropped dramatically. The success of the Constitution Celebrations relies on the dance festival’s being competitive; the tension between unity and competitiveness appears to be what makes the celebrations successful. In 1969 the Cook Islands Party established the government-sponsored Cook Islands National Arts Theatre (CINAT). Albert Henry had met the Australianbased dancer and choreographer Beth Dean and her husband, Victor Carell, on a boat traveling from New Zealand to Tahiti and asked them to help organize a national dance company. Both Dean and Carell had been extensively involved with indigenous dance, having previously undertaken dance research in Australia, New Zealand, Papua New Guinea, and Fiji. Dean had choreographed the first Aboriginal ballet, Corroboree, and a ballet called G’day Digger! (based on World War II soldiers returning home). Later, Carell began the South Pacific Festival of Arts in 1972, as well as organizing a number of Australian arts events (Dean and Carell 1983). CINAT aimed at representing the Cook Islands as a nation (Sissons 1995, 159; 1999). Legends, music, dances, and the dancers themselves were chosen to represent each island of the group. CINAT toured Australia in 1970 for the bicentennial of Captain Cook’s exploration of the Pacific, performing with an Aboriginal and a New Zealand Māori group as the Ballet of the South Pacific at the Sydney Opera House. Organized by Dean and Carell, the Ballet of the South Pacific was

dance in history



sponsored by the Australian, New Zealand, and Cook Islands governments and by Cook Islanders’ fund-raising efforts. The Constitution Celebrations and CINAT were two endeavors launched by the Henry administration to encourage local customs and practices as the foundational unity of his people. At the same time, Henry also encouraged economic development. In this regard the promotion of cultural traditions, aimed at fashioning an independent nation, complemented policy initiatives aimed at creating a tourist industry. Culture, nation, and economy were thus inextricably connected. In 1967 a Tourist Development Council was established through the Ministry of Internal Affairs. In the following year the council produced an “Information Paper on Aspects of a Tourist Industry for the Cook Islands” (1967). Unsurprisingly, the paper recommended that the Cook Islands should embrace tourism as a lucrative income source. It outlined the need for transportation and access to islands and the development of tourist accommodations. The provision of entertainment was also a crucial component in establishing the industry: An essential ingredient of a tourist industry is entertainment and this should prove no difficulty for the Cook Islands. Organized dance teams, feasts and dances will all play their part. . . . Visitors are, as a rule, interested in the traditions, culture and way of life of the people in the area they are visiting. . . . [M]any read about the area before they visit it. The rehabilitation by tribal groups or Village Committees of old maraes and other historical areas, and the restoration of buildings etc., would add much to the interest of the visitor and help retain the local culture and history for our own young people. (Tourist Development Council 1967, 4–5)

The Tourist Authority Act of 1968 and the subsequently formed Cook Islands Tourist Authority began promoting and marketing tourism. An international airport was officially opened by Queen Elizabeth on January 29, 1974. On the tarmac she was welcomed and entertained by dancing members of Rarotongan youth groups (Hall 1994, 43). Commerce and Culture, 1978–1998

When the Democratic Party under Sir Tom Davis was elected in 1978, government funding of the arts largely ceased. From then on, the Democrats stressed economic development, private enterprise, and education. The Culture Division and CINAT were dismantled, government sponsorship of the Constitution Celebrations was



chapter one

reduced, and funding to the youth clubs was cut. The decline in government funding of performing arts was to some degree offset by the burgeoning tourist industry, which required dance groups to perform at hotels and on tourist boats. On Rarotonga, some village youth groups continued into the late 1980s, performing at hotels and village events (such as the openings of new village buildings). Others were transformed into family-run dance troupes rather than village-based enterprises, and it is these groups that perform at tourist venues today. These groups, along with the Cook Islands Tourist Authority, instituted a series of competitions that were held throughout the year, including the Miss Cook Islands beauty pageant and the Dancer of the Year competition.18 It was not until 1989, when the Cook Islands Party returned to power under the leadership of Sir Geoffrey Henry, that cultural activities once again became a government priority. Like his cousin Albert, Geoffrey Henry viewed the arts as a key component in Cook Islands nationalism. His government established the Ministry of Cultural Development, which included a performing arts section. This section was formed in 1990 and had a budget of NZ$1.5 million. Its objectives were 1. to preserve, perpetuate and enhance the Cook Islands Cultural Heritage in order to uphold tradition and develop an appreciation for this important national resource; 2. to encourage the growth and expansion of productive economic, social and educational activities as may enrich cultural art forms; 3. to present where appropriate the varied elements of ancient and contemporary Cook Islands art and cultural forms; and 4. to maintain the unique cultural identity of the people of the Cook Islands. (MOCD 1991, 6) When Henry opened the Sir Geoffrey Henry National Culture Centre in 1992, he saw it as a boost for “cultural renaissance in the Cook Islands.” He located this renaissance at the heart of national identity and self-esteem: “We have already entered an era of economic growth but to proceed without also sustaining our cultural heritage would be like placing all paddles on one side of a canoe: we could never stay on our course. Knowledge of and respect for the past gives us what we need for the future” (MOCD 1992, 3). The combined importance of economics and culture to the future of the nation was one of the prime minister’s justifications for spending nearly $12 million on building the culture center. At its official opening he said, “We must be

dance in history



Ota Joseph, an influential performer. Here he is posing jokingly at the airport opening ceremony, 1974. Courtesy of Ota Joseph and the Ministry of Cultural Development, Cook Islands.

FIGURE 3

prepared to spend in order that our natural artistic skills flourish and nurture the soul of this country.” He declared the center to be a new marae (place of worship) that would become the “cultural heart of our Nation” (CIN, January 18, 1992, 4). This center represented the biggest investment in arts funding to date. Geoffrey Henry’s leanings toward government sponsorship of culture had been criticized post-1992, and that criticism heightened during the economic reforms beginning in 1996. During this time the Ministry of Cultural Development had its budget cut from $1.5 million in 1991 to $400,000 in 1997, and staff numbers were reduced from forty-six in 1991 to sixteen. When I interviewed Geoffrey Henry in 1997, he explained his ideas on the importance of culture to Cook Islands nationalism. His observations were made in terms of a historical and personal trajectory, which had come to publicly define who he was and his vision for the nation: In my education there was a wedge between myself as a young modern Cook Islander and myself as a native Cook Islander. . . . Very quickly we turned into Godfearing dusky brown skinned Victorians,19 and then dusky skinned Kiwis and with getting a scholarship [to study in New Zealand] I was forced to choose. . . .

chapter one





Culture is what we are rich in. That is what we built our nation on. I try

to encourage the culture even though I may be criticized. You know, we gained independence in ’65, but we were barely independent. At that time we would denigrate all things Māori because of the missionaries. If it wasn’t in the Bible we shouldn’t have it. It would be called heathenism and paganism. There were generations of suppression . . . and we changed it. . . . [U]nderlining it all was a recapturing of our pride and dignity, our self respect for things that belonged to you. But that cultural brainwashing—it is still here today.

While Henry identified culture as the heart of the nation, what became increasingly obvious during his term in office was that government support of cultural activities was no longer sustainable, despite its significance to the tourist industry. The era of neoliberal aid and development, with its emphasis on “accountability” and “good governance,” did not factor culture into its economic bottom line. Through his comments, Henry stresses that expressive practices foster modes of belonging, as well as the identification of individuals with particular groups, encompassing status, gender, and religious designations. As we have seen throughout this chapter, group and individual idioms of self-presentation are shaped by expressive forms. Decisions to dance or not to dance project historically specific understandings of modernity and tradition. Expressive practices also enact forms of exchange: of goods, sentiments, ideas, people, and relations of power. These exchanges practices come to define social, political, and economic relations within and beyond the nation-state (White 1991, 2). Furthermore, Henry identifies a number of issues that are highly significant to the contemporary assessment of expressive forms, especially the ongoing impact of the missionary and colonial ideologies. The tensions between notions of tradition, modernity and Christian morality, all assemble around contemporary Cook Islands expressive culture and dance looms large in diagnoses of the state and the nature of contemporary Cook Islands social life.

chapter two The Politics of Contemporary Dance Our special and unique culture, is it alive and kicking or is it dying and being overwhelmed by cultural commercialization? Are we enjoying it, the way it was before the advent of modernization? Is financial reward the ultimate weapon to destroy our forefathers, our parents, ours and our children’s, great grandchildren’s and many many generations to come’s heritage? We hope not! —program notes, festival of dance, constitution celebrations, 1997

The epigraph text above voices some of the concerns that are present in discussions of contemporary Cook Islands dance: the impact of commercialization on culture; issues of cultural loss and ownership; and the importance of recovering traditional modes of cultural expression. The ways in which traditions and culture are promoted through the tourist industry are particularly the subject of much debate, especially on Rarotonga, where most of the industry is based. The debate is primarily divided along generational lines: younger Rarotongans (ages twenty to forty) who are involved in the performing arts generally view tourism as one way of reviving aspects of Cook Islands culture, whereas older Rarotongans (ages forty to seventy) frequently argue that tourism leads to cultural bastardization. This discourse of cultural contamination is the dominant frame through which younger Rarotongans involved in the performing arts attempt to assert the authenticity and meaningfulness of their generation’s dance practice. As cultural producers from older and younger generations seek to legitimize their expressive cultural practices, notions of modernity and tradition become



chapter two

an area of intense contestation. My intention here is not to determine the veracity of one side of this debate or the other but rather to demonstrate that, in each historical epoch, generations have negotiated contests about tradition and modernity that have been shaped by the specific concerns of the time. Crucially, these intergenerational debates are also highly gendered. Femininity and female dance practice are a potent conduit for the construction of discourses about cultural legitimacy and ultimately the contours of Cook Islands national identity. Tourism is not the only factor shaping debates about contemporary performing arts. Interpretations of tourism are informed by ideas about the government’s ongoing role in the development of dance as a cultural product and a symbol of both Cook Islands nationalism and the place of the Cook Islands in the region (particularly with reference to Tahiti). In common with many Pacific states, the arts are used in the Cook Islands as a strategic resource to display national traditions in order to consolidate political and cultural identities in the present. Another significant component shaping contemporary performing arts is the influence of Christianity. Traditional practices are viewed by certain religious denominations as immoral and “heathen,” a stance that produces an uneasy relationship between religious ideology and the promotion of local cultural traditions in nationalist discourse. In the present era, tradition and modernity are further configured in relation to the influence of global cultural forms and the increased penetration of capitalist economics on local values and ways of life. Debates surrounding dance practice are coupled with broader ideas about the economic, social, and affective impacts of globalization. The performing arts on Rarotonga are underwritten by a discourse of cultural loss and dispossession resulting from global forces. The perceived fragility of local ownership has led to further initiatives aimed at preserving local cultural forms. These processes of global unification and the reassertion of cultural difference need to be viewed as interrelated trends, as a number of scholars of globalization argue. The increasing insignificance of national boundaries in economic and political terms has given rise to the reassertion of national autonomy and distinctiveness around ethnic, religious, and cultural identities (Clifford 1994, 1997; Appadurai 1996; Friedman 1994; Foster 1991). In the final section of this chapter, I analyze the affective dimensions of cultural loss through a consideration of Cook Islands expressive culture as a “structure of feeling” (Appadurai 1996, 181) that shapes local responses to global cultural flows. Tāmataora and tārekareka—the enjoyment produced by dancing—is considered by many Cook Islanders to be a major fatality of contemporary dance practice.

the politics of contemporary dance



Island Nights: Dance and Tourism

Since the 1980s, tourism has been the Cook Islands’ main industry, accounting for at least 50 percent of the nation’s gross domestic product. While Rarotonga is the primary destination for tourists, other islands in the southern Cooks group (particularly Aitutaki) have burgeoning tourist industries, and some of the northern islands contribute to tourism through the production of arts and crafts such as pearls, woven baskets, and hats. The Cook Islands are primarily packaged as a natural destination: a tropical paradise with lagoons, beaches, and volcanic mountains to trek. The majority of structured activities provided for tourists on Rarotonga involve the display of Cook Islands culture, mainly aspects of the performing arts. At the airport in Rarotonga, arriving tourists are greeted by locals playing island songs. There is the Cultural Village, where tourists can experience aspects of Cook Islands culture such as weaving, carving, Māori medicine, dancing, and local food. Many hotels and bars around the island feature “Island Nights,” which includes a dance performance.1 Most hotels on Rarotonga hold an Island Night once or twice a week. These events include a buffet of island food, a band that plays island music, and a dance performance that usually lasts about an hour. In the late 1990s, five dance groups on Rarotonga who performed at these venues were considered to be professionals because they performed regularly.2 Professional groups also performed at tourist weddings (usually organized by hotels), at government functions, and during tourism promotion trips overseas. Most of the groups also took part in community events such as dance group competitions, solo dance competitions, and occasionally village fund-raising projects. Orama, the dance group I worked with, performed two shows: Friday night at Club Raro and Saturday night at the Edgewater Hotel. Other hotels around the island had smaller shows, usually consisting of a few dance numbers and songs by hotel employees. In addition, community and village dance groups performed at hotels and nightclubs. These groups tended to be established for overseas travel (to perform for and visit Cook Islanders abroad) and for annual dance competitions held as part of the Constitution Celebrations. At Island Nights, most dance groups perform a range of “items” from the major dance genres. Kaparima, which are also called “action songs,” are accompanied by guitar and ukulele playing. Action songs are usually performed by females; they are slow-paced songs that tend to have love as their subject matter (love of a person or love of an aspect of nature, such as a flower or an island). The graceful movements of the dancers’ hands, arms, and hips accentuate the poetry of song

chapter two



lyrics. The second genre is called ‘ura pa‘u, or drum dance, and is based on a series of beats played on a variety of hollow wooden drums, skin drums, and kerosene tin drums (see Mason and Williams 2003; Jonassen 1991). Both men and women dance this genre, sometimes together and sometimes separately. The distinguishing features of ‘ura pa‘u are the fast hip-swaying movements of the female dancers and scissors-like leg movements of the male dancers. The other two major genres, pe‘e (chant) and ‘ūtē (topical song), are generally not performed at tourist shows, or they are performed only in a truncated form. For instance, a male dancer will begin a dance performance by blowing a conch shell and reciting a short pe‘e to introduce the dance group and welcome the audience, and an emcee or a dance group member then translates it. The reason dance group leaders give for not performing these genres is that tourists do not understand them; both forms rely on an ability to understand Māori, are slower than kaparima and ‘ura pa‘u, and are considered less visually appealing to a foreign audience.3 At Club Raro, diners sat in an outdoor area in front of an elevated stage. The roof covering the dining area and stage was made out of woven palm fronds, and on each table were bowls of tropical flowers and candles. The diners were largely tourists, such as couples on their honeymoon and groups of backpackers. There are usually a few tables of local residents who attended Island Nights for work functions and family events. Local residents who wanted to watch the show but not pay for dinner would stand outside the covered area in the dark. After the meal, emcee Danny Mataroa introduced the dance performance: Ladies and gentleman, tonight you are going to be entertained by the top dance team in the Cook Islands. They call themselves the Orama dance troupe. “Orama” means “vision.” Seven years ago they had a vision, and that vision was to keep Cook Islands culture alive through song, dance, and drumming.

Individually the dancers don’t get paid, but the money Club Raro pays Orama

goes into a bank account and at the end of a year or two there is enough money for the whole group of thirty-eight members to travel the world. This team had been to Hawai‘i, the U.S. mainland, Australia, New Zealand, and even as far as Dubai in the Middle East, promoting the Cook Islands in culture and tourism.

So, you see, dancing is not only a hobby they enjoy, but it allows them to travel

the world. Their dream at the end of the year is to visit the swap meet in Hawai‘i, Flemington Market in Sydney, and of course the flea market in Otara [a suburb of Auckland]. Ladies and gentleman, meet and greet the Orama dance team!

the politics of contemporary dance



FIGURE 4 Island Nights poster, 1998. Note the coconut bra and tie of the pa ¯ reu below the navel, and compare this costume with that in the photograph in the introduction. Photograph by Dean Treml; courtesy of Dean Treml.

What was emphasized in this introduction was the communal nature of Orama’s enterprise. Tourism was presented as embedded in community activities; it was about keeping Cook Islands culture alive rather than a money-making exercise. The money earned from dancing was used for group rather than individual pursuits, enabling them to travel and perform throughout the world. These values accorded with Cook Islanders’ perception of dance groups as community-oriented rather than self-seeking enterprises, a recurrent opposition in assessments of dance groups. When I interviewed Danny Mataroa, he noted that tourists also loved the idea that the dance groups didn’t perform for money, and he astutely summed up touristic notions of cultural authenticity: “You know how papa‘ā tourists think it is more real if there isn’t money involved? Come on! They want us to all be in grass skirts and live off coconuts. This is the twenty-first century!” The most common criticism leveled at professional dance groups is that they commodify dance. It is a criticism that articulates with wider concerns about commodification. The Rarotongan economy is cash based; money is needed to purchase commodities and pay electricity and phone bills. Ideal notions of community and accompanying forms of exchange and transaction operate alongside



chapter two

commodity capitalism. So although Rarotongans may desire personal wealth, economic acquisitiveness exists within a social system that promotes generosity and community orientation. Given this tension, what dance groups do with money is of concern. On numerous occasions, older people, especially those who had belonged to youth groups, unequivocally told me that “dance is about raising funds.” During the youth group era, dance was used as a vehicle for raising money to assist with community projects, such as purchasing building materials for village public buildings or enabling village sports teams to travel to regional competitions. Professional dance groups, so critics suggest, do not put their earnings back into the community but, rather, use the money they earn through tourism for personal gain. A man in his fifties put it this way: “Dancing is not just for dancing. People dance for their village, school, church, and island. I hope you learn something from M——’s dance group. I don’t know whether they have anything in their heads; they are making the money for themselves” (emphasis mine). Making money for oneself is viewed as the antithesis of community life. Members of the older generation (forty onward) use contemporary dance practices as a way of commenting on what they perceive to be a decline in community values and an increase in individualism. Certainly, many dance groups have been formed as get-rich-quick schemes. A number of dancers in Orama had previously belonged to other groups and had expected to be paid or were promised a trip overseas, only to be told at the end of the year that all their money had “gone.”4 Other stories involved tales of group leaders disappearing overseas with the group’s money. In 1997, to avoid disputes about money, Orama established an executive committee and made the group’s financial records available to all members. Committee members came from senior members of the group and included the offices of president/chairman, treasurer, secretary, girls’ leader, boys’ leader, band leader, costume person, children’s leader, and attendance keeper. As well as attempting financial transparency, the leaders of Orama were keen to counter other assertions about their earnings. They did this primarily by stressing their involvement in community projects—for instance, assisting in village fund-raising, participating in community events such as annual dance competitions, and educating young people about their culture. They also explicitly argued that running a dance group was not about making money. When I asked Orama coleader Georgina (Gina) Keenan-Williams if making money was an important incentive for joining a dance group, she structured her response to my question around notions of pleasure:

the politics of contemporary dance



You can’t say we are doing it for the money—well, not really. We are still doing it because we love it. When those drums go, somehow you start getting all jittery and your blood starts pounding and somehow something within you is like, “Yeah!” You just want to dance. You come alive.

So it isn’t so much for the money. It is necessary obviously to survive, but

running a group is time-consuming, and some people wouldn’t be doing it unless they get something out of it, a bit of money or whatever. Because they have so many options now—sports, jobs, and second jobs. You have to have a second job now to earn a decent living.

From my experience of working with Orama it would be difficult to say that money was the main reason for running or participating in a dance group. The time spent on organization and preparation seemed to far outweigh financial reward. From 1996 to 1998 there were about thirty to forty dancers and band members in Orama. In 1997, Orama performed two hotel shows a week, for which they received $400 a show. Other paid performances included government shows (usually for visiting government ministers), tourist weddings, and tourist boat shows. Additional earnings came from sales of the Orama CD and video. Wages were paid at the end of the year as a “Christmas bonus.” Adult wages ranged from $190 to $600, and children received between $30 and $100. Wages were scaled according to attendance at shows and practice; absentees were fined $2 for missing practice and $5 for missing a show or a working bee to make and revamp costumes. Although making money may not be the primary reason for belonging to a dance group, the Christmas bonus was certainly useful. For many members the bonus was the only way they could afford to buy presents and food for their family at this time.5 For many members of Orama, participating in the group was an important aspect of their week. Dancing was a hobby they enjoyed immensely. One female dancer who was born in Manihiki and spent most of her teenage years there expressed it this way: “My auntie used to send us the Dancer of the Year tapes from Rarotonga. That was when Gina was competing. I would copy the movements and choreography for the dance competitions on Manihiki. And I would win of course! I used to think Gina was so beautiful, and look! Here I am dancing in her group. Sometimes I can’t believe it.” For this girl, dancing was an avenue for achieving some prestige and status. She described her situation when she first came to Rarotonga: “I was nothing. I didn’t have a job. No one knew me like at home.” But through dancing, “people know me,” she explained. On Rarotonga, dancers, especially those



chapter two

who have won dance and beauty competitions, are known by the general public; they have a minor celebrity status like that of talented rugby or netball players or members of the Rarotongan elite (that is, those who have chiefly titles, and those of the new elite such as government ministers or successful business operators). For some young dancers, dancing in tourist contexts extends the possibility of fame beyond the island and the Pacific region. Belonging to a dance group offers the opportunity to travel to, and dance in, other places in the world. The amount some young people had traveled often surprised me. For example, a fifteen-yearold girl who had won the intermediate Dancer of the Year competition had been on tourist promotional trips to New Zealand (twice), Samoa, New York, Berlin, and Dubai in the previous two years. For this girl, fame sometimes assumed fantastic proportions, although Rarotonga remained the center of her universe: “Say if I was in Europe, well, this person could come up to me and say, ‘Hey, I have a picture of you in my home.’ They would know me even though they lived so far away.” Young men were not as forthcoming about their reasons for joining Orama as young women were. “It is something to do” and “It stops me drinking all the time” were the typically nonchalant responses. These remarks point to another, more mundane reason why people join dance groups. As well as a vehicle for achieving status, being known, and enabling travel, dance groups also enable release from the routine of everyday life. In a similar way, belonging to Orama was also a pleasurable hobby for older women in the group. Many of these women stayed at home during the day, performing housework and looking after their grandchildren. Making costumes and playing and singing in Orama were pastimes that gave them the opportunity to socialize with other women. Many of the older women would stay after the show and drink together or go together to a nightclub and listen to a band. Unlike other women in their age group, who might be criticized for going out and drinking (with remarks such as “They should be at home with their children” or “She is drinking away her husband’s money”), their nightlife was a legitimate extension of their dance group participation. A number of the married women encouraged their husbands to participate in the dance group as musicians and singers. The older men who joined Orama were often drummers, guitarists, and singers who were recognized as accomplished musicians in their own right. Some belonged to string bands that play popular island music at tourist venues and local nightclubs and bars (see chapter 5). Some of the male drummers were hired to play at government functions and major rugby matches and to go along on promotional tours with the Cook Islands Tourist Authority.

the politics of contemporary dance



In debates about the commodification of Cook Islands dance, the older generation of dancers tend to view contemporary dance practice as a vehicle for personal acquisition in contrast to their own dance practice, which facilitated community projects. This distinction becomes complicated when the multiple reasons people give for joining dance groups are examined. Although money may certainly be one incentive for dancing, performers see dancing as providing other opportunities and experiences as well, such as travel, prestige, a form of socializing, and just something to do. Culture or Cabaret?

The second major criticism of dance groups relates to the impact that performing in tourist contexts has on dance practice. Debates center on how traditions and culture are employed in the tourist industry. Again, such debates are primarily divided along generational lines: older Rarotongans frequently argue that tourism is cultural bastardization, while younger Rarotongans, who are involved in the performing arts, generally view tourism as one way of reviving aspects of Cook Islands culture. Gina Keenan-Williams, for instance, argues that tourism has some positive benefits: Tourism gives us an excuse to dance. It actually helps to maintain and to revive art forms. Now we dance more often. In the past it was only once or twice a year. Dancing for tourists and around the hotels has definitely lifted the standards over the years. There is a certain professionalism; costumes have to be nice, slim figures and nice shape, long hair for the girls, and the movements have become more refined.6

For Gina and many of her generation, tourism is seen as reinvigorating dance practice, so that there are both more dancing and dancing of a higher, more refined standard. Her analysis also shows an awareness of what appeals to tourists: pretty girls and costumes that look traditional (that is, made from natural fibers and colors rather than plastic or raffia). Rather than invalidating contemporary dance practice, performing for tourists is considered to bolster aspects of traditional expressive culture. In contrast, the older generation of dancers, choreographers, and composers tend to see the younger generation as having changed dance practice in negative ways. Many of them implicate tourism in this change. Remarks to this effect focus



chapter two

on changes in dance forms and the way they are “sold” to appeal to tourists. The following statement made by an older dancer and youth group organizer, Maria Henderson, is typical. She often refers to contemporary dancing as “cabaret style”: “What the young people are doing now is very exciting. But they are more or less dancing to entice the tourists by the colors and the vigorous movement of the hips and the arms. It is a lot of posing.” The use of the word “entice” is undoubtedly intentional. A common criticism of younger dancers’ costumes and dance styles is that they are too sexual and therefore non–Cook Islands. The increasing sexualization of Cook Islands dance is seen as a result of tourism and also as an outcome of the influence of Tahiti, the Cook Islands’ closest Pacific neighbor. In our interview Maria continued: “Dancing is becoming Tahitian style. Everything is fast and flashy, the costumes and all the lighting at shows. Our dancing is supposed to be graceful.” Tahitian style, according to critics such as Maria, is overtly sexual; female dancers perform slow, gyrating hip movements, then frenetically fast movements in skimpy pāreu (island print material worn like a sarong) and large elaborate headdresses. These Tahitian style elements are contrasted with the simplicity and gracefulness of Cook Islands dancing and costuming. One point to be taken from these remarks is that “the West” (embodied in the papa‘ā tourist) is not the only “other” of significance in Cook Islanders’ evaluation of their dance practice. Tahitian dance is often used as a counterpoint to Cook Islands dance. Both of these dance and music forms have many similarities, and the two groups have a history of artistic exchange that continues today (Moulin 1996; Lawrence 1993). Cook Islands music is very popular in Tahiti, and vice versa. Many Cook Islands dancers and choreographers have worked in Tahiti, and many Cook Islanders have relatives in Tahiti, traveling there for family and community events.7 Precisely because of these similarities and connections, Cook Islanders are keen to point out key differences between the Tahitian and Cook Islands performing arts. The above comments suggest that the process of defining what constitutes Cook Islands dancing centers on aspects of female dance practice. During the course of my fieldwork I asked numerous people whether and how dancing had changed over the years. Almost without fail, people mentioned two things: the grass skirt should not be below the bellybutton, and hip movements should be side to side, not “round and round.” These two responses seemed frustratingly trivial, but the frequency with which I heard them made me think otherwise. What is most interesting about the bellybutton and hip comments is that they refer exclusively to the dance styles and costuming of women. Male dance styles and costumes

the politics of contemporary dance



are rarely remarked upon, suggesting that female dance practice is subject to moral surveillance that male practice is not. In debates about Cook Islands dance, femininity is employed as the symbolic border guards of tradition (Yuval-Davies 1997) and, ultimately, of Cook Islands nationalism. As part of this process, Tahitianness is constructed as posing a threat to virtuous Cook Islands femininity.8 Most young dancers wear their grass skirt or pāreu in a way that reveals their navel. Older people consider that costumes are being tied lower and lower, following the Tahitian style, to appear more attractive. Proponents of the lower tie argue that it improves technical virtuosity. Dance skirts that are tied on the hips emphasize hip sways more than costumes that are tied at the waist. Sideto-side hip movements are said to characterize Cook Islands female dance style, but young women are seen to be experimenting with other hip movements, particularly Tahitian “circular hips.” Attempts have been made to ban these moves from dance competitions because they are considered inauthentic. This inauthenticity is often expressed in moral terms—circular hips are seen as “dirty” and too sexual, unlike the graceful poise of the side-to-side hip swaying of the Cooks Islands. Younger dancers and choreographers counter the older generation’s claims about posing, overt sexualization, and lack of tradition in various ways. The most common comeback is that the older generation is influenced by missionary and colonial ideas about dance. In contrast, the younger generation see themselves as attempting to recreate traditions from the precolonial period. Gina KeenanWilliams, for instance, often read publications about the Cook Islands precolonial past, including Te Ariki Taraare’s work in the Journal of the Polynesian Society and Te Rangi Hiroa’s books. In an interview, Gina discussed the influence of missionaries on the dance practice of the older generation: Back then they danced in regimental lines, the men wore black trousers, and the women were all covered in white mu‘umu‘u. We have more creative freedom, and we use natural fibers and shells for costumes, not plastic or fake flowers. What they [older people] say is traditional, isn’t really. Like how they say the outer islanders are more traditional, but they have dance actions like a salute, which isn’t at all traditional. It comes from visiting ships and the saluting they learnt from them.

In this exposition, the older generation is presented as influenced by missionaries who controlled and confined local movement and adornment. In contrast, the younger generation has the freedom to return to genuinely traditional dance styles and costuming. Other choreographers have also referred to dancing in lines as



chapter two

“boys’ brigade” style; it is viewed as an extension of physical drills introduced as part of the curriculum in colonial schools. As well as restricting movement, missionaries covered bodies with Western-style clothes (figure 5). The older generation also covered the traditional body with “fake” costumes and material. Many contemporary dance groups on Rarotonga purge “outside” influences from their costumes; raffia grass skirts are replaced with kiri‘au (treated hibiscus fiber), and plastic flowers with fresh, bright unnaturally colored costumes have been superseded by pāreu in natural-looking colors and designs. Clearly nontraditional dance movements, such as the sailors’ salute, have also been removed from choreography and replaced with movements that refer to traditional matters—fishing, weaving, coconut husking, and so on.9 It is the concern about ridding Cook Islands dance of missionary influences that preoccupies many younger Rarotongan composers and choreographers. They see their dance practice as more traditional and an attempt to return to its “original spirit,” as Maki Karati, a younger composer and dancer, told me: “What we are doing is actually more close to that original spirit. I think a lot of our dancing has changed. Our traditions have been changed by the missionaries. I really feel that a lot of old ones [dances] are not right. In these modern times the dancing has changed because we are ready to dance again. I don’t believe that ladies never danced the sexy way in the old days.” Here “sexy” dancing is located as traditional and, importantly, as a continuing dance style that missionaries unsuccessfully tried to prohibit. Maki is suggesting that the contemporary sexy dancing is not foreign or a consequence of tourism but a return to the “original spirit”—a dance practice free from the moral restrictions imposed throughout the islands’ missionary and colonial history. Christian Morality and the Problem of Tradition

The above debates show how expressive practices are embedded in a moral discourse that references the Cook Islands’ missionary past and contemporary Christian practices. People of all ages and all denominations conceive of their history as an opposition between old and new, heathen and Christian (cf. White 1991). Although both generational and denominational differences arise over how these dichotomous terms are assessed, there is general consensus that traditions should not be embraced wholesale and they need to be tempered by Christian moral precepts. Alongside the oppositional understanding of tradition and modern there exists a multitude of practices that attempt to meld traditional and Christian elements.

the politics of contemporary dance



FIGURE 5 “A Native Rarotongan Dance, c. 1900.” This style of dancing on scaffolding, called ‘ura pa¯‘ata (platform dance), is rarely performed today. Courtesy of the Trustees of the British Museum Images.

Before dance practice and performances, for instance, prayers are said to bless the performance, and afterward they are said to express thanks and to ensure the safety of performers on their way home. Expressive forms adopted by the Cook Islands Christian Church (CICC) are also highly syncretic. One style of singing performed by CICC members is called ‘imene tuki (literally, song with beat), which is a uniquely Cook Islands version of hymn singing (Moyle 1991, 59). ‘Imene tuki features distinctive four-part harmonies. The female soprano melody involves high-pitched perepere (referred to as “screaming” by young Cook Islanders; the Cook Islands version of heavy metal) and a male bass line of rhythmic grunting. In ‘imene tuki style of singing, the tuki (the beat performed by bass vocals) replicates percussive rhythms performed in other, nonreligious contexts. When these songs are performed at religious gatherings such as Bible meetings (but not in churches), performers sway, and move their arms in ways that accentuate the tuki rhythm. This style of movement is sometimes termed “Christian dancing” and differs from “traditional” dancing in that the lower half of the body does not move. Furthermore, it is similar to the types of dancing done by ariki and government ministers and other local dignitaries. This style is characterized by restraint, and the formal



chapter two

similarities between local dancing, church dancing, and high-status dancing suggest continuities between these various movement forms. All religious denominations (albeit to varying degrees) view the promotion of local traditions and culture as problematic. The CICC, as the most established religion in the islands, is frequented by most of the prominent Cook Islanders, including prime ministers, government ministers, and chiefs. The CICC is the only religious denomination that does not allow instruments or dancing inside churches. However, many members of the CICC are active composers, choreographers, musicians, and dancers outside of church events, and participating in both sorts of activities—religious practice and engagement in traditional cultural forms—is not generally considered problematic. In stark contrast, evangelical religious groups (such as Assemblies of God, the Apostolic Revival Fellowship, and Seventh-day Adventists) prohibit any form of what they consider traditional expression, such as island dancing, island music, and “pagan” cosmological beliefs. Movement that expresses religious awe is permissible, such as swaying and clapping, and Western church music and instruments are allowed. People that belong to these evangelical groups tend to see traditional expressive forms as a synecdoche for the moral turpitude of pre-Christian life. Not dancing, then, is pivotal to these practitioners’ identity as being pious and, just as importantly, to their identity as being modern (rather than pagan or traditional) Cook Islanders. Attempts to separate religious practice from engagement in the performing arts are common. In the Orama dance group, a few younger female dancers belonged to the Assemblies of God church. One said to me, “I know dancing is a sin, but . . .” This woman would often mention the internal conflict her religious beliefs and dancing caused, and she would on occasion “give up” dancing for a few weeks. A number of employees of the Ministry of Cultural Development belonged to evangelical denominations and also felt their religious beliefs posed difficulties. A senior employee at the Ministry of Cultural Development belonged to the Apostolic Revival Fellowship and she discussed the dilemma she felt about her oppositional beliefs in an interview with me: “I try not to impose my spiritual belief on people, because you should keep your spiritual life separate. I mean, culture is okay up to a point. It’s okay as long as they don’t practice paganism. You know the Bible says that tradition is wrong.” Her efforts to draw a line between culture and paganism, between her spiritual beliefs and her public position, were not always successful. Challenges to her position were periodically made by cultural practitioners who viewed her religious beliefs as incompatible with the promotion of Cook Islands culture.

the politics of contemporary dance



Many older performers and choreographers abandon the arts when they become more heavily involved in religious groups, but they may still compose songs or provide advice on request from younger performers. They are also involved in church composition and singing. Others combine involvement in religious groups and the performing arts. For instance, during the period of my fieldwork the minister of education and culture was a Seventh-day Adventist. In both formal interviews and informal meetings, Minister Ngereteina Puna would always bring up his religious belief and how it affected his beliefs about culture. On one occasion he said: You know I am a Seventh-day Adventist Cook Islander. I want to make that clear and make sure you understand my position. I would never join a dance group, but if the situation called for me to dance, if I was challenged, I would dance. My brother, on the other hand—you know, he is the principal of Aitutaki secondary school [and a Seventh-day Adventist]—would never dance. He really sees it as heathen.

Thus the promotion of tradition and culture is seen by certain religious denominations as immoral and “heathen.” In practice, some people find no contradiction in combining religious beliefs and engagement in traditional practices. Others view the intersection of tradition and religion as a site of tension and personal discord. Like the debates about the impact of tourism, the lines between traditional and nontraditional, and between dancing and nondancing, are malleable and contested in contemporary religious discourse. Generation, Tradition, and Innovation

The importance placed on the maintenance of cultural heritage in the Pacific has led to what Karen Stevenson (1992) has identified as the trend toward institutionalization of culture—the creation of arts schools, museums, and festivals that aim to classify and standardize aspects of traditional and authentic national culture. In the Cook Islands the older generation of performers consists primarily of Rarotongans who were involved in the performing arts during Albert Henry’s time in office. Many were heavily involved with Henry’s attempts to promote traditions in the service of Cook Islands nationalism. In the late 1990s, members of the older generation were suggesting that the younger generation should be preserving the dances choreographed during the 1960s because those were traditional. As outlined above, however, the younger generation question the authenticity of those dances.



chapter two

The younger performers also argue that they should be able to “refine” and rework older numbers to produce what is commonly called “something different.” For their part, the older generation criticize these innovations and stress the need to maintain the traditional forms that they rediscovered. One issue that arises here is that songs and dances of the older generation were also “something different” when they were first performed but are now considered traditional. As I noted in chapter 1, CINAT was formed in 1969 by Henry’s government, with Beth Dean and Victor Carell as creative consultants. The older generation view CINAT as the pinnacle of performing arts achievement, and the group’s focus on traditional performance is used as a benchmark against which contemporary dance practice is evaluated. Although CINAT certainly played an important role in promoting Cook Islands traditions, the group also introduced many new performance styles and techniques. Ota Joseph, who was the male dance leader from the group’s inception, told me: “[Dean and Carell] came at the right time. Beth taught us how to make theatre. She would say to me, ‘What is this action?’ I would tell her that it is a bird, and she would say, ‘Do it like this’ ”—Ota Joseph adopted a more balletic pose—“and she would say, ‘It would look better to the audience like that’ ” (emphasis mine). Making theater involved learning to perform to an audience, especially learning what works for nonlocal audiences. It also involved strenuous rehearsal to ensure technical precision. This was one aspect many dancers found unusual. Mamia once said to me: “Before CINAT you would just practice for a couple of hours, then perform. But Beth would make us do warm-up exercises and weeks and weeks of practice.” Another female dancer reiterated this point: “We did warm-up exercises. Beth did teach us discipline, and I am grateful for that. But we danced not with the heart.” This remark suggested a real ambivalence about the impact CINAT had on Cook Islands dance practice. Many of those involved in CINAT are extremely proud of the group and its achievements. Under Dean’s instructions performers learned theatricality, discipline, and professionalism, which enabled them to travel and to perform at places like the Sydney Opera House. But at the same time, these regimes were seen as removing “the heart” from dancing, a point I will return to in the final section of this chapter. The Constitution Celebrations festival of dance is another example of the institutionalization of the performing arts and an example of how notions of tradition are shaped and contested over time. In the festival of dance guidelines for allotment of points, competitors are judged on presentation, technique, quality, taste, music, and costume. The criteria for the category “taste” are as follows:

the politics of contemporary dance



In the choices of items; for choreographic direction, individuality or imagination; for authenticity in ancient chants or song or Cook Islands dance; for creative new productions based in ancient Polynesian themes or else those derived from present day events of contemporary daily life or novelty of idea. Décor, costumes and properties should blend with themes and action. The aesthetic principle of simplicity is important in order to retain the highest standard possible. Natural fibers and dyes are important whenever traditional Pacific material is presented. (Quoted in Lawrence 1993, 196)

Throughout the festival’s history, these guidelines have been open to considerable interpretation. Festival organizers have tended to stress authenticity and ancientness, while participants have leaned toward novelty and the portrayal of contemporary events. For example, the performance of topical events has occurred from the inception of the festival of dance. In 1975 Avarua School performed a drum dance about the arrival of the first DC-8 airplane and the bestowal of knighthood to the premier by Queen Elizabeth. The 1983 delegation from Mangāia performed an ‘ūtē about the island’s new pineapple processing factory. A year later, Mangāia’s action song was based around the Pacific Mini Games to be held the following year. Some of their dancers wore tracksuits, and part of their performance involved presenting gold, silver, and bronze medals to the prime minister. The dancing portrayed events like boxing, discus, shot put, and basketball (CIN, August 3, 1984). In the same year, Tupapa village presented an ‘ūtē that the Cook Islands News described as follows: “[A] very localized setting, logs for seats, rugby socks and an electric guitar for accompaniment proved [to be] a rather humorous opening ‘ūtē in the second half of the show” (CIN, August 11, 1986). In 1987 the Aitutaki team presented a drum dance that was about the impact of Cyclone Sally that year. Novelty has also been central to performances at the festival of dance. In 1968 the Takamoa Theological College performed a drum dance with costumes of red, white, and blue. Small Union Jacks decorated their backs, and they waved flags. In 1969 Pukapuka performed, dressed as sailors. In 1978 Aitutaki presented a drum dance based around kung fu; the male dancers wore white shirts, baggy pants, and bandannas around their heads. In the mid-1980s a Michael Jackson–style moonwalk was added to male choreography (a drumbeat was also composed in his honor), and disco moves were introduced. The Cook Islands News reported that, at the 1991 festival, “disco Rakahanga style . . . won great applause from the audience” (CIN, August 7, 1991).



chapter two

The obvious enjoyment by participants and audience members of both novelty elements and the portrayal of contemporary events starkly contrasts with the importance placed on tradition by agents of legitimation, such as government ministers, festival organizers, the national newspaper, and other interested parties. During her time on Rarotonga, Beth Dean was a judge at the festival of dance (1968–1970). She wrote a number of newspaper articles deploring the use of nontraditional instruments, costumes, and dance themes. She entreated Cook Islanders to hold on to their “traditions” and “stand up for the classics” (CIN, August 11, 1969). She further warned Cook Islanders against the evils of “night-club numbers” and the “infiltration” of nudity, and she “abhorred” the use of the kerosene drum and guitars as instruments (Dean 1969, 8). Not only did Dean overlook her role in defining “the classics,” but her observations also presented traditional dance as fixed, timeless, and somewhat fragile entities susceptible to corruption from outside forces. In his closing speech for the 1973 Constitution Celebrations, Sir Albert Henry reiterated some of Dean’s concerns: Although the standard of entertainment shown on this stage the last few nights showed a high quality, I was very disappointed to see that some of them were bastardization by modernization. From our first celebration, it was a rule, that if you use kerosene tin to play the drum you lose points. If you play a guitar in a Cook Islands action song you lose points. If you have papa‘ā kāka‘u [European clothes] in the legend you lose points. These are rules by which we must retain the true identity of our culture, of our dances and our songs. (CIA 1973, file 76/09; emphasis mine)

These ideas that authenticity and tradition can contain no trace of Western influence were, and still are, considered alien to some performers, especially those from the outer islands. For instance, in 1976 a feature story about a group from Tongareva appeared in the Cook Islands News, entitled “What a Pity”: What a pity that the dance group which presented the floor show at the Rarotongan Hotel last Saturday night did so in Western clothes. The men wore neckties with white shirts and long black trousers while the women wore . . . long bright green dresses. Their grass skirts (men and women) were worn over that. . . . When tourists come to the islands they want to see how islanders “do their own thing” and that means costumes and all. . . . But perhaps it should be borne in mind especially by visitors to Rarotonga that the group that performed did wear a similar dress throughout our own Constitution Celebrations and that the group belongs

the politics of contemporary dance



to a very religious community. And apparently this is the first year they have come to the bright lights of Rarotonga and they were reported to be surprised at the sight of other groups with women performers wearing grass skirts below the navel. (CIN, August 15, 1976)

The paradox here is obvious—for this group of performers from Tongareva, “doing their own thing” was performing in Western clothes. This tradition began during missionary times and had continued for more than a hundred years. When I visited Tongareva, young girls on the island told me they still perform with Tshirts covering their upper body because they get teased by the audience if they do not. I also spoke to some members who belonged to the 1976 dance group, and they told me about the dilemma that performing at the Constitution Celebrations presented for them: They said to us no tini [kerosene drum], but we said, “It’s our tradition.” It was very hard because they told us we had to wear no tops. We said, “We can’t. We are dancing with our sisters.” The mothers wouldn’t let their daughters go onstage, and we said, “We don’t care if we lose points for that.” It’s tapu [forbidden]. I wouldn’t like to see my sister dressed like that. We respect brother and sister here.

What these comments reinforce is that what constitutes tradition has been contested at least since independence in 1965 and presumably for a long time before this period. This contestation has as much to do with cultural capital—who has the power to define and therefore “own” traditional expressive forms—as with their content. Rather than viewing tradition and innovation as dichotomous positions, one could argue that novelty and innovation are central to Cook Islanders’ expressive traditions. Debates about innovation versus tradition continue; however, efforts by government and by those in the tourist industry to promote tradition have ensured that innovation is undertaken under the rubric of tradition, not through the presentation of overtly novel forms. As an example, at an Orama dance rehearsal one of the male drummers initiated a conversation about the miniseries Shaka Zulu (1986), which had been running on television. He started drumming a series of beats that sounded both “African” and Cook Islands. His younger brother (who had also watched the program) laughing, jumped up, and began to dance Africanstyle movements—those nearby laughed and copied him. This led to the creation of the “Shaka Zulu,” a particular drumbeat and accompanying dance movements



chapter two

that became hugely popular. Part of the ongoing humor engendered by the Shaka Zulu resulted from its being presented at tourist shows as a very old and traditional dance form. Local performers delighted in this incongruity as much as they gained pleasure from artistic experimentation and adaptation. Another critical strand in debates about tradition involves the issue of “copycatting,” the appropriation by Cook Islanders of outside expressive forms and the appropriation of Cook Islands forms by outsiders. As mentioned previously, there is a long history of cultural borrowing and exchange between the Society and Cook Islands. This continues today in the two-way flow of dance forms, costuming, and the practice of “borrowing” Tahitian tunes and creating Māori lyrics for them. This borrowing has now become an issue of appropriation, as issues of cultural ownership and codification of traditions become paramount. For example, the origin of a number of dance genres and styles, drumbeats, and chants is being contested with both the Society and the Cook Islands claiming ownership (Lawrence 1992, 1993). One of the Ministry of Cultural Development’s projects is to develop copyright law and licensing with international collecting agencies (SPACEM, a French Polynesian agency, is used by individual artists) for all forms of cultural production to ensure ownership and performance royalties. My understanding of debates about copycatting and borrowing is that they are in part a commentary on global capitalism and its attendant values of possessive individualism and commodification. These forces pose a very real threat to local ownership and authorship of expressive forms and other facets of Cook Islands social life. This is clear when concerns about copycatting are applied to the influence of papa‘ā, particularly as a consequence of tourism, as the following example highlights. Toward the end of my fieldwork I was asked to give a talk titled “Change and Continuity in Cook Islands Dance” to students at the Hospitality and Tourism Training Centre.10 The week before a talk was given by Dorice Reid, a mata‘iapo who was the president of the Kōutu Nui (council of subchiefs). Dorice’s topic was “The Impact of Tourism on Culture,” and she began her talk by discussing her long involvement with the tourist industry. She ran a guesthouse called the Little Polynesian, and she had been an air hostess on Air New Zealand and had been involved in marketing at the Tourist Authority. She then posed a series of questions to the students: “What is tourism to you?” The students replied unequivocally, “Money.” She then asked, “What is culture?” The students’ responses to this question were more varied: “our heritage,” “stuff our ancestors did,” “traditions.” Dorice then summarized her views on culture and tourism: “Culture is what makes us unique, our generosity, welcoming nature, warm hosts, vibrating

the politics of contemporary dance



dance, and pulsating music. Tourism is like an animal—the more you feed it, the bigger it gets, and we need to know when to say, ‘No, that is far enough.’ You don’t let them come all the way in.” While Dorice had some positive things to say about tourism, primarily that it provided islanders with an income, she was mostly negative about the impact of tourism on culture. The thrust of her argument was that young people were “copycatting the papa‘ā way” and as a result “bastardizing our language,”11 fighting over land (to build tourist hotels), and making people more individualistic and selfish with money. At my talk the next week I attempted to challenge essentialized notions of culture by talking about more dynamic ideas of cultural change, incorporation, and tradition. I singled out what I saw as distinctively Cook Islands about expressive practices that many young people were involved in, such as playing in bands and dancing at nightclubs (see chapter 5). I used these practices as examples of how global cultural forms can be localized rather than copycatted. The talk was not received enthusiastically. In contrast to the fast-paced and spirited response to Dorice’s talk, the atmosphere was decidedly lackluster. While this contrast may be partly attributable to Dorice’s superior oratory skills and her local status, the experience reiterated that ideas about cultural decline and loss dominated even young people’s understandings of contemporary social life. The Performing Audience

The ambivalence toward tourism in Dorice’s suggestion that tourists be both encouraged but not allowed to “come all the way in” is also danced during Island Night shows. The penultimate number in these shows, the ‘ura piani, includes a move of solicitation and then denial of tourists through audience participation. The ‘ura piani is an impromptu dance genre in which local male and female dancers are called up by the emcee to dance together. The term ‘ura piani means “harmonica dance.” According to Jonassen (n.d.), the harmonica, which was introduced to the Cook Islands in the 1950s, was previously used to accompany the dance. Today this dance style is performed to drumbeats and vocal calls. At tourist shows, the houselights are raised and the emcee announces to the audience, “This is the part of the show where you show us what you have learnt.” All the dancers go into the audience and pick a partner of the opposite sex. Once onstage, the dancers and their partners are seated in a circle. The emcee then humorously instructs the tourists: “Gentlemen, just knock your knees together. Ladies, just make like a washing machine and go like mad.”



chapter two

The emcee calls up two or three dancers and their partners at a time. He asks the tourists their name and nationality and then their marital status. The last question leads to a series of stock questions that play on Cook Islanders’ perceptions of tourists and vice versa. Papa‘ā tourists are generally viewed as desperate to meet and have sex with beautiful locals. Locals, on the other hand, consider papa‘ā far less attractive than Polynesians and are portrayed as being interested in tourists only for their money. The following jokes made by the emcee attribute sexual desires to the tourists and stress the dancers’ unavailability. To a female tourist, the emcee might say, “You’re single, but your partner is a married man”; to a male tourist, “You like? She’s a single girl. But see all those drummers behind you? They are all the brothers, and she is the only sister in the family.” One of Danny Mataroa’s favorite jokes, when emceeing the ‘ura piani, is directed at both the locals and tourists in the audience. He asks a female tourist, “Are you single?” When she replies that she is, he gestures to her male partner and says, “He’s a single boy. Mata oro ki runga i te maunga ‘angai i te puaka, tāpeka i te ‘oro ‘enua kāre pā‘ī āna ‘ōngā kekē [Mata went up to the mountain to feed the pigs and didn’t have a bath before the show, and his armpits stink a lot.]” The local audience laughs. Danny continues, “But he is in prison. They have only let him out for the night!” At this, both locals and tourists both laugh. This joke is about the unsuitability of Mata, the local male dancer. Its success (for a local audience) relies on both the nontranslation and mistranslation of the Māori content. The comments made in Māori are extremely funny to locals because it is normal practice to wash after performing manual labor. Remarks are continually made about other people’s uncleanliness; to go out in public without washing is seen as a serious transgression and a sign of lowly status. People who do this are called “bush ladies” or “dirty taro” (that is, men who work in taro plantations). Men that look dirty are considered very unattractive to females. So the idea that a tourist woman might find a dirty male appealing is absurd; a respectable Cook Islands woman would not even consider dancing with him. This unsuitability is then presented to the English-speaking audience by suggesting that the dancer is a prisoner. Danny’s comments act as a conspiratorial joke. He sends up the local male dancer for locals and tourists alike. That the tourists, in particular the female he is dancing with, cannot “see” the inappropriateness of desiring and dancing with the male dancer provides the local audience with immense amusement. After the introductions, the emcee instructs the partners to dance while he accompanies them with a patautau, a rhyming call that is timed to drumbeats.12 He

the politics of contemporary dance



calls in Māori, “Look at the papa‘ā girl who can’t shake her hips.” And if a tourist is of Asian ethnicity, he may add, “Mitsubishi, Honda, Kawasaki” for the enjoyment of the local audience and performers. When dancing, many tourists are embarrassed and copy the dance style of their partner, thereby dancing in the style of the opposite sex. This unintentional mimicry proves highly amusing to locals. Other tourists enthusiastically attempt to dance but make mistakes that violate gendered dance norms, particularly female norms. For instance, a female tourist may be wearing a short summer dress. As she moves her hips frenetically, she reveals her underwear and her thighs, an act that would be very immodest for local women. Local male dancers (and some female dancers) also perform a sexualized style of dancing that they would rarely do in local contexts. A dancer might pick three or four partners or might move in an overtly sexual manner, by dancing very close to his tourist partner, for example. If this happened to a local female, she would dance away from the man or turn her back to him. Because the tourists do not know how to escape this compromising position, they often stay rooted uncomfortably to the spot, appearing to succumb to his advances. The interactions that occur during the ‘ura piani are one example of how contemporary Rarotongans negotiate tourism and tourists through expressive genres. The emcee and members of a dance group play with ideas about Polynesians as sexually attractive and available; foreign heterosexual desires are solicited and then denied as dancers are initially “offered” to tourists and then made unobtainable. The ‘ura piani expresses the ambivalence many Rarotongans have toward tourism; it conveys the sentiment “We want (need) you, and we don’t want you,” a sentiment that pervades the ideas and practices of many who are involved in the tourist industry. The ‘ura piani is also a vehicle for locals to negotiate interchanges with tourists on their own terms. It inverts the power relationships inherent in the relationship, asserting local expertise and highlighting tourists’ ineptitude.13 p

p

p

‘Ura piani style of dancing—based on interaction between performers and audience—is used in other dance contexts in the Cook Islands. In marked contrast to performances for tourists, when the ‘ura piani is undertaken with local audiences, dancing moves from an expressive parody of unequal power relations to become a practice of collective coauthorship that fundamentally centers around reciprocal exchange of deeply felt and moving sentiments. This active engagement between audience and performances is a significant feature of all local performance contexts



chapter two

and extends beyond the ‘ura piani genre. Indeed to elicit participation is central to what makes performances successful.14 Every local performance event I attended in the Cook Islands featured a style of applause that was markedly different from applause at Western performances. Instead of waiting for a song or dance to end before clapping or shouting out, Cook Islands audiences applaud throughout a performance. They usually start as soon as a performer begins, then cheer, whistle, laugh, and clap loudly after the first verse of a song and throughout the chorus. This acts like a conversational exchange—the audience claps, the dancer smiles; the audience cheers, the dancer laughs. Interactive applause is enhanced by another form of audience participation that I term the “performing audience” and involves members of the audience standing up and dancing along with performers. This audience participation is not limited to dance contexts; it is also undertaken at church events and sport competitions. At rugby matches, tries are celebrated with a short series of beats made by drummers (hired by the teams), and supporters join them by getting up out of their seats and dancing to the beats. At ‘uapou (church meetings), when religious songs (‘imene tuki) are sung, people from opposing teams will get up and dance—sometimes in appreciation, sometimes to tease the performing team.15 One further way in which audiences actively participate in dance performances is by giving money to performers as they dance. At many dance events (except tourist shows), a large plastic bowl is placed at the center of the stage. As the dancers perform, members of the audience dance their way up to the stage and then dance facing the performers while waving paper money in their extended hands. They then place their money in the bowl and return to their seats. This occurred most often when it was known that the group was fund-raising, but it also happened when professional groups were performing in local contexts. As an example, throughout the evening at the 1997 festival of dance, Orama received $380 in the contribution bowl. As well as small currency, there was a $100 note and two $50 notes. In these contexts, the point of dancing (as either performer or audience) is to elicit emotional states, primarily mataora but also, in competitive contexts, anger and annoyance through teasing. Dances of appreciation are also expressed using money or, more precisely, “dancing money,” as the two are inseparable. I understand this inseparability, following Niko Besnier, as an “economy of affect” (1995, 99)—that is, the reciprocal exchange of affect and economic resources. In the Cook Islands this is an economy that involves music and dancing, as well as commodities. It is also an economy that is expressed as a spontaneous emotional occurrence. As one person told me, “If the song gets in your heart, you can’t hide

the politics of contemporary dance



FIGURE 6 A group from the island of Atiu fund-raising at Metua’s nightclub, Rarotonga, 1997. Note the woman from the audience who is dancing in response to the performers, as well as the contribution bowl. Photograph by the author.

your money.” However, most often those who dance money are relatives of performers or hold a prominent position in the performers’ village, so relations dance money for their kin, chiefs dance money for their village, and so on. At the 1997 primary schools’ festival of dance, for instance, some parents danced up on to the stage and tucked money directly into their child’s costume. The wife of the queen’s representative danced and gave money when the school her great-granddaughter attended put on a performance. Chiefs of the village in which a school was located also danced and donated money. Conversational dancing, exemplified in the instances outlined above, mediates and elicits social interchange. It forms an interactive economy that generates emotions and gifts, such as money, that are traced onto and regenerate preexisting lines of connection and affiliations—familial relationships, status relationships, and identification with particular villages and islands. The Dancing Spirit Dancing is an expression of the heart. . . . You never dance from outside of your heart. But if you dance from your heart, deep down, that is what

chapter two



dancing is. It is your feeling, your heart’s feeling, your emotions, everything. It is the whole of your body. —gina keenan-williams

One of the most common criticisms of contemporary dance practice is that it has lost its “spirit.” This spirit is expressed with the heart, the metonymic seat of emotions. Throughout this chapter, statements have been included from dancers who referred to the way dancing makes them feel. Earlier I quoted Gina Keenan-Williams as saying that she danced, not for money, but because hearing drums made her “jittery” and “come alive.” The “spirit” of dancing is located not only in the heart of performers but also in the relationship between dancing and community life, emotions, exchange, and economics. To quote Ota Joseph, “Groups today are commercialized, by which I mean they are getting paid. You can’t compare that to the outer islands, and youth groups, who still retain the spirit.” For older performers like Joseph, the “spirit” of dancing has become commodified, sold to outsiders for individual gain. The distinction he makes is not about money per se but about the ways in which money is used. Like professional dance groups today, youth and outer islands groups also dance for money, but the money (ideally, at least) is used to contribute to community projects—building village halls, purchasing rugby players uniforms, and so on. One further related issue about the dancing spirit has to do with the impact that different audiences have on the affective experience of performing. Mamia explained this in terms of her ambivalence of performing for tourists: For tourists, you are just dancing for them. They don’t understand what you are dancing about, what you are singing about, and they don’t appreciate. They just watch, and when you finish, they clap. Whereas when you are dancing for a national event, you are dancing for your own people. Well, this is only my opinion—you feel pride in dancing for people who really know and feel how you are feeling. Saying that, they [locals] criticize you as much as they can. They are the best critics around Kalissa; you can never satisfy them. There are some papa‘ā who appreciate it—well, they say they like the hand movements. And of course they are the ones that pay us.

Mamia’s observations suggest that the “feeling” dancing can produce is determined by the interaction between the performers and the audience. Tourists do not understand what one feels when dancing; their lack of embodied knowledge of Cook

the politics of contemporary dance



Islands dance means they cannot “feel how you are feeling.” In contrast, for local audiences, watching a dance performance is a deeply engaging activity. Audience members are active interpreters, critics, and respondents. That tourists do not respond to, or feel, the “spirit” of the dance in the same ways that locals do is the most serious criticism that Cook Islanders of both the old and new generations make about contemporary dance practice. Performing for tourists and “making theater” suspends the interactive audience-performer relationship present in other local dance contexts. Unlike theater or art, which is built on a division between performers/artists and audience/spectators, Cook Islands dance performances aim at a co-construction of performance by audience and performers. Audience participation is a sign that performers have danced from the heart and have produced tāmataora; they have created pleasure. These sensations of enjoyment not only reflect individual emotional states but also are embedded in notions of belonging to the community and the accompanying exchange practices, such as dancing money, that define the economic, political, and affective components of these relationships. The generational contests about the meaning of contemporary dance practice produce a creative dialogue about appropriate forms of Cook Islands–ness. Dancing, and the discussion surrounding it, stimulates debates about the meanings of Cook Islands modernity, shaped by ideas about the past, local traditions, and moral and religious values. The contests are also a response to, and active negotiation of, the threats that global forces (exemplified by the tourist industry) pose to local cultural ownership and control. That dance generates such lively debate attests to the centrality of dance practice to Cook Islands social life and to the high regard with which expressive forms are vested by Cook Islanders.

chapter three Shy Girls and Show-offs Da n ci n g L o c al Valu es You know how Mary won Miss Cook Islands? Well, she is very special to us, very special to the Cook Islands. To me, she is what a woman should be. Mary is different from you and me. But she isn’t ‘akava‘ine [a show-off], you know. She is in all the advertising, in bikini and that, but if you see her at the beach, she wears shorts. She doesn’t drink. She hasn’t even had a boyfriend— well, I have never seen her with someone, or heard about anything.

Both of the epigraphs above refer to a young woman, Mary (a pseudonym), whom many on Rarotonga considered to be a role model for other young women. The first statement was made by a middle-aged male drummer as we were watching a solo by Mary during a hotel dance performance. His observations referred, in a slightly prurient way, to her physical beauty but went beyond that to indicate her importance to “us,” meaning both the dance group and the Cook Islands as a whole. His remarks echoed academic arguments about the role of femininity in nationalist discourse (Yano 2006; Yuval-Davies 1997; Cohen, Wilk, and Stoeltje 1996b). As well as being physically attractive and an excellent dancer, Mary was perceived as embodying other ideal aspects of Cook Islands femininity: “She is what a woman should be,” a representative of group values deemed to be important. This final point is taken up in more detail in the second epigraph above, a comment made by a woman who lived in the same village as Mary. Although they were not friends, she admired aspects of Mary’s behavior, especially that Mary did not drink and was thought to be a virgin. Mary, this woman suggested, was either

dancing local values



extremely clever at hiding her participation in these activities or was unusually virtuous. The woman also said that Mary went to church, not all the time, but often enough, and was involved in youth activities for her village, playing netball and other sports. According to this woman, the most impressive aspect of Mary’s behavior was her modesty. Even though Mary was well known for her achievements in dance and beauty competitions, locally and regionally, she did not act ‘akava‘ine—she wasn’t a show-off. Mary did not openly display her beauty in everyday contexts. She wore shorts at the beach, because revealing one’s thighs was considered unladylike and highly sexual. And she acted with a reserve that was a quintessential feature of ideal Cook Islands femininity. This chapter maps the relationship between expressive practices and femininity, focusing on the performative presentation of femininity through dance and, particularly, the Miss Cook Islands beauty pageant. This beauty competition and others like it display the contradictions inherent in performing femininity. On the one hand, women who join such competitions have the potential to become individual paragons of Cook Islands femininity. They are simultaneously required to maintain their modest, self-effacing characteristics, which represent group values. In this opposition, expressive practices play a mediational role, enacting an interplay between individual distinction and group affiliation. Evaluations of femininity (encompassing physical and moral comportment) are conjoined with ideas about race, community, kinship, and family. This assessment of femininity reaches its zenith in beauty contests, whose goal is to “showcase values, concepts and behavior that exist at the center of a group’s sense of itself and exhibit values of morality, gender and place” (Cohen, Wilk, and Stoeltje 1996b, 2). Not all women negotiate the contradictions of femininity as successfully as Mary. Other women are thought to dance too much, an evaluation that reflects on other aspects of Cook Islands femininity. For example, a woman whose younger sister had joined a dance group complained to me: “She goes to dance practice and she knows how to make the girls look nice and nice the pāreu [that is, make nice costumes]. But she doesn’t even know how to tie her own pāreu. What do you think, Kalissa? She should clean her house and cook her food before she goes dancing.” The young woman being described was viewed as negligent in her housework and food preparation duties for her household (which consisted of her father, three brothers, and her two children). The assertion that she “doesn’t even know how to tie her own pāreu” alludes to this lack of domesticity, to matters of personal grooming, and to moral comportment. A pāreu that is not properly tied will fall off, indicating immodesty or lack of sexual control. The link between



chapter three

excessive performance and lack of domesticity is central to negative evaluations of femininity. As well as displaying local values and sentiments, beauty pageants are a medium for creatively referencing regional and global ideals of feminine beauty. The tensions around performing femininity in the Miss Cook Islands pageant intersect with debates over the meaning of Cook Islands–ness in the postcolonial era, especially the politics of global cultural flows discussed in chapter 2. Miss Cook Islands is a multivalent site in which notions about Cook Islands femininity and its connections to modernity and tradition, to global and local, are displayed and negotiated. Femininity, Beauty, and Morality

Studies of contemporary femininity in Polynesia emphasize the importance of reserve and control in the prescriptions of ideal femininity (Teilhet-Fisk 1996; Mageo 1994; Levy 1973). Bradd Shore, for example, argues that the norm for chaste and dignified femininity for a Samoan woman “lies in her control over her body, in what she does not do” (1982, 234–235). In everyday life, her movements are restricted; she is reserved in public, and she does not laugh or talk too much. Similarly, Cook Islands femininity is characterized by demure grace and smooth control, summarized by the adjectives tū māru (gentle, smooth) and ngākau ‘au (peaceful-hearted). Both terms are used in preference to English terminology to indicate physical and emotional grace and poise. These words are also used to describe dance qualities such as grace and refinement, as well as the charm and pleasure that emanate from a talented dancing female. My analysis, however, centers on moral prescriptions toward attainment of these ideals and specifically on the two words most frequently used to evaluate female action and comportment: ‘akamā (shy, shame) and ‘akava‘ine (show-off). A popular song, which many Cook Islanders I knew found humorous, was about a girl who had danced with a boy at a nightclub in town. After she returned home, the boy visited her and she allowed him to stay the night. In the morning she heard the roosters crowing and she was ‘akamā because the boy was still in her bed. She tried to wake him up to get him to go home, but could not. The song requires some explanation. Many young people are visited by their boyfriend or girlfriend (or someone they have just met) in the night; the practice is called tomo are (literally, breaking into the house). Usually (but not exclusively) it is men who visit women, who in turn may accept or reject the men’s advances. On a small

dancing local values



island it makes more sense to visit under the cover of darkness than to leave a nightclub with a member of the opposite sex. The latter course of action would mean that people would inevitably know what one was up to and with whom. One of the rules of visiting is that the visitor must be gone before daylight. This is out of respect for parents (if the visited one lives in the parental home), but also is so that neighbors do not know about a person’s sexual interactions. It is an attempt to limit gossip and retain some privacy in personal affairs. To be seen early in the morning in a village or near a house that is not your own is very shameful and causes great speculation. Indeed, a number of people I knew liked to take walks early (between five and six a.m.) on Saturday and Sunday mornings specifically to see who was coming home, and from where. The above-mentioned song encapsulates the most extreme meaning of shyness or “shame,” which is the English term used on occasion as a substitute for ‘akamā. Shyness and shame are related states; one acts shy when one is ashamed, and shyness, meaning a quiet or withdrawn disposition, is a product of shame. It is one way both men and women articulate feelings of going against the norm, particularly norms governing sexual propriety—or, more precisely, being caught going against the norm. Whereas men may feel shame about being seen leaving a woman’s house, their actions are evaluated quite differently from women’s. To a certain extent, visiting is expected of men; it is a sign of their sexual prowess. Women engaging in the same behavior are subject to far more intense gossip and negative evaluations of their character. ‘Akamā also encompasses a number of other embodied states and practices. Ideal femininity is expressed through dignity and grace. This commonly finds expression through a shy and reticent demeanor in public arenas and in cross-sex interaction. In this case ‘akamā, or shame, is valued positively. Shame also organizes social relations, particularly interactions between sexes. Both men and women are rarely open during verbal interactions with the opposite sex, and women in particular are expected to be demure, avoiding eye contact or interaction that is too direct or too friendly. These rules of public comportment generally apply to interactions with people one does not know (that is, with people who are not relations or close friends), interactions between younger and older people, or interactions between people of different status (for instance, a young female with a male church minister or a female chief). Many female dancers say they are ‘akamā to perform alone in dance competitions, but they are comfortable dancing in a group. Organizers of the Dancer of the Year, for instance, told me that they find it difficult to enlist enough female



chapter three

contestants, particularly in the intermediate and senior sections, because they are ‘akamā. I asked one dancer if she thought the reason women didn’t join was that they felt shame in losing a dance competition. She replied: “The shame bit comes in when you stand up to do it, not when you lose. If it was a big shame to lose, the same people wouldn’t join year after year.” Male dancers are also hard to come by, but this is because “they can’t be bothered” rather than for reasons of emotional reserve. Shame in the Cook Islands is a vehicle for the affective transmission of core values. Shame is something that one feels when doing something that draws attention to oneself as an individual as opposed to being engaged in group action. It is a culturally coded reaction to involvement in situations that draw attention to individuality. In a society where communal orientation and community-based action are highly valued, shame is a culturally coded reaction to singling yourself out.1 To be forthright—in effect, shameless—is referred to in a number of ways by Cook Islanders. The most common gender-neutral descriptors are pana‘akari and panamārama. Pana‘akari and panamārama are used to connote abnormal or mentally ill behavior. They can also mean “outgoing” and “unreserved” (which can have both positive and negative connotations). A woman once said to me that a particular girl was pana‘akari: “You know, she doesn’t care what people think of her. She does her own thing.” This was seen as a somewhat admirable characteristic. Negative images of femininity are most commonly described by the term ‘akava‘ine (literally, behave like a woman). I first became interested in the meaning of the word ‘akava‘ine while watching the Miss Tiare (Miss Flower) junior beauty and talent competition in 1996. The person I was sitting with suggested that one contestant from an outer island was beautiful and a good dancer but was too ‘akava‘ine. After that, I spent considerable time asking about and noting the contexts in which this word was used. In general ‘akava‘ine means someone who has an inflated opinion of herself. It refers to women who draw attention to themselves in ways that may disrupt groupness—be it a dance group, a social gathering, or a family function. I heard the above-mentioned Miss Tiare described as ‘akava‘ine throughout the pageant. This was explained to me in a number of ways—“She is dancing beyond her years” (that is, dancing in a sexual manner); “She is a showoff ”; “She thinks she’s hot.” Often usage of the term ‘akava‘ine both explicitly and implicitly contrasts local/traditional feminine virtue with papa‘ā/modern excessive individualism. Women who do not heed others’ advice, who act in a self-serving or self-promoting way, are often referred to interchangeably as ‘akava‘ine and as being like a papa‘ā.

dancing local values



Only occasionally did I hear the male version of the word, ‘akatāne, used. It was generally used to describe males who did not listen to requests or instructions from older people. For instance, a young male was called ‘akatāne for not following a dance teacher’s choreography and for his lack of effort and commitment to a dance group as a whole. To some degree, ‘akatāne is a positive characteristic for males in that it can mean they show leadership qualities. The term lacks the purely negative evaluation that ‘akava‘ine has for females. The differences between the terms ‘akava‘ine and ‘akatāne partly have to do with the way the ideal roles of females and males are conceptualized in the Cook Islands. A female’s display of individuality has the potential to shame her family, because daughters are seen as representatives of their family’s moral image.2 Young females are expected to restrain personal desires out of respect for their family. This restraint, in part, entails the management of desire and the control of female sexuality. Personal grooming and domesticity are also central to normative Cook Islands femininity and are evaluated in terms of ‘akamā and ‘akava‘ine. Recall this chapter’s introductory comments made about a woman who was considered to dance in excess. She was described in terms of her immodest dress (she could not tie her pāreu), which in turn reflected on her ability to feed her family and clean her house. On another occasion I was at a party where people were taking turns playing the ukulele and guitar. One middle-aged woman was playing and singing particularly well; she was constantly thinking of new songs to play throughout the long night. She was, I thought, being very entertaining and keeping the party going. However, late in the night her male cousin turned to me and said: “You know our ‘akava‘ine cousin—she can dance, and she knows all the songs. That’s all she is good for. Have you seen her house? It’s a pigsty.” The rendering of this woman as unsocialized and animal-like points to the commonly made associations between cleanliness and sociality and between dirt and antisocial behavior (cf. T. Turner 1993, 30), as well as to the particular link made between excessive performance and lack of domesticity in negative evaluations of Cook Islands femininity. The connection made between everyday personal aesthetics and expressive forms such as dance demonstrates how ideal femininity is figured through gendered comportment, demeanor, and adornment. Women are expected to keep their house and garden spotless, and both male and female notions of propriety are based around ideas about cleanliness and tidiness. Many people shower twice a day, in the morning and after work. As we have seen, comments are made about those who do not—it is viewed as “disgusting” not to shower regularly. Status distinctions are described in terms of cleanliness; clean males are considered wealthy



chapter three

and attractive, males who are repo taro (dirty taro) are poor, engage in manual labor, and are considered unattractive. Taken together, cleanliness, domestic virtue, and femininity also function to negotiate the morality of traditions. I have tended to interpret the obsession many Cook Islands women have with maintaining spotless houses and gardens and immaculate grooming as a product of missionaries’ obsession with the “cult of true womanhood” (Grimshaw 1989). As was argued in chapter 1, missionary images of local women were focused primarily on sexuality. Physical appearance and behaviors (especially dancing) expressed the sins of uncontrolled appetite and vanity. The regimens of hygiene, modesty in dress, and restraint in decoration and ornamentation, as well as restrictions on bodily movements, were established as public delineations between heathen and Christian realms. In the late 1990s, many older Cook Islands women expressed similar views. Cleanliness was a product of their colonial and missionary past that gave them access to tools of civilized behavior. These women very much located their domestic practice within a discourse of precolonial heathen slovenliness and missionary cleansing. There were other women, particularly younger ones, who did not agree with this line of reasoning.

FIGURE 7 “Heathen” village. From Gill 1876. Courtesy of Special Collections, Baillieu Library, University of Melbourne.

dancing local values



They would say things like “We have always been a clean race.” One woman I knew stated emphatically that cleanliness was a traditional (that is, precolonial) attribute of Cook Islands women: You know, we are very fussy about being clean. People talk about papa‘ā being messy and not clean. Some people say it was the papa‘ā missionaries who taught us, but I don’t think so. There is a debate about this, whether we were clean before or after missionaries. I read bits of [LMS missionary] John Williams’ book. He was the first to come here, and he described the houses and the gardens and how clean everything was: no weeds, leaves picked up off the lawns, no dirt in the house.

What especially interests me in this debate concerning domestic cleanliness is not whether Cook Islanders were clean before or after missionaries arrived (as notions of cleanliness and dirt are no doubt historically specific) but how domestic virtue as a tradition is located back in time, in a precolonial past. Whereas older women viewed domesticity unproblematically as a product of “proper” Western

FIGURE 8 “Christian” village. From Gill 1876. Courtesy of Special Collections, Baillieu Library, University of Melbourne.



chapter three

education, some younger women questioned that origin and viewed this important feminine virtue as a product of tradition. This generational shift is similar to those regarding other aspects of feminine comportment. As discussed previously, contemporary female dance practice (like domesticity) has been reclaimed by members of the younger generation as a product of a precolonial past. These intergenerational contestations about femininity reflect broader political orientations of postcolonial Cook Islanders that have to do with cultural ownership of tradition and ultimately of their modern future. In presenting this overview of the central components of normative femininity, I have drawn from academic work on femininity in the Pacific, which provides useful concepts for understanding the hegemonic norms surrounding femininity. Nevertheless I am struck by a nagging question that arises when thinking about individualized displays of femininity such as Miss Tiare and Miss Cook Islands. The question is, if women are required to be demure and reserved, why would they undertake behavior that singles them out? There would seem to be an inherent contradiction between everyday reserve, emphasizing female self-effacement and conformity, and performing onstage alone, which stresses individual expression and particularity. In a related sense, if, as Bradd Shore and others have argued, ideal femininity is viewed as a symbolic representation of group values—whether the group is a family, a village, an island, or a nation—how do actual women overcome the prescription of reserve and shyness in order to adequately perform as representatives of a group?3 Femininity, Competition, and Status

Three major competitions are held on Rarotonga that involve the competitive performance of femininity. These are Miss Tiare, Miss Cook Islands, and the Dancer of the Year, all of which display ideal notions of femininity through dance, song, dress, and comportment. Each event is held at the National Auditorium, and all attract large crowds, inspire passionate debate, and require intense involvement from those participating. Winning individuals go on to represent the nation in events that range from tourist promotion overseas to regional and international beauty pageants. Aside from the Dancer of the Year, which features solo male competitors, there were no contests during my fieldwork that involved the individualized display of masculine physicality.4 The history of present-day female dance and beauty competitions is complex. Evidence suggests that “beauty pageants,” which involved the display of dancing

dancing local values



skills among high-status women, were held at ‘are karioi. In precolonial settings, dancing, physical beauty (represented by fair skin and fatness), and possibly styles of adornment acted as signs of status and as practices that could enhance prestige. Competitive dance and beauty pageants were also undertaken in the colonial era and postindependence. The first Miss Cook Islands contest was held in 1960, and from at least 1966 “Island Queens” were associated with different youth group organizations and the Constitution Celebrations. In 1966 the Cook Islands News reported that on August 1 a Grand Carnival Opening dance was held in Avarua, attended by six hundred to seven hundred people: “The various Queen Committees ran food and drink stalls, raffles, spinning wheels and other money raising activities” (CIN, August 2, 1966). Each island or group of islands was represented by a queen: Rarotonga’s was the Blue Queen; Aitutaki’s was the Red Queen; Mangāia’s was the Gold Queen; the northern group had the Silver Queen; and the Green Queen represented Ngaputoru (Atiu, Ma‘uke, and Miti‘āro). Respectable femininity—if we take Island Queens as an example—is a representative role: they fundraise for important community projects as emblems for their island. As well as being subject to Christian ideology, dance and notions of respectable femininity have recent historical salience that is linked to ideas about national identity and modernity. As others have noted, beauty pageants operate in “developing” countries as a symbol of their civilized and modern status (Yano 2006, 16). Events such as beauty pageants that celebrate local achievements and perform charitable services extend the local values of community-based action into the realm of global citizenship. The major difference between the precolonial and colonial pageants is the participants themselves. Although high-ranking women and ariki may have danced in precolonial times, in colonial settings women with status, ariki in particular, did not. Today chiefly women and men, and those who occupy important positions in religious institutions and in government, are expected to dance with restraint in public life. This shift in the perception of dancing is attributable to missionary influence and to the continuing significance of Christian discourse. It is a discourse that affects the dance practices of both men and women; however, men have more leeway in this regard. If men do dance in ways inappropriate to their status, their dancing is most likely to be regarded as risqué, clowning behavior. For a high-status woman, similar behavior would invariably be seen as moral laxity. The equation of dance with unladylike behavior was made to me by many older Cook Islands women. Older women from chiefly families whom I interviewed all said that they were never allowed to dance in public, because their



chapter three

position as figureheads required them to be dignified and controlled. Karika ariki was seventy-eight years old when I spoke with her. She talked about dance as part of a larger missionary regime: You had to be very careful about drinking before, because of the police. So the boys would go and drink their orange beer in the bush or in the plantations. Or you had to get permission from the doctor if you wanted Scotch [for “medicinal” purposes]. And you had to be home at nine at night because that was prayer time, and so dad would always know who was missing. So I don’t know how to dance. I never danced. We were never allowed to go to dances, but sometimes we would sneak out. Sometimes I would practice in the bush. But no, I don’t dance. Now I am ariki; the people entertain me.

The last statement made by Karika ariki highlights the role contemporary chiefs play in public entertainments. They are expected not to entertain but to be entertained. Their movements are limited to controlled actions; their raised arms and hands display their acknowledgment of those who entertain them. One younger female ariki was often criticized for her behavior in public. She was frequently described as ‘akava‘ine, particularly because she was seen dancing and drinking at bars in town. One woman described her behavior in this way: “She is supposed to be a role model, yet you see her out drinking just like everyone else. Her problem is—well, we don’t have a word for individuality in Māori, but her problem is she shouldn’t show her individuality. She is supposed to be a queen.” Beauty pageants are also embedded in an aesthetics of skin color that reflects Cook Islands categorization of race. Most of the women who participate in dance and beauty contests and perform at tourists shows are relatively light skinned, tall, and slim, characteristics that are attributed to papa‘ā ancestry. “Half-caste” is a commonly used term to describe individuals who have some degree of papa‘ā heritage. “Half-caste” individuals who are “fair” skinned are also considered more physically attractive than “dark” skinned people.5 When I first embarked on fieldwork, I could not see the gradations of color that people employed to describe and assess an individual’s attractiveness. But after I had mentioned to a number of people that someone was good-looking and they responded with “No! He is too black” or “She is too black,” I realized that small increments of color had particular evaluative power. In contemporary adjudications of beauty, fair skin (but not fatness, as in the past) is privileged, insofar as half-caste women are especially prominent in the ranks of beauty queens and cohorts of distinguished dancers. The performing arts

dancing local values



are viewed by many to be dominated by half-castes. A number of people also expressed the view that “it is the half-caste ones that are doing the culture” while “locals” were either too busy doing menial work or were “shy” because of their lack of (Western) education and poor English-speaking skills. What is intriguing about Western cultural capital is that it is also seen to translate into local cultural capital. “Half-castes” are “doing the culture”; they are the ones involved in the tourist industry and in the performing arts. There is some ambivalence about the prominent role that “half-castes” play in culture. One particularly vehement form of assessment among those who participate in dance and beauty competitions is that half-castes are favored by judges. For example, an older man who had a key role in the performing arts said to me on numerous occasions, “Too many half-castes are winning the Dancer of the Year.” He had also made this remark in front of particular dancers whom he considered to be half-castes. One woman I knew particularly well was keen to counter criticisms by displaying to him her knowledge of local matters, her ability to speak Māori, the interviews she conducted with older people in an attempt to revive traditions, and her pivotal role in community events. The same man who complained about favoritism toward half-castes would often speak to me about his ambivalent feelings toward Europeans. After spending a while telling me how selfish and greedy papa‘ā were, he said, “But papa‘ā make the islands grow. Look at Tongareva, [where] you have the Woontons, the Rasmussens, [and] on Manihiki the Williams and Ellis families. They make things happen.” This association of papa‘ā with achievement, status, and wealth is common. All the families mentioned above have a European ancestor who came to the Cook Islands at least four generations ago. Even though the majority of these families’ ancestors are Cook Islanders, they are predominantly defined by their papa‘ā ancestry. This is primarily because they tend to be relatively wealthier than families without papa‘ā ancestry; they have more land, established business ventures, and higher levels of education. They embody, through their wealth and education, the papa‘ā status of their European and colonial forebears (typically fathers rather than mothers). It is a form of status that gets translated into local power. The distinction between local and papa‘ā is also displayed through bodily adornment and styles of consumption. Many young people choose to wear European clothing, speak primarily English, and express the desire to go to New Zealand to get the latest “sounds” (music) and fashions.6 A stylish young woman wears papa‘ā clothes during the day, usually a skirt and top or a dress that covers shoulders and knees; she will rarely wear shorts to town. Young men often wear



chapter three

shorts and a T-shirt during the day. Dresses or male shirts made from local pāreu material are worn by the young only at formal events, although those who work in the tourist industry may be required to wear pāreu-material dresses to work. Regardless of dress style, young women (and sometimes young men) will often wear a single flower behind one ear and, on more formal occasions, an ‘ei katu (flower-head wreath). Unlike many of the older generation of Cook Islanders, I do not think that the adoption of papa‘ā styles of dress, the English language, and Western music necessarily reflects the desire to imitate or access Western expressive and material culture, but rather it is a way of shaping status distinction within the Cook Islands community. By aligning themselves with signs of prestige and cosmopolitanism, they are making statements about their local status.7 The link made between papa‘ā assets and status is that they accurately reflect the historical attribution of economic and cultural power to colonists and Western institutions. The interrelationship of local and global in terms of femininity and papa‘ā status is one example of the local and historical specificity of global flows.8 At the same time, papa‘ā status presents old power relations of colonialism in new global ways to articulate notions about local standing, sophistication, and, ultimately, relations of power. Furthermore, the tensions that exist between local and papa‘ā overlap with debates about the nature of tradition and modernity. The following case study, the Miss Cook Islands beauty pageant, illustrates these connections. Miss Cook Islands 1998

Recent academic writing about cross-cultural displays of beauty suggest that beauty is more than a particular set of culturally desirable physical attributes; it is also “an aesthetic performance—a series of gestures and ways of dressing which have to be learned and practiced and not simply physically inherited “ (Cannell 1995, 249). In the Miss Cook Islands pageant, beauty encompasses physical attributes and qualities that are seen to represent the community at large: respectability, talent, and commitment to Cook Islands values. And yet, competing for the representative role of Miss Cook Islands necessitates that the participants negotiate contradictory moral prescriptions that define Cook Islands femininity. Young women need to overcome being ‘akamā to display and individualize themselves, which potentially leads to attributions of ‘akava‘ine. They are also required to navigate other categorical oppositions, particularly that between tradition and modernity, both of which are differentially emphasized throughout the pageant.

dancing local values



The Miss Cook Islands pageant began in 1960 and is usually held every two years. In general, Miss Cook Islands contestants have also taken part in other competitions earlier in their lives, most commonly dance or song competitions or the junior beauty pageant, Miss Tiare. In 1998 the winner’s prize included entry into the Miss Universe competition, and the first runner-up entered the Miss South Pacific pageant (which began in 1986). The Miss Cook Islands event is framed as a tourist attraction, although few tourists attend.9 The main sponsors are all connected to the tourist industry, and the contestants are asked tourism-related questions throughout the evening; the winner becomes the face of Cook Islands tourist promotion. The event is conducted in English, but participants and the emcee use Māori greetings and phrases. In terms of content and organization, the Miss Cook Islands competition both conforms and aspires to the global form of beauty pageants. The performance categories are swimwear, talent, and evening wear. Contestants are judged in a number of categories: Miss Photogenic, Miss Congeniality, Miss Personality, Miss Deportment, Miss Tourism Award, Miss Talent Award, Second Runner-Up, First Runner-Up, and finally Miss Cook Islands. Miss Cook Islands 1998, like most large events, was held at the National Auditorium. It began with a prayer, and then the emcee welcomed dignitaries in order: the queen’s representative and his wife; the prime minister and his wife; and the patron of Miss Cook Islands, Pa Te Ariki Upokotini Marie (chief of Takitumu District and head of ‘Ui Ariki (the council of chiefs on Rarotonga). In 1998 five contestants vied for the title of Miss Cook Islands, including Liana Scott and Tina Vogel, both from the Orama dance troupe, and Marcia Tetevano, from the Cook Islands News. The other two contestants were Maryanne Upoko, from Atiu, and Arikirangi Chantel Nicolas, a Rarotongan. All but one contestant had papa‘ā heritage and conformed to Cook Islands notions of physical beauty. Each contestant represented a sponsor—Miss Tipani (Frangipani) Tours, Miss Air New Zealand, Miss Little Polynesian, Miss Cook Islands News, and Miss Polynesian Duty Free. Aside from the Cook Islands News, the sponsors were tourist-related businesses—a tour company, an airline, a resort, and a duty-free business. The judges for the competition were all members of the Rarotongan business community. Madeleine Sword, a woman in her thirties, was introduced by the emcee as the “head of marketing and sales for Telecom Cook Islands, a dancer, netballer, and squash player.” The first Miss Cook Islands, June Baudinet, was announced next as “a leading Cook Islands businesswoman involved in fashion, tourism, and pearls, a renowned sportswoman, and the president of the tennis association.” The final judge was Alan Hironymous, a pakeha (white) New Zealander who was the

chapter three



manager of Westpac bank and the president of the Cook Islands branch of Rotary and was described as enjoying fishing and golf. The Nerves

In the weeks before the 1998 Miss Cook Islands contest, the Cook Islands News ran feature articles on each of the five contestants. Four of the five emphasized their reluctance to join the competitions, citing nerves and, of course, shyness about engaging in activities that put them in public view. Each of the four suggested that she had been cajoled into joining. Tina Vogel said she was asked to take part and initially said no. “But then I spoke to two powerful ladies, Dorice [Reid, a mata‘iapo and businesswoman] and Jeanine [Peyroux, Reid’s sister], and I had one on each side of me,” she said with a laugh. “They were feeding me all the good things that would happen, so I decided” (CIN, September 12, 1998). Another contestant, Arikirangi Chantel Nicolas, said, “I was challenged by my sister Annie. She joined one year, and she dared me to enter—that’s what made me join” (ibid.). By being ‘akamā, these women put their personal aspirations in the background. Each of the four framed her individual reluctance to join within a discourse of community and family pressure, particularly the obligation to fulfill requests from those older and more powerful. The fifth contestant, Marcia Tetevano, framed her response in opposite terms: “I joined Miss Cook Islands as a sort of joke. It was not a serious experience for me, nor did I care about winning. The freebies were a great incentive, as was the personal test. Could I get up on stage or not?” (ibid.). Although attractive, Marcia did not have the look or the demeanor of a proper Cook Islands young lady. Her feature interview is worth quoting at length because it contrasts markedly with the interviews of the other contestants: Forget the shyness—it was the lure of prizes and sponsored hairdressing, clothing, shoes and make-up . . . that attracted the youngest contestant in the Pageant. . . . “I look different. I’m blond, which is fake. I’ve got tattoos, which is really unusual compared to the traditional sort of types that usually enter. I thought ‘why not give it a go and see if somebody different can win’”?

To date, the Miss Cook Islands News contestant has had to come to grips

with her special gift for “wobbling” in high heels. She’s also been dubbed the “free spirit” of the Pageant, and she’s well aware that her humor and wit have helped to liven the sometimes daunting practice sessions. (Ibid.)

dancing local values



Marcia’s difference and humor continued through to the night of the pageant. The emcee for the occasion opened the swimwear category by saying, “Everyone is nervous, worried, and shaking backstage. I ask you for your support because all the girls are very shy.” This was confirmed as each contestant made her first appearance in a bikini, pāreu, and high heels. After walking the catwalk, each was asked how she was feeling, to which they responded “Okay,” “Very nervous,” “Nervous,” and “Not too bad.” In contrast, Marcia sauntered onto the stage and exclaimed, “I feel like a million dollars. Please tell me I look it!” This remark was greeted with warm laughter by the audience. ‘Akamā is also articulated in relation to bodily exposure, particularly in the swimwear section of the pageant. Whereas Marcia quickly removed her pāreu as she walked across the stage, the other four contestants removed their pāreu for only a short moment, rapidly retying them when they were talking to the emcee. The swimwear competition is described by contestants as the one that makes them the most self-conscious, as it involves revealing the thigh and contravening Cook Islands’ norms of propriety. This is also evident in the subdued and seemingly awkward response the audience has to this section of the pageant. What this embodied frisson makes evident is that global and local understandings of bodily display may not always converge.10 The Event

As others have argued, women who partake in beauty pageants are identified as symbols of various institutions, such as family, businesses, community, and nation (Stoeltje 1996, 14). The same is true for the participants in the Miss Cook Islands beauty pageant. After the emcee’s opening remarks, the president of the Miss Cook Islands Committee was called upon to make a speech, in which she said, “The girls will treat you to an evening of dance, song, talent at its best. They will endeavor to portray to you their individual qualities and their Cook Islands spirit.” Throughout the pageant, the contestants were identified and located in a number of ways—as representatives of their sponsor, and as girls from particular islands and villages. During the swimwear section, each walked the catwalk to a song she had chosen. The contestant from Atiu paraded to an Atiuan song; Marcia Tetevano had selected a song about Aitutaki, where she was born; and Tina Vogel chose a song about her village on Rarotonga. Over the songs, the emcee introduced each contestant as “Miss Tipani Tours,” “Miss Little Polynesian,” and so on. He then read out their age, island of birth, occupation, hobbies, and ambitions. As each contestant joined



chapter three

the emcee at center stage, he asked her to say a few words about her sponsor. For four of the contestants this took a similar format, which included a brief history of the institution and how the sponsor assisted the Cook Islands tourist industry. In contrast Marcia Tetevano said: “When Alex Sword, the editor of the Cook Islands News, joined the Drag Queen Competition earlier this year, he didn’t get anywhere because he was new to the ball game. Well, when it came to Miss Cook Islands, I said, ‘Al, step aside. Let a real woman handle this.’” She also thanked her mother, quoted Sir Winston Churchill, and, as she took her final turn down the catwalk, showed the audience her tattooed shoulder and wiggled her bottom provocatively at the prime minister. Her remarks deliberately moved from the standard tourism-focused response to the slightly cerebral territory of political allusion and the risqué realm of drag shows. As part of the evening wear section, the emcee asked each contestant a question about one of her hobbies and how it related to an aspect of Cook Islands culture. Tina Vogel was asked, “Let’s talk about canoeing. This is a traditional sport that has been revived. Do you think that there are enough Cook Islands women taking part in this traditional sport, and how would you encourage other young women to take part in this sport?” The others were similarly asked about their traditional interests in fishing, weaving, and dancing, and each attempted to emphasize the traditional and cultural aspects of her hobby. Marcia, as the exception, was asked to explain her hobby, modern dance, and how it related to Cook Islands dance, to which she replied: “That’s easy. I can answer that in one sentence. Modern dancing is what you do at TJ’s [a nightclub that mainly plays Western music] on a Friday night.” Her response was greeted by a roar of applause. The Talent

The talent section of the competition is considered by audiences to be the highlight of the event. Contestants are judged on their “ability to command and capture the attention of the audience.” Each contestant is given three yards of material with which to make her costume. Extra embellishments and all props must be made from local materials. The aim of the talent section, it would seem, is to squeeze as much culture as possible into the five minutes allotted to each of the contestants. While Marcia read one of her own poems, the other four contestants sang and/or danced and/or played musical instruments. Each performance had a theme that extended from the song and choreography to the costume, props, and set pieces. Maryanne’s performance was a tribute to her “beloved island,” Atiu, where the

dancing local values



tavake (tropic bird) was common. Her costume was decorated with tavake feathers, and she danced with a live, somewhat unwieldy tavake. She also played local instruments—the conch and the drum. Arikirangi’s talent was based on the kīkau (coconut frond) hat: she wove a hat onstage and danced to an old favorite, “Pare Ukarau,” a song that was also about hats. Liana danced to a number of songs around the theme of arāpō (phases of the moon), which is used to guide fishing and planting. In her rendition, the full moon tempted her out to dance on the beach, where she was overwhelmed by the beauty of the islands that make up her nation. Tina’s performance was, judging from audience response, the best-received in the talent section. What appealed was the range of dance and related skills that she displayed. She walked onto the stage performing a chant she had composed about listening to the words of the elders. She then picked up a ukulele and played a small section of the song “Never on Sunday,” which the audience adored. This was followed by an ‘ūtē (song), which the emcee said had been “taught to her by her grandmother,” and finally she performed a drum dance entitled “Little Polynesian Love Dance,” which included some distinctly Tahitian moves, an addition also appreciated by the audience. The Results

After the evening wear component of the competition, each contestant lined up onstage. The outgoing Miss Cook Islands 1995–1998, who was living in Tahiti and unable to attend, had recorded her farewell speech, which was played and accompanied by slides from her reign. The prizes for each category were then announced in the following order. Liana Scott won Miss Photogenic and Miss Deportment. Marcia Tetevano won Miss Congeniality, an award that was judged by the other contestants, and Miss Personality. Tina Vogel won the Miss Tourism Award, which was judged on “overall personal presentation, her ability for social interaction and to communicate clearly, [and] knowledge of tourism in the question asked in the pre-judging rounds,” and she also won the talent section. Then the runners-up were announced: a visibly shocked Marcia was second runner-up, and first runner-up was Liana. After a drumroll, the title of Miss Cook Islands 1998 was awarded to Tina Vogel. As balloons fell from the ceiling, Tina took a walk of honor along the catwalk. The evening ended with a prayer, and then audience members—family, friends, the prime minister, and other dignitaries—climbed up onto the stage to congratulate the contestants, as children clambered over each other to collect the balloons.



chapter three

The Aftermath

Winning the Miss Cook Islands beauty pageant, like winning other Cook Islands competitions, means a number of things. First, titleholders become “known.” They are treated like celebrities anywhere—Cook Islanders discuss them and comment on seeing them in town or at the beach, and they are asked to perform as “guest artists” at various functions. Second, winning means travel to other beauty pageants, to regional and international competitions, and on tourist promotions. In all forms of competition, winning is a form of personal embellishment, and at the same time it bolsters the reputation of associated institutions—the winner’s family, village, island, sponsors, or dance group. Where Miss Cook Islands differs from other competitions is in its explicitly moral judgment of female beauty, which is then put into the service of national symbolism. If Miss Cook Islands 1998 was about display of “the Cook Islands spirit,” as the president of the pageant suggested, it comes as no surprise that Tina Vogel’s performance was judged as the ideal representative of this spirit. She displayed her cultural capital in many forms: each time she spoke onstage she would begin with a long and respectful greeting in Māori, which included all the dignitaries in correct order and the audience as a whole. This contrasted markedly with the words of other contestants, who just said, “Kia Orāna kātoatoa” (Greetings, everyone). Tina also won the Miss Tourism Award because of her knowledge and understanding of the tourist industry, which displayed her suitability as a representative of culture beyond national borders. Tina’s talent section, which many say won her the competition, displayed her representative status in many ways. She chanted her own pe‘e, which displayed her knowledge of the Māori language. It was also “something different,” as females do not normally chant. The content of the chant spoke of young people’s need to listen to their elders and undertake a journey of discovery of their culture. Then, on the ukulele, she played the Western tune “Never on Sunday,” which was a hit in the 1960s and is now a Cook Islands classic and sentimental favorite. Her respect for her culture and elders was again displayed when she sang an ‘ūtē that, the audience was told, had been taught to her by her grandmother. The final element in Tina’s performance, “The Little Polynesian Love Dance,” was named after her sponsor and served as a fitting conclusion. It was fast, controlled, skillfully executed, and slightly provocative. When she was announced as Miss Cook Islands 1998, she wore a classical long white gown with a scalloped bodice and was crowned with an ‘ei katu made from gardenias. She looked perfect.

dancing local values



According to rumor, things were far from perfect for Marcia as she prepared for her evening wear section. Her dress, which had been designed by a young male Cook Islander who had studied fashion in New Zealand, was not ready. Pieces of her dress—a white and silver geometric creation—were safety-pinned together, and she was noticeably uncomfortable onstage. Unlike Tina’s performance and demeanor, which reflected her representative status as ideal Cook Islands woman, Marcia’s performance revolved around flaunting aspects of her individuality. After the competition, she wrote an article, “Inside Story on Miss Cook Islands,” which appeared in the Cook Islands News (September 17, 1998): “Just after midnight last Saturday I sat on the back of a motorbike, speeding down the road from Trader Jack’s and singing, ‘I’ve got PERSONALITY!’” She went on to state her personal view of the event: It is about being yourself, enjoying yourself, individuality, personality and I believe the freedom to say, “Hey this is me. Take me as I am or piss off!”

I gained a lot from joining the pageant. I think nobody was more surprised

that I actually got a placing. The whole night I just mucked around and enjoyed myself and taking the piss out of the whole thing. . . . I don’t think the pageant changed me—hey, I still smoke, drink and party. (Ibid.) 11

The different styles of femininity on display in the Miss Cook Islands 1998 pageant illustrate what Cook Islanders consider to be ideal femininity. Marcia’s performance served as a contrast to the ideal, through her stance of “taking the piss” out of the whole event. Despite this, the audience, judges, and other contestants loved her performance—she won third prize, as well as Miss Personality and Miss Congeniality. Her popularity suggests that while ideal femininity centers on shyness, dignity, sexual control, and grace, there are other styles of femininity that are also appreciated and admired. Having personality and humor and “not caring what people think” are a potentially successful alternative femininity that exists in the Cook Islands. Marcia’s performance expressed a delight in parody and bold, extroverted self-presentation. Although it is usually men and older women who perform in humorously risqué ways, Marcia succeeded in harnessing appreciation for her transgression of gendered norms, demonstrating that it is possible to improvise upon and flaunt prescriptions for gendered social behavior. And yet, while public opinion may allow for some ambiguity, it accords greatest value to normative femininity. Put another way, although Marcia placed in the event, she could never have

chapter three



won Miss Cook Islands. The following example is instructive. Shortly after winning her title, Miss Cook Islands 2000, Maire Browne crashed her car into another vehicle, damaging both and injuring some people. She was charged with causing a motor accident while under the influence of alcohol (CIN, April 11, 2001). A few months before she was due to go to Miss Universe, a debate raged in the Letters to the Editor section of the Cook Islands News about her suitability to represent the Cook Islands in the event. Those against her going suggested that she had failed to be a role model for the young women and people of the Cook Islands as a whole. A letter from Gina Keenan-Williams summarized these points: We Cook Islanders rise well to the occasion where anything nationalistic is involved and Maire Browne’s representation in this instance is no exception to the rule. She is a beautiful young lady with a lot of potential to do well and the judges on crowning night endorsed that. . . . We, the public, should accept that. Unfortunately it seems that Maire has reneged on her part to give back to the public the dignity and respect that comes with holding such a prestigious title. . . . Her behavior in public places has been questioned, as have other aspects of her lifestyle. They are traits typical of teenagers in this day and age but they are unacceptable because of the title she now holds. (Ibid.)

Some said she was young and had just made a mistake. Others quoted the Bible: Dear Editor,

With regards to the letter written by Pastor Tina Kauvai dated April 10, we

resent her remarks portraying the reigning Miss Cook Islands, Maire Browne, as a failure as a role model for the young women and the people of our country. We quote Romans 6:37—“Judge not and you shall not be judged. Condemn not, and you shall not be condemned. Forgive and you will be forgiven.” Okay, we may all know what Maire gets up to and we all may know her faults and downfalls, but what we all either see or know are her efforts to maintain her dignity to be a good role model. . . . There is something worse than falling down—it is staying down. The reigning Miss Cook Islands has been a great example, striving to endure trials, correct the wrong she committed, stand on her own two feet and endeavor to succeed—thus being an excellent role model for us all. Why can’t we for once stop being so judgmental and thank God Maire is to be the ambassador for our country. (CIN, April 11, 2001)

dancing local values



A group of friends wrote a letter attempting to show up the hypocrisy of the judging system: “If we care to remember the night of the pageant, Maire, by her own admission, told the public how they (herself included), the staff of the Westpac Banking Corporation, have a good time after work on a Friday night. If having a good time was a problem, why, then, didn’t those who chose to complain do so on the night when she won?” (CIN, April 23, 2001). Finally, on April 28, 2001, it was reported that Maire Brown, in consultation with the pageant committee, had resigned. It would seem that Maire Browne danced too much; she enjoyed going to clubs on the weekend, enjoyed a drink, and appreciated having a good time. Her case illustrates explicitly how dancing is linked to other forms of physical and moral comportment. Dancing too much rather than dancing to reflect ideal femininity and beauty can signify the opposite—female lacks and excesses. p

p

p

Dance is a valued aspect of contemporary Cook Islands femininity. However, by dancing, Cook Islands women need to negotiate the potentially contradictory aspects of femininity—being ‘akamā and ‘akava‘ine. To be a good dancer is to overcome shyness and dance with assurance and poise. Yet distinguishing oneself too much can be interpreted as being above oneself, a show-off. Dance can present a problem for women, as it involves navigating between personal expression versus the sanction to conform and to represent aspects of Cook Islands group life. Obviously, personal desires need not always conflict with groupness; it is possible to dance both for personal status and as a representative of a group. Yet though the two may not necessarily conflict, individuals such as those participating in the Miss Cook Islands competition are quite aware that they are constantly negotiating between their personal desires and the demands of groups to which they may claim membership. They are also highly aware of the pitfalls that a disregard for group life can present. The Miss Cook Islands pageant is also an example of local reconstitution of a global institution. In it, the display of feminine beauty that pageants throughout the world perform is enmeshed with local notions of femininity—the display of “traditional” feminine virtues and skills such as speaking Māori and the ability to dance, sing, weave, and so on. Fundamentally, young women who participate in the pageant are valued for their representative role; they represent the nation, their family, and their village. They also present the Cook Islands as a paragon of feminine virtue.



chapter three

That competitions such as the Miss Cook Islands pageant are hugely popular with locals suggests that the appropriation of the beauty pageant, as a global form, is largely successful. However, these pageants are also forums that display inherent tensions in the classificatory oppositions that structure Cook Islanders’ notions of gender and race. In relation to gender, notions of ‘akava‘ine and ‘akamā map out traditional/local Cook Islands femininity, which privileges community deference in contrast to the designation of papa‘ā/modern prioritization of individual desires. That those who possess this traditional cultural capital are also those with papa‘ā ancestry and are considered half-castes reveals the racialized nature of status and power relations—both past and present—that are entrenched in Cook Islands social life. At the same time that an event such as the Miss Cook Islands pageant is a process of local appropriation, it is also an instance of Cook Islanders being drawn into the global arena. As Wilk (1995, 111) in his study of beauty pageants in Belize argues, the opposition between global homogeneity and local appropriation is a false dichotomy. He suggests that “in the process of absorbing the beauty pageant into a local context, Belizeans have also been absorbed into global contest” (ibid.). Similarly, Cook Islanders’ engagement with global flows creates complex entanglements that cannot be simply seen at either local or global, traditional or modern, but rather can be seen as a dynamic combination of the two. Displays of femininity are both cosmopolitan and oriented outward; they are concurrently inwardly oriented and replete with local aspirations.

chapter four Paramount Queens Femi n i n i t y a n d Gl o bal/ L o cal Disson a nc e

The 1998 Drag Queen Competition that Marcia referred to during the Miss Cook Islands beauty pageant was held at TJ’s nightclub on a Wednesday night. The venue was full an hour before the show was to begin. The composition of the audience suggested that this was a popular and mainstream event that attracted people who normally do not go out to nightclubs. Alongside young people who regularly went out were friends and family of the contestants and older people who went to nightclubs only for special events. There were no tourists. An Lshaped catwalk draped with leafy foliage had been constructed to extend from the dance floor. Chalked onto a large blackboard behind the catwalk was “Drag Queen 1998” and the names of the sponsors—Air New Zealand and the Printing Company, a local manufacturing business. The emcee was a female netball champion who at the beginning of the competition introduced three male judges sitting on separate tables on the edge of the dance floor: a representative from Air New Zealand, the local news broadcaster, and the special events co-coordinator of Tourism Cook Islands. After a brief prayer conducted by the emcee, the



chapter four

competition began with the emcee’s invitation: “Let’s welcome the ladies with the extras.” The event was modeled on Western-style drag shows and beauty pageants. Five contestants participated in three sections: pāreu (swimwear), talent, and evening wear. As the contestants emerged for the pāreu section, they were greeted with screams of appreciation and applause from the audience. Each contestant paraded around the dance floor and up and down the catwalk, wearing pāreu tied into skimpy versions of the styles of Cook Islands women and accessorized with local hats and flower wreaths. The screams escalated as contestants undid their pāreu to reveal swimsuits (and in one case, a G-string) and made erotic gestures involving their breasts or stylized grabbing of their groin. These gestures were combined with bursts of Cook Islands female dancing: a subtle flick of the hip (patu) and short displays of fast hip movements. The movements just described are one example of how the 1998 Drag Queen Competition incorporated local and Western modes of cross-dressing.1 The style of “crotch grab” performed by two of the contestants, for instance, may be traced to Michael Jackson’s infamous gesture in the music videos from his album Thriller. The move has been adopted by many popular music artists since and by young Cook Islanders when dancing to their music. That the crotch grab movement mimicked a Western popular cultural genre is not to say it was simply derivative. As I argued in chapter 2, innovation, the creation of “something different,” often involves imitation of outside expressive styles. It is a central, if contested, aspect of artistic production to appropriate outside cultural flows into local currencies of value. This kind of incorporation effects the “domestication of the West” (Cannell 1995, 251), the control and mastery of the foreign. In this particular drag competition, Western cultural forms were integrated concurrently as a “display of translocality” (Besnier 2002, 534); they referenced, and were situated in, a broader global context. As will become evident, all of the contestants, albeit to varying degrees, actively oriented their display of local drag practices toward global cosmopolitanism understood by Cook Islanders in this instance as Western or papa‘ā. In the following discussion of the 1998 Drag Queen competition, I examine the ways in which local and Western styles are put together by contestants. Throughout the competition, references (through personas, clothing, music, and movements) were made to Western drag shows and to local styles of cross-dressing and dancing. The individual performances also drew upon Western and Cook Islands notions of feminine beauty, sexuality (both same and opposite sex), and gender roles. However, the interaction between local and Western styles in the 1998 Drag Queen

femininity and global/local dissonance



competition was not considered particularly successful. It included performances that resulted in the show being judged by many in the audience as less than entertaining and, at times, highly distasteful. These sentiments were summed up in the aftermath, as the unanimous reaction to the competition was, “It was stink.” This reaction was strikingly different from the reception of other drag and cross-dressing performances, which were usually viewed as very humorous and enjoyed by diverse audiences. It was not that the audience were unfamiliar with the displays of Western drag forms. Drag shows have been held on Rarotonga since at least the 1980s, and the most popular contestant (and winner of the 1998 competition) was the one whose performance most closely resembled Western drag. Rather, it was those contestants who attempted to meld Western and local forms that produced negative response, boarding on repulsion, from the audience. For a long while I did not know how to analyze this competition. Over the course of time I realized that my difficulties arose from an overriding focus on expressive practices that successfully combined local and Western, as well as other foreign forms. Put another way, in emphasizing how global forces are actively incorporated into local repertories, I was privileging local agency in processes of cultural exchange. This emphasis on creative hybridization, or creolization, has the potential to elide the dissonance and violence accompanying exchange. As Fran Martin has argued, notions of “happy hybridity” are uncritically celebratory and neglect exchanges that produce ambivalent, unproductive, and even disastrous effects (2003, 36, drawing from the work of Jacqueline Lo [2000]). Although I have attempted to highlight the various social tensions and power relations that shape Cook Islands expressive forms, I have not, until the consideration of this Drag Queen Competition, examined performances that fail—that is, performances in which outside forms are neither domesticated nor translated into local agendas but rather produce a clash, a “category crisis,” between local and Western epistemological categories.2 The 1998 Drag Queen Competition points out that not all cross-cultural exchanges are instances of creative production in which Cook Islanders access and transform foreign ideas and practices in order to reconstitute them for local uses. This drag performance brings to the fore the complex array of dynamics at play between local and global in contemporary Cook Islands expressive forms. Furthermore, as well as referencing local notions of homosexuality and “third gender” identities, it is once again signs of femininity—female dance styles, costuming, female sexuality, motherhood, domesticity—that serve as a performative commentary on the tension between global and local forms of sexual and gender identity and, ultimately, the relationship between individual and community, personal desires, and public conventions.



chapter four

Cook Islands Drag

Cross-dressing and performing have a long indigenous history in the Cook Islands. They primarily involve male groups (consisting of both heterosexual and homosexual men) dancing to intricately choreographed performances of local female dancing in female dance costumes. These performances traverse many contexts: fund-raising events, sports competitions, Independence Day celebrations, and Christmas dance competitions. During the 1998 Constitution Celebrations, for instance, Pukapuka Island’s drum dance was performed solely by males from that island in women’s dance costumes. At local competitive events male and female spectators may cross-dance in order to challenge and tease performers from opposing villages or islands. Back issues of the Cook Islands News frequently mention cross-dressing performances. For instance, during the 1967 Constitution Celebrations the newspaper reported: “The sporting events began with men’s basketball. But the men didn’t want to play men! ‘We want to play the girls,’ they chorused. So they got their wish! The Mangaian men dressed as the Titikaveka girls jumped in and, to the delight of the spectators, the melee began! The Mangaian ‘girls’ won the contest” (CIN, 8/8/67). Even religious denominations use this expressive form. For example, Easter sports days, sponsored by the Christian Youth Organization, involve raucous boys-only netball games and girls-only rugby. The day usually ends with string band competitions featuring young men dressed and dancing like women. In less formal contexts young men and women will imitate dance styles of the opposite sex at nightclubs or parties to make their friends laugh. Dancing in male style is particularly popular among young women in these informal settings. In part, cross-dancing is popular with Cook Islanders because of the meanings attached to gendered comportment and movement. Labor practices, styles of communication, mannerisms, and gestures are highly gendered. These movements and practices are seen to divide gender identity into two mutually exclusive categories— male and female. Because of the categorical distinctiveness of expressive practices, transgressions through cross-dancing performances are considered very humorous. It is, however, considered to be funnier when men cross-dance. Men of all ages perform as women. Women, however, only occasionally perform as men. Younger women will cross-dance at parties or nightclubs but rarely at village or church-based events; doing so would be considered inappropriate and unladylike behavior. On such occasions, however, older married women may do so. This gender asymmetry is important. Public participation in cross-dancing is available to men of all ages

femininity and global/local dissonance



but only to women past child-rearing age, because moral evaluations of femininity are conjoined with ideas about community and family, as the discussion of the Miss Cook Islands beauty pageant in chapter 3 illustrates. Young women are much more closely aligned to biological sex and sexuality than young men. Thus the reproductive capacity and the resultant moral surveillance of young women constrain their participation in cross-dancing performances in public and official arenas. Cook Islands cross-dressing performances articulate versions of Cook Islands masculinity, femininity, and local “third gender” identity. In the Cook Islands, homosexual men are called laelae, a category of feminized masculinity that is common throughout the Pacific.3 Cook Islands women who display male attributes are called “tomboy” or “donut,” but they are far less visible than laelae. Very few people speak about them, and they do not perform in the same ways laelae do. On Rarotonga there was a small group of girls who self-identified as lesbians. These girls had spent some time in New Zealand and defined themselves more in terms of Western gay identities, which not only involved openness about sexuality but style of dress, demeanor, and particular tastes in music. On other islands I met women who lived together and performed masculine roles, but their sexuality was never discussed with me. The term laelae is used to describe a wide range of peoples and practices. Some laelae view themselves as women trapped in men’s bodies; others see themselves as both women and men, possessing the finer attributes of both sexes. Yet others view laelae as a distinct category of person—neither man nor woman, a category often jokingly referred to in English as “shim,” a combination of the words “she” and “him.” Laelae is also used to describe men who are presumed to be heterosexual but are considered effeminate in some regard. Men of slight stature, those who engage in white-collar or intellectual work rather than manual labor, or men who are single and past their mid-thirties may be referred to as laelae. Furthermore, actions that are considered unmanly may lead to someone’s being categorized as a laelae; young boys are frequently told they are acting like a laelae if they cry, show fear, or express similar “feminine” emotions. One of the defining features of laelae is the nature of their labor contribution. Laelae tend to prefer women’s work, in the domestic sphere they are considered to be very clean and are thought of as talented cooks. They are also seen to excel at women’s tasks such as sewing and weaving. In this sphere laelae are sometimes seen as “more womanly than women” (Besnier 1994, 297). In public arenas laelae also undertake jobs designated as female, and they are regarded as excellent businesspeople, shopkeepers, secretaries, and beauticians.



chapter four

In terms of self-presentation, many laelae dress and act like women. The womanly dress they wear ranges from pāreu, tied above the chest as women do (rather than around the waist as men do) to mu‘umu‘u and from Western evening dresses to female shorts and T-shirts. Other laelae may wear men’s clothes but keep their hair long, tied in a bun in the manner of women, and perhaps wear women’s jewelry, nail polish, or lipstick. A minority of laelae in the Cook Islands dress and act like non-laelae men. A certain flair and flamboyance often single out laelae. While many men and women wear a flower behind their ear, non-laelae men usually wear a simple poi (a flower worn behind the ear) consisting of a small, usually plain white flower. Laelae, on the other hand, would choose more brightly colored larger blooms. Laelae who adopt female accoutrements also tend to adopt feminine comportment, such as a graceful walk and soft voice. Laelae also prefer to socialize with women. They are considered by their female friends to be highly entertaining company and excellent sources of gossip and information. They transform dull evenings into exciting ones through risqué conversation and wit, music, and song. These qualities are more pronounced in some contexts, such as drinking with a group of friends, than at other times, such as at church and at family meetings. Such transformative qualities are seen as making laelae naturally accomplished performers. Many laelae (both living and dead) are regarded with awe for their artistic work; laelae are considered skilled performers and have prominent positions as costume designers, singers, and choreographers in the performing arts. Although laelae exist in all status levels, high-status laelae, those with important chiefly titles, will not engage in public performances, in keeping with expectations that those of high status are the dignified spectators rather than participants. As many scholars of sexuality in non-Western countries have observed, “straight” and “gay” mean quite different things than in the West. Laelae are defined primarily by their labor roles and behavioral style—speech, deportment, dress— and not necessarily sexuality. Laelae may or may not sleep with men, although homosexuality can be an important part of their identity. As Niko Besnier states, “Sexual relations with men are seen as an optional consequence of gender liminality, rather than its determiner, prerequisite or primary attribute. . . . Thus Polynesian gender liminality must be distinguished from lesbian and gay identity in Western societies, of which sexual orientation is the most important defining trait” (Besnier 1994, 300). Another key area of difference between laelae and Western homosexuals is that laelae have little desire to have sex with other laelae. The object of their attention is usually “straight” men, not “girls like us.” During a description of his holi-

femininity and global/local dissonance



day to Australia, a laelae shuddered in horror as he recalled being propositioned by an Australian gay man: “He was so girly! I think it is sickening how gays like each other in your country.” Straight men who have sex with laelae are not necessarily considered, nor consider themselves, to be homosexual. I have had women tell me that if a man is drunk and there are no available women around, he may have sex with a laelae. Some young men have their first sexual relationships with an older laelae, who may also provide them with money, gifts of clothes, and alcohol.4 For self-identified laelae, issues of sexual desire, longing for relationship, and children are important. Some laelae I knew well would discuss their desire for a long-term relationship and the futility of such wishes, as men they have liaisons with often become heterosexual, or at least marry and have children, at a later stage in their life. Laelae occupy a contradictory position in the Cook Islands. They are regarded with a mixture of acceptance and contempt. Both men and women are fascinated by laelae and will comment on their behavior, report on their outfits, and discuss with open admiration the skills of talented laelae, particularly when they cross-dress and perform. The relative tolerance and integration of laelae into mainstream Cook Islands life contrasts dramatically with the avoidance of laelae sexuality as a topic of discussion. Many Cook Islanders aim at complete disavowal of laelae sexuality. The following examples are indicative. I once commented on the camp demeanor of a prominent Cook Islands performer who wore loud, brightly colored frilly shirts and whose flamboyant acts resembled those of Elton John or Peter Allen. My female companion replied with some hostility, “Haven’t you seen his son? He’s not gay. He’s a laelae.” This comment was made even though the woman worked with the man’s current male partner and it appeared—to me, at least—blatantly obvious that the two were sexually involved. When I asked what the difference was, she said that laelae “just love the girls” (that is, they like socializing with women), whereas “gays sleep with men.” On another occasion, as I pushed another woman on the topic of laelae and sex, I was firmly told, “Laelae sexuality is a nonissue. It is their way of life that people talk about. People always notice them and watch them.” Christianity plays a significant role in this disavowal. A woman who was very close to her laelae cousin commented to me, “I hate hearing his love life stories. I think a man and a man is wrong; it’s disgusting. Like it says in the Bible.” Despite her distaste for her cousin’s sexual proclivities, she spent a considerable amount of time with him and clearly enjoyed his company. This comment also demonstrates the centrality of family to social classification and organization in Cook Islands



chapter four

social life. While some people say it is “shameful” to have a laelae in the family, the stress on familial connection and obligation means they cannot be ostracized, as this woman suggested: “They aren’t accepted. We have to put up with them because they are family. We can’t do anything but ignore it.” In the Cook Islands, individuated notions of sex and gender are secondary to the more pivotal issues of familial status and community maintenance. Gender roles and obligations rather than sexual identity are given ontological priority, as in the Pacific more widely. While sexual orientation is regarded as central to Western understandings of homosexuality, this aspect of laelae identity is deemphasized by non-laelae and by laelae themselves. This configuration of sexuality points to very different understandings of the constitution of the person. In Western contexts sexuality is often viewed as primary and productive of identity, as the core of individual psychology and hence the makeup of the person (Foucault 1978). In many non-Western contexts, personhood is defined less in individualist, atomistic terms and more relationally. Collective life, social context, and kinship relations take priority over individual desires and personal motivations. In Polynesian contexts sex, as Lee Wallace notes, “needs to be understood in relation to kinship structures rather than a privatized sphere of sexual motivation” (2003, 151). Relatedly, Polynesian personhood is malleable and multifaceted, made up of relatively autonomous aspects that can be foregrounded and backgrounded, according to context.5 Besnier (1994, 318) contrasts this notion of personhood with Erving Goffman’s understanding of stigmatized individuals (and “stable” notions of personhood) in North America, “whose persona may be ‘spoiled’ in the eyes of society by a single trait (alcoholism, physical handicap, homosexuality, etc.).” While I consider malleability an aspect of personhood (regardless of cultural background), context-appropriate behavior is highly significant to Cook Islanders. Personhood is understood not as an “immutable” feature but as a relationship between persons and social contexts. In this configuration, individual desires and beliefs are required to be concealed from public display. The public sphere is where individuals not only present themselves but also are viewed as representatives of their family and conduits for their reputation. These notions of gendered personhood go some way toward explaining why the performance of laelae sexuality is admired in certain contexts and denigrated in others (such as the public revelation of laelae sexual interaction). Laelae private sexual behavior is regarded by many as a nonissue if it remains concealed from public view. It is the foregrounding of sexuality that leads to disquiet about laelae. A young laelae commented to me that he thought one of his laelae friends had

femininity and global/local dissonance



become too influenced by gay culture, as he wore skimpy Western-style outfits and was overtly sexual in public, “If his Dad finds out, he will be in big trouble. He’ll get a hiding”—acknowledging that laelae who are caught having sex with other men were often beaten up by male members of their family. This young man emphasized that his friend was gambling with his family’s reputation and therefore deserved to be punished. Western notions of homosexuality are familiar to Cook Islanders through tourists, Western television and film, and religious discourse, and these notions are at times actively incorporated into local Cook Islands cross-dressing performance contexts and within personal negotiations of homosexual identity. One Rarotongan laelae, for example, was fond of describing himself as “the paramount queen of the island.” This humorous identification played on the double meaning of the Western term “queen” to describe flamboyant gay men and the Cook Islands usage of “queen,” the English title given to female ariki, traditional chiefly women. At other times, local homosexual practices and identities are actively defined in opposition to Western ones, especially in relation to sexuality. Many people suggested that while laelae and “gay” were different things, the category laelae had undergone change: “In the old day’s laelae were really good at cooking and making tīvaevae [appliquéd quilts and cushion covers].6 They were laelae, not poofters.” (The latter word was accompanied by hand gestures suggestive of anal sex.) Although it is highly unlikely that in the past laelae did not have sex with other men, this comment is revealing, because it situates laelae within a moral traditional past that has been subsequently corrupted by Western influences. In contexts such as these, laelae are aligned with traditional (feminine) practices such as cooking, sewing, and cultural performance. As with other aspects of Cook Islands social life, laelae are viewed as being tainted by Western ideology—in this case, Western homosexuality, which is viewed as placing sexual identity before familial and public propriety.7 Some scholars of sexuality also predict the increasing homogenization of cultural forms on a global scale. Thus Dennis Altman, in his work on the category “global gay” (2001), has argued that there is a clear connection between the expansion of consumer society and the global growth of overt gay identity. Globalization has opened up possibilities for a rapid spread of homosexuality as a social, political, and commercial identity. In this configuration, “global gay” constitutes a proliferation and expansion of Western models of homosexuality. In contrast, others argue that Western notions of homosexuality are accommodated and localized in particularly culturally specific ways.8 In the Cook Islands context, despite



chapter four

concerns to the contrary, knowledge of Western homosexuality has not resulted in the adoption of global gay identities in any straightforward manner. Some laelae adopt aspects of Western homosexuality into their self-presentation; these are usually men who have spent some time abroad and are seen as having been influenced by papa‘ā ways in the clothes they wear, their competency in English, and their educational skills—but not in terms of sexual preference (which, for laelae I knew, continued to be for straight men). The intersection of Western and local ideas of homosexuality in the Cook Islands produces a series of complex effects. In some contexts Western ideas and practices are accommodated and adopted. But in other situations the encounter produces awkward and uncomfortable results, as it did in the 1998 Drag Queen Competition. Some laelae have incorporated Western ideas of homosexuality, such as the emphasis on sexuality as central to identity and the importance placed on “outing” sexual identity in gay politics. It is this explicit sexualization of what is seen as a private concern that disturbs many Cook Islanders. The connection made between the perceived inappropriate sexuality and moral laxity of the West and the increasing onslaught of this nexus on the Cook Islands way of life serves to reconfigure further the relationship between tradition and modernity. So far I have suggested that laelae are tolerated to the extent that they are not “embodied sexual subjects” (Wallace 2003, 156) in the public sphere of Cook Islands social life. Yet the embargo on discussing homosexual acts contrasts starkly with explicit allusions to homosexuality in performance contexts that are both public and mainstream. Cross-dancing performances are staged for religious and government events, and audiences comprise men and women of all age groups and social status, including family members and friends. In the Pacific context, crossdancing is a form of “clowning”; humorous performances based on the reversal of status hierarchies—commoners performing as chiefs, and men and women inverting gender roles and the norms governing sexuality (Hereniko 1995; Sinavaiana 1992; Mitchell 1992). As a space bracketed off from the everyday, the transgression of existing social inequalities and contradictions is tolerated as performance or play. In most analyses, the conservative aspects of cross-dressing and dancing are emphasized. These performances are viewed as reproducing established cultural norms through parodic deviations from the norm. Shore (1981), for instance, argues that Samoan “transvestism” is a restorative category in that men who act like women function as a negative image for men. They signify undesirable, inappropriate masculinity, which reinforces ideas about appropriate or ideal masculinity (see also Huntsman and Hooper 1975; Levy 1973). Certainly the performance of

femininity and global/local dissonance



feminized masculinity may reaffirm and consolidate normative ideal masculinity, but the display of femaleness is also central to cross-dressing and dancing. A consideration of femaleness would suggest that it is not so much that laelae and crossdancing performances function as negative models for men but rather that they are negative models for women, especially the idealized virginal young women. Importantly, cross-dressing performances tend to act out particular kinds of femininity—“the carnal dimensions of womanhood” (Mageo 1992, 454). They parody, and make visible, highly sexualized forms of femininity that the ideal virginal girl is never supposed to display. In doing so, cross-dancing performances also reference the femininity of laelae and their sexuality and desires, not just those of biological women. Cross-dressing performances articulate the prohibition on acknowledgment of homosexual sex in everyday Cook Islands social interaction. Although cross-dressing performances (or any sort of performance, for that matter) cannot be reduced to a singular cohesive meaning, they nevertheless allude to ideas of both masculinity and, just as significantly, femininity (of women and of laelae). They are considered extremely funny partly because they express things that are not openly talked about—female sexuality, homosexuality, and relationships between laelae and straight men. Here we are clearly in the territory of “licensed transgression,” where submerged aspects of social life normally are displayed.9 One little-discussed aspect of these rituals of reversal is that they employ extralinguistic realms of communication such as dance, movement, and music far more often than verbal communication. The humorous appeal of the unspoken is that it enables the revelation of key social tensions and “awkward cultural seams” (Mitchell 1992, 30) in ways that do not pose outright challenges to the hegemonic social order. In the Cook Islands, while it is transgressive to talk about or openly display the female sexuality of either laelae or biological women, it is not transgressive to dance it. Rather than being offensive, performances of this sort are very popular—usually. Dancing Queens

During the pāreu section of the 1998 Drag Queen Competition, the emcee introduced the five contestants by their stage names, all highly cosmopolitan and glamorous: Claudia, Lahaia, Shania, Lady Posh, and Cher. The first four contestants were self-identified laelae, and the fifth, Alex Sword as Cher, was heterosexual. The emcee also read a brief description of each contestant. Claudia, for example, was introduced as “representing the beautiful village of Tupapa Maraerenga.” The



chapter four

emcee continued: “She wants you to know she is both old enough and young enough. And she is still a virgin. Her hobby is dreaming. And her ambition is to be the best housekeeper on the island. Her rates are cheap, only three dollars an hour.” In the talent section of the competition, the contestants also played with combinations of Western drag shows and local cross-dressing performances. Claudia, in keeping with her housekeeping ambitions, performed to the ABBA song “Dancing Queen” in tiny cutoff denim shorts, a shirt tied to reveal her slender belly, and a scarf tied around her head. Her props were a bucket full of soapy water and a large sponge. She scrubbed, gyrated, and rolled around the floor. Other contestants similarly foregrounded their domestic rather than sexual prowess. Lahaia’s articulated ambition was to be “a good caretaker”; her whole performance was based around her advanced pregnancy. Similarly, the emcee told the audience that Cher (who had a somewhat prominent beer gut) was six months pregnant and had joined the competition to find a nice single boy who would take care of mother and child. Throughout the competition, various aspects of Cook Islands femininity were displayed. The majority of contestants combined Cook Islands dancing with Western dance movements. Cook Islands female comportment was adopted on the catwalk; this involved graceful movements that were sensual without being overtly sexual. Shania, in particular, appeared throughout the competition as the embodiment of shy, self-effacing Rarotongan femininity, a figure sanctioned by hegemonic Cook Islands norms. The emcee introduced her as if she were a girl who had joined the Miss Cook Islands beauty pageant: “Shania was ‘akamā about joining in tonight, but her friends and family from the village of Takuvaine encouraged her. Her ambition is to do her best tonight for her village.” Her eyes were downcast throughout the pāreu section, her sarong was tied in a modest style, and she did not open it to reveal her bikini as the other contestants did. Shania was the only contestant in the talent section to perform a strictly Cook Islands female dance number, dancing to an old Cook Islands song in a “straight” female costume—coconut bra, sarong, and titi (leafy overskirt). To an extent, her shyness impeded her performance. The audience was largely silent except for a few bursts of supportive applause when she attempted some slightly raunchy moves. The audience was more appreciative, however, when her titi fell off, as that provided comic relief to an otherwise dull performance. Motherhood is thought of as defining female maturity and as the pinnacle of Cook Islands femininity. Girls tend to have children in their early twenties; many do not publicly declare the identity of the father of their children, however, nor do

femininity and global/local dissonance



they marry until their thirties. All religious leaders decry the practice of bearing children out of wedlock, and intense gossip and speculation accompanies these pregnancies, but the practice goes on unabated, due in part to the value placed on children and family, by kin and by society at large. Laelae may “adopt” children from family members so they are not “lonely.” In informal interactions, laelae often jokingly play with ideas of being pregnant. At a party where I was present, one laelae complained of having an upset stomach; another quickly replied, “It must be morning sickness,” to the amusement of those within earshot. On another occasion a laelae dramatically grabbed his stomach: “All that beer I drank! Look at my stomach. I think I am pregnant!” Thus, contestants’ framing of their performances through domesticity and motherhood—and their humorous subversion—alludes to the preeminent values of such practices in everyday life and in collective ideals. In contrast to the other four contestants, Lady Posh’s performance most closely resembled a Western drag performance. The performer had spent most of his life in New Zealand, had studied fashion design, and had returned to “the islands” to experience life in his homeland and to teach art at the high school for a while. He identified as gay and laelae, cleverly shaping his self-presentation depending on the contexts in which he found himself. For example, in situations that were particularly local, such as church and family events, he toned down the more flamboyant aspects of his behavior, particularly those that involved the display of sexuality, but he overtly displayed sexual directness at parties and nightclubs. In the drag show he presented himself in highly sexual terms and as possessing the best physical attributes of both sexes. The emcee also introduced him as Lady Posh in overtly sexual terms: “Her measurements are 38, 21 inches”—Lady Posh massaged her breasts and slid her hands down to her waist—“and 19 inches”— she grabbed her penis—“but 30 at her full potential”—she slid her hands up and down her inner legs. Lady Posh’s talent section performance was a lip-synched dance to the Tina Turner classic “River Deep, Mountain High”—which resembled a Western-style drag performance, disco dancing, and striptease, combined with Cook Islands dance movements. The audience—as sophisticated purveyors of Western drag—appreciated this polished performance. Lady Posh went on to win the competition. The reception of Lady Posh’s performance was marred only by the actions of one audience member. As part of the performance, Lady Posh enlisted the participation of two male audience members, getting them to sit on chairs facing each other with herself between them. One of the men was a “local local”; he had spent all his life on Rarotonga and worked as a manual laborer at the Cook Islands



chapter four

Trading Company. He was also somewhat of a clown; he acted humorously when he performed during his village’s sports and dramatic events. The other man was a Cook Islander born and raised in Melbourne, Australia. This was his first visit home, with a Melbourne-based Cook Islands rugby team, which was touring. Several of the team attended the performance, and, in contrast to the majority of the local audience, they jeered the performers, shouting out sexualized comments and wolf-whistling. At one point the emcee had to ask them to be quiet. Their behavior was noted by others in the audience, who chided them with the phrase “Māniania kōtou!” (You are making too much noise!) As the performance progressed, the two men began to interact with Lady Posh. Both encouraged her to face them and dance toward them. The local local responded as if he was dazzled by Posh’s performance and jokingly threw himself around on his chair as Lady Posh danced seductively in his direction. The Melbourne man, in contrast, responded in a highly sexual manner, trying to grab Lady Posh’s breasts and bottom. As the performance was reaching the end, the local local stood as Lady Posh started to dance in local female style, and he joined in by exaggeratedly dancing in the same style—a move the audience loved and responded to with cries of appreciation. The Cook Islands man from Melbourne also stood and began to act out male copulating moves with Lady Posh, which silenced audience laughter and produced some tsk-tsking, as well as the revealing comment, “Tourist e koe?” (Are you a tourist?) The local local jokingly gestured for him to stop, miming, “She is mine.” When this did not deter the Melbourne man, the local local grabbed both him and Lady Posh in an all-encompassing embrace. The divergent reactions of the two young men are revealing in terms of my earlier argument about unproductive encounters between local and global forces. The local local man responded in a way that conformed to local practices about performative humor involving mimicry of female comportment and contributed to the hilarity of Lady Posh’s number. In contrast, the Melbourne-based Cook Islander’s overtly masculine sexual movements made Lady Posh uncomfortable, and the audience’s reaction suggested that it detracted from the entertainment. It was identified overtly by at least one audience member as a touristic reaction, one that foregrounded sex and licentiousness in relationships between locals and outsiders. The Melbourne-based Cook Islander, however, was not a papa‘ā, and as a Cook Islander he should have known the appropriate style of participation. Thus this performance began to signal a tension between Cook Islanders’ perceptions of local and Western sexuality and gender and the presentation of those perceptions in

femininity and global/local dissonance



Figure 9 Lady Posh performing with two male participants at TJ’s nightclub in Rarotonga, 1997. Photograph by the author.

performative contexts. This tension became increasingly potent as the competition progressed, revealing an active repulsion between Western and local categories of sex and gender. Breasts and Babies

Two other contestants presented highly idiosyncratic performances that received decidedly lukewarm responses from the audience. In her talent section, Cher circled the audience while wearing a black cape, her face covered with an orientalstyle mask. She then threw off the cape to reveal her outfit, a pair of large fake white breasts, and black leggings with a lacy white G-string over the top. As heavy metal music started, she produced a skateboard with a tropical scene painted on it, attempted to skate, and finished her number playing air guitar. The performance was considered very unusual for two reasons. First, heavy metal music is not popular in the Cook Islands; reggae and soul dominate the contemporary music scene. This choice of music meant that the audience did not react enthusiastically to this performance, which was considered quite bizarre. Second, the audience collectively gasped as Cher revealed her large fake breasts, which were massaged throughout the performance. These breasts and their treatment were described later as “stink”



chapter four

and “dirty,” as going beyond the bounds of decency, and as a scandalous failure in terms of audience expectations. Lahaia’s performance also featured fake breasts, which again produced uneasiness among the audience. Lahaia’s theme for the evening was pregnancy. In the pāreu section she wore a black one-piece bathing suit that revealed her pregnant stomach. She lay down on the dance floor as though sunbathing and oiled herself with coconut oil. Her talent section was an enactment of the birth of her child. In a black sarong and a black bra with enlarged nipples attached, Lahaia wheeled in a pram with a sign on it: “International Year of the Child. Alcohol??? Healthy Mum gets Healthy Baby. Stop the Violence.” As some of the earlier performances had done, Lahaia’s referred to certain ideas of Cook Islands motherhood and domesticity. It was also placed in an international context apropos the rights of children, rights pertaining to bodily security and referencing a local concern about the effect of alcohol consumption on maternal health. Lahaia then lay on the floor and “gave birth” to a puppy, cut off the placental cord with a saw, and began to breast-feed the pup. It was this aspect of the performance that created the most disquiet in the audience. As the puppy was born, people in the audience gasped and some laughed nervously. Over the next few days, people commented on how they had never seen anything like her performance. The main assessments were how strange it was and, again, how “stink.” What is intriguing about both Lahaia’s and Cher’s performances was their spectacular failure, in terms of both the Western drag show genre and the local cross-dressing and performance genre. To reiterate, it was not that the audience or performers failed to grasp the displays of Western drag forms but rather that the local category of laelae and the Western category of gay seemingly did not lend themselves to successful mixing. In order to unpack the tension in this encounter, I start with the most obvious source of audience displeasure—the breasts. In her seminal work “Breasted Experience,” Iris Marion Young argued that breasts are a problem for patriarchy: “Breasts are a scandal because they shatter the border between motherhood and sexuality. Nipples are taboo because they are quite literally, physically, functionally undecidable in the split between motherhood and sexuality” (1990, 199; spelling and emphasis in the original). While Cook Islands patriarchy operates in culturally specific ways that must take into account the role of missionary, colonial, and postcolonial forces in molding local gender relations and local ideas of bodily propriety, Young’s observations are still applicable. In the 1998 Drag Queen Competition, Cher’s and Lahaia’s breasts transgressed the boundaries of motherhood and sexuality—both had stated

femininity and global/local dissonance



that they were pregnant in their introductory comments. The audience’s reactions to Cher’s fondling of her breasts and especially Lahaia’s breast-feeding are clear examples of breasts creating an experience of abjection (Kristeva 1982) or, in Cook Islands terminology, a “stink.” Abjection occurs when a classificatory boundary is transgressed, creating a sense of repulsion at the disruption of seemingly discrete boundaries, in this case between sexuality and motherhood. The audience’s experience of abjection regarding the contestants’ breasts was further heightened by the birth of Lahaia’s dog-child. Besides blurring the boundaries between motherhood and sexuality, this act points to a wider category crisis. Lahaia’s giving birth, as the performative rupture of the human-animal divide, acts out a crisis elsewhere: the opposition between local and Western. As indicated earlier, performances that combined local and Western forms of drag were not well received, in part because of differences and tensions between Western and Cook Islander understandings of sexual and gender identity. Laelae identity foregrounds a collective, relational self and the performance of gendered roles. The public display of homosexuality, or even talk about it, is considered very offensive by most Cook Islanders. As long at homosexuality remains silenced, laelae are constructed through other aspects of their identity—their familial status and their work, rather than their sexuality—and are thus tolerated and even admired by members of the community. This configuration of sex and gender differs markedly from Western ideas of personhood, in which sexuality is thought to hold the key to an individual’s gender identity. With these differences between local and Western understandings of gender and sexuality in mind, it makes sense that those performers in the 1998 Drag Queen Competition who attempted to combine categories of local and Western notions of drag failed. This failure can best be represented by the birth of Lahaia’s bizarre and socially indigestible dog-child—a highly abject hybrid. In their assessment of the show as “stink,” the Cook Islands audience quickly realized that the two categories, local and Western, are incommensurable. The result of abjection is a process of expulsion of a foreign element perceived as “not-me” (Butler 1990, 133). Thus abjection is a form of boundary maintenance that consolidates dominant forms of categorization and identity. The audience’s reaction to Lahaia’s dog-child can be viewed as an enactment of this process, where threats to local identities, and attempts to maintain those identities, are increasingly prominent in the contemporary global era.10 The failure of this particular drag queen competition was in part due to some of the participants’ idiosyncratic interpretations of what drag means, but it was also a result of a broader epistemological category crisis that occurred as some contestants attempted to amalgamate



chapter four

Western and local forms of drag. This category crisis reveals the friction between Western and local understandings of sexual and gendered identities. Again, it is signs of femininity, especially motherhood and domesticity, that are used to express the discord between local and Western. Unlike many expressive contexts in which local and Western ideas and practices are productively combined and reworked, the 1998 Drag Queen Competition highlights the possibility that not all cross-cultural encounters result in productive engagement or in happy hybrids.

chapter five Outing Da n ci ng af te r Da rk

Morning teatime at the Ministry of Cultural Development provided an opportunity for the staff to snack and chat. The most interesting morning tea was generally on Monday because people caught up on the news and gossip of the weekend, in particular what had occurred while “outing,” the term used to describe going to nightclubs, discos, and bars. One Monday morning early in my fieldwork, four younger staff members (all in their twenties) and I were sitting outside, eating bread and drinking tea under the building’s eaves. About thirty meters in front of us was the Tupapa Centre, the hall of the village of Tupapa. On Saturday nights the Tupapa Centre had a live band, and the five of us had gone there on the previous Saturday. The conversation turned to a casual evaluation of the evening—“The band was too good!” and “I was so drunk!” It had been a good night, according to the four of them—we’d had a good band to listen and sing along to, and we’d had fun dancing together and a good laugh. It was the first time I had been out with locals in the evening, and I was not sure of whether I had had a good night or not. I had been really looking forward to



chapter five

the evening, as I thought it would provide an escape from the constancy of fieldwork, and a chance to relax in the manner I would at home. Far from allowing me to unwind, the evening ended up giving me the most severe sense of culture shock I had experienced since arriving on Rarotonga. I was conscious not only that I had been the lone papa‘ā at the Tupapa Centre but also that I was attempting to party in a way that was commensurable with activities of the other four. Although the ingredients were the same as those of nightclubs at home—beer, popular music, and friends—the style of consumption and interaction was highly unfamiliar. I was struck by a discomforting sensation that I didn’t know the rules of enjoyment: I had no idea how to dance, talk, or even drink my beer. A particular aspect of the conversation that Monday morning intrigued me. One of the girls turned to me and asked, “Do you cry when you are drunk?” I had to think about this, as I had not directly associated drinking with crying before. I finally said, “I don’t really know. Sometimes maybe.” Another girl interjected, “Oh, I do. Once, we had been drinking all night at the beach. I started crying and crying and walked off into the lagoon, just crying and crying. Shame!” Everyone laughed at this, and it led to other stories of drinking and crying. After I had been attending the local nightclubs for a year, this snippet of conversation kept returning and becoming increasingly significant to me. I saw many people cry when drunk and on a few occasions surprised myself by doing so. I also saw people do and say things they would not have done or said in broad daylight. These included practices such as risqué dance styles, loud singing, and, more generally, expressions of emotional intensity—crying, raucous laughter and joking, verbal arguments, and physical fights. While outing is overwhelmingly about having fun (tāmataora) and is associated with concentrated communal good feeling, it often leads to the reverse—conflict, tension, and sadness. Here George Simmel’s idea (1971, in Farrer 2000, 248) that sociability can be adversarial as well as pleasurable is instructive. On Rarotonga, individuals partake in a whole repertoire of outing behavior. At one end of the continuum are practices that are highly convivial—singing and dancing. At the other end are practices that are viewed as adversarial—talking and fighting. Both types of practice are expressive styles considered appropriate (though not necessarily ideal) when outing. Although outing contexts involve the display of behavior that differs starkly from that displayed in the daytime, hegemonic modes of social interaction continue to shape individuals’ experiences of outing. Young women are subject to moral evaluation of their behavior to a greater degree than men, and individual desires

dancing after dark



are thoroughly embedded within group dynamics. And outing is another, albeit not officially sanctioned, arena of vigorous cultural production of local music and dance. As we shall see, what constitutes local music and dance is a multifaceted amalgam of Cook Islands traditional, Western, and regional expressive forms that demonstrates how Cook Islands cultural production successfully appropriates outside forms into local practices of modernity. The Tupapa Centre

Va‘ine picked me up from my house at 9.30 p.m.1 Before going to the Tupapa Centre, we drove through town on her motorbike. She made comments such as “The Staircase is quiet tonight” and “My cousin is at TJ’s.” These conclusions were drawn from observing the motorbikes parked outside each nightclub. We stopped briefly outside Tere’s Bar to listen to the band that was playing, and Va‘ine hummed along to the song. While we were there, a few other people rode up on their motorbikes to do the same thing. We then moved on to the Tupapa Centre, which was on the edge of town, off the main road. Unlike nightclubs in town, which had signs and prominent lighting, the Tupapa Centre seemed dark and quiet. When approaching the Centre, Va‘ine slowed down and turned her bike lights off. “Ah, the others are here,” she said, looking at a motorbike and then parking next to it. There was a two-dollar cover charge to get in to the center. This money went to the band Sweet, Sour and Cream, which played there each Saturday. Other Ministry of Cultural Development workers were sitting with a few other people at a long wooden table at the back of the hall. They waved us over. Only two of the other three tables were occupied, one by some members of the Tupapa rugby team and the other by an old man and two younger men. “It’s early still,” said Va‘ine as we walked over to the table. Our co-workers leapt up to greet us, enthusing about our arrival. They sat us down, introduced me to their friends, and urged us to start drinking. One of our group, Natasha, poured me some beer in a small plastic cup, about a third of the way up the cup. I stared at it and at them, then drank it in one mouthful. The group stared at me. “You should sip it,” said Va‘ine. (There was nothing to sip, I thought to myself.) I was hoping to get some more beer, but Natasha had already taken the cup, filled it in the same manner, and passed it to Va‘ine. When she finished, she filled it again and passed it to the person next to Va‘ine. I watched the cup thirstily. Finally, I said to Va‘ine that I was going to buy a beer for myself. She told Natasha, and a discussion ensued in Māori that I could not hear over the band. Finally, Va‘ine said, “No, we are buying beer together.” We all put in



chapter five

money to buy a carton of longneck bottles of Cooks Lager. When the person who went to buy the carton at the bar returned, I was again surprised that she brought no extra plastic cups back. I thought perhaps we were just going to have a bottle each to drink from. Unfortunately, Natasha still had the one plastic cup, and she again took up pouring minuscule amounts of beer into it and passing it around. In desperation, I explained that in Australia we fill up glasses right to the top, and we each have our own glass. Natasha said testily, “Well, you are here now. You drink like we do, all together and sip, sip.” This practice, I found out later, is called barmanning. Barmanning entails one person taking on the role of barman—that is, pouring drinks for the rest of the people in the group. There is only one cup. The barman (or barwoman) fills the cup with beer and hands it to the person next to him. When that person finishes, the cup is handed back to the barman, who refills the cup and passes it on to the next person in the circle, and so on. Sometimes the same person stays in the role of barman all night, and at other times the role is shared. There are certain skills that go along with the role. One must not pour too much or too little in the cup (usually a little less than half full); one must not complete a round of barmanning too quickly or too slowly. Drinkers in the circle will comment on the rhythm of the round and urge the barman, and the drinkers, to hurry up or slow down. Cook Islanders compare this style of drinking beer to the way kava was consumed in the “old times.” Although kava is no longer drunk in the Cook Islands, the practice of drinking alcoholic beverages is still referred to as kai kava (literally, eat kava), and the original beverage’s replacement is drunk in the same circular manner. Paiere Mokoroa, in an article titled “Tumu Nu: The Bush Beer School,” describes barmanning as a practice undertaken at beer schools: “Men gather to sit and talk about many things, to exchange ideas and of course to drink home brew—in the same way that people in other countries do at pubs” (1984, 74). Tumu nū refers to the hollowed coconut log that is used to store home brew. The log is placed in the center of a circle of men, and the tangata kapu (barman; literally, person with cup) serves the brew in a coconut cup around the circle. After three or four rounds of beer, the barman taps the tumu nū, which is a signal for an elder man to lead the group in a hymn and the recitation and interpretation of a Bible verse. After this prayer service, the men entertain themselves drinking in the same way once more, singing and dancing.2 Our barmanning at the Tupapa Centre resembled beer schools, in that it followed the same principles of controlled sharing and access to alcohol. Consuming individual drinks is unthinkable when barmanning is in operation, as it would

dancing after dark



rob the session of its conviviality. Barmanning also makes drinking a practice of “equal surrender.” This evocative phrase comes from Basil Sansom’s ethnography (1980, 61) of grogging sessions among Aboriginal communities in Darwin. Sansom argues that this style of communal drinking makes “the grogging session a jointly experienced progression in which people ‘go through’ the stages of inebriation together and more or less in step so that co-drinkers remain ‘all level’” (ibid.).3 In the Cook Islands, barmanning tends to occur in more intimate spaces such as the Tupapa Centre and parties held at people’s houses. It is one outing practice that is seen as enhancing pleasurable togetherness by emphasizing drinking together and also staying together. Members of a barmanning group rarely move outside of their circle to socialize with other people, and they take pleasure in being in sync with one another throughout the evening. Back at the Tupapa Centre, Sweet, Sour and Cream played while we drank. The various groups of people at the center listened to the music intently. Some sang along. In our group no one talked over the music. I tried to strike up discussions, thinking it was the right thing to do, and was politely ignored. Between sets, taped music was played, and it was then that people started talking. Most of the conversation was about people at other tables. It revolved around mundane details of people’s lives—a person who had returned from New Zealand recently, a man whose wife had just had a baby. As it was early, no one was dancing. Va‘ine told me that dancing would not start until more people came in. During the second set, however, the old man who was sitting with the two younger men staggered onto the dance floor, clapping along to the band, stumbling, and occasionally dancing. Everyone watched with interest and laughed with pleasure at his performance. He was soon joined by Bobby, whose name I knew because he had earlier sauntered up to our table, demanding to know who I was. After Natasha had explained my presence, Bobby announced, “You are welcome at the center anytime,” and then left us. “Gee,” Natasha said, “you would think he owned this place.” Va‘ine replied, “He’s a her, not a him,” and another person added, “No! He’s a shim.” In unison, the group burst out laughing. Bobby was a well-known laelae in Tupapa who represented the village in drag queen competitions and performed at other village events. On this particular evening, Bobby was dressed in a red 1980s papa‘ā office-style skirt and a red fitted jacket with prominent shoulder pads, teamed with white cowboy boots. Bobby began to mockingly dance in the style of a Cook Islands woman. He moved closer to the drunken old man and suggestively moved his hips. The man feigned annoyance and tried to brush Bobby away. The whole place watched and laughed. Bobby kept dancing around the old man like a woman



chapter five

until the old man began to dance with him, in the Cook Islands male dance style. The audience applauded and yelled encouragement. After two songs the old man slumped back on his bench. Bobby returned to his bench and lit a cigarette. He approached the man and offered him his cigarette. As the man tried to grab it, Bobby danced back slightly and then forward. The man attempted to grab the cigarette again, but Bobby turned and shook his bottom in his face and then danced off. The old man appeared annoyed and again slumped his head on the table. By then the band were laughing and also trying to sing, and Bobby seemed pleased with the attention he was receiving. Eventually, members of our group and other people at the center began to dance. Their dancing style was a mixture of “island moves” and disco styles, particularly those influenced by Latin American and hip-hop performers. Our group danced together in a circle, and Va‘ine asked me: “Can’t you move your hips? You have to dance sexy, like Lambada. Watch this!” Va‘ine began to dance with Natasha; they gyrated their hips together and laughed. Natasha began to exaggeratedly dance like a Cook Islands girl, and Va‘ine as a boy, much to the amusement of our group. By 11:30 p.m. everyone at the center was dancing. Because it is illegal to sell alcohol on Sundays, all nightclubs shut promptly at midnight. The songs became faster and faster and then suddenly stopped. The last song of the evening was a slow one. Everyone on the dance floor paired off to waltz, Natasha with her uncle (the drunken old man). Two girls danced together. A young-looking boy I did not know asked me to dance. I was horrified, as I was unsure of the implications of accepting. I looked at Va‘ine, who said, “Go, he is my cousin.” As I waltzed awkwardly, the only words he spoke were, “Well, that’s finished now. It’s midnight. It’s Sunday. I have church tomorrow.” After the center closed, our group took the remains of our carton of beer and sat outside drinking. Another group, whom members of our group referred to as the Pukapukan group (a number of them were of Pukapukan heritage), sat near by. Both groups began to sing alternating songs. The Pukapukans, I was told, mainly sang songs about their island, while the Rarotongan group sang songs written about Rarotonga. Both groups also sang some songs in English. The most appreciated were “Killing Me Softly” (Roberta Flack) and “Fire” (the Pointer Sisters), both sung as slow Motown-like versions. There was little talk, only smiles of appreciation and comments such as “Our singing is too good.” After a few hours, everyone drifted home. The details of our outing were retold to people in the course of the next week—“We had such a good night [mataora tikāi]; we danced and sang, and no one caused any trouble [pekapeka].”

dancing after dark



At the time I had absolutely no idea what this final comment—“no one caused any trouble”—meant. However, I was soon to learn that trouble, which included physical and verbal fights and crying, was a common aspect of many outing nights. A few weeks later I sat in a bar at closing time, watching (along with everybody else) two young men fighting. I was shocked and said so to the women I was with. They were unconcerned but were interested in the fight. One woman commented: “As soon as the music stops the fighting starts.” When I watched the fight this way, it appeared to me as if it was a continuation of the dancing, a big muscular arm shooting through the air, another grabbing a waist, the bang of a head on the corrugated iron fence. p

p

p

Every village on Rarotonga has a village hall that is used for a variety of community events: sports and dance group functions and feasts for visitors from other villages or islands in the Cooks or groups from overseas (mainly Cook Islanders from New Zealand but also groups from other Pacific Island nations). The Tupapa Centre, built in 1974, is a simple concrete hall with cooking facilities. It was used by the Tupapa dance group for rehearsals and by the Tupapa rugby and netball teams for their functions. Housie (Bingo) was played there on Thursday nights. At various points throughout the year village-related community groups would hold functions in the hall. On Saturday evenings the Tupapa Centre became a nightclub. Unlike bars in town, which attracted people from all over the island, the regular crowd at the Tupapa Centre consisted of people from the village. Only if the Tupapa rugby team had won a game would there be an influx of people from other villages, all assuming that the village as a whole would be celebrating. On such occasions, the band would ask known singers among the visitors to come up and sing with them. The visitors were introduced as “guest artists from the village of . . . ” or “the winner of the Song Quest in 1994.” These impromptu performances were well received by the regulars (who occasionally complained about hearing the same songs week in and out). Going to Tupapa Centre was considered different from going to bars in town. People I went there with would say it was a place to have a “quiet drink.” “Quiet” in this context referred not to the noise level (which was loud) but to the casual and closed atmosphere of the place. Tupapa Centre was intimate. Everyone knew each other, and many people were related. Going to the center was primarily about



chapter five

socializing with familiars. The casual style of the place was reflected in people’s dress. Many regulars would turn up in everyday clothes such as shorts and Tshirts. Some older women wore pāreu. Only Bobby used the center to display his wardrobe. Each Saturday, Bobby would arrive with a different look. One week he displayed the Western casual look—jeans, T-shirt, and red lipstick; the next week he might be wearing a local casual look—a pāreu tied above his chest, in the female style, and an ‘ei. On special occasions, he would wear the red office outfit, or an electric blue-and-black evening dress. His outfits seemed to reflect his mood and to determine the style of his behavior for the evening. On casual evenings Bobby would sit with a group of friends or relatives and dance only occasionally. The more elaborate the outfit and makeup, the more performative Bobby became. The evening dress would put Bobby in hostess mode; he would make the rounds of the various groups, stop to tell a saucy story, and dance prominently in front of the band. One middle-aged woman sometimes challenged Bobby’s eminence. She was sometimes referred to as a bush lady; she had little money and undertook menial work for others, such as laboring in their plantations or doing housework. Her husband had left her and her sons. She was also referred to as someone who “did her own thing.” She loved to dance and sing, usually in an outrageous manner. She only occasionally came to Tupapa Centre, but when she did, we all knew the evening’s entertainment would be good. Sometimes she would dance with Bobby; he would dance Cook Islands female style, and she would dance like a lascivious Cook Islands male. Her actions provoked laughter from the crowd because she danced like a man and used movements that were highly sexualized. At other times, when Bobby was not dancing or did not want to dance with her, she would dance by herself, and she would approach groups of young men, singing loudly and teasingly gyrating her hips up and down their bodies. Most would oblige her by dancing with her for a song or two. I had never seen Bobby or the bush lady at other bars in town, and once, I asked Bobby why. He simply said Tupapa Centre was “close to home.” I took that to mean that both Bobby and the bush lady felt that it was one place where they could enjoy themselves without scrutiny from people they did not know (this type of surveillance is discussed below). For them, an evening at Tupapa Centre was an intimate outing (or perhaps “inning”). Elsewhere, bars were populated with people from other parts of the island. Those people might well have been recognizable and placeable, but they were not considered familial intimates or village cohorts.

dancing after dark



Outing Style

On Rarotonga, drinking and entertainment go hand in hand. All venues serve alcohol and provide entertainment, such as a live band or a dance show. In 1997– 1998 there were eight major nightclub/bar venues on Rarotonga, along the main street of Avarua—Metua’s, Ronnie’s, Tere’s Bar, TJ’s, Trader Jack’s, Staircase, the Banana Court, and Hideaway—plus two village centers (the Tupapa Centre and the Avatiu Clubhouse). Each of these venues had a resident band, a resident DJ, or both. The larger venues also hosted special events, such as preliminary rounds for the Dancer of the Year, the Talent Quest, the Drag Queen Competition, and dance performances by local and outer island dance groups. The outing population was mobile, in that individuals and groups moved from one nightclub to another. It was common to go to two or three nightclubs in an evening. Outing involved a lot of cruising around before entering a nightclub. People traveled into and through town on motorbikes, and some in cars. They circled the venues, stopping—without getting off their bikes—to listen to a few songs outside, to see whose bikes were where, and to chat with a relative or friend before deciding on which place to enter. Despite this mobility, certain bars and nightclubs were identified with particular types of clientele. Trader Jack’s was known as the high-class bar. It was the only place that expatriates, tourists, and the stylish Rarotongan set frequented. People who were considered more local arrived at Trader Jack’s late in the evening, as it was often the last bar on the island to shut. TJ’s catered primarily to younger people. It was the only venue that did not have a live band and played rap and hip-hop music rather than island music. The clientele at other bars and nightclubs were considered local and rarely attracted tourists or expatriates.4 Tere’s Bar was sometimes referred to as the “outer islands bar,” and Metua’s and the Banana Court as places where “local locals” went. Trader Jack’s sat at the water’s edge; a large outdoor deck overlooked the sea. In contrast, the majority of other bars were located in nondescript buildings and their interiors were spartan. Aside from Trader Jack’s, most bars had a limited drinks menu. Most served the local beer, Cooks Lager, and sometimes mixed drinks (brandy and rum), if the owners had enough money to buy the spirits, the mix, and the ice. Metua’s, for example, was located in a large open-air space surrounded by a wood-and-Cyclone-wire fence. Along one side of the fence were benches and chairs. The stage was located at the far end of the space. To the left of the entrance was a bar and undercover seating. The only decorative aspect in Metua’s was palm fronds attached to supporting pillars and tacked to the backdrop



chapter five

of the stage. Lighting at these types of bars was usually minimal, and the clientele tended to gravitate to the tables and chairs in the dark, at the back of the room. The age range of the outing population was from approximately fifteen to sixty years old; the majority of participants were in their teens and twenties. The older age groups tended to go out to perform in bands or to listen to friends or family who were performing. People of all ages who were heavily involved in church activities would rarely, if ever, go out. Like most social situations on Rarotonga, outing was sex-segregated. Couples rarely socialized together, and women who had partners told me that they could not enjoy themselves if they went out with their boyfriends. The point of going out was to have fun with friends of the same sex (for females, that included laelae). This fun, often involving bawdy humorous exchanges, would not have been possible in mixed company. Expatriate papa‘ā couples who often went out together were considered strange. This de-emphasis of emotional closeness between men and women extended to displays of physical intimacy. On the rare occasions that I observed couples out together, they did not hold hands or engage in other displays of affection. Intimate kissing in public was considered the height of rudeness and was treated with disdain. The only time I saw a young couple kissing on the dance floor, a woman I was with threw her glass of orange juice over them, saying they were disgusting. As I indicated in earlier chapters, women, particularly young women, are the primary objects of moral surveillance. They are evaluated far more rigidly in terms of their demeanor and comportment than are young males, and these evaluations usually pivot around female sexuality. In ideal terms, the “good girl” never goes out, does not drink, and stays home with her children or other family members. The “bad girl” displays opposite characteristics. She drinks, goes out, and presumably has sex with multiple partners. While certain young women are seen to embody either ideal femininity or its opposite, the majority of young women attempt to occupy positions along the continuum of these two types. Outing, as a context that involves drinking and interaction between the sexes, is often used to evaluate a young woman’s merit; it is a potential problem for young women in ways that it is not for young men. Drinking heavily is often seen to contribute to the identity of young men and is often portrayed as a stage most men go through. A lot of older men, now respectable church members, would reminisce nostalgically about their “drinking days” and the activities they engaged in. I have never heard an older woman speak about her youth in terms of drinking and related activities. However, for both young males and females, being viewed as belonging to a drinking crowd does not have positive implications, but females who drink are subject

dancing after dark



to additional judgments about sexual promiscuity. By contrast, disparaging comments about young men’s sexual practices are rarely made. The young women I knew were well aware of gendered double standards for evaluating outing. For example, one girl who worked at the Ministry of Cultural Development went out only very occasionally. She was often teased by other younger members of staff, who would say, “You are like an old woman—work, church, cook the tea, bed,” and they would encourage her to go out with them. She rarely did, saying that her husband did not like her going out. The reply she got from the others was invariably, “And there he is [her husband], drinking with the rugby team all the time. Out two, three nights a week. And you, what a waste!” Simultaneously, young women also applied these double standards to other women who went out. Many women had a deep suspicion of women who spoke to their boyfriends, and friends would encourage them in this suspicion by warning, “Be careful she doesn’t steal your man.” They were quick to suggest that other women were going out to “look for a man,” while they themselves, in contrast, were going out “just for fun.” Those who saw outing as fun usually did so with reference to the negative version of outing—that is, outing as looking for a man. An older female friend of mine commented to me once: “It is good you go out with the Orama girls after a show. They just have a few drinks and dance together. They are good because they are just having fun.” In her opinion, however, another group of girlfriends I had were more problematic, partly because they drank openly and had no “shame.” Display was the crucial element in evaluating young women’s behavior. Many young women I knew resisted being categorized as drinkers, in a number of ways. They were more circumspect about displaying their drunkenness in public than males, who often openly staggered around the streets from one bar to another. Young women by contrast attempted to appear “not drunk” or to hide their inebriation by traveling in large groups. Young women would also resist the equation of drinking and outing by replying to queries about their weekend with something like, “Yes, I went to listen to the band at Metua’s. I wasn’t drinking.” Once inside a bar or nightclub, four main activities are undertaken—dancing, drinking, joking, and watching. Long, serious conversations are not embarked upon. Indeed, it would be impossible to have a conversation for any length of time, because of the importance placed on listening to music, watching people, and dancing. Outing is associated with expressive forms such as dancing, singing, and joking, but most emphatically not with talking. In fact, talking is seen as problematic and potentially disruptive to a good night out.

chapter five



When a live band is playing, the lack (as I apprehended it) of background chatter is disquieting. People listen carefully and, at times, sing along. As they know most of the songs being played and have at least a working knowledge of guitar playing, harmony, and melody, their listening is musically informed—comments are made about the quality of the band’s harmonizing and their renditions of songs. These remarks are made in hushed voices, and the talk is scattered between songs or during a break in the band’s set. As well as listening carefully to the live band, people I used to go out with would also carefully watch other people in the venue. Sighting a particular person might provoke the telling of a humorous tale: Va‘ine: See Mona over there? His sister Jackie is pregnant, and they aren’t sure who the father is. It might be Teariki or Nga, but they don’t know . . . Natasha: Imagine if it was Nga—he is so old! He would be tired before he pulled his pants down! [Screams of laughter follow and reenactments of Nga slowly, because of a bad back, pulling his pants down. When he finally gets his pants down, he realizes his erection is gone.]

Stories such as this one are told without the speaker or the listeners taking their eyes off the crowd. This kind of talk is indicative of the style of speech undertaken when outing—it is playful banter that is amusing and lively. As I became a regular outing person, my eye for detail became more sophisticated and I too became greatly interested in watching and observing other people, even people I did not personally know but had heard about from others. Like my friends, I began to recognize particular people’s motorbikes parked outside a nightclub and would then be able to pass this information on. I began to ask the question everyone asked when meeting someone at a nightclub: “Who did you come with?” I would monitor who sat with whom and how many dances a particular girl might have with a particular boy. The most striking aspect of outing is the amount people dance. Almost everybody dances—and there are always just as many males as females on the dance floor and just as many teenagers as those in the thirties and forties. A person who goes out with their friends and does not dance is considered a spoilsport and deliberately antisocial—“Why do they bother coming if they are just going to sit there?” Dancing with friends is considered part of being good company. The people who do not dance are usually too drunk to do so, but even they will attempt to get to their feet if a song they like is played. It is common for dancing not to begin until quite late in the evening. That is when most people say they

dancing after dark



have had enough to drink not to feel shame. Of course there are extroverts who will dance early and on their own, but the majority of people dance late and in groups. Island Music and Dance

At most nightclubs, a string band provides the music throughout the evening. During 1997 and 1998 at least eight string bands played regularly at nightclubs and also at Island Nights and community functions. Most of these bands made CDs of their songs, including original songs, covers of island songs (composed by Cook Islanders and other Pacific Islanders), and reworkings of papa‘ā songs. Such recordings were often produced locally in one of the three studios on Rarotonga and were sold throughout the Cook Islands, New Zealand, Australia, and French Polynesia. A number of these bands and solo artists undertook tours to those other countries to promote their music. As well as Cook Islands string bands touring abroad, string bands composed of New Zealand–based Cook Islanders toured the Cook Islands, and their recordings were popular purchases among the local audiences. In addition to the active live music scene on Rarotonga, a number of competitions were held that involved string bands and attracted large crowds. These events included an annual String Band Competition and related events such as the Composers Competition and the Song Quest. The genealogy of island music (also referred to as ‘imene tāmataora) is complex. Contemporary island music consists of songs sung by individuals or by groups and accompanied primarily by the ukulele and guitar. It is a genre of music that combines elements of indigenous musical genres and song texts with musical styles from the Polynesian region, particularly Hawai‘i and French Polynesia, and from Western popular music. Much Pacific Islands popular music uses Western tonal systems, melodic and chordal structures, and Western musical genres. Latin and pop are the most popular, and they are combined with Cook Islands Māori song texts and indigenous rhythmic, percussive, and vocal styles.5 That island music incorporates formal aspects of nonlocal popular music can be seen as another example of localization strategies adopted by Cook Islanders in relation to global cultural flows. As well as localizing global expressive forms, island music is concurrently positioned within a global frame. In addition to Western and Pacific popular music forms, references are also made to styles of the transnational black diaspora (Gilroy 1987). Many young Cook Islanders listen to reggae, hip-hop, and Latin music and adopt related dance, clothing, and hairstyles.



chapter five

While island music is a highly valued and meaningful local form to many Cook Islanders, it is also discussed as an example of cultural loss—a bastardization of traditional music forms. Those from the older generations suggest that the bars in town are overrun by American popular music and Hawaiian string band sounds. Those who compose music for and play in string bands strongly disagree with this view, putting forward the case that their music is traditional in that it draws on local musical forms, myths, and chants. That most of the songs are written in Māori or in the dialects of particular islands is seen to further encourage the promotion of Cook Islands culture. Cook Islands songs tend to be sentimental love songs, songs of loss that detail the death of a loved one or exile from one’s island home, and drinking songs.6 The latter category of songs often contains sexual puns or humorous teasing, frequently heightened by band members’ improvising upon these lyrics so that they refer to people who are at the nightclub. A song that was extremely popular at Rarotongan nightclubs in 1997 was “Tāmaka Reebok” (Reebok shoes). The song is about a man who buys a pair of Reebok trainers and shows them off to everyone. The owner of the shoes is mocked for thinking he is better than others simply because he could afford to purchase an expensive imported item. The topic of the unavailability and desirability of Western goods is a popular one in island music and is enmeshed in a larger ambivalent discourse in which signs of global capitalism are both admired and derided. The West is portrayed as a place of wealth and opportunity in contrast to the poverty and backwardness of Island life. Concomitantly, Cook Islanders present themselves as generous, easygoing, and friendly in opposition to greedy and individualistic Westerners. Between sets at the nightclubs, a DJ plays taped island music and songs that are popular at discos worldwide. In 1997 these included “Macarena” (Los del Rio), “You’re the One That I Want” (from Grease), “Brown Girl in the Ring” (Boney M), and “Locomotion” (Kylie Minogue). Both taped and live music is classified in terms of rhythm as slow, fast, and very fast (tamure) songs. Dancing style varies accordingly. Tamure is a Tahitian word for fast dancing undertaken between male and female dancers. On Rarotonga the word is used loosely to refer to songs that have an accelerated rhythm and to the call or chant that accompanies these songs: “Tamure, tamure, e tamure mure ra!” During tamure numbers, dancers move in local style. The main female movement is the lateral hip sway, and the predominant male movement is the scissors-like leg actions. These songs also act as a climax and conclusion to a set of songs that range from slow to fast to very fast.

dancing after dark



Fast songs are danced to in a mixture of local styles and Western styles, including African American, Latino, and hip-hop versions. Males and females will often swap from local styles to nonlocal styles at different stages of a song. Slow songs are interspersed between fast songs, and many people of all ages waltz to the slow ones. Again, the form of waltz is a combination of Western and local styles (known as Tahitian waltzing or Māori waltzing). When Māori waltzing, the couple dances not in the measured 3/4 rhythm of European waltzing but in a syncopated 6/8 waltz style, performed to a song in 4/4 time. When waltzing, individuals also may “break into” sections of Cook Islands dancing and then return to the waltz. I first heard a distinction made between dancing at nightclubs and other forms of dance at an Orama dance practice. Sonny was instructing the male dancers to “‘ura mataora [dance happy] like you do at the Banana Court.” To make his point, he demonstrated the same form of male dancing as that done at a dance performance—lateral leg movements with strong hand gestures. However, the style of dancing was quite different. He smiled cheekily and performed difficult movements with affected ease and casual indifference. At a later stage, Gina was assisting me with collating a list of terms for dance moves and styles. I asked her how she would categorize nightclub dancing. Her reply was illuminating: “Nightclub dancing is like dancing from the old days here, and what they are still doing in the outer islands. It’s fun dancing, ‘ura mataora, ‘ura ‘akameamea [flirting dance], ‘ura kaikava [drinking dance].” She got up and demonstrated a hip movement sequence that syncopated the side-to-side sway of formal dance with double-time flicks (patupatu) on one side, then the other, and a slight hook or half-circle hip movement. The hand and arm actions were also more relaxed, less graceful, and stronger. The three styles of dancing Gina mentioned are done at nightclubs, as well as in contexts that aim at effecting heightened enjoyment and fun, such as village or national events. ‘Ura mataora is used to evoke enjoyment, pleasure, teasing humor, and flirtation. At nightclubs, these moves are put together in a variety of formations amalgamating local, Tahitian, and Western styles. It is highly unusual for people at Rarotongan nightclubs to dance alone. Those who do are usually very drunk, and they usually dance toward or in conversation with the band so that, in a sense, they are not dancing alone. Dancing is very much a partnered or group activity. Nightclub dancing is primarily about dancing with or at people. Dance formations also display the salience of gendered motility and the role dance plays in interactions with the opposite sex. Women (and laelae), but never men, will often dance together in large groups at nightclubs. It is not uncommon for a female group to form a circle, with each girl doing a solo dance



chapter five

in the center for a time while the others clap along. As well as gendered reversals and mimicry, women may compete with each other over who has the fastest hip movements and the most skill. They may dance toward one another, as low as possible (bending their knees to get close to the ground), while still keeping up the fast hip action. The aim is to keep the hips smooth while moving from crouching to standing positions. The rowdy humor of single-sex group dancing contrasts markedly with the silent, serious style of dancing with a member of the opposite sex. Males often ask females to dance. The male leads the way onto the dance floor, and the couple usually dance for a set—a slow waltz, a fast song, and a tamure song. He then accompanies her back to her friends. The process appears formal and awkward. The couple rarely speak to one another while dancing or moving to and from the dance floor, regardless of the relationship between the two. Dancing with a member of the opposite sex involves the same dance movements, but without the humor (unless the couple are close platonic friends). In contrast to the obvious enjoyment in same-sex dancing, the pleasure experienced by a dancing couple is hard to gauge. There is no laughter and no talk. Younger females are demure, and younger males are shy. Both avert their eyes from their partner. Older couples may be less reserved, but the familiar ease that characterizes same-sex relations does not present itself. The evening ends with a final slow waltz. If a man is interested in a woman, only then will he speak. “Where do you stay?” is the question asked. It means both “Where do you live?” (which the man probably knows already), and it also means, “Is it okay for me to come over?” Alternatively, people may decide to keep drinking at someone’s house, a practice commonly referred to as “after hours.” There singing replaces dancing as the dominant form of interaction. Nightclub sociability involves drinking, dancing, and humorous exchanges that are sensual at a number of levels. Dancing at nightclubs with the opposite sex does sometimes lead to sexual relations, as questions asked during the last waltz suggest. This does not mean that dancing is only about sex. It is also about styles of interaction between people. Outing is about enjoying oneself with friends. Again, the primary way this is done is through dancing, which is about being sexy and also about evoking a range of more subtle sensual styles: feeling attractive, flirting, having fun, and being in good company. Nightclub dancing is also about the display of virtuosity—who can dance the lowest, who has the fastest hips. Most of all, it is about producing laughter and corporeal sociability and communion between friends.

dancing after dark



After Hours

After the last waltz, the bar is closed and the lights are turned on. The nightclub crowd congregates outside. People from other nightclubs drive slowly on their motorbikes, observing who is where and looking for friends. At this time—just after 2 a.m. on Saturdays and just after midnight on Sunday mornings, the streets seem as busy as during the day—with the sounds of bikes revving and people laughing and calling out to others, “Where’s the after hours?” “After hours” means a party at someone’s house. If no after hours can be found, people will cruise up and down the main street a few times and end up at the “pie cart,” a string of takeaway food caravans, get a “feed” (usually a burger or chicken and chips), and watch the passing traffic. Besides the drinking, after-hours parties are centered on live music. Drinkers sit outside, usually in a circle of makeshift benches and wooden crates. A guitar or ukulele always travels among those in the circle. The emphasis at these parties is entirely on singing. In between songs the silence is profound to a person like myself who is used to the amount and volume of talk increase in conjunction with drinking. A whole range of island music is played: bawdy drinking songs, sentimental favorites, and popular hits. Only rarely do people get up and dance, but some will “mark out” hand gestures as they sing. This is the ideal form of after hours. As I noted at the beginning of the chapter, parties are evaluated by the amount of singing versus amount of pekapeka (trouble). The best parties are those that have a lot of singing and playing. Trouble, however, occurs quite regularly. It will often start with talk, such as a person making comments about someone else sitting in the circle.7 More often than not, the person who is causing the trouble will talk about an injustice done to him or her in the past. The talk may start indirectly, as in this instance of trouble between a brother and a sister: Look at him. He thinks he is great on the guitar. [A few minutes later:] Hey, brother, you’re too good on the guitar. [A little later and more pointedly:] You have enough money to go drinking but when me, your only sister, asked you for money to pay my bills, you had no time for me.

When such talk begins, it is either ignored or the talker is admonished with “Māniania!” (Noisy!) or “Imene” (Sing). If the talker persists, he or she is either escorted away or a verbal and/or physical argument erupts. The argument usually



chapter five

starts between the talker and the person to whom the talker’s comments were directed. However, partners may step into a fight between siblings, or a brother may feel it is appropriate to chastise a sister fighting with her partner. Trouble occurs across many relationships, most often between boyfriends and girlfriends (this is another reason why people say they prefer to go out without their partner). Arguments also occur among family members (particularly siblings) and less commonly between friends. It is also common for a girlfriend to “give a hiding” to a girl who has been having sexual relations with the former’s boyfriend. In the opposite scenario—when a girl has been unfaithful to her partner—she is more likely to be the one to receive the beating.8 At parties, verbal and physical arguments typically involve some kind of denouncement of a relationship. The most common (and effective) denouncement among family members is to declare, for example: “You are not my brother.” It took me a long while to apprehend that the harmonious singing party was an ideal. More often than not, it was marred by some kind of conflict. At first I tended to view trouble as an aberration, but a number of things made me reconsider the status of trouble. The first and most obvious factor was the frequency with which fights or verbal arguments occurred. Of course, not every party produced a fight, and there were people who would drink together and never fight. Yet even those people would describe their drinking partners in relation to trouble: “I drink up at Moe’s house with Nga and them every Saturday. They are good to drink with because we just sing. There’s no trouble.” The second factor that changed my opinion about fighting as deviance from party norms was the knowledge that people had about fighting techniques. Females as well as males had detailed expertise. This struck me one evening after dance practice when a group of dancers and I were sitting around chatting before going home. One started telling the story of a fight that occurred between two girls on the previous Saturday night. The storyteller went into great detail about the fight itself, along the lines of “. . . and then Tara punched Rose, and Rose grabbed Tara’s hair and pulled her to the ground.” This comment then led to discussion of the difficulties long hair can cause when fighting: “That’s why, if you think you are going to get into a fight, you have to watch your hair—keep it tied up, or keep it away from them. Otherwise they can get it around your throat and strangle you.” The girl who imparted this advice had, to my knowledge, never been in a fight, but she, like every other girl on Rarotonga, knew how to fight. Physical arguments were potentially part of the territory of interpersonal relationships, and knowing how to fight is an important survival strategy.

dancing after dark



The final factor that caused me to reconsider trouble as transgressive was the way it was discussed in the following days. Stories about physical fights were not considered entirely shocking but instead were treated as fascinating and amusing pieces of information. The fight discussed above occurred at a party I attended, and during the next week I was called upon to give my opinion of what had happened. People were immensely interested in the details of the fight, and discussions of motivation were lengthy. The inventory of the girls’ scratches, bruises, and torn clothes were considered amusing. The causes of the fight were common knowledge to everyone with whom I spoke. One girl had gone out with a man three years earlier, and the man was now the other girl’s boyfriend (he was not at the party). People assumed that the old girlfriend had provoked the new girlfriend, causing her to start a fight. “Good job” was the most common evaluation of the incident, meaning that the old girlfriend deserved what she got. In sum, although trouble was not considered ideal to a good night out, trouble was also considered inevitable and in some cases understandable and justifiable. Trouble was often a prominent feature of a night. Even if it did not occur, there was always awareness of the potential for trouble to erupt. Trouble and fun are two extremes of outing behavior, practices, and sentiments. Talking, fighting, and crying are conceptualized as adversarial outing behavior, and singing and dancing as genial practices. Both, however, are expressive styles that are considered appropriate to outing. During drinking sessions, talk is seen as the main cause of trouble. Naturally, not all forms of talk are considered troublesome; joking and talk about happy subjects are welcome additions to a night out. Trouble-talk, talk that is negative or goading, is the sort that has the potential to lead to physical and verbal brawls. Some people are more inclined to trouble-talk than others. Those who consistently engage in troublesome talk are not considered good to drink with; they are called pana‘akari, or “crazy drunk,” and attempts are made to avoid them. It is acknowledged that all drinkers have the potential to get crazy drunk, and those who do so only sporadically are excused, with the alcohol rather than the person being blamed for causing the craziness. The idea that alcohol consumption may lead to crazy emotions such as anger and sadness is commonly held. “It all comes out when they drink” is often the accompanying commentary to a story about a drunken incident. This phrase is suggestive in that it points to the need to maintain composure and harmonious relations in public life in small communities. It does not mean that people are revealing sentiments that are more real or expressive of inner thoughts than public emotional comportment. Individuals who go



chapter five

outing do engage in behavior they would not practice in other contexts, but this behavior is still shaped by social norms about context-appropriate behavior. The comment “It all comes out when they drink” also suggests that the expression of sadness, hostility, or anger is to a certain extent appropriate in drinking contexts— it is one type of drinking style. However, saying that the expression of sentiments that cause conflict or sadness is acceptable is not the same as saying it is considered desirable behavior. There is a certain amount of shame involved in starting trouble. People who cause fights or arguments may stop drinking for a while and will be more reserved in public contexts. The critical role that music and singing play in alleviating troublesome drinking situations deserves emphasis. Both music and singing are seen as a salve to trouble. Singing stops talk, particularly trouble talk, and has the potential to make people happy (tāmataora). Songs sung at after hours are ones that express sentiments ranging from tragic loss to deep attachment to people and places—emotions of happiness, pride, love, loss, betrayal, despair. In a sense, these songs set the tone for the expression of intimate sentiments. Through music these sentiments are expressed in unifying rather than disruptive ways. The following incident is the clearest articulation of music’s soothing properties that I encountered. After the Tupapa Centre had closed one Saturday night, a group of eight females sat in a circle at the front of Mamia’s car. Mamia took her ukulele and a guitar out of the car, and she and another woman began to play. The rest of the group sang. During a lull in the singing, a heated discussion began between two women. Piti, the woman I was sitting next to, turned to me and said: “They should stop talking and start singing. They should just pick up the ukulele and sing.” She then turned back to the circle and joined the other women in urging the women to “‘imene, ‘imene” (sing, sing). The Coconut Wireless

At another Monday morning tea, a Ministry of Cultural Development staff member remarked, “I saw you at Metua’s on Saturday night. You were enjoying yourself.” I was surprised. This man was prominent in his village’s Christian youth group and did not go out to nightclubs or drink alcohol. I asked him what he was doing there, and he said, “I was just watching from the outside.” Later that day I asked Va‘ine about this, and she said that many people do the same. Metua’s was especially good for people watching, as part of the fence was made from cyclone wire and therefore could be seen through: “They watch from outside. Some come

dancing after dark



inside and sit around the back in the dark. They are youth club people who don’t drink but go out and watch. They report at their meetings, ‘So-and-so was drunk on Saturday night.’ I feel torn between having a good time and being in the youth group. Sometimes I feel bad because I am not a good example in the group, but I like outing.” I was shocked and told Va‘ine I could not believe that they were spying. She was quick to correct me: “It isn’t spying, just watching.” Armed with this knowledge, I couldn’t believe I had missed the watchers previously. From that point on, I began to notice how people I went out with always knew who was watching, and they acted accordingly. On another Saturday night at Metua’s, many months later, when Va‘ine said to me, “People from my youth group are here,” I knew this meant that we were going to move further into the shadows at the back of the room. The types of dancing, drinking, communality, and conflict that occur when outing are governed by rules that are different from those guiding daytime behavior. At the same time, there is a related criterion of judgment that is applied to outing and everyday practices. Gossip—or the coconut wireless, as it is called—is a vehicle for circulating evaluations of people’s behavior at nightclubs, particularly the behavior of young women. People who go outing display a keen awareness of being observed by others. Thus, outing is a different (but related) mode of selfpresentation and social engagement from that presented during the daytime. Gossip, of the sort we undertook every Monday morning at the Ministry of Cultural Development, was a constant reminder, particularly to young women, of the perils of outing. Many women I knew would periodically say that they were going to curb their going out because they were concerned about what other people thought. Other people included members of groups these women participated in such as church, sport and dance groups, and the village at large. A young woman with whom I regularly went out pointed this out to me one evening: “You know, a lot of girls from my village have never been inside a bar. They play netball and go to church, and that is it. I have to be careful that people in my village don’t think I am going out too much. You try to walk a straight line, and they are just waiting for you to step out.” This surveillance, which surprised me, was treated by many as inevitable. What Cook Islanders found far more shocking was people behaving in ways that were not context appropriate and then getting caught—for instance, getting caught coming home from a boy’s house early in the morning or missing church after a big night out. Being seen was considered stupid and shocking, not the underlying act itself. This did not mean that people felt no guilt or remorse for actions that remained undiscovered, but rather that those emotions were amplified



chapter five

by public discovery. Being seen to act in ways that fulfilled familial and other community responsibilities, while also attending to individual needs behind the scenes, was the key to successful negotiations of self-image and relations with others. On the surface, outing presents a number of similarities to Western nightclubbing contexts that involve drinking, dancing, and music. Outing style is also crucially informed by local and gendered understandings of individual and community accountability. Although outing practices are neither sanctioned nor considered culture by many Cook Islanders, they clearly display distinctive expressive elements creatively put together by Cook Islands youth and other not-so-young members of the outing population. What is important is that they demonstrate a deep, adventurous, and exploratory engagement with local expressive forms (encompassing “outside” practices and aesthetics) despite, and perhaps also because of, the views of more conservative members of the community.

chapter six Over the Reef Da n ce i n a Time o f Tra n si ti on

Three-quarters of the total Cook Islands population now live abroad, principally in New Zealand and Australia. Although there has been a steady stream of emigration since the 1950s, over half the working population lost their jobs after economic reforms were introduced in 1996, and as a consequence out-migration increased dramatically. When I asked people about their occupations during this post-1996 period, many responded with ironic humor, “I am in transition” referring both to their unemployment and to the Transition Project, which was funded by the New Zealand Overseas Development Assistance (NZODA, now New Zealand International Aid and Development Agency, or NZAID) and offered “surplus” public servants three months’ redundancy pay and “upskilling” opportunities. The phrase “in transition” was also used to refer to the uncertain fate of the nation as a whole. Jokes like “The whole island is in transition—where are we going to?” were frequently heard. For many, transition entailed literal movement as, over the next ten years, a third of the islands’ population left to pursue economic opportunities overseas.



chapter six

The Cook Islands reforms had much in common with neoliberal structural adjustment programs aimed at encouraging free market principles and implemented by international financial institutions worldwide. At the recommendation of the Asian Development Bank (ADB) and NZODA, international aid to the Cook Islands was suspended until the government adopted a program that included public sector reform, sale of government assets, and the cessation of government-funded social services. These reforms precipitated much discussion in the newspaper and on the radio and television about the benefits and disadvantages of privatization. Many public commentators supported the development of private enterprise (especially in tourism and related service sectors such as fishing and farming) and encouraged an end to the government’s “propping up” employment with a large, and what was considered by some Cook Islanders to be a largely inefficient, public service sector. Meanwhile, just as many other people expressed concern that private development would bypass the majority of locals who lacked the capital to benefit from, or even to engage in, the private sector. In less public arenas, individuals discussed how public sector employment had enabled them to do their “other work,” meaning community work. Prior to the reforms, paid leave was given to public servants to travel with their dance groups for tourist promotion, to sports groups to travel for competitions overseas, and to church groups for trips abroad. Extended paid leave was also given to organize and provide food for funerals of family and village members, to undertake village maintenance projects such as the construction of village buildings or repainting the church, and to attend to sick kin. The reduction of the public service by half, the increased work and accountability for remaining employees, and the end of paid leave for community projects were viewed as a huge shift in the organization of paid and community work. From this perspective, economic restructuring also has implications for the ways in which people construct their social identities. Apprehension about an increase in possessive individualism and commodification, understood as “copycatting” papa‘ā ways at the expense of community sustenance, was amplified post1996 and underlay all aspects of Cook Islands social life. In relation to expressive practices, debate about the benefits of privatization versus the importance of state sponsorship, modernity versus tradition, and inauthentic versus authentic cultural forms and practices framed artistic production, as it did broader concerns about Cook Islands values and collective identity. Cook Islands expressive forms, and the debates surrounding them, demonstrate that globalization produces complex identifications that are actively shaped through interaction with local economic, social, and cultural practices.

dance in a time of transition



Throughout this book I have stressed that expressive forms both reflect and shape Cook Islander identity politics. I have also argued that individual and collective identities are multifaceted; the various components—such as gender, sexuality, race, class, and rank—assume primacy according to situational context. Perceived threats to Cook Islands values and identity as a result of globalization bring questions of community and cultural maintenance to the fore, while issues of gender and sexuality are backgrounded.1 This concluding chapter overlays the largely enforced movement of Cook Islanders after 1996 with an analysis of aesthetic motility. Expressive forms have a pivotal role in the movement of people, goods, and sentiments between Cook Islands communities at home and abroad. Relationships between Cook Islanders are maintained by frequent visits, phone calls, and letters to and from home. Family groups organize reunions and funerals to attend at home and overseas. Dance, music, and song, the components of tāmataora, infuse family functions, religious events, parties, and nightclubbing undertaken when family and friends are united. Village and island church groups, as well as sports and dance groups, regularly travel to and from the Cooks, New Zealand, and Australia.2 This chapter explores what the diaspora means for those residing in the islands.3 In doing so, I build on Epeli Hau‘ofa’s insights (1994, 157) that relationships across the Pacific diaspora are more complex than suggested by orthodox economic models, which characterize Islander economies as being based on the oneway flow of goods and money from abroad to home. This formulation neglects the importance of reciprocity and interdependence in exchange relations across the diaspora.4 What Islanders at home may lack in money, they make up for by the maintenance of homelands and through gifts of locally produced food, goods, and expressive forms. Furthermore, the connection between expressive forms, affect, and economics is highly significant to the Cook Islands diaspora. This nexus points to an alternative economic system (cf. Hau‘ofa 1994; Besnier 1995) in which global economic imperatives are embedded within local forms of social exchange, of which affect and expressive forms are integral components. My Precious One

In February 1998, on the atoll of Pokerekere, Tongareva, a ceremony was held for a CICC pastor who was leaving the island. The pastor had been born on Tongareva and had spent his teenage years there. After spending some time in Sydney, he then trained to become a pastor on Rarotonga. He was now a pastor for the



chapter six

CICC church in a village on Rarotonga and had returned to Tongareva to visit his family after an absence of three years. The ceremony is called puroku (presentation). It is held to bid farewell to important visitors such as government ministers and religious leaders. During a puroku, gifts are presented to the persons leaving. These gifts are objects that are made on the island—tīvaevae (appliquéd bedcovers, only for very important guests), mats, shell necklaces, brooms, and hats—and are presented to the accompaniment of group song and movement. They are wrapped around a departing person (as in the case of tīvaevae and mats) or placed on a person’s head, around their neck, or in their hand. When a puroku, an embodied display of gifts, is held for a Tongarevan, the physical wrapping of members of the community is to remind people of their home and family. As one person told me, it says, “You belong to us.”5 The puroku for the pastor was held during the middle of a tropical storm. Pokerekere is a tiny atoll (approximately 100 by 500 meters), with a population of only one hundred. As one walked along the only road to the church hall for the ceremony, it was possible to see the lagoon on one side and the sea on the other. The storm emphasized both the fragility and the tenacity of the tiny community. Rain pelted down, washing away the road; palm trees bent in half, looking as if they might destroy buildings; waves from both the sea and the lagoon smashed against the edges of the atoll and then seeped through most houses and buildings. The floor of the church hall was wet, as were all the people inside. In contrast to other gatherings I attended on Pokerekere, which were characterized by jovial interaction, the people in the hall seemed to avoid eye contact and spoke in somber tones. Before the puroku, there was a feast to which all the local families from the CICC congregation had contributed. A long table was laid out with food, and the visitors to the island were asked to sit and eat. This included the pastor, myself, and a group of five elderly Tongarevan men and women. Some of the old people were returning to New Zealand, and others were going there for medical treatment. As we ate, the local residents stood around us and sang. They sang throughout the meal, songs that seemed incredibly sad and too loud. The atmosphere in the room was tense. An elderly woman who was eating started to cry, and she stood up from her seat, raised her arms in the air, and moved in time to the song. In response some of the singers also raised their arms, and they cried. Other seated guests joined the old woman standing and swaying, and even though I hardly knew any of the people, I found myself getting teary. After the meal, the singing stopped, and the table was cleaned and put away. A bench was placed at one end of the room, and the pastor was urged to sit on it.

dance in a time of transition



The rest of the congregation, including those going overseas, gathered at the opposite end of the room. There was silence for a long time, which was finally broken by an elderly lady beginning to sing a song called “Takakuravene” (My precious one), which is about a child being born and cherished by its people, its land, and its ancestors: Hanau mai ana paha koe

You are born

I te tumu matangi o Vaiore

At the base wind of Vaiore [an islet]

Ka manuku to ora tāku kura nei

The life force of my precious one is let loose

E runga paha koe tāku henua

You are on your land

Siki tia tāku tama ki runga te ora e Lift my child onto life ‘Aue te mata o te kakahi

Alas the cherished object

Poipoi tāku kura nei

Rock my cherished one

Porapora tāku kura nei

Rock my cherished one

Te rave o te tahunga e

The work of the expert

Tuketuke te ravea te tahanga e

Has so many aspects [He will guard the child]

The song was repeated a number of times. Each repetition increased in volume as the congregation began to slowly advance toward the seated pastor. In unison they swayed, shell necklaces draped along arms, hands gesturing gentle rocking motions, and tears pouring down their faces. The pastor kept his head down for the whole ceremony, attempting to control his deep emotion. As the group came near to him, they individually approached him, tenderly kissed him on the cheeks and placed the shell necklaces over his head. The gifts presented to the pastor were “alive with feeling” (Mauss [1954] 1988, 22). By the time each person had presented the necklaces, the top half of the pastor’s body was covered; he could barely move and appeared weighed down by both the gifts and the emotions presented. The local pastor then placed a hat on his bent head and a broom beside him. The puroku was a very emotional display, and the strength of feeling was overwhelming. As one node in the circulation of sentiments and gestures, and goods and money, among Cook Islands communities, it illustrates a theme running through the book—namely, that much expressive culture mediates exchange. In this case, dance, music, and song form an interactive economy that generates emotions and gifts, such as money and animate preexisting lines of connection and affiliation—familial relationships, status relationships, and island identification. After speeches by pastors, the congregation went back into the storm. I walked back to my accommodation with a few women who were discussing the event,



chapter six

and one observed, “He got so many ‘ei.” Another woman said, “Yes, he could go back and sell them in Rarotonga,” and another person remarked, “He could make hundreds of dollars out of us.” These remarks perplexed me. They sat awkwardly with the genuine and concentrated feelings that were presented during the puroku. How could such extreme emotions be suddenly transformed into musings about money? How could the women even entertain the idea that gifts given with so much love could ever be sold? Were they questioning the pastor’s integrity? It seemed unlikely that the pastor would sell the ‘ei, as most people kept them in their houses draped over pictures hanging on walls as decoration, or they kept them in bowls and reused them to give to friends and family as farewell tokens. For a full understanding of the contradictions in the puroku and the ‘ei discussion, I need to detail other conversations and incidents that give clues to its significance. Together they make sense and express something of the affective materiality of loss (and desire to maintain) Cook Islands communities in the contemporary era. On Tongareva, many women weave hats, mats, and baskets out of rito (the inner leaves of coconut palms). These are sold to businesspeople on the island, who in turn send them to Rarotonga. Rito objects are a specialty of the northerngroup atolls and are in high demand for Cook Islanders in the southern islands for themselves and to sell to tourists. The woman I stayed with told me that for the Christmas period most women who belong to the CICC make six rito hats, often with pearl shell inlays. They wear one new hat on each of the six important church days over Christmas—Christmas Eve, Christmas day (two services), New Year’s Eve, New Year’s Day and White Sunday (the close of pure epetoma—prayer month). “We all spend a lot of time and effort on our hats. We also spend a lot of time looking at other women’s hats, how nice they are, what kind of weave they do. I am sure the pastor wouldn’t like it if he knew!” I asked her if she could show me some of her hats, and she replied: “Oh no! We sell them all to Rarotonga after we have worn them on those days.” I imagined these women, spending hours of work on having nice new hats to conspicuously display at Christmastime, and the transience of their pleasure brought about by economic necessity. A male composer told me that young men on Tongareva took a lot of pride in composing songs and getting them recorded (usually by overseas Tongarevans). A few years ago one popular Rarotongan singer (who lives and works in Tahiti) recorded a Tongarevan song and did not credit him as the composer. “She made lots of money on that record,” the composer said. The composer wrote to the singer but never received a reply. So now he does not try to record his songs: “That is why I don’t really take my songs out. They are just played around the island.” His

dance in a time of transition



remarks suggested that songs were part of a global circuit, one that had removed this composer’s authorship. These discussions demonstrate a sense of the fragility in cultural ownership felt by some Tongarevans. The examples I have used all refer to Tongarevan objects— shell necklaces, rito hats, and songs—but the comments that accompany these objects encompass other more ephemeral aspects of Tongarevan culture, such as feelings of attachment, ownership, pride, belonging, and love. The loss and threats to this culture are palpable; money is needed to subsist, and out-migration is a consequence of this. Young people leave to get an education overseas and take up paid work, while older people go to New Zealand for medical reasons, as Cook Islanders are entitled to unemployment benefits and an old-age pension in New Zealand but not in the Cooks group. Tongarevan residents, like those of other outer islands, aim to stem the flow of migration away from their island. A relatively large-scale commercial pearl industry, set up in the 1990s, provides Tongarevans with some livelihood, and unlike many of the other outer islands, Tongareva seems to have more residents in the twenty- to fifty-year-old age bracket. Many of them have returned from abroad to work in the pearl farming industry, but the austere lifestyle (no television, radio, organized sports, or alcohol) does not always appeal to those who have spent time elsewhere.6 The rigorous nature of pearl farming left little time for other activities. Although some people I spoke to on Tongareva valued their cultural production and were concerned about maintaining it, many people expressed the opinion that “culture” was a frivolous, luxurious activity, done by those who did not need to worry about basic survival. The government representative of Tongareva told me, “It is useless, you coming here to find out about dancing. You should learn how to dive.” Another woman commented, “If you want to see culture, go to New Zealand. They are always making culture, sewing ‘ei and that.” But on another occasion I overheard the same woman saying, “‘Aue i te culture o te henua (Oh! The culture of this island). We used to have sport and dance. Now we have the pearl.” She and her brother have both composed songs pleading for those abroad not to forget their people, traditions, and customs and to return to their homeland one day. The puroku and the matter of selling ‘ei need to be understood within the context of the repercussions of the 1996 reforms and the impact of consumer capitalism generally. I believe these women were entertaining the notion that precious objects and precious emotions, which were produced on their island for their loved ones, could mean different things once they left their home. Rather than reminding Tongarevans abroad that “you belong to us” (and of the reciprocity and



chapter six

obligation this statement entails), their gifts could be transformed into money for individual profit. The sadness expressed at the puroku perhaps enacted not only grief at the loss of members of a small community but also the possibility that they would not return the same, or even at all. Coming Home

The Christmas and New Year period sees a huge expansion in the population of the islands, as it is a time when many Cook Islanders return home for a period of one to two months. This influx includes young people who spend the majority of the year studying and working abroad. Others are expatriate Cook Islanders who now permanently reside overseas. Months before their trip home these returnees have shipped crates of goods—clothes, food, household, and farming appliances—to distribute to relatives once they arrive. On islands where little agricultural production takes place, vegetables are planted to coincide with the arrival of family from abroad. On Rarotonga a popular pastime is visiting the airport to pick up family but also to see who is back on the island. Families postpone important life-stage events such as twenty-first birthday celebrations, headstone unveilings, and weddings until this Christmas period so that as many extended family members as possible can attend. Aside from family-based celebrations, many of the islands, villages on islands, and various community organizations hold feasts and have dance, sport, and religious play competitions. One such event, called the Koni Raoni, is held on Aitutaki each December 26 and New Year’s Day.7 On December 26, 1996, Mamia, her husband, her son, and I were staying with her brother’s family on Aitutaki in the village of Amuri. The house was crowded, as another of Mamia’s siblings and his family was visiting from New Zealand. The day began very early, preparing food, setting up trestle tables for the upcoming feast, plaiting young girls’ hair, and ironing clothes for the morning church service. At nine we walked to church. The glare from the pounding sun intensified the whiteness of people’s clothes, the sandy road, and the limestone buildings. One isn’t supposed to wear flowers to church, but Mamia and her sister Rose each picked one on the way and put it behind her ear. The main component of the church ceremony was a hymn competition in which each village group sang a newly composed hymn. As a sign of appreciation, the other groups approached the altar and put coins into a collection bowl. It didn’t seem like a church service, because there was lots of laughing, joking, and talking. Mamia’s father, Papa Tunui, was the speaker of his village, Ureia. He announced their song by saying,

dance in a time of transition



“We should win this competition because we have so many important people in our group—the opposition leader’s wife, Mrs. Matapo, and Jean Tuara, the CEO for Manihiki. We also have my daughter from my second marriage. I bet you all didn’t know I was going around with a Russian once.” This last statement, which referred to me, produced peals of laughter. One group that sang only had seven very old people in it. They announced themselves as the “Magnificent Seven.” One of the women singing with them was ninety-eight years old and blind; she sang her heart out and nearly fell over. There were tears in everyone’s eyes after that. When church finished, people went home and changed into casual clothes; shorts, long skirts, and T-shirts. Women put flowers in their hats and tied pāreu around their hips to dance. Everyone waited for the sound of drums that announces the beginning of the Koni Raoni. The term “Koni Raoni” means “dance round”; each year two of the six villages dance around the island, one on December 26, the other on January 1. On each occasion they travel to the other five villages in trucks and motorbikes, led by a pickup truck carrying drummers who signal their arrival. The traveling village performs at each village hall or sports field on the island, and it takes about six hours to complete all the performances. The performing village practices its new songs and choreography for weeks beforehand. The members tie-dye T-shirts and pāreu to make matching uniforms of bright blue, yellow, and green. Hats are made out of woven palm fronds, and ‘ei out of colorful sweets sewn together on a length of string. Their performance begins with a religious song and the speaker of the village welcoming the visiting village. Then the dancing starts. The visiting village performs a range of popular Cook Islands songs, old favorites, and drum dances. The dancing is partially choreographed and incorporates the tārekareka style described in earlier chapters. The performing villagers dance in lines of alternating boys and girls, and men and women. As the momentum gathers, members of the host village dance in front of the performing village, and members of the performing village dance out of their group to join the hosts. The hosts in turn show their appreciation by waving money in the air and throwing it into a collection bucket at the end of each set of dancing. Each set is about four to five songs, the end of which is signaled by the group leader blowing a whistle, which means it is time to donate money, and also time for the performing villagers to get back to their lines. After the show on this occasion, the performers ate and drank at houses in the host village until the truck of drummers came past, moving everyone on to the next village. Money is central to the workings of the Koni Raoni. Some people say the Koni Raoni was started by the Sports Association in the 1920s. Others say that the



chapter six

Koni Raoni is a “lend and loan business,” a way of fund-raising for village community projects. So that each village benefits equally, the role of the performing village rotates each year, which means each village performs every three years. The Koni Raoni is also a form of competitive exchange. Each village attempts to give more than the performing village gave them the last time. Because villages tried to outdo the others with generosity, donations started getting out of hand and a limit of $2,000 per village was imposed. However, this limit is often ignored. The total funds raised for the December 26, 1996, Koni Raoni amounted to $14,000 and included donations from village and community groups, families, and individuals who dance. To say that the Koni Raoni, dancing, drinking, donating money, and eating are only—or even fundamentally—about raising funds is to commit a kind of vulgar materialism. Many people who participate in the Koni Raoni talk about it as a time of intense sociability that includes sharing food, drink, laughter, gossip, and dancing as well as money. During the Koni Raoni, exchange of money facilitates the exchange of dancing. The amount of donations and number of people dancing determine the length of the performance. As part of a host group, it would be highly inappropriate to dance without throwing some money in the bowl. In fact, it would be unthinkable. After a bracket of four to five items, the host village leader will make announcements: “One hundred dollars from the So-and-so family” and “Five hundred dollars for the Melbourne community.” The amounts are noted by the performing village’s accountant.8 The more money the host village gives, the longer the dance and the more enjoyment these actions provide. The equation, money for entertainment, makes sense to Cook Islanders. People constantly complain about the number of raffle tickets they feel obligated to buy: “Even if it breaks your balance, you still have to give.” Complaints are also made about changes in styles of fund-raising: “It used to be that you got something for your money; there would be dinner dances to raise funds, or you get a plate of food or a show. Now you just get a piece of paper.” In other words, raffle tickets—a piece of paper—are not considered a satisfactory return for money outlaid. There is an expectation that one should receive something immediately in return. The most common form of return, as the above quote suggests, is food and entertainment. While many people criticize raffles as a form of fund-raising, no one complains about having to give money for dance performances. Dancing is not only about entertainment; it is also about the maintenance of particular community groups. And in the contemporary era this maintenance requires money. On numerous occasions people told me that “dance is about raising

dance in a time of transition



Figure 10 The Koni Raoni, 1997, Aitutaki. Photograph by the author.

funds.” As discussed in chapter 2, fund-raising events involve dancing or singing; audience members get up and dance toward the performers, waving money above their heads. They then place the money in the contribution bowl placed prominently in front of the performers, or they put the money in a particular performer’s costume. Rather than viewing “dancing money” as a social injunction, the giving of money is understood as an expression of heartfelt emotions. Successful fundraising, then, involves performers “dancing from the heart,” dancing in ways that express their pleasure, enjoyment, and humor in order to elicit audience participation. Dancing from the heart, as we have seen throughout this book, is not simply embodied in the skill of particular dancers but rather is a practice of collective coconstruction of tāmataora by audience and performers, involving the reciprocal exchange of movements, pleasurable sentiments, and often money. Put differently, sensations of tāmataora not only reflect individual emotional states but also are embedded in the exchange practices that generate the economic, political, affective, and aesthetic dimensions of notions of community belonging. The Koni Raoni was one of the most overtly happy events I saw in the Cook Islands. It is most obviously a dance form through which community is enacted. People dance around the island and in the process gather up other people, money, and food. The drumming is loud, the dancing infectious, and people laugh, eat, and drink a lot. It contrasts dramatically with the rest of the year, as it is one of the few events that brings the whole island together. While Aitutaki is a small island with a population of around 2,000 people, socializing and general movement are primarily limited to village of residence. For most of the year people stay in their village and stay home and rarely go “all the way to the other side,” which is five



chapter six

minutes on a motorbike. The Koni Raoni also has international dimensions. The number of Aitutakians who return from islands within and nations beyond the Cook Islands to participate in the Koni Raoni illustrates a point Epeli Hau‘ofa has made about migration as enlargement as well as loss (1994, 155). Each year the island of Aitutaki expands with people returning home. They undertake expansive gestures during the Koni Raoni, and they return to their lives abroad satiated with home. During the Koni Raoni, the exchange of dancing and money contributes to the maintenance and reproduction of the community and materializes deep attachment to kin and to home islands. The diligence with which Cook Islanders maintain material and affective relationships across vast geographical distances is based on reciprocal exchange between those at home and those abroad. What is circulated is not only goods and money but expressive forms, such as dance and song, and the sentiments these forms both reference and engender.9 However, events like the puroku in Tongareva, detailed at the beginning of the chapter, suggest that along with preservation of relationships across distance, the contemporary Cook Islands diaspora is suffused by longing for home and a palpable sense of lack and loss experienced in the face of loved ones leaving home. The expressive practices displayed during the Koni Raoni, which is full of tāmataora and tārekareka—pleasure, joy, dancing and singing—contrasts with the puroku ceremony, which embodies the intense grief and pain love can cause. p

p

p

Throughout this book, I have explored contemporary Cook Islands expressive practices and the ways in which they are affectively and materially embedded in the economic and political forces that shape Cook Islands globalization. From the outset, I was interested in how dancing, music, drumming, and song are focal points in the negotiation of Cook Islands modernity when formulating local, national, gender, and global identities. At the same time, dancing for many Cook Islanders is crucial to shaping more intimate identifications such as interpersonal relationships and individual aspirations and desires. In emphasizing the active role of expressive practices in generating these various identities, I have aimed to show why these practices cannot be considered passive reflections of what has been considered in much academic discourse to be more significant and serious realms of social life. Expressive forms critically articulate with various political, religious, and economic agendas in irreducible ways.

dance in a time of transition



Across pre-European, missionary, colonial, and postcolonial eras, dance practices have been intertwined with specific social and historical forces. One crucial aspect of this history is that expressive practices are a significant arena for negotiating outsiders and external cultural flows and forces. During the missionary and colonial periods, expressive practices point to moments of resistance and compliance, and experimentation with, and oppression by, ideas and practices imposed by outsiders. These practices act as a commentary on the unequal social relations embedded in cross-cultural encounters. In contemporary times, dance and dancers are similarly foregrounded in the tourist industry and in contests such as beauty pageants that present the Cook Islands nation to the region and beyond. As well as formulating relationships between Cook Islanders and outsiders, dance is central to the dynamic relationships between Cook Islands communities. The mobilization of culture throughout the Cook Islands’ postindependence history has been not an appendage to this history but a central element of the Cook Islands’ symbolic and material nation-making projects. Gender, especially femininity, has been central to my exploration of Cook Islands expressive practices in the contemporary era. Dance is a vehicle through which notions of gender are produced, circulated, affirmed, and contested. The categories of modernity and tradition are fundamentally gendered, and ideas about femininity, particularly female sexuality, are used to express the ambivalence surrounding these concepts. Cook Islands femininity is further represented as the paragon of both traditional and moral (Christian) ideals. I have also stressed that the ways in which women negotiate these normative ideals through their dance practice and their gendered comportment clearly demonstrate the creative play between agency and constraint in social life. Finally, my aim has also been to chronicle how contemporary dance practices are fundamentally shaped by competing ideas about the Cook Islands past. Debates about precolonial traditions, missionization, and colonialism pervade discussions concerning contemporary dance and expressive culture. These debates about the past are also about visions of the Cook Islands future. As such, expressive forms convey anxieties about globalization expressed as cultural homogenization and bastardization, Westernization, and commodification. These anxieties are also raised in generational contests about the nature of modernity and tradition and, ultimately, ownership of cultural production. Cook Islands dance practices demonstrate the creative, mobile, and malleable ways Cook Islanders respond to and create global flows. Specific dance events, such as performances for tourists, beauty pageants, and disco dancing, which combine



chapter six

local and nonlocal expressive forms, are forceful illustrations of what Appadurai (2001, 3) has called “globalization from below.” They demonstrate not only how global forces were incorporated into local practices but also how the local is also annexed to the global. This expanded and expansive conceptualization of locality demonstrates how Cook Islands social life is produced through overlapping local, regional, and transnational forces. The contemporary world, Appadurai (1996, 32) contends, is a “complex, overlapping, disjunctive order” caught up in a politics of sameness and difference. The postcolonial disregard for borders has meant that borders, issues of place, displacement, identity, and authenticity are increasingly debated in contemporary cultural criticism and in the lives of people. Dance and other expressive practices play a crucial role in these postcolonial identity politics. Through expressive forms, Cook Islanders respond with resilience and humor to these complex and compelling issues. In the contemporary moment, Cook Islands dance is a locus of contestation. It is a generative process that occupies the hearts, minds, and bodies of many. Through dancing, and the discourse surrounding it, people enter into a dialogue about ways of being Cook Islanders. Dancing is an important modality through which debates about the past and the present, notions of us and them, and the categories of men and women are articulated and explored.

Epilogue

One day in conversation with Tepoave Raitia, a composer and choreographer who worked at the Ministry of Cultural Development, he told me about the musical he had written and directed called Katikatia: The Legend in Music. It is based on a legend about an old woman, Katikatia, who lives in the mountains on Rarotonga. If children strayed from their villages she would lure them into her cave and kill them. One day Ema, the favorite niece of Makea ariki, went missing. Makea’s warriors found Ema dead in Katikatia’s cave. They brought the body back for Makea and his wife to weep over. For the lament song of Makea and his wife, Tepoave asked Mamia if he could use the song she had written about her mother’s death (see the prologue). Given that Mamia was cast in the part of Makea’s wife in the play, it seemed particularly appropriate. Mamia expressed her grief in this way: Ema e Ema

Ema oh Ema

Tāku ma‘ine iti marū

My beautiful girl

To tino kuanga

My grief will last for eternity

Tōpata roi mata

My tears are falling

To tāku e mi‘imi‘i nei

With my sorrow

Tāku poi tiare

You are the beautiful flower

Tāku inangaro

That I adore

The song’s poignant melody amplifies the sadness expressed in the lyrics. The wife’s grief is immortal. To her, Ema was as beautiful and precious as the sweet flowers that grow on Rarotonga.



epilogue

During the course of a discussion Tepoave and I were having about Katikatia, I remarked about how much I liked the above song. It was then that he introduced me to the concept of ‘akatangi māmāiāta, music of the dawn.1 “I used it in Katikatia because it is quiet, soft, and sad,” he said. “It is the sort of music you play when you have drunk all night. You get your guitar or your uke [ukulele] and play. The sun isn’t up yet, and everyone is still asleep. It is still and quiet.” I was struck by Tepoave’s lyrical portrayal of “music of the dawn” and questioned him further by asking what this style of playing meant to him. He said, “You feel . . .” Then he shrugged theatrically and exaggeratedly circled his hands, perhaps to evoke the expanse of feeling that music of the dawn might cover. Tepoave’s inability to describe in words the feeling of music of the dawn was uncharacteristic. He was typically an elegant communicator in both English and Māori. I pressed him, asking if this style of playing made him feel sad or lonely as the phrase “music of the dawn” suggests. “Both,” he replied, “like maromaroā,” a nebulous Cook Islands word that can mean many things, from sadness, restlessness, and ennui to boredom and loneliness. “But not just maromaroā . . .” We left it at that. I began to pay more attention to people singing or playing by themselves. Some evenings I could hear the sound of Mamia playing the guitar or ukulele outside, alone in her garden, and the melodies were invariably melancholy. Also late at night I could hear Mama Kan, with whom I lived, softly humming songs to herself. This occurred primarily around the time her father died, and she was having difficulty sleeping. When Mamia and I had been outing, we would sometimes sit outside for a short time and Mamia would play a few songs that were slow and poignant. Music of the dawn on these occasions appeared to me as a coda—a concluding expressive practice that sends one to sleep—and I came to understand music of the dawn as a form that enables the articulation of personal sentiments of sadness and longing. Music of the dawn points to the contrapuntal ways Cook Islanders use music and dance. As a solitary performance, it represents one end of the spectrum of musical expression, which contrasts with the intense sociability of tāmataora dancing, singing, and togetherness. This is not to suggest that music of the dawn expresses sentiments that are more spontaneous than those displayed in more public situations. To the contrary, music of the dawn is equally culturally shaped and structured. Tepoave’s use of music of the dawn in Katikatia illustrates this point. Katikatia is a story that deals with the tragic loss of loved ones. It points to the universality of these sentiments and expresses them in culturally specific

epilogue



ways. The combination of an epic tale with a solitary song form recasts personal experiences of grief, “in a grandiose and culturally valued form” (Abu-Lughod 1986, 240).2 Music of the dawn enables a poetic style of expressing turbulent sentiments. Like other forms of cultural expression outlined in this book, music of the dawn mediates, and it provides the tools for navigating sentiments, in this case the potentially alienating sentiments of sorrow and grief. p

p

p

I saw Mamia for the last time in Auckland six months before she died. By this stage she was visibly unwell; she had undergone a mastectomy, but the cancer had spread to her bones. Her back was extremely sore and she tired easily. Her father, Papa Tunui, was also in Auckland for medical treatment, and we were all staying at Mamia’s sister Rose’s small house. During the day, Papa Tunui would often stay in one of the two bedrooms and sleep. Rose said this was because he was very sad about Mamia’s illness. Over the next few weeks we ventured out only to go to hospitals and doctors’ appointments. Each day family members visited. Some came with food, others with their church ministers (from a number of denominations), and we would all pray together for Mamia’s recovery. In an attempt to escape what was becoming a very depressing and somewhat claustrophobic routine, we decided to go to Tokoroa, a town three hours’ drive from Auckland and a place where many of Mamia’s relatives lived. A few days later Mamia, Papa Tunui, and I set off after Papa said a long prayer in the car to ensure our safety. On the way, I suggested we stop at various scenic places and have a look around. Papa wanted to stay in the car, but Mamia was excited, saying, “We are like real tourists!” We stopped for lunch at Tirau, a tourist town. Papa Tunui hadn’t been in a café before. He didn’t know how, or what, to order. He carried it off with much aplomb, however, and began to enjoy himself. We also visited a large New Zealand Māori marae where both Mamia and Papa Tunui had stayed and performed in times past. Mamia in the 1970s had visited the site with Tereora College dance group, and Papa during the 1950s and 1980s as part of the Aitutaki tere pati (traveling party), visiting friends and family from the island who had settled permanently in New Zealand. As we approached the marae, both completely ignored the information shack, which had a prominent sign, “Admission $10,” and walked onto the marae as if they belonged. The two New Zealand Māori workers also appeared to ignore them. Mamia and Papa showed me where they had slept and where they danced. As they reminisced about



epilogue

tere pati past, I was struck by fundamental differences between this trip to Tokoroa and previous trips they had undertaken. Their travel to New Zealand for island and national projects had a sense of belonging and pleasurable purpose that revealed the forlorn nature of the trip we were presently undertaking. My lasting image of Mamia is from this trip to Tokoroa. We attended a cousin’s wedding, and Mamia and her sister led the o‘ora, the presentation of gifts to the newlyweds. As the couple sat on plastic chairs in the center of the reception center’s dance floor, women from different family lines danced up to the bride and the groom, displaying their tīvaevae, blankets, cushion covers, and tie-dyed sheets and then wrapping the couple in these gifts. The live band played slow island songs in accompaniment. Mamia and her sisters danced up to the couple, each holding an end of a tīvaevae, and the band started to play one of Mamia’s compositions as a tribute to her. She dropped the edge she was holding and danced, acknowledging the band, the guests, and the bridal couple through her gestures. As close family members cried, she smiled and laughed. The band moved on to a fast tāmataora number. Mamia’s father, Mamia’s sister, and other family members jumped up to join her dance, and she disappeared from view—surrounded by those she loved. Cook Islands dancing is central to the display of who one is and what one can become. Dancing and, more generally, expressive culture aspire to reinforce deeply affective notions of identity and belonging. In the process, these identities and communities are generated. These expansive qualities are embodied in Cook Islands dance; the grace of Mamia’s movements, the vibrancy of her singing, and her shining face aim at eliciting an affective response in those nearby. You dance to move people: to make them dance, laugh, cry, and give money and goods. Only then is one dancing from the heart.

Appendix C o o k I s l a n d s D a n ce Genres

‘ U r a Pa ‘ U : D ru m Da nc e

A drum dance is composed around a series of beats played on a variety of hollow wooden slit drums (pātē, tōkere, kā‘ara) and skin drums (pa‘u) (see Jonassen 1991). The kerosene tin (tini) is also a very popular drumming instrument, although its traditional status is questioned by some. The use of the tini as a musical instrument is attributed to musicians of the northern group. Both men and women dance this genre—the distinguishing features are the fast, swaying hip movements of female dancers and scissors-like leg movements of male dancers. Some drum dances are composed around a general theme such as fishing, a hurricane, or the coconut (how it is husked and grated and its various uses, such as for food or as a hair conditioner). Sometimes males will dance with spears or torches or on boxes or stilts. Drum dance costumes tend to be pāreu kiri‘au (“grass skirts” made from lemon hibiscus fibers). Headdresses are also made from hibiscus fibers, dried leaves, and shells. On Rarotonga, and most of the southern group, women wear coconut bras. These became popular in the mid-1980s, perhaps as part of the process of “ethnification” of cultural production. Before this time, bikini tops or bras made from kiri‘au were worn. Women in many of the northern Cook Islands wear a pāreu or T-shirt to cover their upper body.

Ka pa r i m a : Ac t i o n S o n g

Until recently, kaparima were always referred to as action songs. The term kaparima was devised during the Constitution Celebrations in the 1980s as part of a process of “Māorifying”

appendix



words, particularly those to do with culture. At tourist shows, action songs are usually performed by females. At the Constitution Celebrations and other community events, male dancers may also perform them. Action songs tend to feature female dancers who perform to the accompaniment of guitar, ukulele and voice. They are slower paced than drum dances. The grace of a dancer’s hands and hip movements emphasizes the poetry of the song’s lyrics. Costumes are usually ankle-length pāreu. Fresh flowers and leaves are used for neck and head ‘ei.

P e ‘ e : C h a nt

There are many different types of pe‘e. One type is incantations or prayers (karakia) that are performed when fishing, planting, or weaving and are said to make the activity successful. Other pe‘e accompany legends and myths (see Hiroa 1944). Pe‘e are also used when reciting aspects of a family’s genealogy. The most commonly performed pe‘e today are called turou, or welcoming chants. At most official occasions an orator performs a chant that acknowledges and praises the chief who owns the land on which the event takes place. The orator will then “challenge” the visitors and welcome them. At tourist performances, a chant is generally performed at the beginning of the show by a male dancer. It serves as an introduction for a dance group. These types of pe‘e have no musical accompaniment except a series of drumbeats to announce the chanter. The Constitution Celebrations performance of pe‘e is a group genre; lyrics are chanted and sung by men and women. Female dancers sit cross-legged in lines on the ground and perform actions that correspond to the chant lyrics. Males usually dance around them. One male is the mata ‘ura (dance leader), who weaves in and out of the group chanting and dancing. Costumes are usually made from rautī leaves (Cordyline terminalis) or some other earthy-looking material.

‘ U¯ t E¯ : Co m m e m o rati v e S o n g

‘Ūtē are songs that commemorate a person, event, or incident. Lyrics are often humorous and bawdy, relying on double entendres, and are supplemented with lewd or comical actions. ‘Ūtē performed at official events like the Constitution Celebrations are more restrained and tend to praise individuals such as the prime minister or ariki. Generally, ‘ūtē are sung with no instrumental accompaniment. Male dancers/singers stand in a semicircle around seated women. The group sway and wave their hands as

appendix



they sing. Individuals may stand up and perform spontaneous dance movements. Men generally wear island shirts and black pants, and women wear island print mu‘umu‘u. This composition of dancers and singers is also replicated in performances of ‘imene tuki (Cook Islands Christian Church religious songs). The tuki (rhythmic grunts) performed by men are also incorporated into ‘ūtē singing.

NOTES

P RO LOGUE

1. The term papa‘ā is used by Cook Islanders to refer to white people. It is frequently used as an adjective, in the way the word “Western” is used in English—for example, papa‘ā music, papa‘ā clothes, and papa‘ā ways.

I n t rod u c t i o n

1. In this work the term “expressive practices” is used to refer to dancing, my main focus, but also to singing and playing music and to a wide range of practices, including bodily adornment and aesthetics such as hairstyles, clothing, and physical comportment. 2. The usual spelling of the phrase is “tere party.” I once saw a large cargo crate on Aitutaki with the words “Aitutaki tere pati” written with red paint. Indigenizing foreign words is commonplace in the Cook Islands, and pati is a “Māorified” version of the word “party.” I also adopt this spelling. 3. The associated-state relationship means that Cook Islanders have local political autonomy and dual citizenship with New Zealand. New Zealand provides aid and development assistance in consultation with the Cook Islands government. 4. According to William Coppell’s doctoral thesis (1968: 465), 25 percent of the outer islands’ students transferred to Tereora from junior high schools on Aitutaki, Atiu, and Mangāia. 5. In this work I argue against the view of culture as a “thing,” and for a view of culture as a processual series of practices. “Culture,” along with the terms “tradition,” “modern,” “local,”



notes to pages 6–11

“global,” “Western,” and “non-Western” should all be read as if they were in quotation marks, because of their problematic nature. Modern/traditional, global/local, and Western/non-Western are racialized and gendered binaries in which the former term is valued over the latter. I understand “traditional” and “modern” to be negotiated and contested terms. Finally, as I argue later in this introduction, “local” and “global” are not mutually exclusive categories. Throughout the book, I am engaged in critical discussion about the terms, as are many Cook Islanders. 6. The phrase “local local” is often used to refer to those of a lower class and social standing as well as to those who embrace their culture and language. “Local” by itself is used only to refer to those with Cook Island ancestry, and not to people from other ethnic backgrounds, regardless of how long they have resided in the Cook Islands. The term “local” is culturally specific and historically variable, as the illuminating debate in the Hawaiian context demonstrates. “Local” has been adopted and appropriated in Hawai‘i by working-class Chinese, Japanese, and Filipino among others, especially those who worked on plantations from the late nineteenth century and more recently, by haole (white) Hawaiian residents (see Okamura 1994; Ohnuma 2002; and Edles 2004). In reaction to these developments, some native Hawaiians reject the term “local” (and its usage) altogether, arguing that it glosses over the specificities of race and indigeneity, preferring the designation “Hawaiian” or “settler” (see Kauanui 2007; Trask 2000). 7. There has been a steady flow of outer islanders to Rarotonga for employment since the late 1800s. Land is unalienable throughout the Cook Islands, which makes outer islanders’ situation more precarious on Rarotonga. Rarotongan chiefs have over the years “gifted” sections of land to northern-group populations for residential purposes, but those populations do not have access to farming land. 8. In 2006, visitors to the Cook Islands totaled 92,000, and the majority (around 90 percent) stayed on Rarotonga (Cook Islands Statistics Office 2007). 9. Tongareva is the only island that does not have chiefly titles. This is because the Peruvian slave trade decimated the island’s population in 1864, wiping out chiefly lines. 10. Takitumu has two chiefs: Pa ariki in the north and Kainuku ariki in the south. Makea, Karika, and Vakatini ariki represent Te Au O Tonga, and Tinomana ariki represents Puaikura. 11. Today a chiefly title is usually handed down to the firstborn child of a reigning chief. There is considerable debate among Cook Islanders about whether women could become chiefs in premissionary and precolonial times. Many suggest that women became chiefs only after the dramatic decline in population that resulted from the introduction of foreign diseases from the mid-1850s. Before this time only male children (or the closest male relative) were eligible. Those who take this stance use it to argue for precedence of their (male) line over the incumbent (female) line. In contrast, a number of Cook Islanders

notes to pages 12–18



and scholars argue that European missionaries and traders ignored or minimized Polynesian women’s chiefly roles and their political power and influence in general (see Ralston 1987 and Gunson 1987). 12. See, for instance, Borofsky (1987); Salisbury (1983); Hecht (1976); Beckett (1964); and Beaglehole and Beaglehole (1938). The majority of anthropological work on the Cook Islands has focused around three main areas: social change (Baddeley 1978; Beckett 1964; Beaglehole 1957); genealogy and kinship (Hecht 1976; Baltaxe 1975); and the narrative analysis of myth (Reilly 1991; Siikala 1990, 1991). 13. Within the Pacific region, most research centers on the structures and semiotic features of dance and music. In an effort to show how the meaning of a particular dance genre or series of dance movements are emergent rather than predetermined by structural forms, I do not consider notation or other forms of structural analysis particularly relevant to the themes raised in this book. Nevertheless, the pioneering scholarship of Adrienne L. Kaeppler, who has undertaken work on a number of Pacific art forms, requires acknowledgment. Her writing on Tongan dance, music, and poetry (1967, 1993), Tahitian dance and material culture (2001), and general methodological and theoretical essays on the anthropology of dance and the arts (1978, 1983, 1987, 1989) are all highly significant works that give Pacific expressive forms the recognition they deserve. 14. I have been influenced by the nuanced ethnographies of Lilley (1998); Savigliano (1995); Cowan (1990); Abu-Lughod (1986); and Schieffelin (1985). For a useful overview of methodological approaches to dance and the arts, see Reed (1998); for the Pacific, see Nero (1992). 15. There are a number of excellent studies of this kind undertaken in the Pacific. Those particularly useful to my research include Colchester (2003); Thomas (1999); Strathern (1990); and O’Hanlon (1989). 16. For an overview, see Abu-Lughod and Lutz (1990) and Lutz and White (1986). 17. The grouping of sport and dance together may come as a surprise for those from societies where artistic endeavor is separated from physical activity categorized as sport. In the Cook Islands, however, the two are seen principally as forms of entertainment associated with providing pleasure to both participants and onlookers. Often dance and sport events overlap. For example, village sports days also feature island music competitions, and national sports competitions include rugby, netball, traditional games, and dance competitions. 18. A number of anthropologists have noted the popularity of competitive events throughout the Cook Islands. See Siikala (1991); Borofsky (1987); Beckett (1964); Beaglehole (1937, 1957); and Hiroa (1932a, 1932b, 1944). 19. Given that the term “gender” has been largely used as a synonym for “women,” studies of men and masculinities is an under-researched area within gender studies. In the Pacific



notes to pages 21–31

region, masculinity is a burgeoning area of research. See two recent collections, Jolly (2008) and Taylor (2008), which include papers I have written about Cook Islands masculinity. 20. This scholarship is best exemplified by the work of Bolton (2003); Jolly (1992); Jolly and Thomas (1992); and Sissons (1999). Hanlon and White (2000) provide a useful overview of the politics of tradition debate, and key essays are republished in their volume. 21. This book is based on fieldwork undertaken in 1996–1998, 2000, and 2003 in the Cook Islands and in Cook Islands communities in New Zealand and Australia. 22. Pakoti‘anga Rauru is a coming-of-age ceremony for young men. Until approximately the age of thirteen, some young boys’ hair is grown long. At the haircutting ceremony, families are assigned a lock to cut, and they provide the child with a present of money. 23. Jolly (1997) provides an insightful historical account of the sexualized representation of Polynesian women. Also see Desmond (1999); Trask (1993); and Teaiwa (1994). 24. While land in the Cook Islands is unalienable, the New Zealand colonial administration introduced a land tenure act in 1915 that required all land to be registered through the Land Court. Succession claims (and contestations), confirmation of leases, and applications for partition take up a considerable amount of time and money (see Crocombe 1964).

ch a p t e r o n e: ‘ARE KARIO I, HOU SE S OF ENTERTAINMENT

1. The Festival of Pacific Arts began in 1972 in Suva, Fiji. It has since been held every four years at various nations within the region. 2. As part of the 1996 economic reforms, Cook Islands currency was replaced with New Zealand currency. When I mention monetary amounts in this book, I am referring to New Zealand dollars. 3. The historical record of expressive practices is fragmentary. The two published general histories of the Cook Islands, Richard Gilson’s The Cook Islands: 1820–1950 (1980) and Dick Scott’s Years of the Pooh-Bah (1991), both concentrate on the political (narrowly defined) affairs of missionaries, colonialists, and the local population. Gilson, for instance, views changes to housing arrangements and haircut styles, the abolition of tattooing, and the prohibition of entertainment as “superficial changes” separate from “a number of important changes in the social structure” (Gilson 1980, 32). According to him, these include missionary implementation of a new legal system, property laws and trade practices. The history presented here attempts, at least partially, to redress these kinds of claims. I suggest that expressive practices have important political, economic, and ideological dimensions that are as much a part of the “social structure” as any other practice.

notes to pages 31–40



4. In emphasizing the active agency and strategizing of Cook Islanders in the colonial process, I do not want to downplay the violence of the colonialism, which led to depopulation, dispossession, and exploitation at a number of levels. I am mindful that “the colonial encounter challenged local forms of meaning and power to a degree never experienced before” (White 1991, 3). See Chappell (2000) for an analysis of the implications of privileging active agency over passive victimization in Pacific historiography. 5. The Society Islands have a well-documented tradition of arioi, as a distinct class of men and women who performed plays, dance, and athletic games (T. Henry 1928; Levy 1973). It does not appear, however, that a class of entertainers like the Tahitian arioi existed on Rarotonga. 6. Only Pukapuka, the most western island of the Cooks has a tradition of the “sacred maid” which are similar to Samoan taupou (see Hecht 1977). 7. Gill ([1892] 1979, 8) also notes “semi-dramatic performances” held on Mangaia. 8. As Ralston argues in regard to Polynesia in general, “Politically and economically more important and permanent than the marital tie, where long-term monogamous unions were neither the ideal nor the norm for adult sexual relations, and where the adoption of infants was widespread and encouraged, terms such as marriage, parenthood, husband, and wife embody . . . significantly different meanings and role expectations from those inherent in standard Western contexts” (Ralston 1987, 118–119). See also Elliston (1997) and Ortner (1981). 9. There is an extensive literature on missionization and the transformation of gender and bodily adornment in the Pacific. See esp. Colchester (2003); Eves (1996); Grimshaw (1989); Jolly (1991); Jolly and Macintyre (1989); and Ralston (1987). 10. The point I am making here intersects with anthropological studies of the role of objects and exchange relations; see Otto and Thomas (1997); Jolly (1992); and Thomas (1991). Others who have written about mimesis and appropriation during missionary and colonial contact include Comaroff (1996); Stoller (1995); and Friedman (1994). 11. Gill’s comments regarding the dance genre ‘upa‘upa being Tahitian in origin are also interesting. This assertion is a contentious one in contemporary debates over the origin of Cook Islands dancing and drumming. There is evidence to suggest that at least the northern group islands had a dance genre called hupa‘upa and that there are marked stylistic differences between Tahitian and northern-group dancing and drumming associated with this genre (Lawrence 1992). I discuss the differences between Tahitian and Cook Islands dance styles in chapter 2. 12. This is significant given the value placed on hair in the Cook Islands and throughout the Pacific (see Mageo 1994; Loomis 1984). In the Cook Islands, hair was cut (and still is) when a family member died.



notes to pages 43–52

13. According to Scott (1991, 309), the Cook Islands earned a place in The Guinness Book of World Records in the 1960s for having the largest per capita cinema-going population in the world. 14. Presumably Ayson is referring to the land in Papeete bought by a number of men from Ma‘uke, Miti‘āro, and Atiu in the 1940s. These men bought the land with earnings from mining phosphate in the French Polynesian island of Makatea (Gilson 1980, 192). Today this land is called Patutoa and has a hostel where many Cook Islanders stay when they visit Tahiti. 15. In 1951 an estimated one thousand people left for New Zealand to work as laborers and domestic servants (Beaglehole 1957, 138). 16. Over the years a range of events have been added to and discarded from the celebrations. A Constitution Ball took place in the 1960s–1980s. It was an invitation-only event for government ministers and local and overseas dignitaries. The ball included a dinner, entertainment from Rarotongan youth dance groups, and a waltzing competition in which guests took part. For the rest of the population, open-air dances in packing sheds around Rarotonga were held. Other events were Senior Citizens Day and the Carnival and Agricultural Show. The Star Song Quest and beauty contests were popular events held during the 1970s. In 1987 a constitution disco was organized that included a disco dancing competition. The 1989 celebrations marked the first (and last) annual Truck Rodeo and a Health and Fitness Evening, which featured displays of aerobics, martial arts, bodybuilding, boxing, and weight lifting. 17. One of the most extreme examples of this occurred during the 1976 festival. An open letter from the Manihiki tere pati, published in the Cook Islands News on November 8, 1976, queried, among other things, the allotment of points to each dance category: “We do not understand why the ‘ute’ section had to be scored out of 600 points when the other sections (drum dance, action song and legend) were each scored out of 100 points.” The rules, which had been devised in 1970, did allot 100 points to each item, but the rules had been changed during the competition and the changes were not announced publicly. The changes resulted in Ma‘uke island’s winning the overall first prize. Following a series of newspaper articles that detailed how the Manihiki group would have been the outright winners under the former point system, Tupui Henry—minister for internal affairs, chairman of the Constitution Celebrations Committee, and the representative for Ma‘uke in the Cook Islands Assembly—admitted that he had asked the judges to change the rules concerning the allotment of points. He then, as newspaper reports stated, “magnanimously” requested that the result be changed to a draw between Ma‘uke and Manihiki (PIM 1976, 31). Because of this fiasco, the next two years of the festival were noncompetitive.

notes to pages 54–65



18. A discussion of gender, in particular femininity and its co-construction with expressive practices, is discussed in more detail in chapter 3. 19. Henry is referring to the repressive social norms of the Victorian era in England.

chap t er t wo: Th e P ol i t i cs o f Co nte m p o ra ry Da n c e

1. Kristina Jamieson’s doctoral thesis on tourism in the Cook Islands (2002) insightfully presents the complexities of both tourists’ and locals’ experiences of tourism and culture. Jane Desmond’s analysis of the ubiquitous nature of live performance and bodily display in what she calls “people tourism” and “song-and-dance tourism” in Hawai‘i (1999, xv) is influential to the arguments I make here. 2. The only other island to have regularly performing dance groups is Aitutaki. In 1997 there were six groups that performed on a rotational basis between the four main venues (two hotels and two bars). On the other two islands I visited, Ma‘uke and Tongareva, there were no dance groups that performed regularly. A group had just been set up on Ma‘uke when I arrived, and it performed intermittently to a predominantly local audience. 3. See the appendix for a more comprehensive overview of the major dance genres. 4. Money and other goods that are stolen are not spoken about as such but are described as “lost,” “missing,” or “gone.” Also, there is no word in Māori for “borrow” or “lend.” Stories of “missing money” abound in the Cook Islands. People approach stories of missing money with resignation. Many families have stories about other family members taking earnings from the family store or village funds, and yet these people continue to live (not always harmoniously) with family members and be involved in community activities. 5. About half of Orama members had full-time paid employment and part-time jobs. A number worked in tourist-related industries, holding jobs at Air New Zealand or Air Rarotonga, at retail shops, or at the airport as security employees, baggage handlers, or airplane refuelers. Others were employed in banks and offshore banking firms. A few members were primary school teachers. A number augmented their income by working parttime at hotels or bars, at the airport selling ‘ei, or as tour guides. Many of the male members undertook casual labor in the building industry. Some Orama members also belonged to string bands that played at bars and nightclubs around the island. Older women and women with children undertook occasional work that could be done at home, such as babysitting or making ‘ei for official ceremonies. 6. What Gina didn’t mention here is that many of the girls who conform to this ideal type and are considered most attractive are described as “half-caste,” meaning they have some papa‘ā ancestry. This racial coding is discussed further in chapter 3.



notes to pages 66–80

7. According to Rarotongans I knew who had Tahitian relatives, Tahitians tend to think the Cook Islands is boring; it is considered too small and lacking in activities. Tahitians visit the Cook Islands primarily for dental work and to buy large quantities of tinned corned beef, both of which are considerably cheaper in the Cook Islands than in Tahiti. 8. Not only do Cook Islanders tend to compare themselves with Tahitians regarding music and dance but also regarding more general issues of style. Many Cook Islands women think that Tahitian women have more earning capacity and hence wear nicer clothes, eat better food, and are generally more beautiful. 9. On the outer islands this traditionalization has not occurred to the same extent. Costumes are often made of synthetic materials, which last longer and require less effort to make than natural ones. Nontraditional-looking movements are still popular on the outer islands I visited. A number of dance groups on Aitutaki perform pan-Pacific dance numbers such as Fijian and Tahitian songs, New Zealand Māori haka dances, and Samoan dances. At the same time, outer islanders are continually represented as being far more traditional and in possession of more culture than Rarotongan residents. 10. The center was established in 1994 with funding from UNESCO and the World Tourism Organization. Courses offered cover a range of service industry areas such as administration, housekeeping, food and beverage services, food production, and business management. 11. There is a strenuous debate in newspapers and among the general public about the decline in Māori language (see, e.g., Goodwin and Tongia 2003). Most Rarotongans are to some degree bilingual. Children under twenty years of age tend to speak English most of the time, and it is the language of instruction at secondary school. The situation on the outer islands is different; most schools teach in the local language, and young people speak less English. 12. Patautau is performed during the fast beat of a dance song in all dance contexts. There are many versions of the standard patautau, but the most common lines called in Māori are “Rarotongan girl, you think you are a really good dancer,” “Rarotongan girl only costs a dollar,” and more absurdist lines such as “Drive your motorcar to Penrhyn Island.” 13. There are striking similarities between the positioning of performers and tourists at Island Nights and Hawaiian luaus. For the latter, see Desmond’s insightful analysis in Staging Tourism (1999, 10–33). 14. The participatory role of audiences as a key component of non-Western dance practice has been noted by a number of performance scholars. See, e.g., Schechner (1985, 2002); Cowan (1990); V. Turner (1986); Schieffelin (1976); Geertz (1973). 15. This affective contrast, between dancing in appreciation and dancing as teasing, depends on the context of the performance and the individual who is dancing. The clearest

notes to pages 88–96



explanation I received of teasing-style dancing was when I visited Tongareva. I was watching a video of the Christmas celebrations, which consisted of a dance competition between two villages. While one village danced, the other variously jeered, applauded, and danced with them. At various stages throughout the performance, a number of older women and some younger men from the audience, walked up to the performers and danced in a joking style. This consisted of the older women dancing like men and making suggestive movements, and the boys dancing like girls. A man watching the video with me explained: “We do that to make them laugh and to make them angry, so they don’t do their actions properly. Then we will win the competition.”

c h a p t e r t h r e e : S HY GIRL S AN D SHOW- OF F S

1. My thinking here is along similar lines to Elspeth Probyn’s argument about shame’s relationship to bodies: “In shame, the feeling and minding and thinking and social body comes alive. It’s in this sense that shame is positive and productive, even or especially when it feels bad. The feeling of shame teaches us about our relations to others” (2005, 34–35). 2. As Mageo (1994, 218) notes of Samoan girls, their “deportment reflects so emphatically on their family.” As we shall see in chapter 4, this has much to do with the association of young women with biological sex and reproduction. 3. These questions are motivated in part by perspectival differences between my own research and other work on femininity in Polynesia. Shore (1982), for instance, is concerned with mapping out general social norms that shape Samoan persons, whereas my concern is to detail how these norms play out—that is, how they are negotiated by specific people within specific events and contexts. 4. I did hear about bodybuilding competitions being held in the 1980s. Competition between men occurs within group contexts such as rugby matches, oratory and chant forms in official contexts, and unofficial fights at parties and nightclubs. 5. Very few Cook Islanders tan themselves in the sun, preferring to go to the beach when the sun is going down. However, a few Cook Islands women are reclaiming their darker skin color and are sunbathing to enhance it. One of these women commented to me as she applied reef oil to her body, “Hey, sister, black is beautiful!”—consciously referring to African Americans’ reclamation of their skin color. 6. Here I mean people in their teens and early twenties. Those in their late twenties and their thirties and those heavily involved in the arts adopt more traditional dress styles and speak primarily in Māori. 7. This point has been made in terms of cross-cultural activities in which other communities engage—for example, the studies by Kathy Peiss (1996) and Kobena Mer-



notes to pages 96–108

cer (1990) of the use of whitening products and hair-straightening techniques by African American women to create specifically black styles. Richard Dyer in his book White makes the point in reverse when discussing white people’s desire to tan. This act, he says, does not suggest a “desire or readiness to be racially black—a tanned white body is always indubitably just that” (1997, 162). 8. As Iwabuchi argues, “We should not assume that such flows totally replace the old power relations, as the current cultural flows are always already overdetermined by the power relations and geopolitics embedded in the history of imperialism and colonialism” (2002, 48). 9. This happens because locals purchase the bulk of the tickets, and the pageant is sold out beforehand. Lack of transportation infrastructure on Rarotonga is another factor. In the late 1990s there was no bus or taxi service late into the evening, so unless tourists rented a car, in the evening they tended to stay close to their hotels, most of which are located out of town. 10. The contradictions around female display are also evident in the way Cook Islands women are used in tourist promotion. A comment made in the local newspaper sums this up beautifully: “Yes we have no bikinis: pick up any tourism brochure and it will tell you that bikinis are not acceptable for wearing around in public. But, sometime, check out those great Tourism Cook Islands posters with charming, bike-riding, bikini-wearing gals. Mixed messages or what?!” (Coconut Wireless, Cook Islands News, August 10, 1997). See Teresia Teaiwa’s intriguing analysis (1994) of bikinis, colonialism, militarism, and tourism for another strand of thinking about bathing suits and Pacific Islanders. 11. In her writing she also purposefully attempted to dispel myths of natural beauty: “My pink lipstick was still smudged along the back of my arm where I had removed it . . . to replace it with my preferred brown. My eyes had panda rings where I had rubbed off the heavy eyeliner and shadow and my feet had the most wicked toe jams and blisters ever. The audience never sees the bleeding blisters, the last minute safety pins, the sweaty armpits . . . nor do they see the endless hours of rehearsals—learning to walk in high heels, adjusting to the heavy make-up or getting your parts waxed (ouch!). . . . We appear on stage just chilling in time to the music” (CIN, September 17, 1998).

c h a p t e r f o u r : PARAMOUNT QUEEN S

Parts of this chapter previously appeared as “Globalizing Drag in the Cook Islands: Friction, Repulsion and Abjection,” in Re-membering Oceanic Masculinities, guest ed. Margaret Jolly, special issue, Contemporary Pacific 20, no. 1 (2008): 143–161; and as “Dancing Sexuality in the Cook Islands,” in Transgressive Sex: Subversion and Control in Erotic Encounters, ed. Hastings Donnan and Fiona Magowan (Oxford and New York: Berghahn Books, 2009), 113–130.

notes to pages 108–117



1. While the West is the most significant opposition to local in relation to the drag competition under consideration here, as I have shown in other chapters, the West is not the only other referred to in performative genres. Other Polynesian countries, particularly Tahiti, serve as a reference point for Cook Islands dance styles, notions of beauty, glamour, and fashion. 2. The analysis that follows is partly inspired by Marjorie Garber’s observations of how transvestite figures in Western culture are used to signify a “‘category crisis,’ disrupting and calling attention to cultural, social, or aesthetic dissonances” (1992, 16). I consider a different cultural context from that of Garber, but the main tenor of her argument resonates in the Cook Islands context and the 1998 Drag Queen Competition, which resulted in a collision of incommensurable ways of thinking about and being in the world. 3. Laelae is the colloquial Cook Islands term; the word tutuvaine (meaning “like a woman”) is used less frequently. Laelae is presumably a cognate of the Tahitian raerae, but the distinction often made between raerae (“modern” transvestites) and mahu (“traditional” effeminates) does not hold in the Cook Islands. For work on gender liminality in the Pacific, see particularly Wallace (2003); Elliston (1999); Mageo (1996); Besnier (1994); Shore (1981); and Levy (1973). 4. I have very little information on straight male perspectives on their relations with laelae. Straight men do not speak about their sexuality to women, given the highly gender-segregated nature of Cook Islands social life. My understanding is based on comments made by Cook Islands women and laelae and my own limited observations, which presumably do not cover the whole gamut of these men’s interactions with laelae. 5. See the work of Elliston (1999); Besnier (1994); Mageo (1992); and Shore (1982). 6. Tīvaevae are highly prized family heirlooms and are given as gifts to important guests. See Küchler (2003) for a detailed analysis. 7. Somewhat paradoxically the opposite idea is also evoked. Particularly in Christian discourse and the formulation of the opposition between tradition and modern, laelae are conceptualized as indicative of primitive depravity. 8. For example, in debate with Altman, Peter Jackson (1996) has argued: “The mere existence of the word ‘gay’ in the contemporary Thai language does not indicate that a global gay identity or a transnational homogenization of human sexuality is a necessary outcome of the impact of yet another universalizing world culture. . . . ‘Western’ notions of homosexuality and gay identity are also being accommodated within the Thai cultural framework, in the process becoming as much Thai as ‘Western,’ if not more so.” 9. There is a large literature on rituals of reversal and their effects. Hereniko (1995) and Mitchell (1992) provide excellent overviews. The classics in my opinion include Eco (1984); Babcock (1978); Geertz (1973); V. Turner (1969); and Bakhtin (1968).



notes to pages 123–141

10. However, given the differential constructs of personhood, the distinction is less between me and not-me, and more between we and not-we.

c h a p t e r f i v e : OUTING

Parts of this chapter previously appeared as “Sea Breeze: Globalization and Cook Islands Popular Music,” in World Music: Politics, Production and Pedagogy, guest ed. Karl Neuenfeldt, Peter G. Toner, and Stephen A. Wild, special issue, Asia Pacific Journal of Anthropology 5, no. 2 (2004): 145–158. 1. All the names given to individuals in this chapter are pseudonyms. 2. Tumu nū—or beer schools, as they are most commonly known—exist throughout the Cook Islands and are primarily frequented by men. I did not attend a beer school, but a female neighbor in Rarotonga ran one in her backyard. It was open six evenings a week, and I could often hear loud taped music coming from the house. She also cooked food for the men to eat after they had finished drinking. The men were charged for both the alcohol and the food. 3. Other studies of drinking practices in communally oriented societies also stress sharing and egalitarianism. See Gefou-Madianou (1992); and Douglas (1987). In her discussion of “evening dances” in Greece, Jane Cowan suggests that shared drinking (and dancing and eating) emphasizes as well as creates collectivities: “The individual is obliged to subordinate his or her individual needs and pleasures for the group as a whole” (1990, 135). 4. As discussed in chapter 3, the number of tourists who went to bars and nightclubs in town was limited by lack of transport. 5. See Hayward (2000), and for formal analysis of Cook Islands popular music, see the work of David Goldsworthy, who suggests, “Most songs operate within the three chord framework of much Western popular music, but have some Polynesian aspects to their close-spaced, three-part vocal harmony, and extended harmonic phrases” (1996, 9). See also Goldsworthy 2000, 2001. These distinctive harmonic, melodic, and rhythmic styles are found in other Cook Islands musical genres, including chants (pe‘e), secular songs (‘ūtē), and religious songs (‘imene tuki). 6. Sentimental love songs and songs of loss are termed ‘imene aro‘a in Cook Islands Māori and drinking songs are known as ‘imene kaikava. 7. Talk is also considered bad because it can lead the speaker to melancholy. For example, at one after hours I attended, I was sitting next to a man who told me this story: “My mother died. I can’t tell you how this breaks my heart.” He began to cry and I felt very sorry for him, but the person next to me said, “Don’t worry. He always tells this story and cries when he is drunk. His mother died eight years ago, and he didn’t even go to the funeral.”

notes to pages 142–149



8. In the late 1990s, there was a domestic violence counseling service on Rarotonga that was run by a long-term papa‘ā female resident. Very few local women went there. Although domestic violence is certainly not condoned, it is not necessarily viewed as a crime. Physical violence is considered to be something that both men and women engage in, particularly when they are drunk. c h a p t e r s i x : OVER THE REE F

Parts of this chapter previously appeared as “Love Food: Exchange and Sustenance in the Cook Islands Diaspora,” in Taste This! An Anthropological Examination of Food, guest ed. Kalissa Alexeyeff, Roberta James, and Mandy Thomas, special issue, Australian Journal of Anthropology 15, no. 1 (2004): 68–79. 1. I nevertheless understand globalization as a thoroughly gendered phenomenon. As a number of feminist scholars have noted, discourses of economic globalization are informed by gendered and racialized metaphors; the penetration of transnational capital is a quintessentially white male enterprise to which feminized nonwhite (developing) countries will inevitably submit (see Marchand and Sisson Runyon 2000; Bergeron 2001). In turn, neoliberal economic reform programs have different effects on men and women, an issue I discuss in Alexeyeff (2008b). But in terms of the concerns of Cook Islanders, preservation of family and community ties are given priority over those of gender in relation to the Cook Islands diaspora. 2. When Cook Islanders travel as part of these large groups called tere pati, expressive forms are their main vehicles for the presentation of gifts. Islanders from home give tropical foodstuffs, island brooms, mats, and tīvaevae (appliquéd quilts and cushion covers) to their host, who in turn gives quantities of money during the dances performed by the touring group. I examine the significance of food exchange in the diaspora in Alexeyeff (2004a). 3. I use the term “diaspora” broadly in this chapter to refer to both internal/national and external/international diasporic movement—that is, the movement of outer islanders to Rarotonga and abroad. Further, I employ the term “diaspora” as “an interpretative frame for analyzing the economic, political and cultural modalities of a specific form of migrancy” (Brah 1996, 16). 4. In his thesis on pearl farming in Manihiki, Raymond Newnham (1989) argues that Manihikians were actually remitting money and pearls to relatives in New Zealand. See Loomis (1990a, 1990b) for an overview of the Cook Islands remittance economy, which tends to emphasize the one-way flow of commodities and money; and see Connell and Brown (2005) for a regional perspective.



notes to pages 150–163

5. Both E. H. Lamont ([1867] 1994) and Te Rangi Hiroa (1932b) mention similar ceremonies, in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, being performed to welcome and bid farewell to visitors. See chapter 1. 6. Despite the pearl industry, between 1996 and 2001 Tongareva had the largest population decline of all the islands, 41.9 percent; the average for the outer islands in total was 28 percent (Cook Islands Statistics Office 2001). 7. The term “Koni Raoni” is specific to Aitutaki. Other islands in the Cooks also have Christmas celebrations that involve dancing, singing, and fund-raising between villages. 8. As in other Pacific contexts, donations are always public. Christina Toren notes of Fiji, “The idea of an anonymous donation is absurd. . . . [A]ll instances of giving mark the fulfilment of a recognised obligation to one’s kin and incur obligations from the receivers” (1989, 146). The public display of money occurs in many contexts in the Cook Islands. For example, contributions to the church are read out during the service. At twenty-first birthday celebrations and at weddings, parents keep a list of each present, who it was from, and its estimated value. Then, when they attend someone else’s twenty-first birthday or wedding, they check their list and reciprocate to the exact amount. 9. I am paraphrasing Mauss (1988) here who in The Gift offers undertheorized but nevertheless tantalizing glimpses of what the study of affective exchange might include. In his discussion of Polynesian economics he suggests: “[Polynesian] exchange is not exclusively goods and wealth, real and personal property, and things of economic value. They exchange rather courtesies, entertainments, ritual, military assistance, women, children, dances and feasts; and fairs in which the market is but one element and the circulation of wealth but one part of a wide and enduring contract” (Mauss 1988, 3). e pi l o g u e

1. ‘Akatangi means “play.” Tangi (without the causative prefix aka) refers to weeping and crying, and māmāiāta means “early dawn.” 2. The point I am making here is similar to Abu-Lughod’s understanding of ways in which Bedouin women recite romantic poems from their legends and stories: “Love stories might set a tone and provide a model for interpreting or framing events in people’s romantic lives. . . . By drawing poems from these grand tales of passion to express their own sentiments, individuals, in defining their situation in a particular way both for themselves and for others, might be molding their lives to the culturally shared imagery of old stories” (1986, 258).

Glossary

‘akamā

shyness; expressing shame

‘aka‘uka

smooth, graceful hip movements

‘akava‘ine

a show-off; to act above oneself

‘Are Karioi

House of Entertainment

ariki

paramount chief

‘ei

a wreath worn on the head or draped over the neck (‘ei katu); made from flowers, plant materials, and shells

‘imene

song; to sing

‘imene tuki

style of Cook Islands Christian Church religious singing

kaparima

action song

Kia Orāna

a form of greeting; “Hello” (literally, “may you live”)

Kōutu Nui

council of subchiefs

laelae

a “third gender” individual; biological man who may adopt feminine characteristics

marae

ceremonial place

mata‘iapo

subdistrict chief

mataora

entertainment, pleasure, fun

mu‘umu‘u

island print dress

pana‘akari

person who is acting crazy, abnormally, or in an unreserved manner

papa‘ā

white person; literally, “four layers,” referring to the layers of clothes worn by missionaries

pāreu

cotton material worn as a garment (like a sarong); dance

glossary



costume made from cotton pareu, hibiscus (pāreu kiri‘au), or green leaves (rautī) patupatu

double-time hip flicks performed on one side and then the other

pe‘e

chant

rangatira

junior chiefly title

rekareka

happy, cheerful, delighted

tāmataora

to entertain; to make joyful; to do things that will be a source of joy or pleasure

tāne

man

tapere

subdistrict

tārekareka

entertainment, sport, or dance; to cause pleasure or merriment

ta‘unga

an expert in traditional matters

tere pati

traveling party

tiare

flower

titi

overskirt or girdle often made from rautī leaves and worn over pareu

tīvaevae

appliquéd quilts and cushion covers

tumu kōrero

an expert in traditional knowledge

‘uapou

Bible meeting, religious gathering

‘Ui Ariki

Council of Chiefs; House of Ariki

‘ura

dance (Rarotongan and Cook Islands Māori); also known as koni (in Aitutakian dialect) and kosaki (in Tongarevan dialect)

‘ura kaikava

drinking style of dancing

‘ura mataora

dancing in a manner that expresses or evokes happiness

‘ura pa‘u

drum dance

‘ura piani

impromptu dance genre that involves dancing with a partner

‘ūtē

commemorative or topical song

va‘ine

woman

vaka

district; also means “canoe”

Bibliography

Abu-Lughod, Lila. 1986. Veiled Sentiments: Honor and Poetry in a Bedouin Society. Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press. Abu-Lughod, Lila, and Catherine Lutz. 1990. Introduction: Emotion, Discourse, and the Politics of Everyday Life. In Language and the Politics of Emotion, ed. Catherine Lutz and Lila Abu-Lughod, 1–23. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Alexeyeff, Kalissa. 2004a. Love Food: Exchange and Sustenance in the Cook Islands Diaspora. In Taste This! An Anthropological Examination of Food, guest ed. Kalissa Alexeyeff, Roberta James, and Mandy Thomas, special issue, Australian Journal of Anthropology 15(1): 68–79. ——— . 2004b. Sea Breeze: Globalization and Cook Islands Popular Music. In World Music: Politics, Production and Pedagogy, guest ed. Karl Neuenfedlt, Peter G. Toner, and Stephen A. Wild, special issue, Asia Pacific Journal of Anthropology 5(2): 145– 158. ——— . 2008a. Globalizing Drag in the Cook Islands: Friction, Repulsion and Abjection. In Re-membering Oceanic Masculinities, guest ed. Margaret Jolly, special issue, Contemporary Pacific 20(1): 143–161. ——— . 2008b. Neoliberalism, Mobility, and Cook Islands Men in Transit. In Changing Pacific Masculinities, guest ed. John Taylor, special issue, Australian Journal of Anthropology 19(2): 136–149. ——— . 2009. Dancing Sexuality in the Cook Islands. In Transgressive Sex: Subversion and Control in Erotic Encounters, ed. Hastings Donnan and Fiona Magowan, 113–130. Oxford and New York: Berghahn Books. Altman, Dennis. 2001. Rupture or Continuity? The Internationalization of Gay Identities.

bibliography



In Postcolonial Queer: Theoretical Intersections, ed. John C Hawley, 19–41. Albany, NY: State University of New York. Appadurai, Arjun. 1996. Modernity at Large. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. ——— . 2001. Grassroots Globalization and the Research Imagination. In Globalization, ed. Arjun Appadurai, 1–21. Durham, NC, and London: Duke University Press. Australian Bureau of Statistics. 2007. Census 2006 data. Unpublished. Ayson, H. F. 1935a. Memorandum for the Resident Agent Ma‘uke. 11 May. File 18/1, Cook Islands Archives, Rarotonga. ——— . 1935b. Memorandum for the Resident Agent Ma‘uke. 24 May. File 18/1, Cook Islands Archives, Rarotonga. Babcock, Barbara A., ed. 1978. The Reversible World: Symbolic Inversion in Art and Society. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Baddeley, Josephine. 1978. Rarotongan Society: The Creation of Tradition. PhD thesis, Auckland University, New Zealand. Bakhtin. M. 1968. Rabelais and His World. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Baltaxe, James. 1975. Transformation of Rangatira: A Case of the European Reinterpretation of Rarotongan Social Organization. PhD thesis, University of Illinois, Urbana. Banet-Weiser, Sarah. 1999. The Most Beautiful Girl in the World: Beauty Pageants and National Identity. Berkeley: University of California Press. Beaglehole, Ernest. 1937. Emotional Release in a Polynesian Community. Journal of Abnormal and Social Psychology, 319–328. ——— . 1957. Social Change in the South Pacific, Rarotonga and Aitutaki. London: Allen and Unwin. Beaglehole, Ernest, and Pearl Beaglehole. 1938. Ethnology of Pukapuka. Bernice P. Bishop Museum Bulletin 150. Honolulu: Bishop Museum Press. Beckett, Jeremy. 1964. Social Change in Pukapuka. Journal of the Polynesian Society 73(4): 411–430. Bellwood, Peter S. 1978. Archaeological Research in the Cook Islands. Pacific Anthropological Records 27. Honolulu: Bishop Museum Press. ——— . 1979. Man’s Conquest of the Pacific: The Prehistory of Southeast Asia and Oceania. New York: Oxford University Press. Bergeron, Suzanne. 2001. Political Economy Discourses of Globalization and Feminist Politics. Signs 26(4): 983–1006. Bertram, Geoffrey I. 1999. The MIRAB Model Twelve Years On. Contemporary Pacific 11(1): 105–138. Bertram, Geoffrey I., and Ray F. Watters. 1985. The MIRAB Economy in South Pacific Microstates. Pacific Viewpoint 26(3): 497–519.

bibliography



Besnier, Niko. 1994. Polynesian Gender Liminality through Time and Space. In Herdt 1994, 285–328. ——— . 1995. Literacy, Emotion and Authority: Reading and Writing on a Polynesian Atoll. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ——— . 2002. Transgenderism, Locality, and the Miss Galaxy Beauty Pageant in Tonga. American Ethnologist 29(3): 534–566. Bolton, Lissant. 2003. Unfolding the Moon: Enacting Women’s Kastom in Vanuatu. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press. Borofsky, Robert. 1987. Making History: Pukapukan and Anthropological Constructions of Knowledge. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Brah, Avtar. 1996. Cartographies of Diaspora: Contesting Identities. London and New York: Routledge. Butler, Judith. 1990. Gender Trouble: Feminism and the Subversion of Identity. New York and London: Routledge. Cannell, Fennella. 1995. The Power of Appearances: Beauty, Mimicry, and Transformation in Bicol. In Discrepant Histories: Translocal Essays on Filipino Cultures, ed. Vincente L. Rafael, 223–258. Manila: Anvil Publishing. Chappell, David A. 2000. Active Agents versus Passive Victims: Decolonized Historiography or Problematic Paradigm? In Voyaging through the Contemporary Pacific, ed. David Hanlon and Geoffrey M. White, 205–228. Lanham, MD: Rowman and Littlefield. CIN. See Cook Islands News. Clifford, James. 1994. Diasporas. Cultural Anthropology 9(3): 302–338. ——— . 1997. Routes: Travel and Translation in the Late Twentieth Century. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Cohen, Colleen B., and Richard Wilk, with Beverly Stoeltje, eds. 1996a. Beauty Queens on the Global Stage: Gender, Contests and Power. New York and London: Routledge. Cohen, Colleen B., Richard Wilk, and Beverly Stoeltje. 1996b. Introduction to Cohen, Wilk, and Stoeltje 1996a, 1–11. Colchester, Chloe, ed. 2003. Clothing the Pacific. Oxford and New York: Berg. Comaroff, Jean. 1996. The Empire’s Old Clothes: Fashioning the Colonial Subject. In CrossCultural Consumption: Global Markets, Local Realities, ed. David Howes, 19–38. London and New York: Routledge. Connell, John, and Robert P. C. Brown. 2005. Remittances in the Pacific: An Overview. Philippines: Asian Development Bank. http://www.adb.org/Documents/Reports/ Remittances-Pacific/default.asp. Cook Islands Archives (CIA). Rarotonga.

bibliography



Cook Islands Ministry of Cultural Development (MOCD). 1991. First Annual Report, 1990–1991. Rarotonga. ——— . 1992. Second Annual Report, 1991–1992. Rarotonga. Cook Islands News (CIN). 1966–2001. Rarotonga. Cook Islands Statistics Office. 2001. Census of Population and Dwelling. Main report. Rarotonga. http://www.stats.gov.ck/. ——— . 2007. Rarotonga. http://www.stats.gov.ck/. Coppell, William. 1968. Development and Education in the Cook Islands: A Study of Community and Education in an Emergent Pacific Islands Territory. PhD thesis, University of South Hampton. Cowan, Jane K. 1990. Dance and the Body Politic in Northern Greece. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Craig, Robert D., and Frank P. King. 1981. Historical Dictionary of Oceania. Westport, CT: Greenwood Press. Crocombe, Ron G. 1964. Land Tenure in the Cook Islands. Melbourne and New York: Oxford University Press. Dean, Beth. 1969. Too Much Showbiz, Not Enough Tradition in Cook Islands. Pacific Islands Monthly 40(3): 57–58. Dean, Beth, and Victor Carell. 1983. Twin Journeys: To Sing, to Dance, to Live. Sydney: Pacific Publishers. DeLoughrey, Elizabeth M. 2007. Routes and Roots: Navigating Caribbean and Pacific Island Literatures. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press. Denoon, Donald, and Philippa Mein-Smith, with Marivic Wyndham. 2000. A History of Australia, New Zealand and the Pacific. Oxford: Blackwell. Desmond, Jane C. 1999. Staging Tourism: Bodies on Display from Waikiki to Sea World. Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press. di Leonardo, Micaela, ed. 1991. Gender and the Crossroads of Knowledge: Feminist Anthropology in the Postmodern Era. Berkeley: University of California Press. Douglas, Bronwen. 1979. Rank, Power, Authority: A Reassessment of Traditional Leadership in South Pacific Societies. Journal of Pacific History 14:2–30. Douglas, Mary, ed. 1987. Constructive Drinking: Perspectives on Drink from Anthropology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Dyer, Richard. 1997. White. New York and London: Routledge. Eastman, George Herbert. 1925. Coral Island Folk : Stories and Pictures from the South Sea Islands. London: London Missionary Society. Quoted in Scott 1991, 185. Eco, Umberto. 1984. The Frames of “Freedom.” In Carnival, ed. Thomas A. Sebeok, 1–9. Berlin: Mouton.

bibliography



Edles, Laura. 2004. Rethinking “Race,” “Ethnicity” and “Culture”: Is Hawai‘i the “Model Minority” State? Ethnic and Racial Studies 27(1): 37–68. Elliston, Deborah A. 1997. En/gendering Nationalism: Colonialism, Sex and Independence in French Polynesia. PhD thesis, New York University, New York. ——— . 1999. Negotiating Transnational Sexual Economies: Female Mahu and Same-Sex Sexuality in “Tahiti and Her Islands.” In Female Desires: Same-Sex Relations and Transgender Practices across Cultures, ed. Evelyn Blackwood and Saskia E. Wieringa, 232–252. New York: Columbia University Press. Eves, Richard. 1996. Colonialism, Corporeality and Character: Methodist Missions and the Refashioning of Bodies in the Pacific. History and Anthropology 10(1): 85–138. Farrer, James. 2000. Dancing through the Market Transition: Disco and Dance Hall Sociability in Shanghai. In The Consumer Revolution in Urban China, ed. Deborah S. Davis, 226–249. Berkeley: University of California Press. Foster, Robert. 1991. Making National Cultures in the Global Ecumene. Annual Review of Anthropology 20: 235–260. Foucault, Michel. 1978. The History of Sexuality. Vol. 1, An Introduction. New York: Vintage. Friedman, Jonathan. 1994. Cultural Identity and Global Process. London: Sage. Garber, Marjorie. 1992. Vested Interests: Cross-Dressing and Cultural Anxiety. London: Penguin Books. Geertz, Clifford. 1973. Deep Play: Notes on a Balinese Cockfight. In The Interpretation of Cultures: Selected Essays, 412–454. New York: Basic Books. Gefou-Madianou, Dimitra. 1992. Introduction: Alcohol Commensality, Identity Transformations and Transcendence. Alcohol, Gender and Culture, ed. Dimitra GefouMadianou, 1–34. London and New York: Routledge. Gill, William Wyatt. 1876. Life in the Southern Islands; or, Scenes and Incidents in the South Pacific and New Guinea. London: Religious Tract Society. ——— . 1885. Jottings from the Pacific. London: Religious Tract Society. ——— . 1892. The South Pacific and New Guinea: Past and Present with Notes on the Hervey Group and Illustrative Songs and Various Myths. Sydney: Government Printer. ——— . [1892] 1979. Cook Islands Custom. Suva and Rarotonga: Institute of Pacific Studies, University of the South Pacific, in association with the Ministry of Education. ——— . 1894. From Darkness to Light in Polynesia. London: Religious Tract Society. Gilroy, Paul. 1987. Diaspora, Utopia and the Critique of Capitalism. In “There Ain’t No Black in the Union Jack”: The Culture Politics of Race and Nation, 153–222. London: Hutchinson. Gilson, Richard. 1980. The Cook Islands 1820–1950. Edited by Ron Crocombe. Wellington and Suva: Victoria University Press in association with the Institute of Pacific Studies, University of the South Pacific.

bibliography



Goldstein, Donna. 2003. Laughter Out of Place: Race, Class, Violence and Sexuality in a Rio Shantytown. Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press. Goldsworthy, David. 1996. A Cultural Odyssey to the Cook Islands. Unpublished paper. ——— . 2000. Contemporary Music of Polynesia: Cook Islands. In The Pacific Islands: An Encyclopedia, ed. Brij V. Lal and Kate Fortune, 513–514. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press. ——— . 2001. Whose Song Is This Anyway? Issues of Song Authorship, Accreditation, Appropriation and Identity in Cook Islands Popular Music. In Musical In-Betweenness, ed. Denis Crowdy, Shane Howman, and Tony Mitchell, 35–46. Proceedings of the 8th IASPM Australia–New Zealand Conference. Sydney: UTS Printing Services. Goodwin, Maureen, and Makiuti Tongia. 2003. Reo: “Aue ta e to tatou Reo”—Alas for Our Language! In Akono‘anga Maori: Cook Islands Culture, ed. Ron Crocombe and Marjorie T. Crocombe, 93–108. Suva and Rarotonga: Institute of Pacific Studies in association with the Cook Islands Extension Centre, University of the South Pacific, the Cook Islands Cultural and Historic Places Trust, and the Ministry of Cultural Development. Grimshaw, Patricia. 1989. New England Missionary Wives, Hawaiian Women and “The Cult of True Womanhood.” In Family and Gender in the Pacific: Domestic Contradictions and the Colonial Impact, ed. Margaret Jolly and Martha Macintyre, 19–44. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Gudgeon, Walter E. 1910. A Journal of my Residence in the South Seas and of the Causes that Led to that Residence. Unpublished manuscript. Quoted in Scott 1991, 305. Gunson, Neil. 1987. Sacred Women Chiefs and Female “Headmen” in Polynesian History. Journal of Pacific History 12(3): 139–172. Hall, Colin. 1994. Coming In on a Jet Plane: A Pictorial History of the Rarotongan International Airport. Rarotonga: Rarotongan Airport Authority. Hanlon, David, and Geoffrey M. White. 2000. Introduction to Voyaging through the Contemporary Pacific, ed. David Hanlon and Geoffrey M. White, 1–21. Lanham, MD: Rowman and Littlefield. Hau‘ofa, Epeli. 1994. Our Sea of Islands. Contemporary Pacific 6(1): 147–161. ——— . 1998. The Ocean in Us. Contemporary Pacific 10(2): 391–411. Hayward, Philip. 2000. Contemporary Pacific Music. In The Pacific Islands: An Encyclopedia, ed. Brij V. Lal and Kate Fortune, 511–512. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press. Hecht, Julia. 1976. Double Descent and Cultural Symbolism in Pukapuka. PhD thesis, University of Chicago.

bibliography



——— 1977. The Culture of Gender in Pukapuka: Male, Female and the Mayakitanga “Sacred Maid.” Journal of the Polynesian Society 86:183–206. Henry, Albert. 1971. Rambling Thoughts of the Premier Hon. Albert R. Henry. Book 2, parts 3–5. Rarotonga. Henry, Geoffrey. 1993. Foreword to Visions of the Pacific, ed. David Arnell and Lisette Wolk. Rarotonga: Ministry of Cultural Development. Henry, Teuira. 1928. Ancient Tahiti. Bernice P. Bishop Museum Bulletin 48. Honolulu: Bishop Museum Press. Herdt, Gilbert, ed. 1994. Third Sex, Third Gender: Beyond Sexual Dimorphism in Culture and History. New York: Zone Books. Hereniko, Vilsoni. 1995. Woven Gods: Female Clowns and Power in Rotuma. Hawai‘i : Center for Pacific Islands Studies, University of Hawai‘i. Hiroa, Te Rangi (Sir Peter Buck). 1927. The Material Culture of the Cook Islands (Aitutaki). Memoirs of the Board of Ethnological Research. Vol. 1. New Plymouth: Thomas Avery and Sons. ——— . 1932a. Ethnology of Manihiki and Rakahanga. Bernice P. Bishop Museum Bulletin 99. Honolulu: Bishop Museum Press. ——— . 1932b. Ethnology of Tongareva. Bernice P. Bishop Museum Bulletin 92. Honolulu: Bishop Museum Press. ——— . 1944. Arts and Crafts of the Cook Islands. Bernice P. Bishop Museum Bulletin 179. Honolulu: Bishop Museum Press. Huntsman, Judith, and Anthony Hooper. 1975. Male and Female in Tokelau Culture. Journal of the Polynesian Society 84(4): 415–430. Iwabuchi, Koichi. 2002. Recentering Globalization: Popular Cultural and Japanese Transnationalism. Durham, NC, and London: Duke University Press. Jackson, Peter. 1996. The Persistence of Gender. Meanjin 5(1): 118–119. Reprinted in the Australian Humanities Review, http://www.lib.latrobe.edu.au/AHR/archive/ Issue-April-1996/Jackson.html. ——— . 1997. Kathoey > < Gay > < Man: The Historical Emergence of Gay Male Identity in Thailand. In Sites of Desire, Economies of Pleasure: Sexualities in Asia and the Pacific, ed. Lenore Manderson and Margaret Jolly, 166–190. Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press. Jamieson, Kristina. 2002. In the Isle of the Beholder: Traversing Place, Exploring Representations and Experiences of Tourism in the Cook Islands. PhD thesis, Australian National University, Canberra. Jolly, Margaret. 1991. To Save the Girls for Brighter and Better Lives. Journal of Pacific History 26(1): 27–48.

bibliography



——— . 1992. Spectres of Inauthenticity. Contemporary Pacific 4(1): 49–72. ——— . 1997. From Point Venus to Bali Ha’i: Eroticism and Exoticism in Representations of the Pacific. In Sites of Desire, Economies of Pleasure: Sexualities in Asia and the Pacific, ed. Lenore Manderson and Margaret Jolly, 99–122. Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press. ——— . 2001. On the Edge? Deserts, Oceans, Islands. Contemporary Pacific 13(2): 417–466. ——— . 2007. Imagining Oceania: Indigenous and Foreign Representations of a Sea of Islands. Contemporary Pacific 19(2): 508–545. ——— . 2008. Moving Masculinities: Memories and Bodies across Oceania. In Re-membering Oceanic Masculinities, guest ed. Margaret Jolly, special issue, Contemporary Pacific 20(1): 1–24. Jolly, Margaret, and Martha Macintyre. 1989. Introduction to Family and Gender in the Pacific: Domestic Contradictions and the Colonial Impact, ed. Margaret Jolly and Martha Macintyre, 1–18. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Jolly, Margaret, and Nicholas Thomas. 1992. Introduction to The Politics of Tradition in the Pacific, guest ed. Margaret Jolly and Nicholas Thomas, special issue, Oceania 62(4): 241–248. Jonassen, Jon. 1991. Cook Islands Drums. Rarotonga: Ministry of Cultural Development, Government of the Cook Islands. ——— . n.d. Cook Islands Dance. Unpublished manuscript. Kaeppler, Adrienne L. 1967. The Structure of Tongan Dance. PhD thesis, University of Hawai‘i, Honolulu. ——— . 1978. Dance in an Anthropological Perspective. Annual Review of Anthropology 7:31–49. ——— . 1983. Polynesian Dance: With a Selection for Contemporary Performances. Honolulu: Alpha Delta Kappa. ——— . 1987. Spontaneous Choreography: Improvisation in Polynesian Dance. Yearbook of the International Council for Traditional Music 19:13–22. ——— . 1989. Art and Aesthetics. In Developments in Polynesian Ethnology, ed. Alan Howard and Robert Borofsky, 211–240. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press. ——— . 1993. Poetry in Motion: Studies of Tongan Dance. Tonga: Vava‘u Press. ——— . 2001. Accordions in Tahiti—An Enigma. In Traditionalism and Modernity in the Music and Dance of Oceania: Essays in Honor of Barbara B. Smith, ed. Helen Reeves Lawrence, 45–66. Sydney: University of Sydney, Oceania Monographs. Kauanui, J. Kehaulani. 2007. Diasporic Deracination and “Off-Island” Hawaiians. Contemporary Pacific 19(1): 137–160. Kristeva, Julia. 1982. The Powers of Horror. New York: Columbia University Press.

bibliography



Küchler, Susanne. 2003. The Poncho and the Quilt: Material Christianity in the Cook Islands. In Clothing the Pacific, ed. Chloe Colchester, 97–116. Oxford and New York: Berg. Laird, Wayne. 1982. Drums and Drumming in the Cook Islands. MA thesis, University of Auckland. Lambert, Sylvester M. 1941. A Doctor in Paradise. London: J. M. Dent and Sons. Lamont, E. H. [1867] 1994. Wild Life among the Pacific Islanders. London: Hurst and Blackett. Lawrence, Helen Reeves. 1992. Is the “Tahitian” Drum Dance Really Tahitian? Re-evaluating the Evidence for the Origins of Contemporary Polynesian Drum Dance. Yearbook for Traditional Music 24:126–135. ——— . 1993. The Material Culture of Contemporary Music and Performance in Manihiki, Northern Cook Islands. PhD thesis, James Cook University, Queensland. Levy, Robert I. 1973. The Tahitians: Mind and Experience in the Society Islands. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Lilley, Rozanna. 1998. Staging Hong Kong: Gender and Performance in Transition. Richmond, VA: Curzon Press. Lo, Jacqueline. 2000. Beyond Happy Hybridity: Performing Asian-Australian Identities. In Alter/Asians: Asian-Australians Identities in Art, Media and Popular Culture, ed. Ien Ang, Sharon Chalmers, Lisa Law, and Mandy Thomas, 152–168. Annandale, NSW: Pluto Press. Lockwood, Victoria. 1993. An Introduction to Contemporary Pacific Societies. In Contemporary Pacific Societies: Studies in Development and Change, ed. Victoria S. Lockwood, Thomas G. Harding, and Ben J. Wallace, 1–17. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice Hall. ——— , ed. 2004. Globalization and Cultural Change in the Pacific Islands. Upper Saddle River, NJ: Pearson Prentice Hall. Loomis, Terrence. 1984. Sansom in the South Pacific: Hair Symbolism in Polynesian-European Relations. Social Research and Development Trust Occasional Papers. Auckland. ——— . 1990a. Cook Islands Remittances: Volumes, Determinants and Uses. In Migration and Development in the South Pacific, ed. John Connell, 61–81. Pacific Research Monograph 24. Canberra: Australian National University. ——— . 1990b. Pacific Migrant Labor, Class and Racism in New Zealand: Fresh off the Boat. Aldershot, England: Avebury. Lutz, Catherine, and Geoffrey White. 1986. The Anthropology of Emotions. Annual Review of Anthropology 15:405–436.

bibliography



Macintyre, Martha. 1992. Reflections of an Anthropologist Who Mistook Her Husband for a Yam: Female Comedy on Tubetube. In Clowning as Critical Practice: Performance Humor in the South Pacific, ed. William E. Mitchell, 130–144. Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press. Mageo, Jeannette M. 1992. Male Transvestism and Cultural Change in Samoa. American Ethnologist 19(3): 443–459. ——— . 1994. Hairdos and Don’ts: Hair Symbolism and Sexual History in Samoa. Man 29(2): 407–432. ——— . 1996. Samoa, On the Wilde Side: Male Transvestism, Oscar Wilde, and Liminality in Making Gender. Ethos 24(4): 588–627. Marchand, Marianne, and Anne Sisson Runyon, eds. 2000. Gender and Global Restructuring: Sightings, Sites and Resistances. London: Routledge. Marcus, George E. 1998. Ethnography through Thick and Thin. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Martin, Fran. 2003. Situating Sexualities: Queer Representation in Taiwanese Fiction, Film and Public Culture. Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press. Mason, Jean T., and Sonny Williams. 2003. Tamataora: The Performing Arts. In Akono‘anga Maori: Cook Islands Culture, ed. Ron Crocombe and Marjorie T. Crocombe, 23– 43. Suva and Rarotonga: Institute of Pacific Studies in association with the Cook Islands Extension Centre, University of the South Pacific, the Cook Islands Cultural and Historic Places Trust, and the Ministry of Cultural Development. Mauss, Marcel. [1954] 1988. The Gift: Forms and Functions of Exchange in Archaic Societies. New York and London: Routledge. McLean, Mervyn. 1980. Polynesia: 2. Cook Islands. In The New Grove Dictionary of Music and Musicians, vol. 15, ed. Stanley Sadie, 55–57. London: Macmillan. Mercer, Kobena. 1990. Black Hair/Style Politics. In Out There: Marginalization and Contemporary Cultures, ed. Russell Ferguson, Martha Gever, Trinh T. Minh-ha, and Cornel West, 247–264. New York and Cambridge: New Museum of Contemporary Art and MIT Press. Miller, Daniel. 1995. Introduction: Anthropology, Modernity and Consumption. In Worlds Apart: Modernity through the Prism of the Local, ed. Daniel Miller, 1–22. London and New York: Routledge. Mitchell, William E., ed. 1992. Clowning as Critical Practice: Performance Humor in the South Pacific. Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press. MOCD. See Cook Islands Ministry of Cultural Development. Mokoroa, Paiere. 1984. Tumu Nu: The Bush Beer School. In Atiu: An Island Community, ed. Kautai, Ngatupuna, et al., 74–81. Suva: Institute of Pacific Studies, University of the South Pacific.

bibliography



Moulin, Jane. 1996. What’s Mine Is Yours? Cultural Borrowing in a Pacific Context. Contemporary Pacific 8(1): 128–153. Moyle, Richard. 1991. Polynesian Music and Dance. Auckland: Centre for Pacific Studies, University of Auckland. Nero, Karen. 1992. Introduction: Challenging Communications in the Contemporary Pacific. In The Arts and the Politics, guest ed. Karen Nero, special issue, Pacific Studies 15(4): 1–12. Newnham, Raymond. 1989. Pearls and Politics: The Impact of the Development of the Cultured-Pearl Industry on Manihiki. MA thesis, University of Canterbury, Christchurch. New Zealand Overseas Development Assistance (NZODA). 1997. Cook Islands Economic Reforms to April 1997. Rarotonga. O’Hanlon, Michael. 1989. Reading the Skin: Adornment, Display and Society among the Wahgi. Bathurst: Crawford House Press. Ohnuma, Keiko. 2002. Local Haole—A Contradiction in Terms? The Dilemma of Being White, Born and Raised in Hawai‘i. Journal of Cultural Research 6(3): 272–285. Okamura, Jonathan Y. 1994. Why There Are No Asian Americans in Hawai‘i : The Continuing Significance of Local Identity. Social Processes in Hawai‘i 35:161–178. Ortner, Sherry B. 1981. Gender and Sexuality in Hierarchical Societies: The Case of Polynesia and Some Comparative Implications. In Sexual Meanings: The Cultural Construction of Gender and Sexuality, ed. Sherry B. Ortner and Harriet Whitehead, 359–409. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Otto, Ton, and Nicholas Thomas. 1997. Introduction to Narratives of Nation in the South Pacific, ed. Nicholas Thomas and Ton Otto, 1–13. Amsterdam: Harwood Academic. Peiss, Kathy. 1996. Making Up, Making Over: Cosmetics, Consumer Culture and Women’s Identity. In The Sex of Things: Gender and Consumption in Historical Perspective, ed. Victoria de Grazia, 311–336. Berkeley: University of California Press. PIM (Pacific Islands Monthly). 1976. Tropicalities. Vol. 47, no. 10, 31. Pitman, Charles. 1933. Journal 99, July 8. Box 6, London Missionary Society Library. Quoted in Beaglehole 1957, 37. Poirine, Bernard. 1998. Should We Hate or Love MIRAB? Contemporary Pacific 10(1): 65–105. Probyn, Elspeth. 2005. Blush: Faces of Shame. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Ralston, Caroline. 1987. Introduction to The Sanctity and Power: Gender in Polynesian History, ed. Caroline Ralston and Nicholas Thomas. Special edition, Journal of Pacific History 22(3): 115–122.

bibliography



Rasmussen, Viggo. 1938. Memorandum for the Resident Commissioner, Rarotonga. 14 June. File 20/1, Cook Islands Archives, Rarotonga. Reed, Susan A. 1998. The Politics and Poetics of Dance. Annual Review of Anthropology 27:503–532. Reilly, Michael. 1991. Reading into the Past: A Historiography of Mangaia in the Cook Islands. PhD thesis, Australian National University, Canberra. Sahlins. Marshall. 1994. Goodbye to Tristes Tropes: Ethnography in the Context of Modern World History. In Assessing Cultural Anthropology, ed. Robert Borofsky, 377–395. New York: McGraw Hill. Salisbury, Kevin. 1983. Pukapukan People and Their Music. MA thesis, University of Auckland. Sansom, Basil. 1980. The Camp at Wallaby Cross: Aboriginal Fringe Dwellers in Darwin. Canberra: Australian Institute of Aboriginal Studies. Savage, Stephen. [1962] 1980. A Dictionary of the Maori Language of Rarotonga. Suva: Institute of Pacific Studies, University of the South Pacific. Savigliano, Marta E. 1995. Tango and the Political Economy of Passion. Boulder, CO: Westview. Schechner, Richard. 1985. Between Theater and Anthropology. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. ——— . 2002. Performance Studies: An Introduction. London and New York: Routledge. Schieffelin, Edward L. 1976. The Sorrow of the Lonely and the Burning of the Dancers. St. Lucia: University of Queensland Press. ——— . 1985. Performance and the Cultural Construction of Reality. American Ethnologist 12:707–724. Scott, Dick. 1991. Years of the Pooh-Bah: A Cook Islands History. Rarotonga and Auckland: Cook Islands Trading Corporation in association with Hodder and Stoughton Ltd. Secretariat of the Pacific Community. 2005. Demographic Profile of Cook Islands: 1996–2002. http://www.spc.int/prism/country/ck/stats/NewsEvents/CIDemogProf.htm. Shore, Bradd. 1981. Sexuality and Gender in Samoa: Conceptions and Missed Conceptions. In Sexual Meanings: The Cultural Construction of Gender and Sexuality, ed. Sherry B. Ortner and Harriet Whitehead, 192–215. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ——— . 1982. Sala‘ilua: A Samoan Mystery. New York: Columbia University Press. Siikala, Jukka. 1990. Chiefs, Gender and Hierarchy in Ngaputoru. In Culture and History in the Pacific, ed. Jukka Siikala, 107–124. Helsinki: Finnish Anthropological Society. ——— . 1991. Akatokamanava: Myth, History and Society in the Southern Cooks. Auckland: Polynesian Society.

bibliography



Sinavaiana, Caroline. 1992. Comic Theater in Samoa as Indigenous Media. In The Arts and the Politics, guest ed. Karen Nero, special issue, Pacific Studies 15(4): 199–210. Sissons, Jeffrey. 1994. Royal Backbone and the Body Politic: Aristocratic Titles and Cook Islands Nationalism since Self-Government. Contemporary Pacific 6(2): 371–396. ——— . 1995. National Movements: Dance and Nationhood in the Cook Islands. Sites 30:153–164. ——— . 1997. Nation or Desti-nation? Cook Islands Nationalism since 1965. In Narratives of Nation in the South Pacific, ed. Nicholas Thomas and Ton Otto, 145–166. Amsterdam: Harwood Academic. ——— . 1999. Nation and Destination: Creating Cook Islands Identity. Rarotonga: Institute of Pacific Studies and the University of the South Pacific Centre in the Cook Islands. Spickard, Paul. 2002. Introduction: Pacific Diaspora? In Pacific Diaspora: Island Peoples in the United States and Across the Pacific, ed. Paul Spickard, Joanne L. Rondilla, and Debbie Hippolite Wright, 1–27. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press. Statistics New Zealand. 2006. Cook Island Maori People in New Zealand. http://www.stats. govt.nz/analytical-reports/pacific-profiles-2006/cook-island-maori-people-innew-zealand.htm. Stevenson, Karen. 1990. ‘Heiva: Continuity and Change of a Tahitian Celebration. Contemporary Pacific 2(2): 255–278. ——— . 1992. Politicization of la Culture Ma‘ohi: The Creation of a Tahitian Cultural Identity. In The Arts and the Politics, guest ed. Karen Nero, special issue, Pacific Studies 15(4): 117–136. Stoeltje, Beverly. 1996. The Snake Charmer Queen: Ritual, Competition, and Signification in an American Festival. In Cohen, Wilk, and Stoeltje 1996a, 13–29. Stoller, Paul. 1995. Embodying Colonial Memories: Spirit Possession, Power and the Hauka in West Africa. New York and London: Routledge. Strathern, Marilyn. 1990. Artefacts of History: Events and the Interpretation of Images. In Culture and History in the Pacific, ed. Jukka Siikala, 25–44. Helsinki: Finnish Anthropological Society. Sunderland, P. J., and Aaron Buzacott, eds. [1866] 1985. Mission Life in Islands of the Pacific: Being a Narrative of the Life and Labours of the Rev. A. Buzacott. Reprint, Suva and Rarotonga: Institute of Pacific Studies, University of the South Pacific, in association with the Cook Islands Library and Museum Society. Taraare, Te Ariki. 1920. History and Traditions of Rarotonga. Journal of the Polynesian Society 29:129–137. Tararo, Jane. 1936. Letter to Judge Ayson, Resident Commissioner, Rarotonga. 30 April. File 18/1, Cook Islands Archives, Rarotonga.

bibliography



Taylor, John. 2008. Changing Pacific Masculinities. Special issue, Australian Journal of Anthropology. Teaiwa, Teresia. 1994. Bikinis and Other S/pacific N/oceans. Contemporary Pacific 6(1): 87–109. Teilhet-Fisk, Jehanne. 1996. The Miss Heilala Beauty Pageant: Where Beauty Is More Than Skin Deep. In Cohen, Wilk, and Stoeltje 1996, 185–202. Thomas, Nicholas. 1991. Entangled Objects: Exchange, Material Culture, and Colonialism in the Pacific. Cambridge: Harvard University Press. ——— . 1999. The Case of the Misplaced Ponchos: Speculations Concerning the History of Cloth in Polynesia. Journal of Material Culture 4(1): 5–21. Thompson, Roger C. 1994. Britain, Germany, Australia, and New Zealand in Polynesia. In Tides of History: The Pacific Islands in the Twentieth Century, ed. K. R. Howe, Robert C. Kiste, and Brij V. Lal, 71–92. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press. Toren, Christina. 1989. Drinking Cash: The Purification of Money through Ceremonial Exchange in Fiji. In Money and the Morality of Exchange, ed. Jonathan P. Parry and Maurice Bloch, 142–164. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Tourist Development Council. 1967. Information Paper on Aspects of a Tourist Industry for the Cook Islands. File 21, Cook Islands Archives, Rarotonga. Trask, Haunani-Kay. 1993. Lovely Hula Hands: Corporate Tourism and the Prostitution of Hawaiian Culture. In From a Native Daughter: Colonialism and Sovereignty in Hawai‘i. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press, 136–147. ——— . 2000. Settlers of Color and “Immigrant” Hegemony: “Locals” in Hawai‘i. Amerasia Journal 26:1–24. Tsing, Anna. 2002. The Global Situation. In The Anthropology of Globalization: A Reader, ed. Jonathan X. Inda and Renato Rosaldo, 453–485. Malden, MA: Blackwell. ——— . 2005. Friction: An Ethnography of Global Connection. Princeton, NJ, and Oxford: Princeton University Press. Tumu Korero Conference. 1974. Te Akatuera Anga o te Uipaanga ki roto i te Princess Hall. August 20–22. Rarotonga. Turner, Terence. 1993. The Social Skin. In Reading the Social Body, ed. Catherine B. Burroughs and Jeffrey D. Ehrenreich, 15–39. Iowa City: University of Iowa Press. Turner, V. 1969. The Ritual Process: Structure and Anti-Structure. Chicago: Aldine. ——— . 1986. The Anthropology of Performance. New York: Paj Publications. United Nations. 1960. Declaration on the Granting of Independence to Colonial Countries and Peoples. Resolution 1514 (XV). http://www.un.org/Depts/dpi/decolonization/ declaration.htm. Vellenoweth, C. 1934. Memorandum for the Resident Commissioner, Rarotonga. 16 August. File 18/1, Cook Islands Archives, Rarotonga.

bibliography



——— . 1935a. Letter to Judge Ayson, Resident Commissioner. 27 April. File 18/1, Cook Islands Archives, Rarotonga. ——— . 1935b. Letter to Judge Ayson, Resident Commissioner. 10 May. File 18/1, Cook Islands Archives, Rarotonga. ——— . 1936. Letter to Judge Ayson, Resident Commissioner. 20 May. File 18/1, Cook Islands Archives, Rarotonga. Wallace, Lee. 2003. Sexual Encounters: Pacific Texts, Modern Sexualities. Ithaca, NY, and London: Cornell University Press. White, Geoffrey M. 1991. Identity through History: Living Stories in a Solomon Islands Society. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Wilk, Richard. 1995. Learning to Be Local in Belize: Global Systems of Common Difference. In Worlds Apart: Modernity through the Prism of the Local, ed. Daniel Miller, 110–133. London and New York: Routledge. Williams, John. 1837. A Narrative of Missionary Enterprises in the South Sea Islands: With Remarks upon the Natural History of the Islands, Origin, Languages, Traditions and Usages of the Inhabitants. London: Snow. Yano, Christine R. 2006. Crowning the Nice Girl: Gender, Ethnicity, and Culture in Hawai‘i’s Cherry Blossom Festival. Honolulu: University of Hawai‘i Press. Young, Iris Marion. 1990. Throwing Like a Girl and Other Essays in Feminist Philosophy and Social Theory. Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press. Yuval-Davies, Nira. 1997. Gender and Nation. London: Sage.

INDEX

Page numbers in boldface refer to illustrations. A aesthetics, 32, 78, 177n5; aesthetic motility, 149. See also race Aitutaki, xviii, 9; culture, 2, 3, 6, 24, 29–31, 154–155, 175n2, 176n9; Koni Raoni, 155–156, 157, 158; and tourism, 59 Altman, Dennis, 115 anthropology, 12, 14; and colonialism, 26 Appadurai, Arjun, 19, 20, 160 ‘are karioi (houses of entertainment): and contemporary entertainment, 31; historical context, 29–30, 32–33, 93; and visitors, 31, 33 Australian Aborigines, 129 Ayson, H. F., 46 B Ballet of the South Pacific, 52–53 Baudinet, June, 97 Beaglehole, Ernest, 40 beauty, 102, 105; as aesthetic performance, 96, 178n11 Belize, 106 Besnier, Niko, 80, 112, 114 “Bobby,” 129–130, 132 bodies, 40; and display, 23, 99; and shame, 177n1. See also movement

Browne, Maire, 104–105 Buzacott, Aaron, 36, 38, 41 C capitalism, 19, 138; and commodification of culture, 76–77; and inequality, 20; and local values, 58, 61, 153–154 Carell, Victor, 52, 72 “Cher,” 117, 121, 122–123 Christian Youth Organization, 110 “Claudia,” 117–118 cleanliness, 78, 89, 91, 111. See also domesticity coconut wireless. See gossip competitions and beauty pageants. See dance in Cook Islands; drag shows and competitions; femininity comportment: cross-gender, 17, 112; and dance, 25, 105; and domesticity, 85; and missionaries, 37. See also gender Constitution Celebrations, 4; and cultural events, 21, 51–52, 53, 59, 72–73, 93, 110, 174n16 Cook, James, 7 Cook Islanders: diaspora, 9, 10, 19, 20, 59, 147, 149; and public comportment and propriety, 87–91; skills in arts and sport, 5; youth, 47–48, 110, 144, 146



index

Cook Islands: colonial period (NZ), 7, 21, 27, 31, 41–49, 170n11, 173n4; geography, 7, 8, 9; links with New Zealand, 7, 9, 50, 153, 163, 169n3, 172n2; missionary period, 31, 32, 33, 35, 36–41, 67, 68, 90, 91; “outer islands,” 3, 9, 10, 24, 40, 52, 139, 176n9; population, 7, 9, 10, 147, 153, 154, 170n11, 182n6; precolonial period, 29, 31, 90, 91; and self-government, 2, 3, 49, 50, 75; in transition, 147, 153. See also individual islands by name Cook Islands Christian Church (CICC), 2, 12, 69, 70, 149–150, 152. See also religion Cook Islands National Arts Theatre (CINAT), 4, 52, 53, 72 Cook Islands society: and family and community life, 15, 61, 62, 98, 109, 115, 119, 148, 175n4; and individuality, 15, 18, 27, 61, 62, 72, 76, 77, 85, 88, 89, 92, 94, 96, 103, 105, 106, 109, 126, 138, 148; rank and status in, 10–11, 18, 36, 37, 39–40, 63–64, 89, 93–94, 95, 96, 102, 112, 170nn6, 11. See also religion Cook Islands Sports and Olympic Association (CISOA), 5 Cowan, Jane, 18, 180n3 cross-dressing, 108, 109, 110, 113, 115, 117, 118; and gender identity, 111–112 Cultural Development, Ministry of, 22–23, 29, 54, 125 culture: and authenticity, 24, 148; Cook Islands Māori culture, 3, 6, 56, 137; and cultural flows and exchange, 20–21, 31, 46, 66, 76, 86, 95–96, 101, 106, 108, 109, 115, 118, 119, 127, 130, 138–139, 157, 158, 159, 173n11, 179n1; and government support, 2, 3, 4, 5, 7, 21–22, 29, 50, 53–55, 56, 148; and (national) identity, 13, 50–51, 54, 55–56, 58, 71, 93, 116, 123, 159; “local local,” 6, 119, 170n6; modernity and tradition in, 21, 57–58, 86, 92, 127, 159; non-Cook Islands forms, 19–20, 39–40, 45, 48, 58, 66, 108–109, 132. See also dance in the Cook Islands; expressive culture and practices; globalization

D dance groups, xvii, 2, 19, 21, 44, 54, 59, 163, 175n2; Aitutaki dance team, 2; Orama, 23, 24, 59, 60, 61, 62–63, 64, 70, 80, 97, 175n5; and money-making, 60, 61, 62–63, 64, 82; national dance team, 3; Te Ivi Māori, 4; and tradition, 65 dance in the Cook Islands, 1, 23, 153; aka‘uka, xviii; in colonial period, 43, 44, 49; and commodification, 57, 61–62, 65, 82; competitions, 16, 24, 52, 54, 59, 62, 64, 67, 85, 92–93, 101, 133, 154, 159, 174nn16, 17, 176n15; contemporary dance practice and debate, 27, 31, 62, 65–67, 72, 83, 100, 159, 160; cross-dancing, 108, 110–111, 116, 117; and enjoyment, 13, 15, 58, 63, 73, 94; and gender (ideals), 17–18, 31, 108, 139– 140, 159; and the “heart,” 13–14, 15, 17, 72, 80, 82, 83, 157, 164; kaparima (“action songs”), 59; “Māori waltzing,” 45–46, 139; and modernity and tradition, 26, 49, 51, 56, 57–58, 83, 159–160; and official events, 21, 51–52, 53, 59, 72–73, 75, 110, 174n16; and the past, 21, 67–68, 159; pe‘e (chant), 60; as polyphonic form, 12; in precolonial settings, 30, 32, 33–34; and prestige, 63–64, 65, 93; and social events and interaction, 15, 17, 19, 22, 40, 56, 80–81, 82–83, 130, 136–137, 155–156, 157, 164; tārekareka, 58, 155; and tourism, 53, 54, 59–65, 77–78, 82, 83, 159; and “tradition,” 18, 20, 57, 65, 66, 67, 68, 71–72, 74–75; and travel, 2, 4, 19, 24, 59, 60, 64, 72, 148, 163; ‘ura pā‘ata (platform dance), 69; ‘ura pa‘u (drum dance), 14, 60; ‘ura piani (“harmonica dance”), 77–78, 79–80; ura vi‘i vi‘i (“dirty dancing”), xviii. See also culture; expressive culture and practices; femininity; fundraising; “outing”; performing arts Davis, Tom, 4 Dean, Beth, 52, 72, 74 Desmond, Jane, 175n1 Doctor in Paradise, A (Lambert), 43 domesticity, 91, 92, 119, 122; and femininity, 38, 85–86, 89, 109, 124 drag shows and competitions, 100, 107, 110, 116, 117–120, 121, 122–124,

index

129, 133, 179n2; and global (Western) cosmopolitanism, 108–109 E Eastman, Rev. George, 39 economy, the, 5, 61, 97; alternative, interactive economy, 149, 151, 181n4; banking, 7, 9; and colonial policy, 47; as MIRAB economy, 9; primary produce, 43, 148, 153; and reform, 9–10, 21–22, 53, 55, 147–148, 153; trade, 36, 39, 41, 42, 43, 152. See also tourism education, 3, 42, 95, 176n11; and expressive forms, 3; non-school, 48 employment, 9–10, 20, 147, 170n7, 175n5 entertainment, 132, 171n17; and behavior, 134; and community, 156, 131–132; contemporary forms, 31; and drinking, 133; and morality, 51, 134; traditional, 40, 43; transformation of, 27, 74. See also ‘are karioi; “outing”; social life Ethnology of Tongareva (Hiroa), 34 expressive culture and practices, 56; and audience participation, 78–80, 81, 155, 157, 176n14; and belonging, 149–151, 164; and Christian morality, 68–71; and clashes between local and global, 109, 116, 148, 179n2; clothing and hairstyles, 38, 39, 40, 95–96, 98, 108, 137, 169n1; in colonial period, 42, 45, 48–49, 159; and cultural loss, 58, 77, 138, 152–153; and humor and transgression, 15–16, 75, 110, 116, 117, 121–123, 129–130, 132, 140; and (group) identities, 1, 13, 28, 58, 88, 149, 151, 158, 160, 164, 172n3; and innovation, 71–72, 75–76, 108, 109, 127; and missionary period, 37, 38–40, 68, 159; and modernity, 20, 68, 127, 148, 158, 159; and official events, 42–43, 55; and outsiders, 31, 33–34, 35, 46–47, 77–79, 120, 159; as performative commentary, 27, 73; and pleasure, 14–15, 83, 86; in precolonial times, 31, 32, 35, 38; and prestige, 32–33, 39–40; and social life, xvi–xviii, 1, 12–13, 14, 15, 22, 42, 64, 76, 126, 146, 156, 162; tārekareka, 14, 27, 31, 155, 158; and tourism, 49, 51, 53, 57, 61, 76–77, 120,



175n1, 176n13; and tradition, 21, 49, 53, 57, 71–72, 74–75, 102, 105, 148, 176n9; and youth groups, 48–49, 51, 54, 62. See also culture; dance in the Cook Islands; music and song; “outing”; performing arts F female dancers and dance practices, 66; and deportment, 25; and place and identity, 1. See also femininity femininity, 178n10; and competitions, 27, 85–86, 88, 92, 93, 95, 96, 98, 102, 106, 111; and cultural authenticity and tradition, 18, 58, 67, 96, 100–101; and expressive practices, 18, 27, 43, 67, 85, 86, 87–88, 92, 105, 109, 159; and morality, 87, 93, 105, 134–135; and motherhood, 118–119, 122; normative, 25–26, 27, 32, 37, 44, 79, 84–86, 88–92, 94, 98–100, 103–104, 111, 118, 159; sexualized forms of, 117 fund-raising, 17, 44, 46, 59, 62, 80, 81, 82, 110, 155–157 G Garber, Marjorie, 179n2 gender, 17–18, 58, 149, 159, 160, 181n1; and comportment, 44, 85, 86, 87, 89, 92, 110, 116–117, 118, 120; and expression of emotion, 18; gender relations, 27; gender roles, 114; and identity, 109, 123–124; norms, 11, 37–38, 103, 106, 110–111, 121, 139–140. See also femininity; masculinity; sexuality Gift, The (Mauss), 182n9 Gill, William Wyatt, 32, 40, 173n11 Gilson, Richard, 39, 172n3 globalization, 153; and capitalism, 19; and economics, 149, 181n1; and homogenization, 115, 159, 179n8; and local (Cook Islands) values, 18, 27, 58, 77, 83, 93, 96, 105, 106, 109, 148, 149, 158, 160; and unproductive Western-local encounters, 20, 105, 120, 122, 123–124 Goffman, Irving, 114 Goldstein, Donna, 16 Goldsworthy, David, 180n5 gossip, 13, 87, 112, 119, 125, 144–145, 156



index

government and politics, 11; Cook Islands Democratic Party, 4, 53; Cook Islands Party, 3, 4, 50, 52, 54; toward selfgovernment, 50 Gudgeon, Walter E., 38, 41–42 H Hau‘ofa, Epeli, 149, 158 Hawai‘i, 170n6 Henderson, Maria, 66 Henry, Sir Albert, 3, 4, 50–51, 52, 53, 71, 74 Henry, Sir Geoffrey, 54–56 Henry, Tupui, 174n17 Hereniko, Vilsoni, 35 Hiroa, Te Rangi (Sir Peter Buck), 32, 34, 67 Hironymous, Alan, 97 humor. See expressive culture and practices I identity, 24, 70, 112, 116, 149, 158; and cultural institutions, 21; gender, 109, 111, 123– 124; and personhood, 114, 123 Iro, Naomi, 48–50 Iwabuchi, Koichi, 178n8 J Jackson, Michael, 108 Jackson, Peter, 179 Jamieson, Kristina, 175n1 Joseph, Ota, 22–23, 55, 72, 82 K Kaeppler, Adrienne L., 171n13 Kan, Mama, xvii, 2, 22, 24, 26, 25, 162 Karati, Maki, 68 Karati, Papa Maeva, 44 Karika ariki, 94 Katikatia: The Legend in Music (Raitia), 161–162 kava, 128 Keenan-Williams, Georgina, 23, 62–63, 65, 67, 82, 104, 139 L “Lady Posh,” 117, 119–120, 121 “Lahaia,” 117, 122–123 Lambert, S. M., 43

Lamont, E. H., 33, 36 land claims, 24 languages: Cook Islands Māori (Rarotongan), xviii, 3, 6, 10, 102, 138, 176n11, 177n6; dialects, 10, 138; English, 6, 10, 95, 91, 176n11 location: “politics of,” 25; and the researcher, 25, 126 London Missionary Society, 36, 37 M Mageo, Jeannette, 177n2 Martin, Fran, 109 masculinity, 32, 37, 92, 116, 172n22 Mataroa, Danny, 60, 61, 78 Maui, Ngatuaine, 23 Ma‘uke, 44 media, 10, 148, 153; Cook Islands News, 73, 74, 93, 97, 98, 103, 104, 110, 174n17, 178n10; newspapers, 5, 10, 176n11; radio, xvi, 10 migration, 9, 10, 19, 20, 147, 153, 158 mobility. See movement modernity. See culture; dance in the Cook Islands; expressive culture and practices Mokoroa, Paiere, 128 Moss, Fredrick, 41 movement, 19, 20; affective, 19, 150–151, 152, 158, 162, 164; and cultural norms, 23, 90; in (female) dance, 2, 4, 7, 14, 18, 19, 20, 22, 23, 49, 59, 60, 63, 65, 66, 68, 82, 108, 118, 119, 138, 176n9; and expressive culture and practices, 24, 28, 31, 46, 149–151, 181n2; and gender, 17; geographical, 7, 19, 24, 28, 37, 46, 68, 86, 149–150, 153, 154, 158, 170n7, 174n15, 181n3; and global capitalism, 19, 20; and humor, 15–16, 75; and meaning, 13, 110; and restraint, 69, 90, 93, 94; and sexuality, 66, 67, 132, 177n15 music and song, xvi, 5, 15, 22, 40–41, 59–60, 64, 89, 121; ‘imene tuki (religious songs), 14, 69, 80, 154–155; island music and composition, 44, 49, 101, 137–138, 141, 152, 165, 180n5; and linguistic diversity, 10; songs of grief and loss, xv–xvi, 17, 138, 161, 162, 163; ‘ūtē (topical song), 60, 73, 102

index

N nationalism, 20 New Zealand, and decolonization, 50. See also Cook Islands Nicolas, Arikirangi Chantel, 97, 98, 101 nightclubs and bars, 87, 126, 127, 133–135, 137; and cross-dancing, 110, 121; and dancing, xvii, xviii, 59, 100; and expressive culture and practices, 22, 27, 64, 77, 107; and fundraising, 81; sexuality, 119. See also “outing” O “outing,” 125, 131; “after hours” (parties), 141, 144; and behavioral norms, 134–135, 139–140, 143, 144, 145–146, 180n7; and drinking practices, 125–126, 127–129, 130, 134, 135, 141, 143–144, 180n2; and enjoyment, 135, 136, 139, 140, 144; and music and dance, 127, 129–130, 131, 133, 135, 136–140, 141, 144, 162; watching others, 144–145. See also social life P Pacific Islands, 92; culture and heritage, 35, 52, 71, 173n8; Festival of Pacific Arts, 29; French-British rivalry in, 41; missionaries in, 36; nation-states, 21; and the performing arts, 21, 171n13, 173n5 papa‘ā (whites): attitudes towards, 6, 16, 20, 48, 78, 82; Cook Islanders’ views of, 6, 25, 26, 61, 78, 91, 95, 134; and cultural influence, 25, 74, 76, 77, 95, 116, 137; culture of, xviii, 6, 19, 20, 45, 66, 96, 108, 129, 148; heritage, 94–95, 97, 106, 175n6; residents, 9, 134, 181n8 patriarchy, 122 performing arts, 12; and cultural loss and dispossession, 58; and daily life, 2, 5, 24; and innovation, 72; laelae in, 17, 112, 113; plays (nuku), 34–35; and tourism, 27, 58, 59. See also dance in the Cook Islands; expressive culture and practices; music and song Pitman, Charles, 36 Polynesia: aesthetics, 32, 78; culture, 73, 114, 137, 170n11, 173n8; economics, 182n9;



femininity, 86 postcolonial, the, 16, 26, 160; and the Cook Islands, 1, 7, 86, 92, 122, 159 Probyn, Elsbeth, 177n1 Pukapuka, 12, 40, 110, 130, 173n6 Puna, Ngereteina, 71 R race, 106; and aesthetics, 94–95, 97, 175n6; and culture, 95 Raitia, Tepoave, 161, 162 Ralston, Caroline, 173n8 Rambling Thoughts of the Premier Hon. Albert R. Henry, 50 Rarotonga, 3, 7, 9, 11, 43; competitions in, 92; districts and rank in, 10–11; and (contemporary) dance practices, 24, 27; live music in, 137; missionary period, 37; “outing” in, 126, 133; as principal center, 42, 49, 50; and tourism, 57, 59, 78–79, 178n9; village halls on, 131 Rasmussen, Viggo, 42–43 Reid, Dorice, 76 religion, 12, 56, 144, 145; church attendance, xvi, 2, 38, 70, 85, 130, 134, 135, 145, 152, 154–155, 182n8; and cross-dressing, 110; missionary period, 36–37, 41, 91; and sexuality, 113; and the performing arts, 22, 37, 38–40, 58, 68–71, 83, 93, 154–155; precolonial, 33 S Samoa, 86 Sansom, Basil, 129 Savage, Mamia Tunui, 2, 25, 154, 163–164; as dancer and singer, xv–xvi, xvii, xviii, 2–4, 7, 14–5, 22, 72, 82, 144, 161, 162; and identity, 24; and sport, 5 Savage, Stephen, 29 Scott, Liana, 97, 101 sexuality, 66, 67, 120, 122, 132, 149, 177n15; homosexuality, 109, 111, 112–113, 115– 116, 117, 119; and identity, 114, 123–124, 129; and laelae, 111–115, 116, 117, 119, 123, 129–130, 132, 134, 179nn3, 4, 7 shame/shyness, 25, 32, 86, 87, 137, 144, 177n1; and clothing, 39; and individuality, 88, 89 Shore, Bradd, 86, 92, 116



index

Simmel, George, 126 Sinavaiana, Caroline, 35 Sissons, Jeffrey, 12, 51 social life, 27, 160; and conflict (trouble), 28, 126, 131, 141–143; and family, 113–114, 115, 122; and performing arts, 15, 17, 19, 22, 159; and sexuality, 116, 117, 119, 134, 179n4. See also entertainment; “outing” Society Islands, 36, 76 sport, 5, 16, 63–64, 100, 110, 171n17 Stevenson, Karen, 71 surveillance of behavior, 49, 67, 111, 132, 134, 145. See also gossip Sword, Alex, 100, 117 Sword, Madeleine, 97 T Tahiti, 58; and Cook Islands, 66, 67, 101, 173n11, 174n14, 176nn7, 8 Taraare, Te Ariki, 67 Tararo, Jane, 43, 44–45, 46 Temata, Carmen, 22 tere pati (traveling party), 2, 44, 163–164, 174n17, 181n2 Tereu, Papa Tunui, 2, 30, 31, 154, 163 Tetevano, Marcia, 97, 98–99, 100, 101, 103 Tongareva (Penrhyn), 33, 34, 36, 42–43, 170n9; culture, 149–150, 152–153; and tradition, 74–75 Toren, Christina, 182n8 tourism, 20, 49, 53, 54, 59, 148; and sponsorship, 97, 99–100, 102, 107. See also dance in the Cook Islands; expressive culture and practices; performing arts trade unions, 50 tradition, 21, 26, 56; and change, 31; and

Christian morality, 68; loss of, 24; and modernity, 96, 116. See also culture; dance in the Cook Islands; expressive culture and practices; femininity travel, 2, 4, 6, 19, 39, 66, 102, 148, 149, 163– 164; restricted, 37, 46. See also dance in the Cook Islands; movement Tupapa Centre, 125, 126, 127–131, 133 Turepu, Turepu, 4 U Upoko, Maryanne, 97, 100–101 V Vellenoweth, C., 44–45, 46 Victoria, Queen, 39, 42 Vogel, Tina, 97, 98, 99, 100, 101, 102, 103 W Wallace, Lee, 114 Western influence, 18, 42, 68, 74, 95, 108, 115–116, 130, 137, 159. See also culture; papa‘ā; religion White (Dyer), 177n7 Wildlife Among the Pacific Islanders (Lamont), 33–35 Wilk, Richard, 106 Williams, John, 36, 38, 39, 91 Williams, Sonny, 23, 24, 139 women: and cultural integrity, 18; and social roles, 37–38, 177n2. See also femininity Y Young, Iris Marion, 122 Yuval-Davies, Nira, 18

About the Author

Kalissa Alexeyeff currently holds a McArthur Fellowship at the University of Melbourne. Prior to this, she lectured in the Gender Studies Program at the University of Melbourne. She has a doctorate from the Department of Archaeology and Anthropology at the Australian National University.

production notes for alexeyeff / dancing from the heart Cover, interior design and composition by Julie Matsuo-Chun Display type in Bickham Script Pro and Avenir; text in Minion Pro Printing and binding by The Maple-Vail Book Manufacturing Group Printed on 60# Maple Opaque Recycled, 408 ppi