Pitcairn Island is one of the most difficult to reach inhabited islands in the world, with 40-50 people living on a small rock 3400 miles to the northeast of New Zealand and 3400 miles to the west of Chile. Even Tahiti, the nearest island with a large population, is 1400 miles away; Mangareva, the nearest island with any population at all, is 300 miles. The easiest way to reach the island is by flying to Tahiti (8.5 hours nonstop from LAX), waiting for one of the twice-weekly four-hour flights to Mangareva, and then chartering a yacht to Pitcairn, where you'll arrive two days later. It's not technically the most remote inhabited place on earth (that's Tristan da Cunha in the South Atlantic, over 1500 miles from anything) but it's damn close.
If you've heard of Pitcairn at all, you've likely heard how it was founded: by British mutineers from HMS Bounty in 1790, seeking a refuge in the South Pacific that would prevent them from being recaptured and brought back to face trial in England. As the myth goes, those mutineers' descendants continue to populate the island, living on a quasi-independent, tax-free refuge, in the purest state of freedom available in the 21st century.
The large majority of those male descendants were also rapists and child molesters, as Marks documents meticulously. When British detectives finally looked into the situation starting in 1999, they concluded that "nearly every girl growing up on the island in the last forty years had been abused, and nearly every man had been an offender."
Marks debunks every possible way of downplaying the offenses. No, this was not a typical Polynesian practice, an example of the culture of promiscuity documented by Margaret Mead; these were cases of adult men assaulting girls as young as five, not preteens experimenting with each other. In no Polynesian culture is that normative. No, the girls were not consenting; often they emerged bloodied and with lifelong injuries, leaving one victim barren.
No, this was not a hidden practice by a few bad apples; almost every man participated, with even gang rapes committed in full public view. One mother in 1978 interrupted a meeting of the island council, waving the bloody panties of her 11-year-old daughter who had just been raped by one of the councilors, Brian Young; Young and his friends literally turned their backs and ignored her. Everyone knew what was going on. No, this was not a recent development. Pitcairn was founded by violent men who kidnapped Tahitian women (including young girls) and forced them to bear children to populate their new society. This has been going on all along.
Marks unravels other myths too. The mutineers put out an image of having created an idyllic society in the tropics. In reality, it unraveled nearly as soon as it was created. 15 men, nine British and six Tahitian, initially settled the island in 1790. The British's determination to keep all farmable land for themselves caused an outbreak of ethnic warfare, at the end of which only four Brits, and no Tahitian men, were left alive by the end of 1793. Of those four left, one figured out how to distill alcohol and drunkenly threw himself off a cliff, after which another was murdered by the other two for fear he was trying to steal their wives. The second-to-last died of asthma in 1800, leaving only one adult man, John Adams, on the island after a decade. It's hard to imagine how the settlement could have gone worse.
From the 1830s onward, Pitcairn has been a Crown possession, reliant on massive charity from the UK in the form of unprofitable visits by shipping trips and more direct subsidies in order to survive. By the time of Marks' writing in 2009, the Brits were spending $3.9 million a year on an island of 51 people, or $76,000 per capita. These are the biggest welfare queens in the whole world, and for years they were participants in a massive criminal conspiracy to abuse children. As part of their defense, they had the temerity to argue they actually weren't a Crown possession at all, and could not be subject to British law. They'd like to cash the checks and not be prosecuted, thank you kindly.
The bulk of the book is about Operation Unique, the unprecedented British-New Zealander investigation into the decades of sexual abuse occasioned by disclosures from victims in 1999. If you can stomach the subject matter, the result is a fascinating, up-close look at how police, prosecutors, and judges attempted a nearly impossible task: criminally trying most of the most powerful figures in a small community, in that community, using testimony from current and former members of that community, when that community feels (not without basis) that without the defendants they will all die.
Pitcairn lives by the kindness of the "longboat," actually a powerboat that has to navigate a treacherous route between the island and passing cargo ships to acquire all the goods the island needs to survive. The longboat was captained by community leaders like Steve Christian and Dave Brown — pedophiles and rapists under indictment for sundry assaults. Would the longboat die without them? (And because they refused to train others for the duty, perhaps sensing the value in making themselves indispensable and thus unaccountable?)
Ultimately many of the men are convicted, sentenced to community service, home confinement, or (in the worst cases) a few years in a jail they built themselves on the island. As Marks notes, it hardly looks like justice compared to UK or New Zealand practices, where sentences would be much longer and not served in a Pablo Escobar-esque prison the inmates control. But the herculean efforts needed to even get that far — just the logistics necessary to house and feed the judges, lawyers, and journalists who arrived for the trial — are remarkable all the same. It is not hard to understand why the British attitude had, for years, been one of neglect. It's a tiny place, where establishing the rule of law would be unbelievably difficult. Small wonder it took two hundred years for anyone to really try.
While not exactly easy to read, Marks' book is worth the effort if only for what it tells us about how societies operate, how a social contract is built and maintained. In philosophy classes, over readings of Hobbes, Locke, Rousseau, and Rawls, one argues about situations like this one: people, on previously unoccupied land, not subject to external laws, setting up a government and rules from scratch. What do they do? What should they do? One lesson of Pitcairn is that while they can devolve into anarchy (as the original mutineers did), they needn't. A stable order can be created and maintained, based on reciprocity and mutual knowledge that cooperation is necessary to survive. Brian Skyrms' writing on the stag hunt comes to mind. But that same spirit of reciprocity and cooperation that prevents people from killing one another also can prevent them from subjecting each other to any constraints at all. The same survival need that makes society possible can make accountability impossible. What do we do with that realization?