Ladies first? Life in Palau, one of the world’s last matriarchies

“You know that saying, ‘Behind every great man, there’s an even greater woman’?” asks our local guide, Velma. “It’s especially true here. Women have a lot of power in Palau”.

It’s my first morning in this idyllic-looking country, and I’ve wasted no time firing off my burning questions. A pre-trip Google showed a tropical paradise, but one thing in particular piqued my interest: Palau is one of the world’s last matriarchies. 

At a time where women’s reproductive rights are going backward, almost one third of women experience partner violence, and suicide is a major cause of death in young men, I can’t say I’m sold on the patriarchy, as societal structures go.  

But I am deeply curious about the reality of an alternative. What does a modern matriarchal society actually look like, in practice? How many of the historic traditions are still upheld? Is there a gender pay gap? How do the men feel about it all? 

Thankfully, Velma is happy to indulge me as she guides us through a region now known as Airai, one of 16 states in Palau’s archipelago.

Velma is donning a vibrant woven hibiscus bark skirt and traditional ‘money’ necklace—both custom attire for Palauan women. Her necklace features a jade-colored stone, once traded as currency exclusively by female clan members. The US dollar is used here today, but money necklaces are still passed between generations. It’s rare to see a Palauan woman without one. 

I’m listening to Velma intently as we follow an ancient stone pathway. Sweat inches down my temple as the Pacific sun blazes through a tapestry of tropical palms, but I’m too enrapt by my surroundings to care. 

It’s like a portal into another era. Estimates indicate Palau was first inhabited between 2,000 and 3,000 years ago, and as we walk farther, signs of modernity give way to traces of a layered past.

The stone pathway widens into a large circle, where three more paths connect. “The native people built this as a compass [to help navigate the land],” Velma tells us, “But the Germans turned [this place] into an outpost when they occupied the land in the early 1900s”. 

Between 1885 and 1944, Palau was separately occupied by the Spanish, German and Japanese before being seized by US forces in World War II. It became a republic in 1994, but its multicultural history is woven into modern society. 

What strikes me most is that it’s not a mirroring of the patriarchy, in the sense of it being about dominance, assertion and control. It’s more about balance, harmony and community.

Velma leads us on to the local Bai, also known as the traditional chief’s meeting house. At over 200 years old, Airai’s Bai is the oldest original structure standing in Palau. It’s estimated over 100 were in existence at the beginning of the 20th century, but most were lost during the war.

With an indestructible-looking wooden exterior and steep peaked roof, it stands seven meters tall and is a proud testament to Palauan craftsmanship.

Equal parts imposing and captivating, the Bai is marked with vibrant paintings and distinct carvings that depict local legends, stories and beliefs. Clan histories are immortalized on its walls, and while women can’t go inside the Bai, the Bai still honors them. 

This one here in Airai has spiders etched around the entry to represent fertility; in Melekeok, the capital state, the Bai features a mother painted on top of the triangular structure. Our guide there, Quincy, would later tell us it’s to  honor “how hard [women] work having children, raising children and preparing food.”

While some traditional gender roles here are fairly standard (or at least in keeping with much of the wider world)—men would hunt fish, women would gather, prepare meals and nurture their young—I immediately notice how much child-rearing and house-keeping is revered; women are seen as both strong and sacred, and treated as such. 

Historically, male chiefs met inside these Bais to discuss fishing expeditions and war strategies against rival Palauan villages. Today, discussion is centered on local policies and community issues; Palau has a US-style democratic government, but the native President consults high chiefs on traditional laws and customs. 

But wait, what about the women? Why are men still calling the shots in a matriarchal society?

Ultimately, we’re told, they’re not. 

“Women decide who gets to be chief, and can strip a chief of his title if he’s not fulfilling his duties,” Velma explains. Women are recognized for their wisdom, and in very few instances, she tells us, they’ve stepped in as chiefs across Palau when men weren’t cutting it. 

During a demonstration of traditional cooking and weaving after we visit the Bai, Airaian aunties tell us they prefer men to have the chief role—following the matriarchs’ instruction, of course. “We have the final say on everything; we sit on top of the food chain,” one whispers with a wink, holding her hand high to indicate their social standing. 

In some ways, impacts of modernization and a strong US influence are undeniable; where women once controlled all family assets and traded ‘money’ stones, now both genders earn and manage the US dollar and own property. That said, while traditional matriarchal practices are still upheld at a cultural and community level, it’s not a perfect system. There is a known lack of institutional support for tackling domestic violence issues and underrepresentation of women in their democratic government (only six percent of seats were held by women as of 2022). It’s a matter of addressing the challenges that still remain for true equality, while still celebrating the significant role women play in present Palau. 

Velma explains that a committee of female elders, known as matriarchs, still oversee the village finances and land. Before advising the President on major issues, like selling clan property, the high chiefs must have the matriarchs’ approval. Chiefs must also come from the mother’s bloodline, and when clan members die, they’re buried on their mother’s family land—unless the matriarchs say otherwise. 

Like chiefs, matriarchs meet regularly to discuss key issues—just not inside a Bai. “What are those meetings like?” we ask Velma. “Intense,” with raised eyebrows, is all we get in response. 

We ask why, but Velma remains tight-lipped. When the group muses, “that’s a lot of proud and powerful women in one place,” she just nods with a smile.

Underpinning it all, though, is a fierce protection of native culture and the most powerful matriarch of all—mother nature.

Matrimony and monogamy are less assumed here—it’s common to have a baby before marriage, and having children to multiple partners before choosing to marry (if at all) isn’t stigmatized. The more revered ceremony is for first-time mothers and it involves a week-long private cleansing ritual where women are doused in oils, turmeric, local herbs and steaming water before being presented with money and gifts by the father’s female relatives. 

If they do marry, wives will  take their husband’s surname—but more out of sympathy, Velma jokes. “We had to give them something. We have everything else.” 

The aunties joke about their position, but they’re quick to make clear that their matriarchy is centered on mutual respect. As our days in Palau pass, what strikes me most is that it’s not a mirroring of the patriarchy, in the sense of it being about dominance, assertion and control. It’s more about balance, harmony and community. Everyone has their roles and strengths, and are appreciated for them.

Underpinning it all, though, is a fierce protection of native culture and the most powerful matriarch of all—mother nature. 

In 2017, Palau became the first nation in the world to change its immigration laws in support of conservation. Upon entry, visitors must sign the passport-stamped ‘Palau Pledge’; an oath that commits travelers to act in an ‘ecologically and culturally responsible way on the island, for the sake of Palau’s children and future generations’. 

And for good reason. On a snorkeling tour with Neco Marine, I’m introduced to a new, pastel shade of turquoise at the ‘Milky Way’, Palau’s natural spa, before swimming with a shiver of reef sharks off Ngermeaus Island. At ‘Fantasy Island’ and ‘The Big Drop Off’, I discover what a thriving, vital reef—complete with over 1300 species of fish—actually looks like.

We have bento boxes for lunch on sand so white it’s almost blinding, and witness first-hand why Palauans call the coconut palm the ‘tree of life’. 

“We use every part of the coconut tree,” matriarch Kamerli tells us, as she weaves a basket with its leaves. “We drink its water, grind it for cream, and use its oil for our skin and hair.”

Even the husk of coconut is used to make rope, an integral component of traditional canoes and handwoven hibiscus bark skirts. The skirts are in popular demand amongst locals for USD$800 a pop—and one Airian matriarch has a monopoly on the market with her traditional weaving skills.

At a glance, Palau may seem like any other patriarchal society; the balance of traditional customs and modernization is somewhat nuanced. But reminders of its matriarchal system are everywhere—not just etched on Bais. 

Locals tell us it’s still preferable to be born a woman, if they had to choose. As we kayak through historic Nikko Bay, our Fish’n’Fins guide laments his lack of luck in love—and the local women’s impossibly high standards. 

Our Paddling Palau canoe stewards, Sesario and Clyde—who navigate sea voyages using nothing but the sun, wind and stars for months at a time—tell us women join the vessels but men prefer to do the work onboard, because women are ‘too special’.

At times during my visit, I fear returning in five years to overtourism and development, and yes— Palau’s modern matriarchy has globalization and patriarchal forces to contend with. But its matrilineal roots and protection of native culture are strong.

Founder of Paddling Palau and US-born conservationist, Ron, has been married to a Palauan for over 20 years. As he points out the borders of the UNESCO World Heritage-listed Rock Islands Southern Lagoon—a site Ron successfully campaigned to extend—he expresses gratitude for the village matriarchs who continue to protect it. 

“Property developers and hotel chains are vying for the rights to land. But when proposals reach the matriarchs, they say no,” he explains. “My wife is getting older now, so her voice is getting louder. She has more swaying power in the community”.  When we muse at how starkly this contrasts where we’ve come from,  Ron is shocked.

Like women, mother nature is both celebrated and sacred here. And like women, her influence might be subtle at times—but unmistakable; she’s healing war wounds by reclaiming the wreckages. On land, skeletons of fallen aircrafts are overtaken by grass beds and birds’ nests. At sea, coral envelopes sunken ships, transforming them into vibrant habitats for the region’s biodiverse marine life.

At times during my visit, I fear returning in five years to overtourism and development, and yes— Palau’s modern matriarchy has globalization and patriarchal forces to contend with. But its matrilineal roots and protection of native culture are strong.  After a week in this island nation, I’m convinced a societal structure that heroes respect over dominance, and harmony over control is surely worth striving for—everywhere. 

As for Palau? If we leave it to the matriarchy, and mother nature, perhaps it will remain a pristine paradise after all.

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Flights with the ‘Palau Paradise Express’ will fly direct from Brisbane to Koror in six hours. The writer was hosted by Palau Visitors Authority.

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