Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2024. US$18.00, cloth; US$36.00, ebook. ISBN 9781526178350.
In Divided Isles, Cavanough attempts to write about the “China Switch” from the perspective of Solomon Islanders, and to do so in an engaging and lively style. This is a commendable attempt. Books that make complex subjects accessible are highly necessary, especially when they try to grasp the point of view of Pacific Islanders on geopolitical processes that all too often are rendered invisible by the top-down, low-resolution, profoundly biased perspective of outsiders.
However, simplification of complexity must follow a firm grasp of the subject, otherwise the benefits of a good prose will come at the cost of accuracy. To be fair, Cavanough admits that the opportunity, “under the guise of research, to travel into the wilds of the south and central Pacific” was unexpectedly bestowed upon him, because “The Guardian wanted to undertake a deep dive on the diplomatic switch from Taiwan to China” (2). Two weeks after receiving the first email about his assignment, Cavanough was already in Solomon Islands. His insufficient preparation is further illustrated by the meagre list of bibliographic references at the end of the book.
Despite this lack of preparation, Cavanough was able to collect novel materials. His interviews with Richard Olita, Daniel Suidani, and other protagonists of the China Switch saga provide the reader with vivid details of the perspectives of these actors. That is especially useful for the reconstruction of the background of the 2021 riots in Honiara, as well as the aftermath of the crisis.
However, the book does not mention that the Aimela Rally, an event that took place a few days before the riots, was instrumental in reaffirming the narrative of Malaita as an island of resistance to foreign invasion, and redirected this newfound cohesive force against the new hegemon on the horizon. Details of the event, as well as the debate that followed it in the pages of the Solomon Star and the Island Sun, can be accessed in the archives of these newspapers. Judging from the paucity of referenced sources, it seems that Cavanough did not visit them.
The consequences of writing about China from the perspective of Solomon Islanders without sufficient preparation is macroscopically evident in Cavanough’s translation of a term that is at the core of his book project, the word waku. Waku is the Pidgin term that Solomon Islanders have been using since at least the 1980s to talk about the Chinese. Someone who intends to write about how China is seen from the perspective of Solomon Islanders should, at the very least, know the term they use to talk about and, and thus to think about, the Chinese. Cavanough writes that waku is “a derivative of a Cantonese word that loosely translates to ‘outsiders,’ which is commonly used as a derogatory racial slur towards all foreigners, not just ethnic-Chinese” (140). I think this is wrong in multiple ways, but given the brevity required for a book review, I will only mention three.
First, waku almost certainly derives from the Cantonese pronunciation of 华侨 (waakiu), meaning “overseas compatriot”—a term widely used within the Chinese diaspora and among scholars who study it. Contrary to some interpretations, it does not mean “outsider.” Far from being an exclusive term, it is an inclusive one that has been central to the Chinese government’s efforts to recognize the contributions of Overseas Chinese to the motherland.
Second, waku is not necessarily used as a “racial slur.” Some Chinese perceive it as such, however Solomon Islanders use it ordinarily to refer to anyone who, in their eyes, looks East Asian. It can be used jokingly and in a friendly manner, but it can also be used as a positive stereotype. As one of my informants said: “When a Solomon Islander is labelled as waku, it implies that the Solomon Islander is hardworking, and is quite strict, shows up on time, is business-minded, and does not allow kaon” (in Solomon Islands Pidgin, kaon indicates the selling on credit, usually to wantok, i.e., members of the same ethnolinguistic group).
Third, waku is not used towards “all foreigners.” Throughout my ethnographic experiences, hundreds of interviews, and in the relevant literature, I have never come across instances of Solomon Islanders using the term waku to refer to Europeans or South Asians, let alone Pacific Islanders of other nationalities. The only exception to this rule is mentioned in the previous point.
It follows that Cavanough’s definition of the very subject of his study—the Chinese from the point of view of Solomon Islanders— is so wrong that specialists on the subject are almost inevitably going to interpret that as an indication, not only of his linguistic incompetence with regard to Chinese dialects and Solomon Islands Pidgin, but a more general lack of background knowledge about the history of the Chinese diaspora and the history of the Solomon Islands.
With regard to the latter, it seems that Cavanough did not consult the Solomon Islands Historical Encyclopaedia compiled by Clive Moore, since his book is replete with historiographic inaccuracies. Again, in the interest of brevity, I will only mention three: (1) Savo Island was not “last defiled by an 1830s eruption” (15), as eruptions persisted into the 1840s, with the largest—dated by oral testimony recorded in the 1880s—occurring around 1847; (2) it is inaccurate to write that “[d]uring the twentieth century, more Malaitan labourers began departing voluntarily for the colonies” (76), because they only did so until 1904 (Queensland) and 1911 (Fiji); (3) Tulagi was not “the British capital until the 1970s” (149) but until 1942, when it was captured by the Japanese and the foundations of Honiara were laid at the Americans’ Camp Guadal.
In sum, Divided Isles suffers from flaws that are hardly counterbalanced by its positive aspects. Although the writing style is very engaging, lively, and accessible, and some novel materials appear in the form of narrated interviews, this does not make up for the book’s many inaccuracies. All this prevents me from stating that a gap in the literature has been filled.
Rodolfo Maggio
University of Helsinki