In the lead-up to the third referendum on self-determination in New Caledonia, held on December 12th, 2021, an air of intrigue permeated the atmosphere, setting it apart from its predecessors in 2018 and 2020. Unlike those previous occasions, where the pro-independence coalition and loyalist groups fervently campaigned, expressing their opposing stances with fervor and using potent symbols of identity, a different scene unfolded this time around. The following series of evocative photographs, captured over a fortnight preceding the momentous referendum, offers a glimpse into the daily lives of a society standing at the precipice of their collective fate.
A peculiar absence greeted the eye in the days leading up to the referendum. Gone were the ubiquitous advertising panels, symbols of belonging, and pro-independence slogans that once adorned the landscape. Strikingly, the French flags, once proudly waving, were conspicuously absent as well. Instead, panels from the loyalist movement Les voix du Non dominated the visual landscape. Their strategic decision to shun the symbol of the French flag in their communication efforts sparked curiosity and skepticism. It posed a paradox—a referendum wherein the indigenous population and the advocates of remaining French withheld the very symbol they sought to maintain their attachment to.
Venturing into the realm of Saint Louis, a tribe known for its pro-independence leaders and turbulent history, a sign at its entrance commanded attention. "This time is for contemplation and not for the ballot, let us observe our mourning ceremonies," it proclaimed.
Adolphe Wamytan, a youthful 33-year-old, emerged as a guide, enlightening us on the profound significance of customs, especially the ritual of mourning woven intricately into the tapestry of Kanak culture.
The customs, as Adolphe elucidated, unfolded in a delicate dance of reverence. The deceased's body remained in the family home for four sacred days, providing an opportunity for loved ones to pay their final respects. Thereafter, the grave was tenderly prepared, enshrined beneath the earth's embrace. A year later, the tomb's completion arrived, marked by the placement of a marble slab and a cross, signifying the conclusion of the mournful rites. Within this span, the soul embarked on its transcendent voyage, reconnecting with its uterine cousins from which it originated.
Adolphe shared, his voice filled with conviction, "In our culture, failing to honor these customs denies the soul its serenity."
In Saint Louis, we encountered Prisca, just weeks before the decisive vote. Litchi season was in full swing, and she and her daughter diligently assembled litchi bags for sale by the roadside. When questioned about her voting intentions, Prisca's response carried a mix of determination and resignation. "Yes, I will cast my vote," she declared. "But let us ponder: What real change will it bring for us? Will it alleviate our struggles in finding employment? Will it free us from the margins that confine us? I hold my children's future close, for that is where my hope truly lies."
Across in Paita, the Gaia family embodied a vibrant tapestry of diversity, intertwining Wallisian, Japanese, and Kanak heritage. In their ancestral history resided the legacy of an influential independence activist, commemorated through a grave adorned with flowers and Kanaky flags. Positioned prominently in their garden, the tomb stood as a daily reminder of their forebear's relentless battle for a new nation.
Yet, as the much-anticipated vote draws near, confusion engulfs the younger Gaia clan members, their hearts heavy with a sense of betrayal. Politicians who once rallied them to protest against the southern nickel factory have seemingly abandoned their cause, leaving them disillusioned and adrift.
Meanwhile, a poignant silence envelopes the outer islands and Kanak neighborhoods, where empty polling stations serve as somber witnesses to a disheartening reality. French military forces, dutiful sentinels stationed at every Noumea roundabout, patrol the unusually tranquil streets. Local police man checkpoints, and roadblocks shield sensitive polling stations.
The absence of vibrant colors and flags casts a pall of indifference over the Melanesian population, their participation rate strikingly low. It is as if a collective denial has washed over this momentous event, swept away by the imminent arrival of tropical depression Ruby.
Nevertheless, life continues unabated within the tribes, untouched by the ripples of the referendum. Their rhythm remains undisturbed, their existence unfettered by the weight of this historic choice. "Amidst the cacophony of this vote, we are more preoccupied with the tempestuous nature of the approaching tropical depression," confides Adolphe Wamytan, his words laced with wisdom on that fateful day of December 12th.
In stark contrast, France stands poised to commemorate the anniversary of the Algerian War, paying homage to the valorous veterans from Morocco and Tunisia in the heart of Noumea, a mere week before the vote. The scene is ablaze with a vibrant tableau of waving colors, resplendent uniforms, and the resounding accolades bestowed upon patriotic heroes. Yet, President Macron's triumphant proclamation on the eve of the referendum, proclaiming the enhanced beauty of France as New Caledonia reaffirms its French identity, stands in stark contrast to the dissonant reality that dawns upon the streets of Noumea on that fateful Monday morning.
Empty thoroughfares bear witness to the overwhelming silence that shrouds the vote, while bustling supermarkets hum with activity as people hurriedly stockpile provisions in anticipation of the encroaching tropical depression.
In this tapestry of emotions, New Caledonia stands at a precipice—a delicate balancing act between divergent desires and aspirations. The photographs capture these nuanced moments, encapsulating the quietude, the uncertainty, and the resilient spirit that emanate from a society confronted with its own destiny.
In this realm of contemplation and introspection, the future of New Caledonia waits in suspended animation, yearning for the day when voices shall rise, and the choices made shall resound with the fullness of conviction.