Funny unique gift

Keia Mana'o Ho'okuku 'Ohana Kakou (This is the Opinion Regarding Our Family Symbols)

The name of this chant is a response to a collection of poems and commentary written and given to me as a Christmas gift by my eighteen-year-old daughter, Kalea-Qy-ana. The title of that body of work is "Find Me a Mountain." Translated into Hawaiian, her request is interpreted as "Demonstrate" or "Show" the "Family Mountain." As I become older, learn more about being Hawaiian, and allow myself to feel more Hawaiian, I begin to appreciate the vast differences in the culture as reflected in the Hawaiian language, which was not officially recognized until 1987.

Traditionally, Kanaka Maoli, or Native Hawaiians, would find it impolite or maha'oi (aggressive) to request something in a demanding tone as the word "find" might suggest. Also, Hawaiians were detailed in their prayers and requests. If a person's prayer was recklessly prepared or inappropriately phrased, the request might result in something undesirable. The phrase "Find Me a Mountain" (as expressed in English) implies "any" mountain, and thus leaves an opening for "finding" one where people killed themselves, or a place where there were poisonous spiders, or a mountain weighted down with condominiums that no longer maintained "mountain-ness" in the Hawaiian sense. Therefore, in interpreting the mana'o ho'okuku (metaphor), "family mountain" is closer to the heart of what the request is really about.

As a mother who has consciously guided both my daughters-perhaps too much and too often out of fear that "enough was never enough"-I interpret the title of Ana's first adult work (and gift to me) as a lei, a garland or collection of items in Hawaiian and represents a symbol in our deep relationship. For the first time in a long time since she lay in my arms or on the bed next to me noisily chatting about this or that, she is again sharing her mana'o, her deepest thoughts with me. This gift is complemented by written commentary she completed during her first few months at college. Because she is enrolled in the field of environmental studies at Evergreen State College, I felt somewhat reassured, expecting that through integration of scientific data, history, Native culture, creativity, and community involvement in her academic work, Ana would have an opportunity of remembering/learning how to be Hawaiian.

How could a Native Hawaiian young woman "learn to be Hawaiian" in the Northwest? Are there other peoples who can help? My own experience has shown me that many of the sources for learning and help can be found within indigenous communities. It is not surprising, for example, that Native Hawaiians and Native Americans are mirrors for each other. On one of my trips to Hawaii, I had a conversation with Hank Raymond, a Colville Indian from northeastern Washington; he used this mirror image to describe the way he "sees" himself among Native Hawaiians. I have found the same to be true among Native Americans in California. As a Native Hawaiian, when I am with Native Americans, there is a unique perspective that is slightly sharper, something like an intimacy I can only describe as "a feeling" that we share something in common. We are comfortable with each other's intent, respectful of each others talent, well-being, and ability, cognizant of each other's histories.1 This feeling comes from the realm of trust and belief. There is a Hawaiian saying I ka 'olelo no ke ola, i ka 'olelo no ka make, "In the word life; (or) death."

Recently, I read a story about two tribes located near the California-Mexico border. When members of these tribes, who spoke different languages, met, they sang fragments of songs they knew. Beyond that, they shared refreshments and through gestures communicated, "We have kinship. We are happy to be here with you. We respect you."2 I have met far too many humans in this life who simply have no clue on how to behave in these simple terms. What has happened to humans in this world who don't know these fundamentals? Is language in the way? Or is it a certain kind of language that obstructs? I know for myself that English syntax, correct grammar, and sentences written like math are no longer imposed on my life like the luna, the haole (foreign, white) plantation foreman with his horse and whip. I like music in my language: No more missionaries girdling my body and my voice. Now more than ever I look for the kinship, the sense of respect, the recognition from others like me. How does this relate to my daughter? And what shall I tell her?

I will encourage her to know this language of kinship, first by knowing herself-I would say, E ho'i mai (return home to yourself)-by knowing language from her own cultural perspective. The recitation of one's genealogy is a fundamental factor in our Native Hawaiian culture, coupled with our learning practices that require a four-dimensional learning mechanism (such as hula). Our four dimensional learning mechanism is the body itself. Our oral tradition and language are not like the haole system. The Hawaiian language does not have the noun "writer" in our 'olelo (speech, utterance). We have the term "to compose" in our language. To haku means "to weave"; mele is a song; therefore, haku mele means to compose songs or verses but not with the trappings of "writer" as we know in the English language. The closest approximation of "writer" as it is known in Hawaiian is kakau, which means "to print," as to make a tapa pattern or to tattoo. When the Hawaiians first learned kakau, they signed away all their lands as the Hawaiian language does not contain the verbs "to have" nor "to be."3 Consequently, kakau is not a popular term among Hawaiians. Nonetheless, there is also a Hawaiian saying that we must walk with one foot in the ocean and the other on land. And while it may not be popular among Kanaka Maoli (Native Hawaiians) to participate in matters of the palapala (paper), I welcome this opportunity to share my mana'o-this dilemma-with my daughter and those who would read, hear, consider, and finally malama (support) me and others in our efforts to determine ways that reconcile ancient tradition and contemporary life, "functioning" in English in an America that historically is hostile to Native ways, except to objectify and commercialize our lives, enforced by a relentless tourist industry.

Unfortunately, this insight comes so late: I can remember being in high school in Hawai'i, hearing that the "dummies studied Spanish and the smart kids studied Latin and French." During Latin, the teacher mentioned that by studying Latin, we could learn all important European languages. While in French class, the teacher said that the French could not tolerate the sound of two consecutive vowels; therefore, an apostrophe was inserted to permit the music of the French language. I can distinctly remember being in class that day when my English-speaking mind nodded, "No wonder I can't stand Hawaiian. They're so stupid." These are the dangerous kinds of unspoken, fear-laden conclusions people form. Worse, it is even easier to draw this conclusion when one is filled with self-loathing (as most Hawaiians were as a result of that angry missionary zeal). It is a struggle to return to these memories without feeling a confused sort of pain and anger, and also quickly remembering to console oneself with love and forgiveness. I was a Native woman who had no intention of becoming an activist, but frequently found herself among the modulated tones of white and Asian literati who fear spoken word. I pity those who deny that before people wrote down their thoughts, they groaned or grunted, sang and spoke. A baby learns to cry and coo before uttering its first word, and years later, after the child learns to write, it is still ha, the breath of life, the voice that comes first. When the child ages and the body succumbs to varied degenerations as with many old folks, it is the living voice that sounds all emotions possible. No e-mail can duplicate voice, body, or spirit. Perhaps this oli (chant) may not be the first, but it is among the first examples of a current written literary tradition for Kanaka Maoli.