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Winds of change
slavement.
"Not since the 1500 s," he
says, "have the Microne
sians been asked what they
wanted.”
But he believes our trus
teeship, although it started
slowly, is picking up mo
mentum. And, in fact, you
can see signs — schools,
roads, hospitals — indicating
some thought and expendi
ture. The budget has risen
from $2.5 million annually to
the current S6O million, a
small sum compared to oth
er U.S. outlays, but rela
tively large for an area of
100,000 people.
Still there are many who
feel otherwise. They say the
United States hasn’t done
enough, and point to the
island of Koror, where there
hasn’t been a foot of paved
road or an inch of sewer
pipe put down in our nearly
30 years of trusteeship.
Some of these critics say
the United States embarked
on a “zoo period” in Micro
nesia, in which they just
“tended” the people. Even
these critics, however, feel
that things have begun to
change lately, perhaps in a
direct ratio with an increase
in tourism.
Rep Wayne Aspinall (D-
Colo.l, chairman of the
House Interior Committee
which administers the trus
teeship, says the big prob
lem is that three govern
mental departments—State.
Defense and Interior—all
have a stake in the islands
and a share in the govern
ing process.
But Aspinall feels that it
will all work out.
"The realists don’t want
statehood,” he says. "They
know they aren’t fit, eco
nomically or geographically,
for that. They’d like to be a
territory, as Hawaii used to
be.”
Aspinall greatly admires
Micronesia and its people,
and says that the Guaman
ians are “probably the most
loyal people anywhere in the
IjM? mRteoaMHLL' id
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Japanese honeymooners
line up for a group
portrait on Guam. The
islands are becoming
so popular that signs are
in two languages.
Memorials to an earlier
Japanese presence,
right, markers honor
thousands who died
on Saipan's "Suicide
Cliff" in World War 11.
United States—more loyal
than any mainland state.”
But other areas do not feel
that way. And a Micronesian
joke is an indication of how
they think the U.S. politi
cians think of their home
land.
“Senator,” someone is sup
posed to have asked a legis
lator, “what do you think
about Micronesia?”
“Mike Who?” the senator
is supposed to have replied.
AGANA, Guam — (NEA)
—The captain of Air Micro
nesia’s flight west from
Honolulu is in a chatty mood.
“Well, folks,” he says over
the loudspeaker, “we’ll take
a look at a lot of islands to
day.”
He isn’t kidding. Before
we hit Guam, we’ll touch
down at Kwajalein, Majuro,
Ponape and Truk. And we
are lucky—the flight usually
has to refuel at Midway, but
on this day the headwinds
are negligible so we by-pass
Midway.
Out in Micronesia, they
call the airline “Air Mike.”
That shows their fondness for
the new carrier, a subsidiary
of Continental Airlines, which
has opened up these remote
islands to tourism and com
merce.
There is no first-class sec
tion in the plane. The seats
have been removed and the
area is loaded with cargo.
On its twice-weekly flight, it
carries everything. It’s
cheaper, to say nothing of
quicker, to send goods by
plane than by ship.
At each island, boxes and
crates of all shapes and sizes
are loaded and unloaded.
And, at each island, the na
tives come out to see the
plane come in. It is an event.
It’s also pretty much of an
event for the passengers,
too.
“Ladies and gentlemen,”
the captain says, as we pre
pare to land at Majuro, “it
looks like we’re in luck. I see
ate / *■
B - -
Z '■ -z. -:
Father Hacker's Boys' Band greets arriving air travelers to
Majuro—along with pigs, goats, babies and holes on the runways.
Father Hacker’s Boys’ Band
is out to greet us.”
The pilot has a chance to
see what’s waiting on the
ground. As he explains it, the
island air strips are “uncon
trolled,” meaning there is
nobody on the ground to give
him any information. So he
has to make a pass over the
strip first.
He has to check wind and
runway conditions. The run
ways are gravel and there
may be holes since the last
landing. And, he says, he
has to look for obstructions—
pigs, goats or babies.
Dominic P. Renda, Air
Mike’s president, says his
infant airline has two planes
-the 727 and a DC-6. The
DC-6 is needed because some
of the runways (on Palau and
Koror) are too short for a
jet.
“Even on the others,”
Renda says, “the runways
are short. Truk is the worst
for the 727. We have to touch
down at the water’s edge and
skirt a hill on the way down,
and there are brutal cross
winds.”
Each of the islands is dis-
ferent. Kwajalein, site of a
missile base, is neat and
carefully tended, full of con
crete blockhouses and
strange - looking structures.
The captain warns us that no
pictures are allowed and the
passengers are herded into
a room, guarded closely and
the only diversion is a gift
shop staffed by “The Yokwe
Yuk Women’s Club.”
Majuro is a stringbean of
an island which boasts the
longest highway in the far
Pacific—3s miles of straight
road connecting the atoll’s
two villages, at each end of
the 35-mile-long, 50-yard-wide
island.
Ponape is volcanic, green
covered mountains thrusting
out of a clear blue lagoon.
Truk is a vast circular la
goon, dotted with dozens of
palm-bordered islands. And.
finally, Guam, a big island
with a handsome new air
port and cars and newspa
pers and movie theaters.
Now, suddenly, this re
mote area is within reach of
tourists, and Micronesia
hopes that this will mean an
economic boost. They need
it. The islands are in a bad
way, economically.
As of the moment, Micro
nesia’s imports exceed its
exports by five to one. The
total product of the islands
is around $5 million—most of
that copra. And, last year,
they imported $3 million
worth of beer and soda pop
alone.
They are almost totally
dependent on what is brought
in. They do have tropical
vegetation, including bread
fruit and coconuts and taro
and yams, but virtually no
meat.
“They raise chickens,”
says an American on Guam,
“but mostly to fight, not
eat.” Cock-fighting is
Guam’s big sport.
“We must do more in agri
culture, fishing and tour
ism,” says Edward John
ston. High Commissioner of
the Trust Territory of the
Pacific Islands. “I think our
greatest potential is in ma
rine resources. We estimate
that we can do up to SIOO
million a year in skipjack
tuna. And we must get in to
aquaculture—raising shrimp
and oysters.”
But it is in the realm of
tourism that Micronesia has
its greatest potential. They
like to think of themselves
as the next Hawaii—“ This is
how Hawaii was 30 years
ago,” is a remark heard
often in the islands.
Continental/A i r Micro
nesia has put up three hand-
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Griffin Daily News
some new hotels on Guam,
Truk and Koror. And there
are others, particularly on
Guam and Saipan, which are
the favor it e honeymoon
spots for young Japanese
couples. Both Guam and Sai
pan have dual signs every
where, in English and Japan
ese, because of the thou
sands of Japanese who visit.
Guam, actually, according
to Johnston, is “the fastest
growing territory under the
American flag.”
The Americans who govern
Micronesia believe tourism
will be big, but they would
still like to see more agri
culture. A large cattle ranch
has recently been started on
Tinian, near Saipan. They’d
like to see a revival of the
sugar fields, which were im
portant in the days Saipan
was under Japanese control.
The main problem with
agriculture, however, is
the devastating typhoons
which often sweep across the
islands. They point to the
disheartening figure of an
average of 21 typhoons which
are annually spawned in the
far Pacific, as against the
4.8 hurricanes born each
year in the Caribbean.
“If a typhoon hits,” one
Guamanian says, “it will de
stroy agriculture for a year.
There’s not much incentive
to farm with that hanging
over you.”
TRUK—(NEA (—Through
out Micronesia, in the far
western Pacific, the memo
ries of World War II are
very close. Abandoned Japa
nese bunkers are the big
tourist attraction on Guam,
and Saipan guides cheerfully
point out two cliffs where
Japanese soldiers and civil
ians — nobody knows how
many — leaped to their
deaths as the American
forces captured the island.
And here, in the magnifi
cent Truk lagoon, there are
some 60 Japanese ships rot
ting on the bottom of the
clear waters. You can see
them from the glass-bottom
boats and scuba divers con
sider this one of the world’s
greatest spots for explora
tion.
The Micronesians take all
this for granted. The older
ones lived through ihe hell
that was the war in he Pa
cific. The younger on s have
heard the stories a their
lives. It is the visitor who is
awed by it all, who cannot
take his eyes off the Ameri
can tank still mired off the
beach which was once the
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