No Na Kau AKau - Grade: A PDF

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Unit 2 essay on the Hawaiian renaissance of the 1970s and its continued effects as seen in 2018 ...

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Dr. Heoli Osorio POLS 302 29 ʻOkakopa 2018 No Nā Kau a Kau: The Renewal of Aloha ʻĀina during the Second Hawaiian Renaissance The term “Aloha ʻĀina” was used in the 19 th century by Hawaiians as a way to assert their commitment to their mō ʻī wahine, their lāhui, and most importantly to their kulāiwi. On 6 Kepakemapa 1897, on the steps of Hale Ali ʻi ʻo ʻIolani, James Kaulia, the president of ʻAhahui Aloha ʻĀina, delivered his most well-known speech where he closed with “mai maka ʻu, e kūpa ʻa ma ke aloha i ka ʻāina, a e lōkahi ka mana ʻo, e kū ʻē loa aku i ka ho ʻohui ʻia o Hawai ʻi me Amerika a hiki i ke aloha ʻāina hope loa” (11 Kepakemapa 1897, Ke Aloha ʻĀina). While he was unquestionably telling those gathered before him to protest and oppose the annexation of Hawai ʻi to the United States, it is also understood that he was reminding them that what is most important is remaining steadfast in their aloha for their ʻāina for all that she is. Little did Kaulia know that less than a century after he proclaimed those words kānaka of the 1960s and beyond would be giving life to said words again. This loina never completely left the hearts and minds of po ʻe Hawai ʻi, but rather resurfaced in the late 60s when Hawaiians of that time were facing issues of dispossession. The art coming out of this time reflected their living conditions. These struggles and subsequent triumphs have since been memorialized in mele aloha ʻāina as seen in “Hawaiian Soul”, “Mākua”, and “Hawaiʻi 78.” Kaho ʻolawe was a defining issue for countless kānaka of the 70s, not necessarily due to the fact that the U.S. Navy was assaulting their ʻāina with foreign explosives all in

the name of “national security”, but because two ʻōiwi in particular showed the rest of the Hawai ʻi what aloha ʻāina looks like in action. The first time any of the members of the Protect Kaho ʻolawe ʻOhana (PKO) landed on Kaho ʻolawe was on 4 Ianuali 1976. This initial occupation is what lit the fire within George Helm in particular to ensure the protection and preservation of the island for generations to come. In the span of just one year Helm visited all of the islands to see for himself the issusing facing his fellow kānaka, which was predominantly the absence of kānaka from their land. In HoʻiHoʻi Hou Rodney Morales writes, “The catch phrase for a solution to these problems became ʻaloha ʻāina.’ Aloha ʻāina simply put means love for the land. But it’s meaning goes deeper than that. It is the practical yet much ignored notion that you take care of the land because it takes care of you” (Morales, 1984). Helm understood that when pilina to ʻāina is severed ʻōiwi cannot be ʻōiwi because most cultural practices stem from the ʻāina itself. Aloha ʻāina is what pushed George to do all that he could for the lāhui, but was also his teaching mechanism. He was once quoted saying, “Kaho ʻolawe can teach the rest of the world aloha ʻāina and save us from becoming evolutionary dropouts” (Morales, 1984). Unfortuantely between 6/7 Malaki 1977 while attempting to return to Maui from Kaho ʻolawe, George Helm and Kimo Mitchell were lost at sea. The Navy and Coast Guard conducted a search for the two men, but called it off on 11 Malaki 1977. It was that day that the song “Hawaiian Soul” was composed by Kumu Jon Osorio and Randy Borden. The mele begins by reminiscing on the good times, but quickly gets back to what Helm’s fate was. The lines “but I believe you knew what you would have to be, a beacon in the storm to guide us after” (Osorio and Borden, 1995) is like a modern

day take on “a hiki i ke aloha ʻāina hope loa” (11 Kepakemapa 1897, Ke Aloha ʻĀina). When a person says that they are giving their life to a cause this is what they mean. This reminds us that when doing anything no ka lāhui you cannot have one foot in the door and one foot out; you need to jump in with both feet. When speaking of mele pertaining to Helm, Mitchell, and Kaho ʻolawe it is also important to include “Mele o Kaho ʻolawe” which was composed by Kimo Mitchell’s father, Harry Kunihi Mitchell. Unlike “Hawaiian Soul” which focuses on the loss of these two koa aloha ʻāina, “Mele o Kaho ʻolawe” is a call to action for those of the next seven generations. “Kūpa ʻa a hahai hō ʻikaika nā kānaka, kau li ʻi mākou nui ke aloha no ka ʻāina” (Mitchell) reminds us to stay strong and remain steadfast. Though we have become the minority in our own homeland, we cannot neglect the ʻāina which we come from and eventually return to. The closing lines of the mele read, “i mua nā pua, lanakila Kaho ʻolawe” (Mitchell). It is 2018 and we continue to morn the loss of Helm and Mitchell and the fact that they never got to see the return of Kaho ʻolawe. Nevertheless, we also rejoice in the fact that because those two men were able to touch so many people in their short lives, the kānaka they left behing took up ther kuleana and are now seeing the restoration of the island. If you’re not going i mua then you must be going i hope because aloha ʻāina is not idle work. While the bombing there has ceased there is still much work to do if we want to say with certainty “lanakila Kaho ʻolawe.” Since the adoption of a capitalistic economy in Hawai ʻi, kānaka have been pushed out and priced out of their homes. Thanks to the housing bubble that continues to be inflated by foreigners, it has become increasingly difficult to afford to live in the same place as our kūpuna. This is nowhere more evident than in Mākua. In the 1970s a

handful ʻohana began moving from their permanent dwellings in town to tents at Mākua beach. While outsiders may pity them, and the U.S. military sees them as an impediment to their war games and bombing of the valley, those living at Mākua beach have found immense value in returning to a much simpler life. These kānaka live on the outskirts of O ʻahu meaning that they do not have the luxury of going to Times or Foodland to get their groceries. What they need they must provide for themselves. Through practicing sust ʻāinability they are reestablishing their connection to ʻāina and the essence of aloha ʻāina. In her song “Mākua,” Robi Kahakalau sings “it’s the pu ʻuhonua for the kua ʻāina, a place where we Hawaiians can still be free” (Kahakalau, 1996). Mākua is a pu ʻuhonua for kānaka, especially those priced out of their former homes, because that wahi lets them choose what kind of life they want to live. Robi is absolutely correct in her assertion of those living in Mākua as being kua ʻāina because instead of waiting for handouts from illegitimate State agencies these po ʻe are taking their wellbeing into their own hands. Those living in “the Honolulu city lights” (Kahakalau, 1996) are likely bound by chains of working a 9-5 jobs. It is highly unlikely that the kanaka working in an office building can “lay net at the setting of the sun” (Kahakalau, 1996). Perhaps a paradigm shift is required to see the wealth of those living at Mākua. They remind us that aloha ʻāina is about reciprocity; when you actively engaging with the ʻāina the ʻāina will mālama you in return physically, emotionally, and spiritually. The 1978 Constitutional Convention heralded much change in Hawai ʻi. It created 34 ammendments, some of which pertained to the formation of the Office of Hawaiian Affairs, creating the Water Commission andWater Code, laid the ground work for the

return of Kaho ʻolawe, as well as aiding in the ʻōlelo Hawai ʻi revitalization movement by making it an official language. In some ways it was a really good time to be a kānaka, but of course it didn’t come without a few struggles. It was around this time that Israel Kamakawiwo ʻole came out with “Hawai ʻi 78.” In this mele he recounts instances where kānaka had to ʻauamo their kuleana in the name of aloha ʻāina. The first line of the mele takes the listener back to 1843 when Kauikeaouli proclaimed “ua mau ke ea o ka ʻāina i ka pono.” IZ is deliberate in translating the line when he follows up by sining “being perpetuated is the sovereignty of the land” (Kamakawiwo ʻole) rather than the nowaday commonly accepted “life of the land . . .”. It does not conform with the State’s use of this line as their motto and sets the tone for the everything else that follows in the mele. When IZ sings “and saw highways on their sacred ground” (Kamakawiwo ʻole) the first image that it conjures up is that of po ʻe Hawai ʻi sitting in protest of the contruction of the H-3 Freeway which would create another puka in the mountain side. The most nobale act of resistance here occurred when a mother decided to give birth at Hale o Papa, a heiau tucked alonside the contruction path, rather than at a hospital. This mother not only showed aloha for her ʻāina but also for her child as this event likely shaped the childs life. This mele is scattered with moments in time which kānaka had to show what aloha ʻāina meant to them. However, the hui is what guides us from here on out. Just like when Kumu Jon sings “but I believe you knew what you would have to be, a beacon in the storm to guide us after,” the line “and then yet you’ll find Hawai ʻi” is again reminiscnet of “a hiki i ke aloha ʻāina hope loa.” It is a no nā kau a kau kind of thing. Despite all of the pain and trauma that have been forced upon kānaka, we as a group

have done a pretty good job in enduring. Aloha ʻāina is what fosters the pilina that makes it nearly impossible to completely get rid of ʻōiwi. Aloha ʻāina is an intergenerational loina, passed on from kūpuna to mākua and all of the keiki that come after. The great thing about mele is that like other forms of literature, they serve as a repository for ʻike. Art coming out of this second Hawaiian renaissance depicted what was happening at that time. It shows us how our kūpuna practiced aloha ʻāina when faced with resistance, eviction, and disposession. While some may not consider “Hawaiian Soul”, “Mākua”, and “Hawai ʻi 78” to be patriotic or national songs when comparing them to “Kaulana Nā Pua” and the like, I would contend that because their subject matter is aloha ʻāina that they too can be labeled as mele aloha ʻāina. Aside from the obvious message to care for the land, the one thing that the three mele analyzed above have in common is that they have a kahea to those listening to the mele. It is not enough to think that the issues brought forth in the mele were pilikia that just our kūpuna had to deal with. They show us time and time again that we must do all we can for our Hawai ʻi a hiki i ke aloha ʻāina hope loa, and if not should we even be allowed to call ourselves Hawaiʻi.

Works Cited Kahakalau, Robi. “Mākua.” Sistah Robi. 19 Ianuali 1996. Kamakawiwo ʻole, Israel. “Hawaiʻi 78.” Kaulia, James. “Ha ʻi ʻōlelo a James Keauiluna Kaulia. Peresidena Nui o Nā ʻAhahui Aloha ʻĀina.” 11 Kepakepama 1897. Ke Aloha ʻĀina. Morales, Robney. Ho ʻiho ʻi Hou: A Tribute to George Helm & Kimo Mitchell . Bamboo Ridge Press, 1984. Osorio, Jon, and Randy Borden. “Hawaiian Soul.” Jon and Randy. 1995....