The practicality of forgiveness: In the Marshall Islands, it’s a matter of survival
Majuro—There are certain things you learn from living on a small island that are difficult to explain to people who have spent most of their lives in large countries.
One of the most important is that you simply cannot go through life staying angry with people. There isn't enough room. In a large city, if you have a terrible disagreement with someone, you can probably arrange things so that you never have to see that person again. On a small island, that is almost impossible.
The person you are furious with today may be sitting across from you at a meeting tomorrow. A week later, you might discover you need his help to fix your car. The woman you haven't spoken to in weeks may turn out to be the nurse caring for someone in your family. Your children might be best friends. Your spouses might be cousins. And sooner or later you are still probably going to run into each other at K & K, EZ Price or Payless. There aren’t many places to hide on an island.
I have come to believe that forgiveness here in the Marshall Islands is much more than a religious concept. It is a practical necessity of island life. That doesn't mean Marshallese people don't get angry with each other. Anyone who believes that has never attended a Nitijela session, listened to a land dispute in court or spent much time around a large Marshallese family. People argue, families feud, politicians become enemies over various issues and feelings get hurt.
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The difference is that here you usually cannot simply walk away forever. Geography won't allow it. Family won't allow it. Eventually something always seems to bring people back together. Someone gets married. Someone dies.
There is a "kemem" (a Marshallese first-year birthday celebration). Somebody becomes seriously ill. Suddenly people who have been avoiding each other find themselves sitting underneath the same tent, eating from the same table or standing beside each other at a funeral. The disagreement that once seemed so important can suddenly seem much smaller.
I think religion has played an enormous role in this aspect of life in the Marshall Islands. You cannot live here very long without understanding how deeply religion is woven into everyday life. Sunday morning in Majuro feels different from every other morning of the week. The traffic changes, families gather and churches fill with music. Children who spent Saturday running around in shorts and zoris suddenly emerge on Sunday morning dressed in their best clothes.
What is particularly interesting is the sheer number of churches that exist in such a small country. There are Protestants, Catholics, Assemblies of God, Seventh-day Adventists, Baptists, members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Full Gospel, Bahais, Jews and Muslims. Yet somehow all of this diversity works. People here believe strongly in their own religion while accepting that their neighbors may believe something different.
A Catholic and a Protestant can belong to the same extended family. An Adventist can work beside a Mormon. Members of different churches serve together in government, attend the same schools, celebrate the same birthdays and mourn together at the same funerals.
Nobody here considers this particularly remarkable, and perhaps that is exactly what makes it remarkable. In a world where religious differences have caused so much conflict, there is something worth appreciating about a tiny Pacific country where many religions coexist peacefully.
Religion here is also about much more than the Sabbath. Churches function almost like additional extended families. When someone gets sick, church members visit. When someone dies, they help the family. Churches organize youth activities, celebrations, fundraising events and community projects. When a family faces a crisis, it is often their church, along with their relatives, that responds first.
Perhaps one of religion's greatest contributions to island life is the constant reminder of the need to forgive.
Forgiveness is one of those things that everyone agrees with until they actually have something serious to forgive. It becomes considerably harder when someone has embarrassed you, betrayed your trust, insulted your family or caused genuine pain. That is when forgiveness stops being a pleasant idea and becomes more of a task.
Forgiveness does not mean pretending nothing happened or that people shouldn't be held accountable. Accountability and forgiveness can coexist. You can recognize that someone treated you badly without letting that person occupy a permanent place in your head. Eventually, holding onto anger can do more damage to the person carrying it than to the person who caused it.
Over the years, I have watched disputes in the Marshall Islands that initially seemed impossible to resolve. People stopped speaking and families divided into sides. Then there was a funeral, an illness or another family event. People who had avoided each other suddenly found themselves sitting a few feet apart. Someone offered food, somebody shook a hand, made a joke or said a prayer.
Often nobody actually said, "Jolok bwid” (I apologize). People simply started talking again and life moved forward.
There is something very “Pacific” about that. Island societies have always depended on cooperation because geography has made it necessary. Long before governments, grocery stores or airplanes, people living on remote islands survived because they depended on one another. They shared food, labor, knowledge and responsibilities.
The Marshall Islands is certainly not a perfect society, and religion does not magically eliminate conflict. Churches disagree, families remain divided over old disputes and politics here can become intensely personal.
But beneath all of that remains an understanding that the community is larger than the disagreement. We don't have to attend the same church, support the same politician or agree about everything. But we do have to find a way to live together. Maybe that is one of the most valuable lessons the Marshall Islands can offer the rest of the world.
Out here in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, we don't have the luxury of pretending we don't need each other. That is why forgiveness isn't simply a religious ideal in the islands. It is how we survive.
Jack Niedenthal is the former secretary of Health Services for the Marshall Islands, where he has lived and worked for 45 years. He is the author of “For the Good of Mankind, An Oral History of the People of Bikini,” and president of Microwave Films, which has produced six award-winning feature films in the Marshallese language. Send feedback to jackniedenthal@gmail.com
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