|
|
|
|
|
Exposure
and Disclosure: Julie Walsh Abstract: Following reflections on US rhetoric of "transparency and accountability" and US exploitative interactions with the people of the Marshall Islands, the author delves upon similar hypocrisies in regard to anthropological research practices and disciplinary ideals. She proposes justification for and examples of a collaborative research process that places the anthropologist at the service of local communities, highlights opportunities for reciprocal exchanges, and requires the ultimate anthropological accountability – a locally meaningful research product. Such public exposure (and humbling disclosures) are integral to recovering a meaningful and relevant anthropology that is distinguished from its colonial history and exploitative practices. Accountability and transparency are popular terms these days. In the realm of public service, words such as these have strong political sway and influence. They suggest openness, honesty, collaboration, attention, oversight, and elimination of waste, fraud, and abuse of our shared public resources. They support the democratic ideals of American society even as they mask its not-so-apparent shortcomings. Accountability and transparency occur in degrees, in partialities, not wholes.
These expressions are an integral part of recent US rhetoric in regard to its interaction with the Republic of the Marshall Islands (RMI), an independent Micronesian nation where I am privileged to work and study. (See map.) The Marshall Islands, once part of the US administered Trust Territory of the Pacific Islands (TTPI) established at the close of World War II, is a nation of coral atolls spread across hundreds of square miles of Northern Pacific Ocean. With 50,000 inhabitants, over two-thirds living on two bustling urban atolls, the Marshallese population is young, urban, and economically dependent on the United States. The Trust Territory relationship with the US ended in 1986 when the Compact of Free Association (CFA) was signed between the two nations.
The Compact, as it is known, spells out the terms of the US political affiliation with the three nations ( Republic of Palau-ROP, the Federated States of Micronesia-FSM, and the Republic of the Marshall Islands-RMI) that were once part of the TTPI . In general, the three separate Compacts allow the US perpetual rights of strategic denial in return for US funding for government operations, eligibility for particular US federal programs, and visa-free entry into the US for citizens of the "Freely Associated States" (FAS). In addition to the above terms, the Marshalls’ Compact has two provisions that distinguish it from those of FSM and ROP. These include a section ("177") that provides compensation for victims of US nuclear testing programs, and a separate agreement for the rental of Kwajalein Atoll as a missile testing facility by the US Army. While the Compact continues into perpetuity, or until the treaty is ended bilaterally, the economic provisions of the Compact are spelled out in fifteen year terms. Signed in 1986, the current Compact ends in September of 2001. Negotiations for the succeeding economic package have a two year limit as established in the first agreement. It is no secret that the US intends to decrease the financial commitment established in the first Compact, citing poor management of initial funds as rationale (Johnson, 25 June 2001, Pacific Islands Report). Thus, the increasing volume of political rhetoric that includes "accountability" and "transparency" is understandable as the US attempts to justify its proposed decrease in funding levels. In my mind, US use of these two terms is not only unjustifiable, but unashamedly hypocritical. I am infuriated about the hypocrisy of the rhetoric of "accountability" and "transparency" given the history of misguided and destructive American activities in this Micronesian nation. Yet, the more I cringe at those histories, and my own national connection to them, the more I recognize that without carefully and painfully examining my own activities and relationships in the Marshalls I am equally hypocritical. Am I any different from those involved in the past and present activities that I now criticize? My disgust at US rhetoric surrounding the upcoming renegotiations has triggered my reflexive look at anthropologists’ accountability and transparency. How accountable are we? How transparent are our actions? To what degree are we willing to engage these concepts? Further, are we willing to expose our weaknesses, failings, even faults? Can we disclose our research agendas and professional aspirations? As I will explain, I believe most fieldwork encounters mirror the exploitative relations of colonial administrations. After a closer examination and explanation of the hypocrisy inherent in US pre-negotiation statements, I extend my gaze toward anthropologists’ relations with communities where we live, work, and study. This essay offers suggestions for basing fieldwork on (near) reciprocal relations and service, exposing research agendas, disclosing limitations, and including participants in a peer-review process that requires anthropological accountability through accessibility. With an awareness of our positionality, and an insistence on full disclosure, active participation, and long-term commitments to communities of research, anthropology might possibly avoid the hypocritical blindness of expecting from others that which we ourselves are not willing to give. US/RMI relations The US negotiating teams, fueled by a scathing Government Accounting Office (GAO) report, warn leaders of the Freely Associated States that they shall be held accountable for their use of US funds and that their use of those funds shall be made transparent. Using the rhetoric of accountability for its own benefit, the US inaccurately represents and inappropriately questions use of all Compact funds while conveniently ignoring the fine categorical distinctions that define their respective use. Over two-thirds of Compact payments are compensatory and not subject to federal scrutiny. Given that the majority of Compact funds were negotiated in a bilateral strategic and political international treaty, not an economic assistance program, the RMI considers accounting for these funds an imposition on and insult to its sovereignty. Marshallese leadership is pressured to persistently ignore this insult in order to keep its negotiating options open. Thus, Marshalls’ President Kessai Note responded to the political pressure of future re-negotiations by delivering a public statement and promising greater liability and straightforwardness than prior administrations (Marshall Islands Journal, 9 Feb. 2001). The irony of US rhetoric is compounded since these demands have only been voiced in the final year of the 15 year CFA. The call is not only an accusation of wrongdoing, but also a veiled threat of repercussions for future agreements. Full responsibility for accountability has been shifted from the United States to the island nations as the US’s delinquent oversight of Compact fund reporting is conveniently downplayed. Despite the US GAO report’s admission that the US failed to meet its own oversight requirements (namely annual consultation) until nearly halfway through the 15 year agreement, the report is dominated by indictments regarding RMI and FSM use of funds ("Foreign Assistance: U.S. Funds to Two Micronesian Nations Had Little Impact on Economic Development" [GAO/NSIAD-00-216, Sept. 22, 2000]). The contextual irony of negotiators’ "transparency" is loaded with "transparent" hypocrisy as well. US strategic interests and policies in the Marshall Islands are so "transparent" that they are invisible to most Americans. How many Americans have heard of the ballistic missile-testing program that uses the lagoon of the world’s largest coral atoll, Kwajalein, as target practice for missiles fired from Vandenburg Air Force Base in California? How many American citizens are aware of the US nuclear weapons testing program that directly irradiated (at the very least) four atolls (Bikini, Enewetak, Rongerik and Utirik) and hundreds of Marshallese people from 1946-1958, while the islands were entrusted to the US by the United Nations? US Army Kwajalein Atoll (USAKA): The Ronald Reagan Ballistic Missile Defense System Site Despite the flood of recent journalistic reports of a new and improved missile defense system deemed necessary to protect the US from "rogue nations" such as North Korea or Pakistan, the site of the missile defense system is rarely, if ever cited. Among the random articles collected by the author over the course of a year (1999-2000), only one mentioned the Marshall Islands specifically. None mentioned Kwajalein Atoll or the presence of one of the most significant US Army bases.
The reported locus of possible missile interceptions is a vague, "above the Central Pacific" or even less determinate, "over the Pacific." (See reference for complete list of articles surveyed.) US policies deliberately obscure and conceal, rather than make evident US use of Compact resources (namely, Kwajalein) gained from the RMI. As made obvious in the perpetual Compact agreement, the strategic research value of Kwajalein atoll to the US is hardly comparable to even the $1 billion estimated total cost of the 15 year agreement.
If Kwajalein atoll, the contemporary site of significant US defense activity remains transparent enough as to be invisible to the US media and public, how much less perceptible is the history of US nuclear weapons testing? In her review of the history of the bikini bathing suit, Teiawa relates a similar irony. US limited disclosure of its role and interests at Bikini sharply contrasts with the amount of radioactive exposure received by the islanders, as well as the degree a woman’s body is exposed while wearing the bikini. The genericized, exociticized bikini has lost its s/pacific, tragic referent – Bikini (literally, the land of coconut trees), the atoll target of US nuclear weapons testing (Teiawa 1994). "During the period from June 30, 1946, to August 18, 1958, the United States conducted 67 atmospheric nuclear tests in the Marshall Islands, 43 at Enewetak Atoll, 23 at Bikini Atoll, and one approximately 85 miles from Enewetak. The most powerful of those tests was the "Bravo" shot, a 15 megaton device detonated on March 1, 1954, at Bikini Atoll. That test alone was equivalent to 1,000 Hiroshima bombs. While the Bravo test is well known, it should be acknowledged that 17 other tests in the Marshall Islands were in the megaton range and the total yield of the 67 tests was 108 megatons, the equivalent of more than 7,000 Hiroshima bombs." (RMI Nuclear Claims Tribunal http://www.tribunal-mh.org/)
The US Department of Energy refuses to acknowledge that the recognized area of impact of the nuclear testing program in the Marshall Islands is defined by different criteria than that used to define affected areas in Nevada. If the same definition of "affected area" that was used on US soil were used in the Marshalls, all 28 atolls in the nation but two would be designated "affected". What makes the injustice of DOE double standards sting more deeply is the severity of the testing’s impact on the Marshalls compared to that of US-based tests. The total yield of the 65 tests conducted in the Marshalls (108 megatons) is 99 times greater than that of the 87 atmospheric tests conducted in Nevada (1.1 megatons) (RMI Nuclear Claims Tribunal 1997:2). Marshallese citizens have attempted to seek US accountability in regard to nuclear testing in a slow, frustrating process. Shaming individuals, departments, and nations into reparation is a long and tedious struggle that has already taken a lifetime for the many victims of the testing. The people of the Marshall Islands call for disclosure that in addition to the four atolls recognized by the US Department of Energy (DOE) as affected by the nuclear testing program, nearly every atoll in the entire nation has felt the impact of the radiation. Marshallese citizens struggle to have the US DOE recognize, and thereby provide treatment for, their radiation-related illnesses. The preceding information has only come to light through the Clinton administration’s declassification of documents related to US nuclear weapons testing and radiation experiments on humans. While the US considers this long-awaited attempt at transparency and accountability a giant leap, it is truly only one small step – one that took fifty years to accomplish. Only today are RMI citizens beginning to know the extent and the horrible intent of the testing that has forever altered their lives. In this regard, Marshallese share similarities with the Yanomami in that their isolation is of unequivocal value to scientists who study the long-term impacts of disease and radiation. In fact, the Yanomami and Marshallese testing victims even share the same researcher, geneticist James Neel. Neel, recently maligned by Tierney (2001 Darkness in El Dorado) for experiments conducted at Yanomami expense, also worked for the Atomic Energy Commission that oversaw study of the Marshallese testing victims. Perhaps in dealings with the US, the Marshall Islands might justifiably imitate the US example of double, even multiple, standards of accountability and transparency. The US degree of transparency and accountability in regard to the Marshalls reflects understandings of "truth" quite similar to Hau’ofa’s fictionalized Islanders of Tiko, who consider that "Truth comes in portions, some large, some small, but never whole . . . . Truth is flexible and can be bent this way so and that way so; it can be stood on its head, be hidden in a box, and be sat upon" (Hau’ofa 1983:7,8 emphasis added). Political expediency determines whether half or even quarter truths are told, or hidden, even as each nation demands full truths from the other. Yet, if Marshallese, as viewed by Americans, are anything like the Tikongs, so too are Americans. Considering the partial disclosures proffered by the US over the past 50 years, it should hardly expect Marshallese leadership to be fully forthcoming. Even so, RMI President Kessai Note responded to US demands with a public account of the $1 billion received over the course of the Compact of Free Association . Public Anthropologies The glaring incongruity between US rhetoric and actions causes me to question my role as an anthropologist in the Marshalls and my interactions with the people I call friends, family, participants, students, colleagues, and co-workers. As yet one more American, specifically, a white, Christian, heterosexual woman, who works in the Marshall Islands, I am inextricably linked to dominant circles of power, prestige, and privilege. Wherever I go, whether I am aware of it or not, I carry this associative load to the benefit and detriment of myself and others. I am not only an American, I am now also an anthropologist. This is at times a very heavy burden, one I persistently feel apologetic about, since the history of anthropology (and anthropology in Micronesia) with which I am currently affiliated is certainly not above reproach. Anthropology in Micronesia was closely linked to the administrative needs of the United States during the post World War II Trust Territory period. Nearly all research was applied. Anthropologists were employed and funded by and for: the Coordinated Investigation of Micronesian Anthropology (CIMA), the Scientific Investigation of Micronesia (SIN), the Trust Territory Administration (TTPI), and the Displaced Communities in the Pacific Project (DCPP) (Kiste and Falgout 1999). The first well-known anthropologists who worked in the Marshalls (Jack Tobin, Alex Spoehr, Len Mason, Bob Kiste) are legendary not solely for the quality of their work but also because of a dearth of any other published materials. Most have long since retired and only a handful of contemporary Marshallese have memories of interaction with them or experience with other contemporary anthropologists (Laurence Carucci, Nancy Pollock, Holly Barker, Jim Hess, to name a few). From 1949-1997, only eight anthropology dissertations, all socio-cultural, have been written about the Marshall Islands, and only two were written in the last twenty years (cf. Kiste and Marshall 1999). Sadly, much of the anthropological work in the Marshalls has had very little meaning to Marshallese people and its impact has been negligible. Correspondingly, the predominant foreign conception of Marshallese people, if any, is as nuclear victims. Almost nothing has been published about the amazing intricacies of Marshallese society, family life, art, spirituality, folklore, legends, dances, gender practices, child-rearing, agriculture, traditional medicine, fishing practices, adoption, authority, or identity. Strategic, political, and economic interests motivate the majority of research about the Marshall Islands by foreigners. Given the history of US colonialism, militarization, irradiation, Americanization, sublimation, and "Free" Association, and the history of anthropology in the region, I ask myself if and how I might improve upon the reputations that precede me and define me in local eyes. How can I make my methods and motives visible and responsible to the people with whom I work? Have I earned and do I deserve the trust of the Marshallese people? In my opinion, anthropologists often suffer from the same hypocrisy that is evident in US-RMI relations. We hope, if not implicitly expect, that those with whom we work will open themselves completely to our frequently misguided, mundane, and irrelevant questions. We want a full accounting of their lives. We want to know it all. In this assumption that we can know lies the implicit anthropological arrogance that there is an understandable transparency to other’s existences, ways, and meanings. As long as we can find participants willing to offer their accounts, our lives and work can progress. Yet, without accountability to those communities and people with whom we work where is the reciprocity? Without it, can we anthropologists offer more than hypocritical rhetoric that mirrors that of the US toward the Marshall Islands? Not only are we usually unaccountable to our participants, they often have no idea what we pursue or why. We conceal our fieldwork experience from our academic peers (perhaps deliberately), too. How transparent are our methodologies, our linguistic limitations, the limited circles of our social interactions or their depth? Are we truly capable after a year or two of "fieldwork" to even begin to adequately convey the complexity of others’ lives? Can we disclose the inherent limitations of our claims and expose ourselves as the ‘village idiots’ we often are? Before I can stop feeling apologetic about my chosen career, major transformations must occur in the ways anthropologists interact with local communities. Without a research and publication process that is open, comprehensible, collaborative, accessible, and accountable to those we study, anthropology is just another exploitative, self-regulated undertaking. It is all too easy to ignore the concerns and demands of communities where research is conducted from "safe" inside the ivory (white) tower, or ‘Porteus Hall’. (See Ty Tengan’s paper this issue.) What I propose is an overhaul of research design that includes involvement of participants at every step of the process. First, researchers must establish relations with the community of interest before deciding upon a specific research topic. Its ultimate utility, relevance, and meaning to the local community must be taken into account. This ensures that the proposed topic is not solely of ‘external’ value. Of course this also implies a willingness to bend toward community interests, and the recognition that one’s interests and involvement may be refused. When these initial discussions begin, they should include mention of the proposed final product, the exchange of resources that will occur during the research period, and the benefits and requests to be made of the local community. The possible uses and impacts of research results must be considered carefully in conjunction with community members, since no outsider can fully judge or predict how information may be damaging to local research participants. Of course, all participation must be voluntary and anonymous, as spelled out in the federal regulations regarding research on human ‘subjects’. Next, I believe that the collaborative nature of fieldwork must be emphasized and made public. Training, mentoring, and compensating assistants is a an example of reciprocal exchange of knowledge and skills. Finding employment or committing oneself to volunteer work during the research period is a critical collaborative activity. The relationships that develop through work in meaningful local contexts, rather than detract from research, enhance it tremendously. Local work enables community members to value individual researcher’s contributions, and allows researchers to know them in ordinary environments. Typical research practices in which anthropologists wander about the community, asking questions, and observing are hardly typical of locally meaningful labor, and are thus hardly comprehensible. (Who gets paid to ask questions?!) The amount of time participants engage in the research process must be matched with an equal time commitment by the researcher to the participants’ community. Participants contribute their time, effort, and knowledge to anthropologists. That offering must be respected, acknowledged, and returned with a commitment in kind. This exchange of information and resources allows the researcher to be better known by community members, makes him/her more accessible and more understandable. Her personality, desires, and interests grow more transparent. Fieldwork of this nature is relatively unheard of since anthropologists privilege their own time and their own agendas. Even though we may express gratitude and we (usually) financially compensate participants for their time, how many of us are willing to offer an equal time commitment to our participants’ livelihoods or communities (when that is even potentially possible)? Our skills and our education can be of great benefit. In my own attempts at reciprocity during my various fieldwork experiences in the Marshalls I have taught high school summer school, worked at the national museum, taught English classes at the community college, taught aerobics, taught piano lessons to my extended sponsor family, played the organ at church, and assisted women’s groups in grant-writing. There are numerous ways to offer ones talents and skills in formal and informal ways. Viewing this contributions as obligatory rather than supplementary is the challenge of a reformed research design. Building in a time commitment to research participants makes us accountable not only through our research, but also as individuals. We commit our time to their self-defined needs, and their livelihoods, as they do to ours. We come to know them as whole beings, not just interviewees. We open ourselves to being known and making our strengths and weaknesses obvious. Because we are rarely called upon for a truly equal exchange, anthropologists have a rather self-centered notion of accountability. We expect to be professionally and ethically accountable by protecting the anonymity of participants, and by being as accurate as possible. In return for participation in our research and building our careers, all we really promise in return is to be careful. We naively believe we can offer protection from the potential harmful results of interacting with us. Preventing dangerous repercussions is the only thing anthropologists are held accountable for by the rest of the world – and not very well. The repercussions of Tierney’s accusation of ethical abuses anthropologists waged among the Yanomami (Darkness in El Dorado 2000) surely shook the discipline. The danger of cavorting with anthropologists is implicit in the multiple American Anthropological Association regulations for the protection of participants. Unfortunately, that is the extent of our accountability. How many of us ever ask what we can do beyond offering copies of research publications that are too jargon-filled to be accessible to most of those whose lives are represented therein? Once field research is completed, there is very little pressure (some would say, cause) for an anthropologist to remain accountable and transparent to researched communities. All too often the writing process is an opportunity for self-aggrandizement, and self-promotion. We do not expose the limits of our research, and frequently the length of time we spend in the communities where we work is inadequate for the claims we make. The theoretical concerns of the discipline dominate our documents and cloud the real lives of participants. Real people, the sources of all our information, are hidden in the dense fog of jargon and academic social-climbing-by-citation. They are subservient to theories and exploited for academic anthropological careers. This practice is all too transparent to ‘studied’ communities who have raised these issues again and again. Native Hawaiian scholar and activist Haunani-Kay Trask writes, "Anthropologists without natives are like entomologists without insects" (1991:162). A reformed research praxis must make its final results accessible and meaningful to local communities. The value of sharing research outcomes in a community-accessible product is immeasurable. Eliminating academic terminology and clearly stating theoretical interests is not only an opportunity give back, but to show how valuable the participation of the community is to a deeper understanding of the research topic. It provides an opportunity for the researcher to be responsible to the community for praise, criticism, and further discussion. Once local audiences have access – in the local languages, idioms, and images – to works written about them, they are sure to comment. This is exactly what frightens so many anthropologists. We are afraid to expose our tricks, our obvious arrogance, and our ignorance, yet we build careers accountable only to our home institutions and our academic peers. For all our politically correct terminology, "participants" are rarely recognized as colleagues. They are viewed as participants in our studies, not co-creators, or collaborators. The inclusion of community member participants is the most valuable peer-review process I can imagine. The disagreements and discussions that would most likely follow are exactly the kinds of debates that anthropologists have been successfully avoiding for decades -- but not for much longer. As communities where anthropologists work become members of our publication audience, external pressure for recognition, collaboration, and anthropological investment is difficult to deny. Academic institutions that constrain these investments – of activism, advocacy, community commitments – must also transform. The institutions in which dissertations are written and Ph.D.s bestowed are (not surprisingly) self-serving. Commitments beyond the academy take time away from course loads, writing, and research. The tacit understanding that research priorities supercede other commitments, including excellence in instruction, can remove the motivation for continued involvement from even the most well-intentioned. Academic institutions are hesitant to reward community activism and service, despite the fact that both research and instruction, i.e. institution and students, benefit from the very practical integration of theory and practice. Transformation of these institutions begins with our public support of the individuals and departments that engage in collaborative research and advocacy. Further, we must insist upon institutional recognition of the collaborative and unavoidably interactive nature of anthropology. The interactive process that a public anthropology proudly discloses is the ultimate enactment of the goals of the discipline. Anthropologists must be truly brave enough and humble enough to acknowledge that we are perpetual students who learn from others, and not just about them. We must expose and admit our dependence on the people and communities where we pursue research interests in order to begin to end the exploitative processes with which we have grown too comfortable. While we’re adept at exposing hegemonic structures, exploitative relationships, and colonial histories we are less practiced at disclosing and addressing our own. A public anthropology willingly and freely engages issues that are most meaningful to those communities whose lives enable our professional careers. Past distinctions between field/academy, there/here, them/us strengthened by institutional structures and schedules are no longer tenable. Anthropology by its very nature is interactive, and collaborative. I dream of an anthropology that publicly proclaims this fact proudly, unapologetically, and celebrates it. I hope for an anthropology that no longer views "community cooperation" as the benchmark of quality research, but one that seeks, rather, to be of service to local communities and rewards those practitioners who are. The potential anthropological holism most meaningful to me is the integration of our personal and professional lives, commitments, responsibilities, and interests. As an American anthropologist who works in the Marshall Islands, I recognize that we Americans frequently have the loudest voices in our demands for accountability and transparency – yet are regularly deaf to others’ reciprocal demands. I hope that anthropologists can avoid a similar hypocrisy by engaging with others more publicly, reciprocally, and proudly. I am tired of apologies.
Julie Walsh is a doctoral candidate at the University of Hawai‘i at Manoa with an expected graduation date of December 2001. Her dissertation examines the ways in which Marshallese models of leadership and authority inform and impact the relationship between the Marshall Islands and the United States. Julie has long-term experience in the Marshalls and has held various roles in the Majuro community. She continues these relationship through a recently formed non-for-profit organization in Honolulu that is dedicated to providing cultural, educational, and health resources for the Marshallese migrant community. Beginning Fall of 2001, Julie Walsh and two Marshallese colleagues will begin writing the nation’s first history textbook for use in its public high school system.
REFERENCES
French, Howard 2001 "Dark Side of U.S. Quest for Security: Squalor on an Atoll." Nytimes.com, http://www.nytimes.com/2001/06/11/world/11ISLA.html, accessed June 11. GAO/NSIAD-00-216, Sept. 22, 2000 2000 "Foreign Assistance: U.S. Funds to Two Micronesian Nations Had Little Impact on Economic Development and Accountability Over Funds Was Limited" Washington, D.C.: United States Government Accounting Office Report. O’Rourke, Dennis 1986 Half Life: A Parable for the Nuclear Age. Produced and directed by Dennis O’Rourke. 86 minutes. Australian Film, 1986. Videocassette. Hau’ofa, Epeli 1983 Tales of the Tikongs. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press. Honolulu Advertiser 1999 Fears of arms race ignited by missiles: Defense ‘shield’ topic of debate. Honolulu Advertiser, 7 September: A1, A2. Missile-killer smashes target. Honolulu Advertiser, October 3: A1. Missile defense system gets good reviews. Honolulu Advertiser, November 13: A7. Honolulu Advertiser 2000 Ex-Pentagon officials say Clinton missile defense plan unworkable. Honolulu Advertiser, May 17: A9. More reasons to go slow on anti-missile systems. Honolulu Advertiser, February 8: A10. Official report raises estimate for missile defense by $23 billion. Honolulu Advertiser, April 26: A6. More missile defense shield cautions come to fore. Honolulu Advertiser, June 18: A14. Missile Defense Policy shifts. Honolulu Advertiser. June 21: A3. Missile Shield May Go Forward. Honolulu Advertiser. August 6: A1. Johnson, Giff 2001 Marshall Islands Gears Up for Money Talks with US July 10. Pacific Islands Report, http://pidp.ewc.hawaii.edu/pireport/2001/June/06-26-08.htm, accessed June 25. Kiste, Robert C. and Suzanne Falgout 1999 Anthropology and Micronesia: The Context. In American Anthropology in Micronesia: An Assessment. Kiste, Robert C. and Mac Marshall, eds. Pp. 11-51. Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press. Kiste, Robert C. and Mac Marshall, eds. 1999 American Anthropology in Micronesia: An Assessment. Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press. Marshall Islands Journal. 2001 Weekly newspaper. Majuro, Marshall Islands. President Kessai Note’s Key Goal: Confidence in Government. 32(2):16-17. January 12. US Probes Imata’s Loan. 32(6): 1,4. February 9. Republic of the Marshall Islands Nuclear Claims Tribunal 1997 Republic of the Marshall Islands Nuclear Claims Tribunal Annual Report 1997. Majuro: Marshall Islands. Teaiwa, Teresia 1994 bikinis and other s/pacific n/oceans. Contemporary Pacific. 6(1):87-109. Trask, Haunani-Kay 1991 Natives and Anthropologists: The Colonial Struggle. Contemporary Pacific. 3(1):159-167. US Department of Energy 2001 DOE Openness: Human Radiation Experiments. Electronic document, http://tis.eh.doe.gov/ohre/index.html, accessed June 25.
|
.jpg){kind=small}
