The Goodness of Man

Under Bikini's palm and pandanus trees, bright in the South Sea sun and dark in the shadow of the Bomb, primitive man and progressive man held palaver. The U.S. Navy's softspoken, sensitive Commodore Ben Wyatt might well have wondered why progress had to sacrifice this lovely coral atoll, instead of an empty wasteland, a dismal slum or a plaguesome Buchenwald. Bikini's tall, tawny Paramount Chief Juda, manor lord of 160 Christian islanders, took comfort in the will of Heaven.

Ben Wyatt talked. In simple words, with eloquent gestures, he told Juda and his people of the Bomb. Its power to kill all living things within many miles was beyond belief. But "the U.S. wants to turn this great destructive power into something good for mankind." The Bomb would be dropped on Bikini. For their protection, and for progress, would the islanders help by leaving their home, perhaps forever?

Juda took counsel with the alaps (family heads). At length he gave his decision: "If the U.S. Government needs to use our houses for the goodness of mankind, then by the kindness of God we are willing to go." Thus began the first move in "Operation Crossroads," an operation whose ultimate move was now postponed. A U.S. officer called the transfer of the Bikinians "one hell of a good sales job."

The Possessions of Man. Centuries ago, guided by the light of the stars and "the feel of the waves on the boat," the forefathers of the Bikinians had pushed their graceful canoes up the length of the Marshall Islands. Now graceless LSTs bore them to Rongerik, an atoll 140 miles to southeast.

They brought with them only a few possessions: some pandanus leaves to thatch their new houses; their vernacular Bibles, Congregational Hymnals and Mother Hubbards which had been left them by Yankee missionaries, and latent syphilis left by Yankee whalers of the pre-atomic age.

The Americans found the islanders' simple wants hard to understand. Through an interpreter, Commander Harold Grieve asked Chief Juda if timbers from Bikini's houses, for sentimental reasons, should not be transported to Rongerik. The interpreter answered: "He says, as the English would put it, 'Do you not think it would be like carrying coals to Newcastle?' "

On the voyage from Bikini, Juda and his people ate K-rations with apparent relish. Progress chuckled over a victory. But as soon as they reached Rongerik, the islanders fell upon the coconuts and the sweet, tough pandanus fruit strewn about the beach.

The Questions of Man. Most puzzling for the Americans were Marshall Island politics. Juda and other Paramount Chiefs hold power through heredity on the maternal side. They alone own the land. They alone judge crimes (a little adultery, an occasional assault-&-battery). They are entitled to almost half their domain's annual crop of coconuts, which means half their people's income.

In the Atomic Age, how can an Allied Military Government deal with such a feudal society? For the loss of Bikini, compensation should be paid. But to whom? Will it be democratic to pay Juda rather than his people? If Juda gets the bounty, will that not mean de facto recognition of his regime? Is this a UNO problem?

Finally, there is some doubt that the primitives really understand the force of progress. Already they have asked in hopeful innocence of atomic force: how long, after the Bomb drops, before we can return to Bikini? "I suppose," says a baffled AMGman, "that eventually we'll have to load a few alaps aboard a plane and show them why they cannot."

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