The Diplomat » Oceania

New Caledonia’s Unrealized Legacy

diplomat_admin — Mon, 15 Nov 2010 09:27:24 +0000

Unlike earlier in its eventful history, New Caledonia today rarely captures public and media attention—whether Australian or international—except perhaps as a tourist destination. Yet ignoring it would be a mistake, as even a cursory look at the islands’ potential underscores the territory’s varied strategic importance to the region.

A country’s strategic importance tends to be measured in several ways. Political elements are often considered, including military potential and capacity. However, while these are important considerations, in the future, factors such as the levels and diversity of resources a region or territory possesses will become increasingly important. Placing more weight on such considerations will be especially vital in the coming decades, where sustainability and supporting growing human populations will be of paramount importance to human survival.

Chrome, iron, cobalt, manganese, silver, gold, lead, copper and particularly nickel dominate New Caledonia’s mineral resource portfolio. Over 25 percent of the world’s nickel ore reserves lie here, and although price fluctuations in the world market have recently been volatile, there’s no question that this metal will remain—if not increase—as a staple of industry, including for the production of vehicles, construction materials and components for electrical goods and machinery.

Just how valuable these minerals will become, and the extent to which New Caledonia will develop to refine and export these resources, remains to be seen. New Caledonia’s mineral export partnerships are, however slowly though, shifting, and will likely continue to do so as the industrial thirst of Asia’s developing economies grows. If this occurs, future competitive tensions with fellow mineral export giant Australia can’t be discounted. But while the land down under may boast its own mineral resources, having New Caledonia’s nearby and secured might actually be a positive for Australia in the foreseeable future.

But there are potential problems ahead for the territory. Although New Caledonia’s per capita GDPis larger than New Zealand’s, its imbalanced economy poses a serious challenge to its political future. Currently, it’s being kept afloat and protected by France’s own economic trade portfolio. However, what would happen if New Caledonia were no longer part of this type of larger trade framework? Its economy would need full restructuring to avoid vulnerability in its key trade sectors, and it would have to swiftly find new trading partners.

One of its most vulnerable sectors is energy. Energy is the lifeblood of New Caledonia’s mineral wealth, as its home-grown energy resources are modest and hydroelectricity remains a problematic alternative to a heavy dependence on imported fossil fuels. The vast quantity of energy that mineral extraction consumes also leads to another problem—one of the highest per capita carbon footprints in the Pacific.

Climate Change’s First Refugees

diplomat_admin — Sat, 26 Dec 2009 00:00:00 +0000

Chief Bernard Tunim confronts the issue head-on: 'We didn't create global warming but we are its first victims. The industrialized world must take decisive action at the Copenhagen summit before it's too late for everyone.'

Standing in knee-deep water on Piul Island, Chief Bernard points to a decaying coconut stump nearly 200 metres offshore from the beach we are standing on.

'That used to be our shoreline only 10 or 15 years ago,' he says. 'Look how the sea is eating us away. We are only a small island, the king tides have already swamped our gardens and soon we'll have to leave. The future of my island is now only for fish, not people.'

Piul is one of 5 atolls that make up the Carteret Islands group in Papua New Guinea, where the 3,000 islanders who live on these beautiful yet vulnerable atolls are being recognised as the world's first climate change refugees.

Preparations are being made to relocate them to nearby Bougainville, a large mountainous island, over the next year or two. For them, talk about climate change and rising seas is not an abstract concept but one that's a hard reality.

Chief Bernard has no time for debates over whether the problem is man-made or not, the effect is the same for him and his people — they'll lose their homeland. Like many islanders, he worries that the debates by scientists and climate sceptics, along with government inaction, are delaying concrete action.

Chief Bernard Tunim stands in the destroyed gardens of Piul Island,
washed away by continuing king tides and sea surges.

Two or three times a year, king tides wash over the islands, destroying the gardens with their force and salinity. Root crops like taro and sweet potato, once their staple diet, can no longer be grown and the Carteret islanders are now living on fruit, fish and food aid, mainly rice, sent by the regional government. It can be a terrifying experience to be on these low-lying atolls during a storm, when wind and seas lash their vulnerable villages.

'My husband and I have had to rebuild our hut twice in the past few years because of flooding,' says one woman on Han Island. 'I woke up in the morning once with water rushing in and my pots and pans floating out to sea.'

Young people are ready to leave the atolls, once enough land and housing has been set aside for them on Bougainville. They say they have no future left here.
Yet many old people say it is too late for them to leave their homes. They are too old to start and maintain new gardens. They prefer to 'go down with the ship' they say with nervous laughter.

The kastom (traditional) life of many Pacific Islanders often revolves around the ever-present spirit world. Ancestral spirits are acknowledged and often worshipped. Part of the trauma of islanders leaving their homes is the feeling that they'll be abandoning their ancestors, including those buried in cemeteries.

Adventure Haven

diplomat_admin — Fri, 13 Nov 2009 00:00:00 +0000

For the truly curious adventure traveller, there are few better places than the Solomon Islands. Its 992 islands swing between low-lying atolls and reefs teeming with sharks, tropical fish and dolphins, and huge, slumbering volcanic islands offering opportunities for bat- and bird-watching. And if you get tired of what Mother Nature has provided herself, there are artificial coral islands that the people of Malaita have been building in the Langa Langa Lagoon for more than 300 years. The fierce World War II battle of Guadacanal has also left the islands littered with war relics, both above and under the water–so it’s a mecca for divers and snorkellers. And the Solomon Islanders are, despite what recent troubles might have you believe, a wonderfully friendly people.

Honiara

We started looking for our guide when we turned off the main road that headed east along the coast from Honiara onto an eroded, bumpy logging track. Every few hundred yards, we would ask the lines of people wandering along the edge if they knew where Marcelin might be. Some waved us further along the road, others were less sure. About six kilometres into the thickening jungle, where a hand-built coca bean drier announced a village of a relatively significant size, a woman carrying her little one finally nodded. ‘I know where to find him,’ she said.

The woman smiled as she placed her son beside me. The youngster, however, locked his eyes on me, his eyelids widening in surprise at the pale apparition next to him. We bounced down the road where large logging trucks once hauled precious Vasa hardwood.

‘Here,’ the woman said, and jumped out of the van. She walked to the edge of the jungle and called into the trees with a searching, cuckoo-like call. She turned her ear to the jungle and waited. Nothing. She tried again with no reply. About 800 metres up the road she called out again. This time, a faint reply wafted back, but she shook her head. ‘No, that’s not him.’

We doubled back and the woman eventually located someone on a distant ridge who called back that Marclin had probably headed back via the river to the village where we picked her up. A few minutes later, back where we started, she called out yet again. There was a reply and she grinned. ‘He’s coming.’ Sure enough, our guide appeared from the trees–shoeless and wearing a singlet and shorts. He was carrying a large machete and a freshly hewn coconut.

The jungle GPS works and we’re finally off to the cascades. As Marclin hacks merrily at the growth over the trail, I ponder all the factories producing fancy hiking boots, walking sticks and ponchos. Through mud, gravel and tropical grass, bare-footed Marclin grips the earth better than any of us–and with far less stench at the end of the day. He fashions a hiking pole from bamboo in seconds, and during a passing shower we wander along under a palm leaf umbrella. This isn’t a pretentious show for some wide-eyed tourists; it’s just what is done. By the time we reach the cascades that only locals really know about, I’m ready to shed my modern accoutrements.