Aumua Clark Peteru
‘Resident, Residence and Residency in Samoan Custom’,1 like many of Tui Atua’s writings, is not for the casual reader: the scope is wide and the themes complex. Multiple meanings abound. But this shouldn’t put one off. The writing is clear and so will reward perseverance - and given the opaqueness of Samoan custom to many, such rewards will be gratefully seized.
Tui Atua offers glimpses into our past that will delight and inform as much as they will surprise and shock. His elegant narratives on Samoan customs and mythology give way, without warning, to blunt descriptions of base rituals and practices, providing a deft dissection of the Samoan psyche.
Tui Atua’s paper describes the matai (the resident), his traditional maota or laoa2 (the residence) and the consequences of residing or not (the residency) in that residence. Although the paper is written from Tui Atua’s perspective as a paramount chief, it raises wider ranging issues, a few of which are touched on in the following pages.
The matai, as a co-head of the extended family, is responsible for a myriad of duties: internally, regarding the overall welfare of the family and its members, and externally, regarding the affairs of the family, mainly in relation to other families. A matai can be either an alii (high chief) or a tulafale (orator chief). In a few villages, the two roles merge in one high-ranking tulafale-alii title. Such instances, however, are exceptional. Alii and tulafale, although having in common divine origins, are distinct offices, each with its own functions and protocols.
Alii titles are those which form links in the historical genealogies of the Sāmoans which go back to Tagaloa-a-lagi. In this respect alii titles were ‘sacred’ titles which carried with them the mana of the gods. The rank of alii titles was also determined by descent from the gods - the older the title and the closer its origin to the sacred ancestress, the greater its mana and the higher its rank. Tulafale titles did not depend on mana or sacred ancestry, although they originated from the same ancestral origins as alii titles. They were ‘executive’ titles and carried special duties ... some were associated with service to an alii, some with war or house building or carrying messages or leading fishermen, or hunting, or reciting historical knowledge and many, many other roles.3
Tulafale commonly act as spokesmen for alii; speaking on their behalf at meetings and ceremonial occasions and deferring to their decisions at village meetings.4 Each office has separate, though complementary, roles in decision-making; an interplay which can be clearly seen during village fono (council) meetings.
The wisdom of a tulafale is called the faautaga loloto. His wisdom seeks understanding of the ‘deep view’ - understanding the context of the here and now. The wisdom of the alii is called the tofā mamao. His wisdom seeks understanding of the ‘long view’ (Tui Atua (2007b), p. 12, (see chapter 15).
Put another way:
The role of the high chief (tofā) is to look ahead and divine the implications in the long term and to intervene on behalf of the long view, mercy and compassion. The role of the orator (moe) is to exercise authority (pule) and to focus on complexity and context’ Tui Atua (2007), p. 10, (see chapter 14).
The process is consensual, eventually leading to a tulafono (decision, rule or law).
The tulafale’s role, then, is to debate the issues. The alii’s role is to lend dignity to the meeting through his presence and to render the final decision, having listened to the debate. This latter function is far from perfunctory, requiring a fine balancing of competing views and the ability to reflect the consensus of the meeting. But it is impossible to please all parties all the time, and the alii himself may decide differently from the consensus. For these or entirely different reasons, it is not uncommon for villages to split into factions and live that way until the passage of time or some reconciling event brings them together again.
In a village setting, the road to matai-ship for males begins with the progression from childhood (where the foundations of obedience are laid) to the ‘aumaga (the circle of untitled men or taulele’a), where the rendering of service or tautua5 is practised in earnest. Service is rendered to matai of one’s family and to one’s parents and on their collective behalf to other individuals, such as the village pastor. The family meets from time to time over the years and may discuss which taule’ale’a are deserving (based on their tautua) of a matai title.
Any number of factors can be taken into account in selecting a suitable matai candidate. The Samoan Land and Titles Court, when faced with a title dispute, considers five: the candidate should be a descendant of a former title-holder; have rendered service to the former title-holder and family; be a resident of the village to which the title belongs; be of good character; and demonstrate leadership ability. Account can also be taken of seniority.6
The approach in American Samoa has been to codify their criteria in law,7 thus providing uniformity and certainty, although sacrificing flexibility. The matai title registry was closed on 1 January 1969, so no new titles can be registered - thus freezing the status quo as of that date. There is no explicit requirement of tautua, but the other requirements are far more stringent than in Samoa. These measures act to insulate matai titles and status against capricious change or deliberate deception. Overall, the result is a more exclusive class of matai than in Samoa.
Today, it is not critical that one live and be raised in the village, and service can be rendered through provision of cash or ‘modern’ services8 and a title bestowed on that basis. Commentators have noted the value of educational achievement (leading to a good job) as a form of tautua and the bestowal of a title for anticipated recognition for future service, as well as recognition for past service.9
As one’s family will usually have the pule (authority) over several titles, it is not difficult for an heir to receive a title.10 Indeed, there is a strong expectation that every adult male will take a title - a family cannot effectively participate in the faasamoa without the services of a matai. Such an expectation provides an incentive to those providing tautua: when they become matai they in turn will be rendered tautua. This perception is only half the story because one’s own tautua does not stop when one becomes a matai. One merely moves to a higher (managerial as it were) level of tautua. New skills, if not picked up at the tautua stage, will have to be learned. Ubiquitous faalavelave, and the resulting consultation with matai of one’s family, then with matai of other families, requires competency in matai-speak (gagana faamatai), an especially valued form of service (tautua upu), and a skill all matai spend a lifetime honing.
Finally, a matai, because of his status and the fact that he carries the family’s honour (paia ma mamalu - honour and dignity), is expected to behave with the decorum befitting that status. Many, of course, fall short. My observation is that the faasamoa is especially accommodating in this regard, particularly for matai who are good providers - either turning a blind eye or moderately punishing or outrightly forgiving their misconduct. While this leniency averts family and social upheaval, the perception of double standards lingers.
From the point of view of a prospective title-holder, all these obligations add up to a significant outlay of one’s personal freedom, not to mention finances. As a result, some male heirs, admittedly a minority, avoid becoming matai for as long as possible, or altogether, if they can manage it. Yet there are ways of mitigating the burden: by taking a lesser title, by taking the same title together with many others, or by curtailing one’s participation in faalavelave. The most prudent course is simply to give within one’s means. Unfortunately, Samoan pride once aroused can rarely be put back in the bottle. The urge to out-give and out-do is overpowering. The result is to place a gratuitous and excessive burden on family members. Funerals clearly illustrate the wastefulness of such practices, which are reaching intolerable levels in both Samoas.11 The central pulenuu (mayoral) office’s television series ‘Toe sasaa le fafao’, a panel discussion of senior matai, have and continue to challenge the legitimacy of these and similar practices, which have crept into the culture, and complicated and distorted the essence of the faasamoa.
As if the burdens of matai-ship were not enough, many matai (and virtually all politicians) hold leadership positions within churches. Onerous financial obligations, for example, in the Ekalesia Faapotopotoga Kerisiano i Samoa (EFKS) Church and the Methodist Church stretch families to breaking point. Frustrated parishioners leave, seeking out the relative affordability of the Catholic Church or the many minority churches that abound in Apia. The churches recognise the problem and have passed measures to reduce the burden. For example, the EFKS, numerically the largest religious denomination in Samoa (although numbers have been steadily falling over the years), has forbidden asiga (visitations), often accompanied by presentation of sua (ceremonial gifting) for overseas delegates attending the EFKS Annual General Meeting at Malua (a major event often linked to shortages of staples in Apia, such as fish and eggs). Other churches, such as the Seventh Day Adventist Church and Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, have long-banned the presentation of fine mats at funerals. While certainly reducing the burden, diehard purists ignore the prohibitions, feeling custom should prevail.
This commentary has used the masculine to refer to matai because the overwhelming majority of matai are male. Yet many women become matai. As tulafale, however, they are not expected or allowed to perform all functions; in particular, they are barred from making speeches outdoors. Women can also take up church positions but are again barred by mainline denominations from taking up any role involving preaching.
In Samoa, roles and status have long been established (o Samoa o le atunuu tofi - lit., Samoa has its designations) from the highest chief right the way down to a child. While this hierarchical system is criticised as feudal, and underrepresentation of women in the matai classes and clergy as discriminatory, it, nonetheless, works (some would say works well), in my opinion, with many women accepting their apparently subordinate roles. Women treat their salutations and responsibilities as faletua (wife of tulafale or reverend), tausi (wife of alii), taupou (daughter of chief), taulasea (traditional healer), etc. as seriously as any man would his matai title. These are not regarded as token labels but more like job descriptions, critical to the proper functioning of family, church and village. Today, the door is swinging open for more women to become matai. In the public and private sectors they have proven themselves the equal of, and, in many cases, better than, their male counterparts. But we already knew this, as tradition confirms: e au le inailau a tama’ita’i.12
My own view is that women who desire to become matai should do so because it will add value to family welfare beyond what they could contribute in their traditional roles, rather than as a response to the pressure to change politically incorrect statistics.
The residence refers to the matai’s physical dwelling: the maota (residence of an alii) or laoa (residence of tulafale). The two formal house types are: the faleafolau (long-shaped house) in which the family can reside or guests can stay, or where meetings are held; and the faletele (round-shaped house), in which visitors are usually received, although it can also be used for residing and for holding meetings.13 The names of important maota in each village of Samoa can be found in books on the faalupega (honorifics)14 of Samoa.
Tui Atua, in his paper ‘Resident, Residence and Residency in Samoan Custom’, describes the creation values entrenched in land and residence (Tui Atua (2004); see chapter 7). Important chiefs sought to preserve the connection between the creation of the heavens (lagi) and the earth (lalolagi). Lagi was the original residence of the Tagaloa, the highest god, and subsequently was the name given to the residence of the first Tui Atua as well as the first Tui Aana. The earth or land equates with human life: fanua (land) also means placenta;16 fatu (rock) also means heart; and eleele (land) or palapala (mud) both also mean blood.
There was a practice of burying one’s placenta under the main post of the fale and the fale could also serve as the repository for the remains of one’s ancestors. When there was a change of residence or a re-interment, the remains of the ancestors, along with earth and rock, would be transferred to the base on which the main post or posts of the new residence would be placed (Tui Atua (2004); see chapter 7).
The construction of the residence is symbolic of procreation. There are ceremonies celebrating the emplacement of the main posts (representing phallic symbols) of the house into the earth and for the taualuga (ridge of the roof) as the completion, or climax of construction.
As Tui Atua also states, the relationship between alii and tulafale mentioned earlier also finds expression in the residence. The stone foundation of a residence for an alii or tulafale is tulaga fale (stone foundation of a house), from which the word tulafale is an abbreviation. The tulafale represents the executive authority which stands between the mystical power of the alii (deriving from the connection with the earth) and the mortal desires of man (portrayed by the house posts).
The sense of belonging and of spiritual nourishment from the land is rarely present in modern societies, where the value of land as a driver of economic growth is readily recognised. Laws are passed to allow individual ownership of land, marking the beginning of the permanent alteration of original settlements. A property market develops, allowing the sale and purchase of land. Increased mobility allows people to sell their homes to seek employment elsewhere in the country and for outsiders to move in. Localities become characterised by transient populations. With a weakened sense of local roots, a national identity is promoted (e.g., the ‘American way of life’) and allegiance is transferred to the nation state. People rarely live all their lives in one place and in death are buried in public cemeteries, often far from where they were born.
The longing to return to community living has led some groups to create artificial villages. I remember visiting friends and staying at such a place in the Netherlands. There was a process for group decision-making and for determining membership in the community. The structure was of separate but adjoining apartments forming a circular enclosure in which there was a recreational area, other defined communal areas, and a sleeping area for visiting guests.
Land issues in Samoa are highly sensitive, many times ending in violent disputes. Land is divided into three categories: customary, freehold and public (i.e., government). Roughly 75 per cent is customary, held according to Samoan custom, which means it is under the control of the family matai.17 Much land throughout the island lies idle. The law prevents customary land from passing into private hands,18 although, it is possible to lease out such land for rental.19 This has not been a popular avenue for land utilisation and has not produced anywhere near the level of benefits, which, for example, one can see in Fiji, where leasehold payments for native lands are providing sizeable returns.
Clearly, if the productivity of the land is maximised and the gains kept within the country, Samoa’s wealth would quickly increase. Economists tell us the way to do this is to remove the constitutional protections on customary land and allow individual ownership, freeing up land to be bought and sold or provide security for development loans. The pressure for this to happen is always present but opposition remains solid. Nothing less than one’s identity, rooted in spiritual and cultural ties to the land, is at stake. The ramifications go beyond Samoa. For Samoans living overseas, there is only one homeland to which they look for their identity. Samoa, poor as it is, is still the fountainhead of the faasamoa -continually refreshing and sustaining the diaspora. Freeholding of customary land is an illusory quick fix that comes at too extreme a cost. There are other ways Samoa can become prosperous.
The notion of residence is so central to Samoan life one wonders how our people cope when they leave their villages. Some lessons can be learnt from the contrasting experiences of nuu fou or non-traditional villages (villages that do not have a traditional basis such as a faalupega).
Mulivai village in the 1950s consisted of several acres of freehold Catholic land in Apia. It was peopled by families from different villages, who had come together to provide support services for the Marist brothers. It was known as a nuu fou.20
The relationship with the church was simple: in return for their services, the Mulivaians could live on the land as though it were their own. The Mulivaians naturally interacted amongst themselves, eventually forming ‘an informal structure of authority which took cognisance of consanguinity, seniority based on the date of arrival in the village, religious affiliation and good neighbourliness’.21 This new relationship between the inhabitants did not replace their relationship with their original villages, which they continued to serve. After many years, with the church needing to expand and the families having to be relocated, Mulivai village disappeared. Distressing though this was, it had no effect on the relationship of the inhabitants to their original villages.
There are other nuu fou in Samoa, including communities living on church lands; pockets of land which were granted or settled by minority ethnic groups, such as Aleisa, Aai o Niue, Aai o Fiti, Sogi, and Elise-fou; and villages created from the sale of Western Samoan Trust Estates Corporation (WSTEC) (later Samoa Land Corporation) lands: Vaivase-tai, Vailele, Vaitele, etc. Some of these villages, like the Mulivaians, have adopted traditional governance structures. The rest, such as most of the former WSTEC lands, do without and exist as separate and independent households. It is harder for them to control social ills, such as drunkenness and thefts.
For Samoans living overseas, physical distances between households and the fact that people originate from different villages, with different hierarchies of matai (whose authority, accompanying histories and supportive structures are tied to and are dependent on actual village lands), it makes it impractical to try to replicate a village setting. In addition, many migrants enjoy the freedom living overseas allows. The search for community, therefore, usually leads to the formation of churches.22 The church hierarchy has one undisputed head; its source of authority and legitimacy is not tied to land and it is as much a cornerstone in Western cultures as it is in Samoan culture - making it a far more portable institution.
In Samoa, at least in the mainline churches, village leaders become church leaders, so the village hierarchy is more or less reflected in the church hierarchy. In the case of the overseas church, a congregation will consist of matai from all over Samoa. How is one’s chiefly title ranked against all these other titles? A period of adjustment,23 usually turbulent, necessarily follows, which can involve untitled individuals who have leadership roles in the church, e.g., in the choir.
In Samoa, matai have the power to make decisions over all churches located within their village. Overseas, this power shifts to the pastor, as the church is also a surrogate village of which he is the head. His leadership role is further strengthened by his other duties in the wider community, providing immigration, housing, translation, and counselling advice, amongst other things. Despite this convergence of roles, he has to be attuned to changing currents within his congregation. A majority faction can compel him to relinquish his post and disgruntled parishioners can leave, and frequently do.
Residency refers to the resident actually residing in his residence. It means being present and being visible and interacting with one’s constituency. A resident ‘stands or falls because of the bonds of love and loyalty he is able to generate amongst his people, his aiga’ (Tui Atua, (2004), p. 13; see chapter 7). Tui Atua notes that, two traditional residences, the Tui Atua residence (Mulinuu and Sepolataemo) in Lufilufi and the Tui Aana residence in Nofoalii (Afeafe o Vaetoefaga), have been vacant for many years. This absence meant that:
... the emotional bonding between the non-resident titleholder and those subject to his residency simply cannot be established. This bonding is what forms the man and generates the emotions, which inspires love and loyalty, not only to the titleholder but also to his residency. Reverence for the residence and all it symbolises naturally follows. Without this the power and mana of the titleholder, his residence and residency fails.24
Tui Atua’s comment on these two long-disused residences was done with a view to re-establishing residency and in so doing, reviving and restoring tradition and custom.
A unique process of communication occurs in Samoa, allowing dialogue with one’s ancestors. The fact of residency allows this communication to happen through the process of moe manatunatu (dream dialogue).
When the chief or orator sleeps, it is possible for a dream dialogue with ancestors and family gods to occur. Through moe manatunatu, the gods and ancestors advise and assist the chief and orator, not only in personal decisions but also in decisions relating to family and community.
Tofā is the term for the sleep of the alii, chief; and moe refers to the sleep of the tulafale, orator. Tofā and moe also refer respectively to the opinions or views of chiefs and orators, which have again been informed by their moe manatunatu: ‘the wisdom of the dead’ (Tui Atua (2004), p. 6; see chapter 7).
Moe manatunatu is associated with anapogi, a ritual of self-denial (food, company, sex and other distractions), prayer and meditation. ‘The ritual often entails isolation of the self from the village, often in the still of the forest and evening where the person can contemplate the harmonies and gain spiritual insight.’ Moe manatunatu is available depending on the spiritual levels attained in the processes of anapogi. ‘Through both moe manatunatu and anapogi, the soul is fed’ (Tui Atua (2004), p. 12; see chapter 7).
Another way in which communion can be made with the gods or with the departed is through a meeting known as fono ma aitu (meeting with spirits) and this takes place in a meeting house. The elements of this all-but-lost ritual are described by Tui Atua (Tui Atua (2004), p. 12; see chapter 7). The popular meaning of aitu as a ghost or malicious spirit is challenged by Le Tagaloa (2003, p. 43), who argues that the aitu is the creative side of a person, a component of the living person, which lives on when the body dies. When there was a crisis facing the village that the living felt they could not handle alone, a fono ma aitu ritual could be convened and the counsel of aitu sought.
While national independence to the average Samoan would have meant freedom from outside rule and self-rule by Samoans, adopting it meant a return to strong village or district-based government was never going to happen. A nation state to unify the people and to enable affairs to be conducted with other states was inevitable. The state of Samoa, modelled largely along the lines of the New Zealand state, came into effect with the adoption of a Constitution providing for institutions and laws. Laws passed by Parliament took precedence over laws passed by village fono. Customary laws only had validity to the extent that they were given validity by the Constitution or laws passed by Parliament. Customary law was not doomed but most of the powers held by village fono were taken over by central government. What powers remained with the village have been progressively reduced by court or legislative action.
The Supreme Court has on several occasions upheld the constitutional rights of the individual as against the faamatai.25 This is vividly illustrated in the clash between the right to worship and the faamatai, highlighting the relationship between national law, customary law (as dispensed by matai) and religion.
In the late 1990s, a rash of banishments in several villages occurred involving church groups that were no longer welcome in those villages. Falealupo was one such village.26 Typical of other church banishment cases of that time, the case involved a new church group initially given permission to worship in the village but, then, falling foul of the village fono, being ordered to cease activities. In the Falealupo case, because the protagonists on both sides were relatives or close friends (perhaps due to this, the church group was often able to placate or resist the village, further protracting the dispute), the intervention of the Land and Titles Court was sought by the village fono. That Court affirmed the village fono’s decision for the worship to cease. The decision paved the way for the police to intervene so as to enforce the Court’s decision. This happened a few times, eventually culminating in the imprisonment of a large number of church members.
The church group firmly believing in the justice of their cause, on release from prison, proceeded to continue their worship. At the same time, they appealed to the appellate division of the Land and Titles Court for relief, but were ultimately unsuccessful. The village, now incensed, tore down the church group’s recently built church and with the ‘aumaga rounded up the leading members of the church and their families and transported them out of the village. In a final bid, the church group filed an application before the Supreme Court on the constitutional question of freedom of religion. The Supreme Court, drawing on recent precedent, found in favour of the church group, quashing the Land and Titles Court decisions and ruling that the village’s actions in dismantling the church group’s building and banishment of members from the village violated the group’s constitutional right to freedom of religion and were, therefore, unconstitutional.
Despite the Supreme Court’s ruling - a victory for break-away church groups throughout Samoa - tensions between the faamatai and Christianity, the twin pillars of the faasamoa, persist. While the matter has been settled legally, it will take much longer for change to filter through to people’s attitudes and behaviour.
Christianity altered and continues to alter the faasamoa in fundamental ways. Not to be outdone, the faasamoa also bent Christianity to conform to certain cultural practices. This may help explain the ambivalence overseas-born Samoans so readily detect in Samoan-born Samoans regarding the ease with which they are able to hold two inconsistent propositions.
Ancient Samoa had an elaborate religious system replete with a supreme god, lesser gods, aitu, an afterworld, a concept of soul (mauli) and practices, processes or rituals such as the ‘ava ceremony, tapua’i, anapogi and moe manatunatu, among others. That system originated from, or in turn begat, a set of values, beliefs and attitudes that made up the Samoan consciousness.
Upon closer inspection, one may find many parallels between the ancient religion and Christianity. This no doubt helped, in large measure, Samoa’s almost seamless conversion to Christianity. The success of the early missionaries was remarkable. The receptiveness of Malietoa Vainuupo, seeing this as the fulfilment of Nafanua’s prophecy, allowed Christianity to quickly become the national religion and pastors to be accorded high honour.
At the same time, the missionaries made attempts to purge or suppress the more pagan elements of the ancient religion. They were not as successful in this regard and elements of the old religion survived and continue to persist in the modern Samoan mindset, like a wrinkle in an otherwise flawless fine mat. The enduring appeal of the lusty Salelesi ritual confirms this.27 Tui Atua’s ‘Resident’ paper, probably of all his papers, touches on this duality.
More importantly, his paper has strong parallels to the Christian message. In terms of his thesis, metaphorically the resident is God, the paramount king. The residence He aspires to is the heart of every person. The residency becomes consummated when the individual lets God into his heart, resulting in a new person (it is no longer I that lives but Christ that lives in me). This internal kingdom in which God resides (thy kingdom come) is a microcosm of the actual physical kingdom (heaven) where all Christians expect one day to reside. Moe manatunatu has its equivalent in prayer and is made more intense when accompanied by anapogi (fasting). Blocking moe manatunatu (sa nei tolofia le tofā po o le moe); ‘No one should be allowed to intrude into the imminent or actual dialogue between the living and the dead’ (see Tui Atua, 2004, pp. 5-6; see chapter 7), as with blocking prayer, results in a weak and ineffective inner life.
To be Samoan is to acknowledge the influences of the pagan, the secular and the Christian in our make-up. This unique combination has resulted in a sturdy Samoan character, reflected in generally robust populations of Samoans throughout the globe. But, the combination carries with it an internal contradiction that has to be resolved eventually, or, in the true Samoan style of compromise, finely balanced. In addition, the bonds of residency that link all Samoans appear to be weakening with each succeeding generation and with the sheer magnitude and pace of change in the world. These challenges are formidable; one can quickly lose one’s bearings. Our national motto,28 though, gives us sufficient direction, reminding us of our universal status as children of God, and heirs to, and prospective co-residents of, the ultimate residence.
Chan Mow, I. T. (2007). The faamatai in the face of the winds of change. In A. Soo (Ed.). Changes in the matai system: O suiga i le faamatai (pp.119-138). Samoa: National University of Samoa.
Fuata’i, L. I. (2007). E sui faiga, ae tumau faavae: Practices change but foundations remain: Changes in the Matai System, In A. Soo (Ed.). Changes in the matai system: O suiga i le faamatai (pp.173-184). Samoa: National University of Samoa.
Lafaialii v Attorney General [2003] WSSC 8 (24 April 2003). An application for judicial review.
Lafoa’i, I. (2007). Faamatai in Australia: Is it fair dinkum? E maota tau’ave Samoa. In A. Soo (Ed.). Changes in the matai system: O suiga i le faamatai (pp. 13-27). Samoa: National University of Samoa.
Le Tagaloa, F. A. (2003). Tapuai: Samoan worship. Apia, Samoa: Malua Printing Press.
Meleisea, M., and Meleisea, P. (1987). Lagaga: A short history of Western Samoa. Suva, Fiji: University of the South Pacific.
Matagaluega o Autalavou Taaloga ma Aganuu (1999). O le mafuaala o upu o le fale. Apia, Western Samoa: Matagaluega o Autalavou Taaloga ma Aganuu.
Pratt, G. (1893). Grammar and Dictionary of the Samoan Language: Samoan-English: English-Samoan. Papakura, New Zealand: Southern Reprints.
Seloti, P. T. S. (2007). Pipiimale’ele’ele: Bonding with the Land: The oneness of man and his Land: An observation of the present day matai system in American Samoa. In A. Soo (Ed.). Changes in the matai system: O suiga i le faamatai (pp.91-102). Samoa: National University of Samoa
So’o, A. (Ed.). (2007a). Changes in the matai system: O suiga i le faamatai. Apia, Samoa: National University of Samoa
So’o, A. (2007b). Conclusion. In A. Soo (ed.). Changes in the matai system: O suiga i le faamatai. Samoa: National University of Samoa.
Suaalii-Sauni, T. (2007). E faigata le alofa: The Samoan faamatai - reflections from afar. In A. Soo (Ed.). Changes in the matai system: O suiga i le faamatai (pp.33-60). Samoa: National University of Samoa.
Tui Atua, T. T. T. (2003). In Search of Meaning, Nuance and Metaphor in Social Policy. Social Policy Journal of New Zealand (20), 49-63. [See chapter 6 of this publication].
Tui Atua, T. T. T. (2004). Resident, Residence, Residency in Samoan Custom. Paper presented at the Symposium on Concepts in Polynesian Customary Law. Te Matahauariki Institute, University of Waikato, New Zealand, October 12, 2004. Held at the Fale Pasifika, University of Auckland, New Zealand. [See chapter 7 of this publication].
Tui Atua, T. T. T. (2005). In Search of Harmony: Peace in the Samoan Indigenous Religion. In T. T. E. Tui Atua Tupua, T. M. Suaalii-Sauni, B. Martin, M. Henare, J. P. Te Paa and T. Taimalieutu Kiwi (Eds.), Pacific indigenous dialogue on faith, peace, reconciliation and good governance (pp. 1-12). Apia, Samoa: Alafua Campus Continuing and Community Education Programme, The University of the South Pacific.
Tui Atua, T. T. T. (2007a). In search of Tagaloa: Pulemelei, Samoan mythology and science. Archaeology in Oceania, 42(Supplement), 5-10. [See chapter 16 of this publication].
Tui Atua, T. T. T. (2007b). Bioethics and the Samoan Indigenous Reference. Paper presented at the UNESCO Bio-ethics Conference, Samoa, November 13, 2007. [See chapter 15 of this publication].
Tui Atua, T. T. T. (2007c). Samoan Jurisprudence and the Samoan Lands and Titles Court: The perspective of a litigant. Paper presented at the Public Lecture Address, Centre for Pacific Studies, Pacific Jurisprudence Graduate Class, Faculty of Arts, University of Auckland. [See chapter 14 of this publication].
Tui Atua, T. T. T. (2008). Tupualegase: The eternal riddle. Keynote Address Faculty of Arts Maori and Pacific Island Leadership Programme Dinner, University of Auckland March 11, 2008. [See chapter 18 of this publication].
Tuimalealiifano, M. (2006). O tama a aiga: The politics of succession to Samoa’s paramount titles. Suva, Fiji: The University of the South Pacific.
Tuivaiti (Tariu) v Sila (Faamalaga) and Others (1980-1993) WSLR 17.
Vaa, F. (1995). Fa’asamoa: Continuities and change: A study of Samoa migration in Australia. Unpublished doctoral thesis, Australia National University, Australia.
Vaa, F. (2007). The faamatai in transition in a mission village. In A. Soo (Ed.). Changes in the matai system: O suiga i le faamatai (pp.185-207) Apia, Samoa: Centre for Samoan Studies, National University of Samoa.
1Tui Atua, (2004), See chapter 7 of this publication.
2Maota is the residence of an alii (a high chief), laoa that of a tulafale (an orator chief).
3Meleisea and Meleisea (1987), p.27
4In return they are looked after by their alii and can ask for assistance in times of need.
5For example, providing, preparing and presenting food; providing entertainment for visiting guests; servicing matai meetings and carrying out their decisions; and partaking in the defence of the village.
6Tuimalealiifano (2006), p. 91.
7The candidate must be at least one-half Samoan blood, have been born (with one exception) on American soil, chosen by his family for the title and living with Samoans as a Samoan. A matai cannot hold more than one title and new titles cannot be created. See Seloti (2007), pp. 94-95.
8For example, for Apia-based workers, the ‘services’ they provide for village kin may include helping children of other family members get entry into senior schools and giving them board, taking care of a relative admitted to the main hospital, arranging and paying for overseas travel, supporting fund-raising visits and numerous other things.
9See Fuata’i (2007), p.181; see also So’o (2007b), p.250.
10The more important titles, though, are fiercely contested. It can take many years before a successor, frequently through the Land and Titles Court, is identified.
11The perceived negative aspects of the faamatai, particularly for overseas-born Samoans who may not fully appreciate the social pressures behind many practices, can engender resentment and alienation. See Suaalii-Sauni (2007), p. 49; see also Chan Mow, (2007), p.127
12According to legend, the courting party of Tigilau came to Falealupo in order to win the favours of Sina. They arrived at a time a fale was being built for Sina and at her request they began work on one end while Sina’s galu teine (hand maidens) worked on the other end. That evening everyone partook in poula (night festivities). The next morning the women arose early and toiled until their work was done, including the complete thatching of their side of the roof. Meanwhile, the men were still soundly asleep (personal communication from Aeau Peniamina Leavaiseeta).
13See: O le Mafuaala o Upu o le Fale. Matagaluega o Autalavou Taaloga ma Aganuu, (1999).
14‘Honorifics are records of residents, residences and residencies. They are records of the continuity of natural inheritances and political constituencies and of their roots in mythology. Through the identification of titles, malae (i.e. the village green or gathering place), maota and laoa, and village and district hierarchies, are noted. This defines residency, i.e., the status, office and power of a titleholder. It defines the pule or authority of the resident. And, it defines the mana, tofā and moe in the residence’ (Tui Atua, 2006; see chapter 7 of this publication).
15See Matagaluega o Autalavou Ta’aloga ma Aganuu (1999). I gratefully acknowledge the Ministry of Education, Sports and Culture Samoa (MESC), for permission to reproduce these two diagrams.
16Pratt (1893, p. 148). Another name for placenta is falefale, which Pratt speculates is due to its being buried in the fale.
17This control is beginning to weaken as the pool of land available for settlement or for planting decreases, due in part to those living on family land refusing to leave when the main title-holder dies. The new title-holder, therefore, is left with no land to move onto.
18Article 102 of the Constitution of Samoa, 1960.
19Alienation of Customary Land Act, 1965.
20See Va’a (2007), pp. 185-207
21ibid, p. 191.
22See Lafoa’i (2007), pp. 13-27 See also, Va’a (1995), pp. 139-140; 174-176.
23See Lafoa’i, (2007), pp. 16-23.
24Tui Atua (2004), p. 12; see chapter 7.
25The successful party, to avoid aggravating the village, will decide cautiously as to which parts of the Court judgement it can safely proceed on. Reprisals, nevertheless, may still occur, as happened in the case of Tuivaiti (Tariu) v Sila (Faamalaga) and Others (1980-1993) WSLR 17, where the plaintiff succeeded but later had his property destroyed by the village.
26See Lafaialii v Attorney General [2003] WSSC 8 (24 April 2003). An application of judicial review.
27See Tui Atua (2008); see chapter 18.
28That is, E faavae i le Atua Samoa: Samoa is founded on God.