When you think about it, is there really that big of a difference between this post and a travel memoir? What’s the difference between Paul Theraux’s Happy Isles of Oceania and a post on the Warren Peace Report called Telling Someone Else’s Story? Aren’t you getting the same, one-sided, myopic perspective from both experiences? In essence, this is me, the Author, telling you, the Audience, about a Culture and their habits. Who’s to say that this is okay and Happy Isles isn’t? Aren’t we just recreating the same imbroglio that we began with, redirecting the feelings of alienation and confusion elsewhere? 

In the same way I was introduced for me, I am introducing you to Fiji without letting Fiji speak for itself. I am creating a story for you, and this story is woven with the threads of my subjectivity. What you are reading is part of the same narrative I am fabricating in my mind each and every moment, the one where I am the Peace Corps Volunteer protagonist who has a certain set of values which are right and justified, who has a theory of mind that can correctly predict other’s thoughts and ideas, and who believes that introductions ought to be done a certain way. But, of course, that isn’t based on anything - only my limited experience, and, therefore, is going to be abound with flaws. There is no natural law that suggests that there is a correct way of thinking, whether that be with values, theory of mind, or the rhythm of introductions. Instead, my judgment is precedented on years of cultural indoctrination from 20 years of growing up in the West. Just like Theraux’s, this litigation stands on tenuous ground. 

Yet, for you, there is no other perspective to take. You are guided through this story like it’s a Disneyland ride, traversing through a crafted narrative where sensations are curated and presented. Every detail, from the sights you behold to the thoughts you entertain, is under my orchestration, for there are few other avenues through which you can access the information I possess.

The ability to direct your attention is especially pernicious with written works. As author Leo Toltsoy incisively put it, “a real work of art destroys, in the consciousness of the receiver, the separation between himself and the artist.” It’s really just you and me here. Me, the author, and you, the reader. It's the only relationship the medium of writing can handle. 

Writing is one of the few times self and other are mended, where you can see into another’s subjective experience. It’s a conversation where your inner monologue is speaking in my voice. So long as you trust me and my writing, you are vulnerable to my perspective. “‘She returns her gaze to me with a wary, uneasy grin’ … mmm. Yes, yes. I agree.” And although it may be a conversation where your thoughts may cut in to commentate, ultimately, my voice needs to dominate for you to get through the story. When I know more or am explaining an experience foreign to you, you can only agree or be skeptical, but no way to dispute. And when I have that power, I inadvertently or purposefully use it to influence your perception of the situation I am describing. 

(In fact, in some instances, the tone and style of writing can influence the way we think. A 2017 study showed that the lingering immersiveness of a story left a fifth of participants claiming that they began thinking in a character's narration style after finishing a book - a sort of “literary possession.” So, not only is reading a conversation, but the author can also shape the very fabric of our thoughts long after the book is closed.)

Since I know I have the power to direct the story, there are certain elements of this post that were purposely fictive that served to fit the narrative flow. For example, although the women’s group conference did actually happen, it wasn’t there where I first felt like my agency to introduce myself was being taken away from me - it was something I noticed months before. Nor did I immediately make the connection to Theraux’s book after my trip to my friend’s village Or, take the Stranger and Neighbor characters. They served to be archetypes of people who behaved in a certain generalized manner. I purposely left them as blank canvases with their physical attributes left vague for later analysis. These were all props and stage pieces used to push the narrative forward and to convey thematic depth.

That being said, I am not just writing this to flex - this isn’t a nasty trick or a betrayal of trust. I think there is a lesson here. We can learn how to introduce each other better, to tell better stories about one another, and to do so both as Peace Corps Volunteers and as people in general. 

As Peace Corps Volunteers, we are encouraged to tell our stories. It’s actually one of our responsibilities. Peace Corps’ 3rd Goal: “To help promote a better understanding of other peoples on the part of Americans”- AKA to tell you what Fiji is like. Government-sponsored gonzo journalism - the epitome of a “go and check it out” kind of gig. Before even hoping on the plane, I was handed a Peace Corps pen engraved with the Stars and Stripes and was essentially told, “Write something, will ya?” No wonder that soon after, the internet was populated with a few more social media accounts and eponymous blogs like mine. If Uncle Sam told us to report back on what Fiji was like, we would tell him, but our big mouths would be damned not to wrap it in the messy package of our own subjectivity. They told me, a kid without journalistic experience and minimal intercultural tact, to share what I thought of Fiji, and sent me on my way.  

Even if I was unsure I was well-suited for the role, I still felt it was a nice sentiment; it was something I could get behind. Americans do tend to have the stereotype of being unworldly, having a lack of cultural awareness, and being ignorant of other lifestyles. A family member or friend is likely the person most apt to encourage others to learn about another culture, as, just like with the Author, they share similar values with their audience. But, it's also a lot of power to give a freshly graduated college kid. Though like a sort of patriotic Spider-Man, I know that “with great power comes great responsibility.” I am, as I have stressed previously, likely one of your only sources of information for Fijian culture, and as such, I can influence how you perceive these people and places you will likely never see. If I was given this duty, then I want to learn how to do it well - with a healthy dose of cultural sensitivity and understanding. 

Since it is my role to share my experience, I have become more and more interested in how I ought to tell someone else’s stories. You and I are gossiping, just like the Audience and the Author, just like the Stranger and the Neighbor. And there’s nothing wrong with that, as long as I introduce them with proper consideration.

The Fijian word for “gossip” is kakase, which derives from the word for “parrot,” kaka. It describes the phenomena well, I think. I am, quite literally, hearing something and then repeating it back. But maybe we can do better than just squawking like a parrot. Maybe we can strive for greater mindfulness in sharing our experiences, ensuring that our stories honor Fiji’s rich culture, the joys and challenges of being a Peace Corps Volunteer, and the remarkable beauty of the intercultural exchange that arises from their convergence. From what I have learned from my previous uncomfortable situation with the Stranger, I feel like I have a better idea about how to discuss my experience respectfully and ethically. 

It’s more than just what Nana Ate doesn’t want, it’s about what she does want as well. Based on conversations with Fijians, I can accentuate the positive qualities that I think they use to define their national character. They would want people to know that they’re hardworking and kind. For example, the women’s group meeting I detailed above was full of hundreds of everyday women who took time away from their village to engage in local government. And even if I was the odd one out, they still included me in their conversations, jokes, and dancing. That’s the story of Fiji - passionate, welcoming people. 

But where does that put the Peace Corps Volunteer? It’s a story about Fiji, but we are also still characters. Even if I know what they would want me to say, I can’t speak in anyone else’s voice. I can’t remove myself from my own subjective experience - I carry my past, my identity, and my habits with me everywhere, and my perspective will forever percolate my observations. But nor should I try to get rid of it. There is value in sharing my journey as a Peace Corps Volunteer; its insights, struggles, and day-to-day joys are interesting and worth sharing.

It appears to me that it's a balance between honoring the Peace Corps experience and host country values, and that balance strikes differently for different mediums. For instance, I have seen people start separate Instagram accounts particularly to share about Peace Corps Fiji. Those are awesome, especially the posts that are mainly about others, Fiji-specific experiences and Fijian functions (funerals, birthdays, weddings, circumcision parties, etc). This is showing off Fijian voices; letting their actions do the talking. The same applies for personal instagram accounts, even if those tend to be more self-serving. For me, my account is my life highlights, so I do want to post pictures of myself and non-3rd goal related things (like other volunteers), but there is still ample room to show off life in a Fijian village. But, for both instances, I want to do a good job introducing Fiji, and that requires me to show Fijians.  

As for blog posts… well, I am still trying to get better at that. Regardless of if this post is or is not a successful commentary on Peace Corps’ 3rd goal,  it unfortunately doesn’t achieve it. This is not a post about Fiji;  it is a post about Peace Corps. Sharing Fijian culture is only a tertiary priority here; the mention of women groups, dancing, and grog serve only a narrative purpose and are not center-stage. And even in previous updates, my focus is on me and my thoughts. I look back on old posts, and even when I thought  I was being thoughtful of how my words would impact my friends and family, I still think today, was it really my place to say that?

I have found that the best 3rd-goal-oriented blog posts are the ones which, like the Instagram posts, underscore Fijian lifestyles over a Peace Corps Volunteer’s woes. A great example is this post by my friend Declan about the lengths a village without cable or internet connection will go to watch a rugby game. In it, the narrator is less of an active participant, but rather an observer, one who lives in and feels for the Fijian village world while also has the mind of a relatable American who is both curious and nonplused. In future posts, I would like to practice abdicating my tendency to comment on my experience in favor of showing the lived realities themselves. 

I’ve discussed earlier about my desire to be a good representative of the US - how important it is to me to portray my American identity and Peace Corps identity positively for Fijians. Well, by diligently pursuing the 3rd goal, I represent Fijians to the US. I share the Fijan cultural character with friends and family back home. Fijians are quite eager for me to do so, and they tell me what they want me to share. “Oh! You should send this picture of us eating fish with your family back home!” they often say. “Yeah,” I respond, “I actually already have!” With my gossip, I hope that to you, a Fijian sitting on a bus will look less like an alien, and that you will have a better understanding of the background they might have come from. 

~

But, of course, this ability to influence another’s opinion on a peoples or topic isn’t just restricted to writing, nor is it specific to Peace Corps output. In everyday conversations, we are sharing stories about other people and things, and the same flaws of subjective storytelling that may go into a blog post or a travel memoir (one narrator with one perspective) will also affect how we commentate about the people and things we discuss - our gossip. How we talk can do serious reputational damage, especially to those who lack the knowledge we do concerning a situation. In other words, we ought to be careful when we tell a story where the listener wasn’t present. When we don’t take effort to empathize, challenge ourselves to take another’s view, or validate our thinking with others, we may go on to spuriously define another’s character. 

The same large-scale reflections we might have about an author framing other cultures can be used to better understand our small-scale discussions, and even instruct more ethical conversations about those around us. That is, for one, subjectivity is going to be present within every story. You can acknowledge that anyone will be limited by their years of experience, biases, and values, and may not see things that are obvious to you. This is true simply by virtue of the fact that you are a different person with different frameworks and paradigms. But although experience will forever be partial, you can attenuate unfair characterizations by expanding your perspective. Often this comes with experience - seeing, hearing, and doing things that informs how you see the world. For example, Theraux made a comment about “ugly villages that looked like prefab chicken houses” without having stepped foot inside a village throughout his stay in Fiji. But that would not be the way I would describe villages, having lived in one for over a year, complete with its power dynamics, rituals, and comradery. I am sure he wouldn’t have written what he did if he also experienced village life. But, because he didn’t, he gives us, quite literally, a surface-level perspective of Fijians, commenting on the appearance of their houses without inspecting the people who live inside them.  

This diatribe between me and Paul Theraux comes from our conflicting perspectives. They are two different points of view, but when I evaluate them, I remember that mine is just as fallible and context-dependent. To repeat one of the rhetorical questions that opened this section with, who is to say that this post is okay but Happy Isles isn’t? I would argue that both of our accounts are equally valid - “valid” insofar as both are experiences that nobody can claim are “invalid.” So, another takeaway then may be that any perspective can be valid when placed within the context in which that perspective exists. Perhaps I would feel the same as Theraux if I were in his shoes. He was, afterall, at the time of visiting Fiji, recently divorced, had an infection on his groin, and was several months into his journey kayaking in the South Pacific. I am sure my patience would run thin in that scenario as well.*

The longer I am in Fiji, the less I feel that there are universal “rights” and “wrongs,” There are plenty of things in Fiji which myself and other people from the West might view as morally questionable. A relatively non-offensive example would be slaughtering cows to eat at ceremonies. I don’t particularly like hearing a cow's dying screams knowing that it's in excruciating pain, nor do I like the image of its bloody, mangled body being butchered in the middle of a village, but when I look around me, nobody bats an eye. In fact, kids are playing luridly near the cow. What’s “right” and “wrong” seems to me now to be more a part of a collective imagination, a judgment made by the mores of a community, and as such are dependent on environment, time, and culture of the people judging. As such, I remain careful before criticizing, or, at the very least, I prepare to be challenged.. What may be “right” for me might be “wrong” for someone else. Even still, I can be confident in the validity of my morals, if for no other reason than because they’re mine - erroneous yet justified.

But, then I also think about other Peace Corps Volunteers, both those currently serving in-country and those who’ve terminated their service early, who have come face-to-face with perspectives which they feel are so “wrong” that it impacts their well-being - those beliefs which attacks their identity or physically restricts their autonomy (think here of issues of gender, sexuality, religion, etc.). Or, they hear a belief that evokes a disagreement so potent that seeing clearly is nearly impossible - a frustration so palpable that they can feel a straining in their head as if it was a clenched fist.  If it’s a matter of discrimination, to what degree should the volunteer consider these beliefs “valid”? And, keeping in mind the 3rd goal, to what extent should these volunteers uphold the value of cultural sensitivity when discussing these cultural beliefs even when they attempt to undermine our core values and autonomy? 

I can think of no steadfast rule. All I can do is follow my “Nana Ate rule” - think about someone I care deeply about in your community, who might also hold that value and then ask myself, would I be okay with this person being associated with what I am saying? Because when I tell a family member a story about someone’s character, that’s all they will be for them - a character in a story. Could I provide more nuance to better conform to reality?

Or, to extend beyond Peace Corps, what about ideologies we would wholeheartedly agree are indefensible? How would one report on the views of an anti-abolitionist, a colonizer, or a nazi, let alone think of these views as “valid?” Of course, we can say by our common sense of morality today that these views are unacceptable, but to dismiss them outrightly without due investigation belies us of any understanding of these people or the environments they grew from. There is value in having a report that says “this is just how things are'' without an author’s commentary confusing the audience’s understanding.  I think it's important to see things from an honest, patient perspective, especially when news and social media is polarized and fervid. It may be easy to move with the zeitgeist, get up-in-arms and ardent, but learning first to be a responsible observer may beget more effective action, both for working within unfair systems and for scorning them.

But neither do I believe it is right to remain idle when you see something bad. I discussed previously how values may color a narrative and undermine cultures, but I also don’t think having values is inherently wrong. In fact, having integrity for what you believe is brave and admirable. The question that I am concerned with is, with regards to storytelling, when should we have our values be center-stage and when should we drop back as much as possible and simply report. For I can foresee misconception and conflict arising when we craft narratives about others while remaining ignorant of the values that drive us. 

~

We are natural storytellers. We create characters with our theory of mind and then manifest them into reality with our gossip, impacting reputation and how people view themselves. These are all our intrinsic faculties. Even if we view ourselves as the protagonist, sometimes, we aren’t the ones telling our own stories. The expectation I had since kindergarten that I am entitled to do my own introduction was naive. Often others do it for me, just how I have done for others. It’s inevitable; it’s a part of being human living in a community. Knowing how it feels now, I am better prepared to perform better introductions and tell better stories. 

There is no Culture section here despite it being the only archetype I have not talked about. It’s a section that cannot be done justice in one blog post, and it can barely be expounded upon by many. Even still, I want to be more focused on writing about Fijian culture in the future. I think I can do it well, with the due cultural sensitivity it requires, along with the acknowledgement of the intercultural perspective I can provide being an American living in a village. Afterall, since it’s my role to share what the Fijian character is, I will be a good Neighbor; I will listen to and advocate for their voice, and I will make sure to tell their story the way they want it shared.