Phrenology was once high science.

Otherwise intelligent people swore by it, national policies depended on it, Victorians believed it gave them a divine writ to run large chunks of the world red and in Nazi Germany lives depended upon it.

Recognized now as little more than racist pseudo-science, phrenology defined character from the shape of raised surfaces of a person’s head. In its extreme form it was used to demonstrate the superiority of Aryans, who had "better shaped skulls" than other races, particularly Jews.

So many measurements were taken, so many people’s heads explored.

Fiji today has much of the character of phrenology with language used in a curious, directionless fashion to mean something it does not mean.

"Reconciliation" in a Fiji context is the ultimate head-measuring term.

In Fiji those that are expected to reconcile are the losers. The victors have what they want and perhaps they are afraid that the losers might get angry.

And so Fiji goes through head-measuring ceremonies of discussing reconciliation and peace; the reality is different, "Indians get over it, you lost."

Language is also being used in a controversial fashion to convince -- with notable lack of success -- Indians to become Fijians.

Fiji coups, too, are threatening to become something akin to phrenology, a science where truth is surrounded by bodyguards of propaganda, obfuscation and outright lies.

"Coup: Reflections of the Political Crisis in Fiji," published by the Australian National University and edited by celebrated Indo-Fijian exile Brij Lal, one of the authors of the 1997 constitution, it is probably the first book in this new branch of political anthropology.

In the longer run this will be a slight work, for much of its content was written in the heat of passion and anger while part-Fijian George Speight was holding guns to the heads of democratically elected politicians. Emotion will have to give way to dispassion and intellect if we are to understand the events of last year.

Lal has collected works from a variety of writers around the region; much of it was published at the time outside Fiji, and is still largely unknown in Fiji. As editor, Lal has been able to take the body of work forward with a wrap-up opening chapter. His prognosis is gloomy.

Prime Minister Laisenia Qarase, Lal says, has engaged in "a massive vote-buying spree among the Fijian voters, promulgating policies and programs which, (the government) knows only so well, have failed in the past." Indians, he says, "are also divided over the means and methods of confronting the problems facing them."

Lal, too, also wonders at the reconciliation business: "Genuine reconciliation will come only after the truth of what happened, and why, is fully understand by the people of Fiji so that history does not repeat itself."

When Lal and Tomasi Vakatora were in Brisbane, to meet the Fijian community to explain the new constitution in 1977, Speight was there.

"After the talk, Speight, athletic, articulate, grinning, had embraced me and said, ‘Doc, this is a brilliant report. The only thing wrong with it is that you did not recommend dual citizenship’…. Padma, my wife, was likewise impressed with Speight, his command of the English language, his presence and his vision for Fiji. ‘If only we had more people like him, Fiji would be a much better place,’ she mused."

There is a meandering quality in the book, inevitable perhaps in the range of views and audiences the various pieces were written for last year.

"Ironically, the Indian community at which Speight’s animosity is primarily directed has been the savior of the Fijian people," writes New Zealand historian Hugh Laracy.

Teresia Teaiwa, Pacific studies lecturer at Victoria University in Wellington, is a rising new star in this area.

"The problem with Fijian nationalism is that there is no Fijian nation," she writes in an opening article that is easily among the best reads. And she concludes (recalling this was written just a couple of weeks into the crisis): "And when the present crisis at Fiji’s House of Parliament in Nasese passes, as it inevitably will, the question will remain: What is Fijian nationalism when there is no nation?"

Some writers, one hopes, will later have cause to regret their remarks. Like Tevita Baleiwaqa, an ANU student.

"I do not intend to judge the coup as right and wrong, for what is done cannot be undone," he wrote, perhaps setting the theme for that famous line about agreeing with the cause, disagreeing with the message.

What on earth was Mere Samisoni thinking by writing this piece of gobbledygook: "From a management point of view, the product/service and market mix does not fit that which needs strategic thinking and management."

Perhaps it’s the nature of this kind of book that it goes from that pointlessness to something as touching as Sir Vijay Singh’s chapter, "Living In Unusual Times." He draws on poetry and song -- Martin Luther King, Khalil Gibran and like the old hippy he may have once been, Bob Dylan. Sir Vijay writes well of that nauseating practice, even while Speight held the hostages, of seeking forgiveness. "Some enacted the charade of seeking forgiveness of their victims but without showing a semblance of remorse for the evil they had wrought, claiming that this was their custom and tradition. Such pretence of piety will not heal the trauma of the hostages and their loved ones for their … stopover into hell. Or wash away the tears of Filipo Seavula’s young wife suddenly made widow or her young orphaned son…."

Lal’s work has done good service, albeit in a very preliminary fashion.

Endless phrenological reconciliation group encounters only serve to confuse. Analysis with intellectual rigor and writing -- be it in Hindi, Fijian or English -- will help define the country’s plight better, and perhaps lead to more practical answers.

So, too, will artists, poets and musicians.

Unnoticed by locals, Suva in recent months has become an astonishingly hard town; people are hard, drawn in, lost in a wider world, only holding on to that very little part of their lives that they and they alone can control. Like minded peasants, wandering in a world of ideas, but taking no part. It’s so sad.

People in Suva -- Indian and Fijian alike -- cannot take people at face value; the very notion must seem crazy and actually dangerous to them. Everything is an angle here; everything is cynical, measured, and unromantic. Even the idea of the abstract, the notion that soul and love and life mean something else than what’s on sale, is becoming completely foreign here.

A coup of minds has occurred. People are closing down, retreating. The vision is narrowing. The future is uncertain. This must be a frightening place for dreamers and lovers to raise their children now.