If thereʻs nothing else Iʻve learned from Mauna Kea, it's that thereʻs room for all kinds of Hawaiians in the world.
I've been doing a little bit of talking, writing, and sign-waving on behalf of the mauna. I've always been inclined to defend and nurture what I consider equality, equity, and fairness, and I've been environmentally advocating since intermediate school. I don't know how or why, but in my teenage years I grew into the idea of live and let live, which doesn't sound like a bold stance on anything, but this paradigm continues to inform what I do or don't do. These values have grown out of what I've read, the music I listened to, conversations I've had with friends, and spending way too much time thinking about stuff in the dark.
What I'm trying to say is that my religion, my parents, my ethnicity, my schooling, while prominent in my life, all had little to do with the what I decided to make my own. Many of my values, in fact, directly contradicted what I learned in Sunday School or in Health class. I don't know why I thought it was important for women to have the freedom to choose what they did with their bodies, but in high school, we walked ourselves over to the clinic, held some signs, and picketed to protect that right. I don't even remember giving it much thought, it was just something that needed doing.
Did you know that a number of local activists from the 70s didn't speak Hawaiian? Musicians who performed traditional Hawaiian music, too. And, yes, it was a different time. This wasn't long after statehood, and many Hawaiians lost their language through the state and ideological apparatuses. Many people at that time of varying ethnic backgrounds were trying very hard to shed their unique cultures in the spirited effort to become more American. But people also began to fight back (and if you want to know why, you'd have to read or hear their own accounts yourself). Many risked their lives, some folks sacrificed their lives. They were saying, "Enough!" They were saying, "No!" They were saying, "Not this time!"
And what do we do now? We celebrate them. We hold them in high regard. We recognize their dedication to our lāhui, ʻohana, and ʻāina. They are celebrities in certain circles. They are honored guests. Their names have appeared in local publication for the last forty years.
But hereʻs what they mean to me, personally. Here is the hope I find in their example:
Thereʻs not only room for all kinds of Hawaiians in this world, thereʻs a NEED for them.
There is a privileged Hawaiian story that I'm sure most of you are familiar with. The archetypal good Hawaiian knows her history and her language and engages in Hawaiian kine things, all of which she learns through the example of her ʻohana. She dances hula, fishes or farms, she weaves, plays music, gets or has traditional tattoo. To deny that this story (or some version of it) is the valued story is silliness.
And please donʻt read this as a criticism of those for whom this narrative is reality. It speaks of an enduring history, of tradition, of defiance. If you hear or feel undertones of uneasiness it is simply because this is the treasured story in many places, and it has never been MY story.
Privileging this story also has the power to alienate people like me whose forays into culture were limited to field trips to the Bishop Museum and maybe Explorations in the fifth grade.
What these Hawaiian activists and musicians have done for me is they've opened a door. They've bridged the gap. They are a living example that we all have our kuleana that only we can fulfill. Each of us singular. Each of us hears a different call and find different ways to serve. We are not all going to be leaders or what they call cultural practitioners. We're not all going to have the same backstory any more than we're going to have the same jobs or live in the same neighborhood or go to the same school.
It is my overarching goal in life to be a good human being, to ease suffering (mine and others') when I can, and to use whatever talents and skills I have to facilitate peace through understanding and accessibility. Some folks arrive at this place of intention-informed action through religion or culture, and some are thrust into it by circumstance. I arrived through reading. I read newspapers and magazines and zines and lots and lots of books. I consumed large quantities of pop culture, hooked up to an IV that pumped MTV, Hollywood, and Radio Free Hawaii straight into my veins. We met so many different people at concerts and raves, malls and coffee shops. We talked over the phone, over the radio, on grassy medians, at bus stops, and numerous Jack in the Boxes. I don't know how I started believing what I believe, but here I am.
I have strived for a long time to be a good Hawaiian. Often, even when I know better-- when I know my actions alone do not define who I am-- I still cling to this notion of who I should be. Who I'm supposed to be. I let this world of absolutes convince me that if I'm not That Hawaiian, then I am not Hawaiian at all.
Guess what? I may never speak enough Hawaiian to make meaningful conversation. I may never dance hula, farm, fish, or even be arrested for protecting something Hawaiians find sacred. I may never be on the ins with the big wigs, no one would ever consult me about the history of our islands, and no one may ever think I'm Hawaiian enough to be Hawaiian.
But I am.
Not because I'm special, but because of my averageness. I am Hawaiian enough because I am Hawaiian. I am me. I stand up for women's rights, for indigenous people, for people of color, for children, for education, for literacy. I stand up for the environment, sustainability, gender non-conformity, and equality/equity for all. I stand up for reproductive health for women and accessibility to the arts.
And I like to read and do crossword puzzles. I like to eat fruit and french fries and chocolate chip cookies and poi with lomi salmon. I like to wear Vans shoes, use Da Kine backpacks, and dance to ska. I like to hear/read Hawaiian legends, as well as Greek myths and legends, and historical accounts of Catholicism. I studied Spanish language for four years, have a minor Certificate in Women's Studies, and love watching
Downton Abbey and war movies. I listen to podcasts on my iPhone while I drive my car to my state job. I like to ride bike on flat surfaces, swim in the ocean, but find it less fun to hike in the mountains.
These are the things that have made me who I am, Hawaiian or not. And I choose to use what I have to better humankind. I blame no one for my own self-doubt-- I have to believe my own inclusive propaganda. However, I also encourage all of us to be mindful of our own habitual thoughts and assumptions.
We Hawaiians are multi-faceted. In fact, we are more than Hawaiian and we are defined by more than our Hawaiianness, which is to say we are not simply defined by our genetics. We are Chinese, Japanese, Samoan, Irish, German, Mexican, Puerto Rican, Greek, Maori, Welsh, Korean, Nigerian, and so much more. We bring our multicultural backgrounds with us wherever we go. People often look at us and cannot identify "what" we are. I see strength in that. That means we can be flexible and creative. That means we can relate to others and be easily relatable, too. It also means we have a large pool from which to draw strength and wisdom, and it means we can challenge outdated ideas and norms, defy expectations, and bring new meaning wherever we go.
When people see themselves in their heroes, they begin to believe they can be heroic, too. By embracing diversity, we find different points of connection to each other and to our heritage, and we can take another step toward figuring out who we are and what we stand for, even if both ideas are always in flux.
