News

I did what any self-respecting young anthropology student would do: I studied it. The fallen palms had forced me to face the issue, but had they done the same to the islanders? I went around in that way that anthropologists do, confounding the locals with sideways questions. “Are there any problems on this island?” I asked everyone I could corner.

They smiled and said things were quite nice, really. We have coconuts and pandanus and breadfruit and we give them to each other.

I asked, “How is life going to be in the future?”

They predicted the erosion of their culture but did not mention the erosion of their shores.

I asked, “Will Marshall Islanders still live here in 50 or a hundred years?”

They told me that some of their relatives had emigrated to America, but they usually came back. They liked it here.

It seemed undiplomatic to ask, “So, how do you feel about the possible destruction of your entire country?” Instead I said, with the feigned stupidity that is a staple of the ethnographer's life, “I've seen a palm tree that has fallen toward the lagoon shore. I don't know why this has happened. Can you please explain it to me?”

They said it was the wind, or the currents, or maybe the coconut tree was just old – and not to worry, because it was only that one tree.

I knew that the Marshallese parliament had discussed climate change on the radio, and that the islanders listened to their local stations nearly non-stop. It was inconceivable that they had never heard of rising seas. Meanwhile, concrete evidence, amounting to much more than “one tree,” was sitting in their backyard. Why didn't they talk about it?

There were some who did. A few said they had heard the scientific predictions but trusted they weren't true, because God had promised to Noah that he would never flood the Earth again. “When he destroys the Earth the second time, it will be with fire, not water,” they would say, reassuringly.

There were others who told me, “Yes, the trees have fallen. There is more water in the ocean nowadays. Scientists have said the world is warmer and the ice is melting.” They would provide apocalyptic visions, much worse than what scientists said: that the sea would rise 50 feet in 50 years, that it would reach the top of the palm trees, that they would have to swim. “Ujae won't be good for living,” said Fredlee, “but it might be good for spearfishing!” And he laughed.

The faithful (or was it faithless?) interpreted sea-level rise as a second biblical flood: God was punishing Marshallese people's sins, their waning allegiance to their traditional values, the tendency of young women these days to break old taboos and flirt and drink and fornicate. The rising tide was a sign of biblical End Days, along with violence, disease, and radiation. One man even gave a date: by 2010, people would start killing each other.

And they shared stories with me. When I was on Ujae the first time, the fact that waves had unearthed an old corpse had seemed like nothing more than a random factoid on an island full of random factoids. Now it was part of a pattern. High tide was exposing ancient burial grounds: They were a jolot – precious inheritance – from their ancestors, locals told me. They added that, in one area, the shoreline had receded by 15 feet in the last few decades.

There were other worrisome developments, too. Years before, a Japanese fishing boat had run aground on the reef several miles from Ujae. That in itself wasn't a problem – in fact, it had created a prized fishing area. But now, the ship had started to erode. Just three years before, the boxy shape had dominated the horizon in this panoramically flat world. Now it was barely visible. Lisson said, “I think you will come back in a few more years. And when you do, that ship will be gone.” As it collapsed, it had spilled batteries into the water. Fishermen said that the coral near the wreck had turned black, and if you swam there, your skin would hurt. One man said that he wouldn't swim even around Ujae, miles away.

I asked Fredlee why so many people declined to talk about climate change when there were so many signs that seemed to confirm it. Surely they had heard of the problem? His answer: “Yes, they know. We've all heard about it on the radio. But, you see – they know, but they don't really believe.” It was a classic case of denial.

Or perhaps it was grace.

Were the islanders avoiding the issue out of fear or out of a desire to get on with their lives? When they answered the question “Will Marshallese people still be here in 50 years?” with a heartfelt yes and no mention of rising seas, was that delusion, or was that determination?

Excerpted from Surviving Paradise: One Year on a Disappearing Island, by Peter Rudiak-Gould. Copyright © 2009 by Peter Rudiak-Gould, reprinted by permission of Sterling Publishing Co., Inc.