The Aloha Paradigm, page 8
A look of uncertainty suddenly crossed her eyes. “I hope you will not be insulted, but Hawaiians call some outsiders haoles when we are discouraged with them because of the way many of these strangers treated us.”
I tell her I want to hear the unadulterated truth.
Her voice shifted from apologetic to outraged. “O.K. The truth it will be. Westerners function as if they brought civilization to us. But let me tell you we Hawaiians had a well-run government. Our people had the vote. Yes, it is true that the missionaries brought us a written alphabet, but within two decades Hawaiians had a higher literacy rate than that of most other educated countries. Hawaiians did not have a written language, but we recorded our genealogy, our history, orally and through hula and chant. I wonder how many Westerners could memorize their own genealogy. But not many non-Hawaiians acknowledge these truths.”
I have an irresistible urge to hold Kealaula in my arms. I see and feel her hurt. I must hold back. I cannot be so forward. I softly tell her how shocked and sorry I am for her and all Hawaiians.
Kealaula touches my hand. “The missionaries wanted to shape Hawaiians to fit into a Christian mold. Many converted, but at what cost? The missionaries believed their culture of Jesus was so much better than ours. We Hawaiians already had a philosophy of love, not sin and suffering. We celebrate mahiki, the season where all is peaceful and the spirit of love and peace prevail. We also recognize that war may be necessary. We are a complex people who love āina—our bond with the land.”
I ask, “Was it the missionaries who wanted you to give up the hula?”
She winces. “They criticized many of our cultural practices calling them ‘heathen.’ They did not accept the beauty of the human body and how it can serve the soul and help people to feel alive. They loathed seeing a free and uncovered body in motion. They found this natural splendor to be offensive and ugly. They told us the hula was vile, lewd and dirty. They wanted us to feel ashamed.
“Some missionaries got in with our own royalty and convinced them to turn against parts of our own culture. Around 1830, Kaahumanu was Queen Regent. She was Kamehameha’s favorite wife. She was both a positive and negative force for our people. After he died, she changed the kapu forbidding men and women to eat together. Men and women could share dining. That’s good. But our own Queen sided with missionaries to discourage hula. How did they do this? They influenced her, maybe indoctrinated her to make up a code of ethics to govern Hawaii based on Christian, not Hawaiian values. The hula is our art form; we use to it interpret and express stories and feelings from all phases of life. Ancient Hawaiians communicated through chants and hula and kept track of our genealogy and prayers. It is how we have passed information down through generations. Through hula we tell stories of the Hawaiians’ relationship with nature—the birds and fish, trees and flowers, mountains, oceans, rivers, wind, rain, and volcanoes. But the missionaries managed to convince her the hula was not virtuous. It was their way or no way. They got to our Queen.”
Kealaula looks at me sadly but then an impish smile appears. “But I am proud to say our ancestors knew better. Many families resolved they would preserve our culture. Clandestine meetings were continually held all over the islands. They brought the hula underground and they practiced forbidden cultural activities in secret despite any orders against it. Concealment prevented resistance to death of Hawaiian culture. I think this is for the good of all humanity.”
I am relieved to hear of the resourcefulness of the Hawaiian people.
Kealaula laughs. “Along comes our beloved King Kalakaua. He plucked the hula out of hiding and put it back out into public view. He proclaims that ‘Hula is the language of the heart and therefore the heartbeat of the Hawaiian people.’ Chant is openly practiced. It’s fine now to publicly communicate with our gods and to greet our people, our chiefs, our loved ones in the open. Chant is our way to celebrate what gives meaning to our lives, such as sex and procreation. It is our way to be in the natural world—the tumbling of waterfalls, the many faces of the moon, the myriad mists and rains of the tropics. So, Maleko, can you see how haoles who wanted to take over became incensed over Kalakaua’s re-introduction of public hula to strengthen his people?”
I nod.
Kealaula asks, “What makes some people impose their way of being on others? Why do some dismiss others as pagans and savages? What makes one group think it is superior to others? What makes anyone believe they can steal our land and use it to make profit for themselves?” Our hula, our chants tell us who we are. We felt alive again when Kalakaua restored our culture. I hope that everyone in the world will learn hula. Our planet would be filled with love and caring.”[11]
Kealaula’ s face darkens again and her frown appears again. “I realized that if they hate the hula, then they must hate Hawaiians. Only pagans dance the hula, they believed. Their logic was that if Hawaiians converted to Christianity, we would give up our way of life. To be Christian, we must renounce our disgraceful dance and clothes, our very heritage.
Missionaries brought the word of their god, but they also brought great suffering. They tried to replace our traditions with theirs, and we as a people went dormant and underground for fear of punishment. They saw us as savage creatures who could be redeemed by living the way they do. So they are bent on changing us, converting us.
As I listen to Kealaula, I feel uncomfortable hearing about the way in which my American ancestors had forced certain beliefs upon my new-found family. My transcendentalist father and mother would agree with the values of Hawaiian culture. I feel sad. Am I experiencing psychic guilt for the past? I feel an urge to make reparations. Kealaula can read my mind.
“Don’t worry, Maleko,” Kealaula tells me, caressing my cheek. “You feel guilt for what your ancestors may have done and a need to make up for their past misdeeds. There will be time for that in our future. You are here now. This moment is what truly matters. It is very precious to me.”
She goes on with her tale. “I remember thinking that the god of the missionaries was mean and judgmental. I questioned that if a god were all loving, he could not let anyone burn in hell eternally. Why was I told not to question him and that this Western god could read my mind. He knew all that I was thinking, every moment. If I doubted or harbored disbelief, I would suffer consequences. Their view of sexuality troubles me. Certainly, the Hawaiian view troubled the missionaries.”
To me, Kealaula is making perfect sense.
She continues. “The missionaries brought us something we never associated with sex—shame! Shame was not in our minds. Sex was simply a part of our lives. We had words for many types of relationships, sex, and romance. For example, I was ho’oha’ilua with you when I saw you from the stage. That word means flirting! From the time we are children, we are taught that as adults we need to be good lovers. It is part of life. We accept mahu or a third gender, a person in the middle of the two genders. It could be a man who lives as a woman or a woman who lives as a man. Why do Christians judge a third gender so harshly? They are not loving if they are so disapproving and angry. They put a taboo on sexual activity for unmarried people and call it sin. Then if anything bad happens to the person they labeled sinner, they say this is god’s punishment. How silly. I cannot understand why these missionaries don’t place blame where it belongs. Captain Cook and his crew and the travelers who came after them were the ones who labeled the Hawaiians as promiscuous and easy with their sexual favors. It was Cook’s crew who were dirty and diseased. They spread sex-related sicknesses such as syphilis and gonorrhea. They are hypocrites. Hawaiians had the cleanest sex, free of disease at that time. But I will leave the Cook story for another day. My ohana love to talk story about those early contacts.”
I ask, “Would it have been better if the missionaries had not come? If they had never sailed to the islands, would Hawaii have stayed a paradise? Would it have its natural beauty and untainted native culture?”
Kealaula pauses. “Who can answer this? It is not just the missionaries who changed us. Other forces brought harmful greed seeking groups. Adventurers, merchants, opportunity seekers, politicians, fishermen, whalers from other areas of the world found us and brought us other values.”
I am taken aback that Hawaiian beliefs are so close to those my parents taught me. I recognize that nature, which Kealaula calls āina, shows us how we are all interconnected. I am totally in love with her. I ask her to teach me more about Hawaiian history.
“Yes, of course I will talk story with you again and again. But don’t you think that’s enough for today? Let’s take a break from history and enjoy our present moment of being together.”
I smile. “Yes, you have already startled me into seeing the world in different ways. I have much to digest and ponder. I could talk with you forever if you can put up with my ignorance”.
She has taught me that that the spirit of aloha permeates the Hawaiian view of the world, a vision that makes living on Earth more beautiful. I learned the Hawaiian monarchs and pride themselves on being true statespersons, multilingual writers, poets, musicians and champions for their people. I am thankful that Hawaiian pride has triumphed. I also see I have learned about what can happen when one set of people push their ideas on another. And when settlers come from outside and try to take cultural and political control over those who have lived there for centuries, it’s just not right. I know I have much more to learn.
We are so comfortable together. I ask Kealaula her what her name means. She tells me that her name means dawn. And I realize dawn is a special time of the day for me, full of promise and hope. And there are no coincidences. I see her as a new day for me, a new life, a new path to love and beauty for the two of us.
Kealaula and I walk along the beach. She stops to gaze at the water, then kisses me. She is ho’oha’ilua with me. She takes my hand and smilingly leads me to the beautiful luau hut her family has near the beach. She closes the door. She kisses me again, and I feel my entire body responding. I have never had sex before, but Kealaula is guiding me in a way that feels completely natural. My religious beliefs to not have sex before marriage melt away. This feels so right. I know the Hawaiians are correct. My puritanical views of sexuality and love seem silly before the majesty of love.
I draw the silken strands of Kealaula’ s hair back over her shoulder ever so gently. She drops her wrap to the ground and uses it as a blanket. I lie down next to her. She calls out to me as her hips move rhythmically up and down and then back and forth, a hula movement inviting lovemaking. I think about our earlier conversation and wonder if I can live up to her expectations. I am burning with passion and the desire to please her, to be the best lover she can ever have. But here I am, a poor untried boy from Massachusetts wanting to perform with perfection but lacking skill.
I am dedicated to pleasing her. I watch her body and focus on every response. Propped up on my elbow, I press my lips against her neck, first gently and then harder. She beckons for more. I feel my New England inhibitions dissolve. I use my tongue as a pleasure tool, slowly sliding it down her breasts, making little circles on her warm skin. I stop at her right breast and lick her nipple with my tongue ever so gently. I know she is pleasured because her nipple responds, becoming erect and hard. I wrap my lips around it and suck as if to draw out her essence. She is moaning, so I know I am doing well. She turns to me, takes my manhood into her mouth, and sucks gently, using her tongue to make tiny circles along the shaft. I can barely stand it and feel I might explode too early. She stops then and waits for me to touch her. Our foreplay is so exciting I both wish it would never end yet feel the need to be released from its pleasurable torment. My tongue works its way down her torso as she continues to moan with delight. I gently place my finger and then my tongue into her wetness. Kealaula pulls me to her, whispering, “Come, come into me, my darling.” I have never wanted anything so much as I want to be one with her. As I enter her, I look into her eyes and seek her lips. She trembles, and her breathing becomes more rapid. I thrust again and again and again until I am lost to all but the sound of our voices combined in ecstasy.
Extended Family
I am deeply in love, and I believe Kealaula is deeply in love with me. I am incredibly happy when she invites me to meet her family. The minute I arrive at Kealaula’s home, I sense what Hawaiians describe as the spirit of aloha. An amazing variety of family members—young and old, slim and stout, tall and short—are gathered on the lanai, in the yard, and in the house, laughing and talking. I hear men call the older women “mother” and “auntie” and the older men “father.” Cousins address their male cousins as “brotha” and their female cousins as “sista.” Kealaula tells me that both sides of the family form groups in the Hawaiian kinship system. The close-knit Hawaiian family circle is called ohana. No one is left behind. Everyone is cared for. People are distinguished by generation and by gender. Families see themselves as a parental generation and a generation of children. Conflicts inevitably arise and are resolved through a healing method called ho’oponopono.
It is normal and natural for Hawaiians to practice hanai, the adopting of children—some related by blood, others not; it doesn’t matter—and raising them as their own. This custom promotes tight bonds and love and understanding among groups that might otherwise be fighting. Traditional hanai starts right after birth. But other adoptions take place. A family can invite older children and adults into a family. This custom is called ho’okama. These “intentional relatives” are important, as are grandparents.
I want to be ohana. Kealaula tells me that if her family trusts me, this will happen. I will belong to all of them, and all of them will belong to me. As the day goes on, many family members speak to me. I learn the story of Hawaii from the native Hawaiian perspective, and I am gratified that family members have enough faith in me to share with me. I resolve to propose to Kealaula at the first possible opportunity. When I tell her I want to be ohana as soon as possible, she smiles, almost as though she knows what I am planning.
Kealaula’ s family is intensely political. I am not apprehensive. My own parents have always been politically aware and active. Her family, entrenched in the affairs of the Kingdom of Hawaii, discuss the trouble that is brewing. I hear more about the fact that Kealaula has a special place with the monarchy of Hawaii. She is ali`i, meaning her genealogy is one of a descendant from the line of Hawaii rulers. Kealaula is ohana with the royal family, hanai—an adopted child. Not only does King Kalakaua admire Kealaula, but his sister, Liliʻu Walania Kamakaʻeha, has befriended Kealaula, made her a trusted assistant, and sees her as an old soul with whom she can share her deepest thoughts.
Kealaula’ s ohana are eager to talk to me about the current politics of Hawaii and the behavior of the haoles—the non-natives, mostly Western foreigners who have settled in their world. It adds more details and reinforces what Kealaula and I have discussed. They agree that some haoles came as missionaries. Others turned up to advance their own purposes and extended their power. Their sense of entitlement to Hawaiian resources has emboldened them to try to snuff out Hawaiian culture. When she was the acting Queen, Lili’u was incredulous at the hypocrisy of missionary families who degraded Hawaiian culture yet time after time solicited resources from the monarchy. Once she and King Kalakaua knew these foreigners threatened Hawaii’s affinity with the land, they resolved to rekindle ancestral Hawaiian culture that was going underground to save itself.
As I learn more and more about Hawaiians, I agree with their perspective and not the story that I hear many of the transplanted Westerners spin. Hawaiians experienced shameful mistreatment at the hands of outsiders, much to their bewilderment.
But how did this happen? The family members all chime in and talk story about their history. With some encouragement from Kealaula, they tell me the story of west meets Hawaii goes back to what they call early contact, when Captain James Cook and his crew landed in 1778. While Captain Cook’s story is a tragedy for the Hawaiians, it is a calamity for Cook. When his ship, the Revolution, anchored off Kealakekua, Cook did not know he had arrived during the makahiki, or the Hawaiians’ season of peace. Cook needed provisions so he negotiated with the Hawaiians. After marshalling everything they needed, Cook and his crew sailed off. But as fate would have it gale winds damaged the ship’s mast and the boat was in desperate need of repairs. Cook was forced to return to Hawaii. He had no idea that makahiki had ended, making war completely acceptable. Ignorant of Hawaiian culture, Cook’s crew got into a fight over some items which were taken from the ship. Cook was indignant and came onto the island with nine crew members and foolishly tried to take powerful Hawaii chief Kalani’opu’u hostage in exchange for the missing items. The ensuing struggle ended with Cook and four crew members dead. Ultimately, a truce was declared. The damaged mast was repaired. The Revolution left the island on February 22, 1779. Cook was dead and gone, but his legacy of spreading the word about the Hawaiian paradise was set into motion and unstoppable.
After the first contact, the unspoiled islands became many things to many people. Outsiders arrived with multiple motivations, desires, and aspirations ranging from religion to greed. And then it got all mixed up with politics and strategy. As time passed, many haoles regarded the Hawaiian Islands as a multifaceted supply house, which they exploited to satisfy their own needs, ignoring Hawaiians as though they were invisible or irritating or standing in the way of what they had discovered and wanted for themselves. Foreign governments also coveted the great political and strategic value of its position in the Pacific.
