The death of a high chief

I heard the siren Thursday night, but I didn’t know what it meant. I thought it was just a distant ambulance. It wasn’t until the next morning that someone explained to me that the High Chief (Ibedul) of Koror had died. Back in the day, the death of such an important figure would have been announced by conch shell, but now a modern siren did the job.

Palau's government is a hybrid between their traditional way of life and imposed Western ideals. They have a 3-branch government with executive and legislative branches, just like the U.S., but in place of the Supreme Court, they have the House of Traditional Leaders. According to the Palauans I've spoken to, the House of Traditional Leaders are considered to be the "real" leaders of Palau. The legislature is expected to consult their advice on everything, and the House can issue its own decrees with very little in the way of checks and balances. There are two high chiefs in Palau - one for Koror, the largest state, and one for Melekeok, where the national capital is located. Historically, these two states were the two centers of power for the Palauan people. 

The High Chief dying is a big deal. The closest equivalent I can come up with for my American mind is the death of a Chief Justice of the Supreme Court. The chief in question has been in power since the 1970s, and he will be given a full day-long state funeral. Part of the ceremony will involve a transfer of power to his successor, who everyone suspects will be his nephew. From what I've heard, the traditional leaders in Palau are usually men, but they are chosen by a group of women. 

Since the last time a high chief died was back in the 70s, I have yet to meet anyone who was alive when it happened. Furthermore, there was no such thing as international tourism in Palau at the time, so this is the first time Palauan society is going through such a dramatic transition at a time that there are foreigners in the country. It's uncharted territory for this generation. The House of Traditional Leaders decreed that there should be a period of respect for the chief's passing that lasts until he's buried - no live music at restaurants, no loud parties, and no diving in the jurisdiction of Koror state. 

They day after the chief died (Friday) was a day off for us, so I didn't find out about the decree until Saturday morning. We pulled away from the dock pretty early in the morning, and then our Koror Ranger, Gil, got a call on his phone. 

"Uh, Kirstin," he called. "We're in big trouble..." We were not supposed to be diving; we weren't supposed to be in Koror state waters; and we certainly weren't supposed to be in the Rock Islands. 

I thought my research was going to get cut off prematurely. All of our sites are in Koror, and we were only halfway done. It's not like I could just switch to another state, because the environmental conditions would be different, and there wasn't enough time to get the proper permits. 

Gil made a call to his captain, then the director of his department. After those two calls, we had permission to at least finish the day. Kharis and I did the math for how many sites we could hit before the sun set. It would be one heck of a tough day, but we were prepared to push ourselves. 

Thankfully, things never actually got that drastic. It took several more phone calls, at least three departments, and I don't even know how many people with "Director" in their title to weigh in, but we were eventually granted an exception. We could collect our samples; we just had to be respectfully quiet and couldn't go on the beaches. 

When I saw Gil on Sunday morning, he apologized profusely for the confusion of the previous day. As compensation, he took Kharis and me on a quick tour of some of his favorite spots in the Rock Islands. He showed us a shallow shipwreck, a snorkeling spot with really cool soft corals, and a rock feature that he called The Arc. It was really neat to explore more deeply in the area. 

I really wish I was going to be in Palau long enough to witness the chief's funeral, but it's a huge event that takes weeks of planning. We'll be long gone by the time it takes place. My condolences to the family of Ibedul Gibbons, and best wishes to all the Palauan people.