Adding to those problems, the British colonial government in 1963 resettled the people of the Gilbert (now Kiribati) Islands to the Solomons. The Gilbertese built a village on Waghena, which put the newcomers closer to the Arnavons—and the islands’ abundant marine resources—than either indigenous community on Choiseul or Isabel. Inter-island resentment intensified, and the communities again were in conflict—this time arguing over claims to the Arnavons. The Gilbertese were being blamed for the depletion of resources.

“Some people, when they harvest, they don’t have a controlled harvest,” says Bako. “It’s like a sport: Who will be the champion?”
 
“I’m the one that killed more turtles than anyone here in the community,” boasts Peter Tobire, spitting out a wad of betel nut and adding another blood-red stain to the earth beneath his porch on Waghena. “I dive for turtles around the Arnavons. We [Gilbert immigrants] stay on the island; we had big camps there.”

Compared with the communities on Choiseul and Isabel, Waghena feels like a bustling metropolis: Boat traffic stops in at a small general store, and teenagers amble up and down a sandy drag—sort of a South Pacific take on cruising.

Tobire and his family were moved to Waghena when he was a boy. Land title remained with the British government; the newcomers were granted no tenure. “We did not consent to leave our area,” he says. “It was a beautiful island. A lot of shell clams and fish there … turtles, too. Mostly we were fishing. Our life depends entirely on the sea.”

The Gilbertese had lots of experience with fishing and cash-based enterprise. The resettlers quickly tapped markets for Trochus shells (for buttons), black-lip oysters (for mother-of-pearl), beche-de-mer sea cucumbers (a Chinese delicacy) and other export commodities. Tobire’s specialty was tortoiseshell from hawksbill turtles.

In 1978, the Solomon Islands achieved independence, and the new government also took interest in turtles. A survey had identified the Arnavons as the most important rookery for critically endangered hawksbill turtles in the South Pacific, if not the world. Soon after, the government declared a sanctuary on the Arnavons and set up the field station Rence Zama would later torch.

Tobire sums up the local reaction: “That sanctuary meant nothing to us. I may not own the place, but I use this place and I stay here more than you [government] people. To us, when we talk about things like that, we say, ‘Hem blong iu, hem blong mi’’—it’s yours, but it’s mine as well.”

Tobire kept hauling in his turtles.

Circling to Consensus

Edward mayer and Susan Brown are like marriage counselors for conservation. They help partners hash out differences, build trust and collaboration, and cultivate common interests. In 1993, when the Conservancy first entered the picture in the Arnavons, its goal was to get stakeholders talking.

And it took lots of talking before the landowners on Choiseul and Isabel were willing to welcome Waghena residents as a full project partner. Yet it was “the Gilbertese who had the most to lose from the formation of the conservation area,” says the Conservancy’s Thomas. “It is to their credit that they came to the party.” Once they did, the group set up a management committee for the Arnavons Community Marine Conservation Area. The committee was made up of two representatives from each community, three government representatives and Mayer, who tried not to say much. “A lot of the dynamic,” he says, “had to do with how open we were to listening.”  

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Nature picture credits: All photos © Djuna Ivereigh