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ALOHA AS FEARLESSNESS:

LESSONS FROM THE MO‘OLELO OF

EIGHT NATIVE HAWAIIAN FEMALE EDUCATIONAL LEADERS

ON TRANSFORMING THE UNIVERSITY OF HAWAI‘I AT MĀNOA

INTO A HAWAIIAN PLACE OF LEARNING

A DISSERTATION SUBMITTED TO THE GRADUATE DIVISION OF THE UNIVERSITY OF HAWAI‘I AT MĀNOA IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR

THE DEGREE OF DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY

IN EDUCATION

AUGUST 2014

By Kaiwipunikauikawēkiu K. Lipe

Dissertation Committee:

Maenette Benham, Chairperson Ronald Heck

Miguel Guajardo Christopher Collins

Samuel Museus Naleen Andrade

Keywords: Transformation, Indigenous, Higher education

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COPYRIGHT

by

Kaiwipunikauikawēkiu K. Lipe

2014

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DEDICATION

This dissertation is dedicated to the memory of three amazing women in my life who passed away during my doctoral journey. Each of them are kumu to me – sources of life, inspiration, and love. This work is because of them.

This is for my maternal grandmother, my Tutu, Kathryne Leilani Labonte. (August 31, 1920 – March 15, 2013)

Tutu, you taught me that Hawaiian women are fearless and bold and are capable of doing anything they set their minds to.

This is for my dear aunty and mentor, Merata Mita. (June 19, 1942 – May 31, 2010)

Aunty Merata, you taught me to make sure that the necessary stories be told.

This is for my marvelous aunty and hānai mom, Marvlee Naukana-Gilding. (September 24, 1939 – July 5, 2013)

Aunty Marv, you taught me what it feels like to be unconditionally loved.

I thank you. I love you. I miss you. I will never forget you. This work is for you.

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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I have been enveloped by a circle of love during this doctoral journey. This dissertation

would not have been possible without the love, energy, and support of countless people. I would

like to acknowledge some of them here:

I first to want to honor my kūpuna who have passed on, whose names and spirits live in

my children and me. Thank you for your inspiration and guidance and for continually watching

over this project – sending whispers on the wind that guided my path.

To the women in this study: My deepest aloha and mahalo to each of you. Words cannot

express how deeply transformed I am by each of your stories and all of your aloha. I will be

forever grateful to each of you for your trust, your mentorship, and your energy. This dissertation

is because of you and for each of you. My goal is that this work honors you and also helps you to

ho‘omau.

Mom: This work is because of you. I am because of you. There are too many things to

thank you for. Nevertheless, I will try. Thank you for reading my drafts, providing me honest

feedback, believing in me when I didn’t believe in myself, inviting us to move home so I didn’t

have to work full-time, spending the last 30 years doing what you do to get Hawaiians to where

we are today, and staying up late at night to talk with me about this work. Thank you for your

fire, your commitment, your vigilance, and your aloha for our lāhui.

To the members of my committee:

Dean Maenette Benham: I am eternally grateful to you for your aloha, mentorship, and

energy. You have pushed me beyond what I thought I could do. You have taught me so much. I

cannot thank you without also thanking Bob, Kiana, and Ka‘imi for sharing you with me. I will

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always be indebted to you and your family and hope to reciprocate your aloha by doing good

work for our lāhui.

Dr. Miguel Guajardo: Thank you for your invitation to learn from and with you. I have

been able to re-imagine because of you and the literature, ideas, and people you connected me

with. I have been forever transformed by the work you and your family engage in. I look forward

to our future work together!

Dr. Ron Heck: Thank you for your confidence and guidance over the past five years.

Thank you for allowing me to think and re-imagine in your classes and for also introducing me

to policy analysis.

Dr. Sam Museus: Thank you for introducing me to a great body of literature. Thank you

also for your willingness to talk with me, sharing insight and reflection on our future work for

our communities.

Dr. Chris Collins: Thank your for your energy and light! Your enthusiasm and confidence

in me are gifts that I will always remember.

Dr. Naleen Andrade: Thank you so much for your commitment, strength, and confidence

in me and this project. I want to also thank you for the many years you have persevered and

pioneered in the health fields to create Hawaiian kīpuka. Your leadership is invaluable and I have

learned so much watching you these many years.

Members of my family have also been integral in the completion of this work:

Dad: Thank you for your confidence and support. Thank you for calling me every week

to make sure I was writing, for bringing food to the house so I would have treats as I wrote, and

for being excited for me to accomplish this endeavor.

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Lehu: Thank you for all of your support along the way. Thank you for giving me Mina

May, for the cameras and the camera operators, and for watching the kids when we needed a

break. Thank you for always helping me find a way.

Amber: Thank you for being that solid person in our family who we can always count on.

Thank you for watching the kids when we needed help and for finding the best ways to always

make things easier.

Uncle Keali‘i: Thank you for helping to keep the fort down at home while I worked on

this dissertation. I also want to thank you for your hard work in helping to create Hawaiian

places of learning.

Uncle Manu: Thank you for still loving me even when I took a break from hula while

working on this dissertation. Thank you for always welcoming me back to hula and for all the

ways you have shaped me and taught me. You are integral in all that I do.

During the five years of my doctoral journey, there have been people along the way who

have intervened at key moments and lifted me up:

‘Ohana Keaunui/Lucero: Mahalo for your prayers that day in the hospital and for being

my family all these years. So much of what I know about aloha and ‘ohana are because of you.

Noe and Lenny Crail-Naluai: Thank you for being the solid ‘ohana that you are. Thank

you for that night you fed my family after I returned home from the hospital. You taught me

about the true meaning of aloha that evening.

Aukahi Austin: Thank you for helping me to see that the sun would still rise even if I

pushed some deadlines back so that I could prioritize health. You reminded me of a most

invaluable lesson to prioritize health and family.

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Heipua Ka‘ōpua: Thank you for reminding me to pray. Your reminder was a turning

point for me.

Mina May: Thank you for your transcription skills and for being so willing to help me.

Dr. Lori Ideta: Thank you for your deep love and profound words at exactly the right

moments.

Dr. Joanne Cooper: Thank you for making me feel welcomed in EDEA when I first got

there. Your kindness and enthusiasm made all the difference.

There are others who supported my research in various ways:

Nālani Balutski: Thank you for your brilliance in data and for helping me out whenever I

needed it. Thank you also for introducing me to Saldaña. Most of all, thank you for being the

fireball you are and motivating me to finish.

Keahiahi Long: Thank you for being so willing to help me with the archival research and

for your information on Mānoa.

Kainani Kahaunaele: Mahalo palena‘ole for your genius and for your gift of Māewa.

Mahalo for permitting to learn so much from it.

Kumu Keawe Lopes and Kumu Leilani Basham: Mahal nui for your beautiful oli and for

allowing me to use it as a teaching tool in this dissertation.

Summer Maunakea: Mahalo piha for being such a great kaikaina; for always taking care

of me and for always being so willing to jump in to help. You are such a bright light and I look

forward to our future work together!

Jenny and Ray Estrella: I want to thank you and your family for helping me to see the

meaning of this work in our own lives – for our children. Your inspiration helped me to

persevere by knowing that we have good and important work ahead.

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Kapena Shim, Vera Zambonelli, Yong Zhao, John Yasuda, Malu Kido, and Punahele

Kealanahele-Querbin: Mahalo to all of you, my fellow graduate assistants, who made the ECE

work so amazing and so uplifting!

Eōmailani Kukahiko, Kamaoli Kuwada, Iokepa Casumbal-Salazar, and Nālani

McDougall: Mahalo to you, my dear Mellon fellows, for the support, the conversations, and the

enthusiasm. This last year has been so special because of you.

Pōhai Kukea-Shultz: Mahalo for your support and friendship along this journey. It was

great to have a partner to turn to as we progressed and found our way.

Dr. Valorie Johnson and Dr. Mónica Valadez: Thank you for amazing dissertations. Your

work and your commitment to the voices of your partners and participants helped me to re-

imagine my own work.

To the UH Mānoa Children’s Center: I am so deeply thankful to all of the teachers, staff,

and administration at the Children’s Center for creating the most loving, nurturing environment a

parent could ask for for their children. Thank you for creating such a great place that I could send

my children to with complete peace of mind. I could not have completed this dissertation without

my children attending the Children’s Center and I would not have sent them there had it not been

such a great place.

To the W.K. Kellogg Engaging Communities in Education family: Each of you have

inspired and empowered me to leadership for my family and communities. Your stories, your

friendship, and your mentorship have truly transformed me and thus this work.

Hawai‘inuiākea: I want to thank my ‘ohana at Hawai‘inuiākea School of Hawaiian

Knowledge for loving me and taking care of me all the years of my life. This work and my

accomplishments are because of the collective work and love you all have for our lāhui.

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I quit my full-time job in order to pursue this degree. I was only able to do that and to

complete this dissertation with the generous support of many scholarships and funders. I am

forever grateful to the donors, boards, and administrative teams of the following programs:

Mellon-Hawai‘i Doctoral Fellowship 2013-2014 Next Generation Leader Award 2013-2014 Council for Native Hawaiian Advancement Gladys K. ‘Ainoa Brandt Scholarship 2009-2013 Ke Ali‘i Pauahi Foundation Mistuo Adachi Scholarship for Graduate Education 2010-2012 University of Hawai‘i at Mānoa Kua‘ana Merit-Based Scholarship 2009-2012 University of Hawai‘i at Mānoa Dwayne Nakila Steele Scholarship 2009 Ke Ali‘i Pauahi Foundation Liko A‘e Native Hawaiian Leadership Program 2009-2013

My circle of love has been made complete because of my husband and children:

Bubba: Thank you for being my partner along this journey. Thank you for believing in

me when I didn’t believe in myself. Thank you for loving me when I was feeling doubtful and

scared. Thank you for taking the kids to the park so I could write and taking care of me when I

got sick. Thank you for supporting us when I quit my job and sacrificing your own dreams so I

could finish. Most of all, thank you for standing by my side.

Hā‘ena: You are the fire that that ignited my flame. You are the reason I started this

journey. I thank you for your love, your smile, your care, your patience, and for being the most

incredible, funny, smart, thoughtful daughter a mommy could ever ask for. I promise you we will

now make your school.

Lamakū: You are the light that lit my path. Late at night I would hold and nurse you and

that is when the kūpuna showed me the way. Thank you for reminding me about the importance

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of being present. Thank you for your love, your smile, your care and your patience. Thank you

for being the most incredible, funny, smart, thoughtful son a mommy could ever ask for.

I love and thank you all.

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ABSTRACT

Part of the strategic goal number one of the University of Hawai‘i at Mānoa (UHM) is to

“promote a Hawaiian place of learning.” However, UHM is a predominantly non-Hawaiian

university by every definition, thus the culture and environment of the institution make it

difficult to implement the strategic goal. Further, current Western frameworks and theories on

institutional transformation typically do not acknowledge the existence and experiences of

Indigenous Peoples and Native Hawaiians in particular.

Therefore, the purpose of this study was to explore how Native Hawaiian remembrance,

knowledge, experiences, practices, and value systems provide insight into how to transform

UHM into a Hawaiian place of learning. I began this dissertation by posing the question: How

can the University of Hawai‘i at Mānoa, a predominantly non-Hawaiian university, transform

into a Hawaiian place of learning? Two additional sub-questions included: What are the

relationships between Native Hawaiian values and Western higher education values that support

and/or inhibit the transformation of UHM into a Hawaiian place of learning? How might UHM

utilize these lessons learned to build its capacity to transform into a Hawaiian place of learning?

In order to explore these questions, I learned from the individual and collective mo‘olelo

– as interconnected stories and life experiences – of eight Native Hawaiian female educators who

have been pioneers over the last 30 years in transforming spaces into Hawaiian places of

learning. In addition, I learned from artifacts and archival documents related to UHM that helped

to tell the institution’s story.

My findings are presented in two emerging frameworks, namely the ‘A‘ali‘i Kū Makani

and Hō‘ālani frameworks. The ‘A‘ali‘i Kū Makani framework directs our attention to the

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cyclical nature of transformative processes as well as to the varied conditions in which these

processes occur within the Indigenous and Native Hawaiian contexts. The Hō‘ālani framework

provides a holistic model for individuals to become grounded and engaged in core Hawaiian

values, concepts, and processes by which they can become empowered and fearless to fulfill

their kuleana – as responsibilities and privileges – to Hawai‘i and her people. The frameworks,

then, become guides for institutional practices, leadership, and policy.

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Table of Contents DEDICATION ......................................................................................................................... iii ACKNOWLEDGMENTS ....................................................................................................... iv ABSTRACT .............................................................................................................................. xi

List of Figures ........................................................................................................................... xviii CHAPTER 1 .................................................................................................................................. 1

HE HO‘OLAUNA – AN INTRODUCTION .............................................................................. 1 Ancestral Lines .......................................................................................................................... 2 My Story .................................................................................................................................... 3

My Hawaiian World ............................................................................................................... 3 Tension .................................................................................................................................... 6

The Value of Mo‘olelo .............................................................................................................. 9 My Ontology Emerges .......................................................................................................... 11

‘Ohana. .............................................................................................................................. 11 Mo‘okū‘auhau. .................................................................................................................. 12 Kaikua‘ana and kaikaina. .................................................................................................. 13 Kuleana. ............................................................................................................................ 14 Ka ho‘okō kuleana. ........................................................................................................... 14

The Emerging Problem ......................................................................................................... 16 Purpose of This Study ........................................................................................................... 18 Research Questions ............................................................................................................... 19

Some Definitions and Frameworks ....................................................................................... 20 Defining Transformation ...................................................................................................... 20 Campus Culture Transformation ........................................................................................... 21

Schein’s levels of culture. ................................................................................................. 21 Kezar’s analysis of shared leadership styles. .................................................................... 23

Indigenous-Centered Frameworks ........................................................................................ 23 Critical Indigenous theory.. ............................................................................................... 24 Survivance. ........................................................................................................................ 24 ‘A‘ali‘i kū makani framework.. ........................................................................................ 25

Ka Haku Mo‘olelo ‘Ana – An Overview of the Chapters ................................................... 26

CHAPTER 2 ................................................................................................................................ 29 KE KULEANA A KA HAUMĀNA – INTENTIONAL METHODOLOGIES .................... 29

Defining Methodology ............................................................................................................ 29 Grounding Methodology in Practice ..................................................................................... 30

Hula is Life ........................................................................................................................... 33 My Approach to This Learning ............................................................................................. 34

The Methodology of ‘Ohana and Mo‘okū‘auhau Connections ............................................ 34 The Methodology of Nānā a Ho‘olohe Mua ......................................................................... 35 The Methodology of Mo‘olelo Aku, Mo‘olelo Mai ............................................................. 36

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Mo‘olelo. ........................................................................................................................... 36 Ma ka Hana ka ‘Ike – Engaging the Methodologies ............................................................ 38

Nā Kumu – The Sources of the Stories ................................................................................. 39 Number of participants. .................................................................................................... 41

Creating the Space for Storytelling ....................................................................................... 42 Contacting my kumu. ........................................................................................................ 43 Consent forms. .................................................................................................................. 44

Mo‘olelo Aku, Mo‘olelo Mai – Focused Conversations ...................................................... 46 Meeting with the kumu. .................................................................................................... 46 Transcriptions and printed stories. .................................................................................... 47 Coding. .............................................................................................................................. 48 Theming. ........................................................................................................................... 49

The ‘a‘ali‘i kū makani process. ..................................................................................... 50 Haku mo‘olelo – Re-presenting the stories. ...................................................................... 51

Focus Group .......................................................................................................................... 53 From focus group to ‘aha wahine. .................................................................................... 54 Preparing the collective story.. .......................................................................................... 55

Nā Manamana – Artifacts ...................................................................................................... 57 Archival Documents ............................................................................................................. 57 I ka Nānā nō a ‘Ike – Observations ....................................................................................... 57

Kūali‘i council meetings. .................................................................................................. 58 Kūali‘i council meetings with the chancellor. .................................................................. 58 Campus-wide conversations. ............................................................................................ 58

CHAPTER 3 ................................................................................................................................ 60

‘O MĀNOA HE ‘ĀINA MOMONA – MĀNOA’S POTENTIAL .......................................... 60 AS A LIFE-GIVING SOURCE ................................................................................................. 60

E Ho‘i i ka ‘Āina: Return to the Land .................................................................................. 61 Welina Mānoa Ua Kama‘āina ............................................................................................... 62

The ‘Āina Momona Model ..................................................................................................... 63 UHM as a Kaikua‘ana ........................................................................................................... 64 Conflict ................................................................................................................................. 64

A Political and Historical Overview ...................................................................................... 65 UHM Today .......................................................................................................................... 67

A Kuleana Nonetheless ........................................................................................................... 68 Significant Policies and Documents ....................................................................................... 69

The United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (UNDRIP) .............. 69 Implementing the UNDRIP. ............................................................................................. 71

United States Public Law 103-150 ....................................................................................... 72 A legal relationship.. ......................................................................................................... 72

UH Board of Regents Policy ................................................................................................. 73 The UHM Strategic Plan ....................................................................................................... 73 Pūko‘a and Kūali‘i Councils ................................................................................................. 74 Task Force Reports ............................................................................................................... 75

Hawaiian calls to action. ................................................................................................... 75 The 1986 Ka‘ū report. ....................................................................................................... 75

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Hawai‘i papa o ke ao. ........................................................................................................ 76 Ke au hou. ......................................................................................................................... 76

Native American Models ........................................................................................................ 78 Programmatic Services ......................................................................................................... 78 Academic Studies .................................................................................................................. 80

Strategies for Transformation ............................................................................................... 81 Shared Leadership ................................................................................................................. 82 Learning ................................................................................................................................ 82

Culture of inquiry. ............................................................................................................. 83 Conversations ........................................................................................................................ 84

Summary .................................................................................................................................. 86 CHAPTER 4 ................................................................................................................................ 88

NĀ ‘A‘ALI‘I KŪ MAKANI – STORIES OF SURVIVANCE ............................................... 88 Naming Each Kumu ............................................................................................................... 90 Story Format ........................................................................................................................... 90 Ke Kumu ‘Akahi – The First Teacher: ................................................................................. 91 He Hua: A Beginning ................................................................................................................ 94 Hao Mai, Iho Mai, Pā Mai: The Elemental Influences ............................................................. 98 Kupu a Mohala: Coming Into Full Bloom .............................................................................. 115 Ke Kumu ‘Alua – The Second Teacher: ............................................................................. 136 He Hua: A Beginning .............................................................................................................. 139 Hao Mai, Pā Mai, Iho Mai: The Elemental Influences ........................................................... 141 Kupu a Mohala: Coming Into Full Bloom .............................................................................. 154 Ke Kumu ‘Akolu – The Third Teacher .............................................................................. 158 He Hua: A Beginning .............................................................................................................. 162 Hao Mai, Iho Mai, Pā Mai: The Elemental Influences ........................................................... 166 Kupu a Mohala: Coming Into Full Bloom .............................................................................. 167 Ke Kumu ‘Ahā – The Fourth Teacher: .............................................................................. 178 He Hua: A Beginning .............................................................................................................. 183 Hao Mai, Iho Mai, Pā Mai: The Elemental Influences ........................................................... 186 Kupu a Mohala: Coming Into Full Bloom .............................................................................. 187

A Closing ............................................................................................................................ 198 Ke Kumu ‘Alima – The Fifth Teacher: ............................................................................... 199 He Hua: A Beginning .............................................................................................................. 201 Hao Mai, Pā Mai, Iho Mai: The Elemental Influences ........................................................... 207 Kupu a Mohala: Coming Into Full Bloom .............................................................................. 213 Ke Kumu ‘Aono – The Sixth Teacher ................................................................................. 222 He Hua: A Beginning .............................................................................................................. 225 Hao Mai, Iho Mai, Pā Mai: The Elemental Influences ........................................................... 227 Kupu a Mohala: Coming Into Full Bloom .............................................................................. 238 Ke Kumu ‘Ahiku – The Seventh Teacher .......................................................................... 246 He Hua: A Beginning .............................................................................................................. 253 Hao Mai, Iho Mai, Pā Mai: The Elemental Influences ........................................................... 254 Kupu a Mohala: Coming Into Full Bloom .............................................................................. 259

CHAPTER 5 .............................................................................................................................. 266

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KA ‘AHA WAHINE ................................................................................................................. 266 The Gathering ....................................................................................................................... 267 He Mo‘olelo ‘Aha Wahine: A Collective, Interconnected Story ....................................... 270

CHAPTER 6 .............................................................................................................................. 311

NO KE ALOHA O KA LĀHUI HAWAI‘I – FOCUSED INTENTIONALITY ................. 311 Reflecting Back ...................................................................................................................... 312

A Review of the Process ..................................................................................................... 313 Critical Lessons From My Kumu ........................................................................................ 314

The ‘A‘ali‘i Kū Makani Framework ................................................................................... 315 The Hō‘ālani Transformative Framework .......................................................................... 317

Naming the framework. .................................................................................................. 319 The transformative qualities……………………………………………………………319 Illuminating the four main principles. ............................................................................ 320

Hawaiian cultural practices. ........................................................................................ 321 Political and historical factors. .................................................................................... 322 Role models and mentors. ........................................................................................... 323

No Ke Aloha o ka Lāhui: Realizing the Shared Core Intention ......................................... 324 Examples of aloha for the lāhui. ..................................................................................... 324 Intentionality. .................................................................................................................. 325

The Transformative Rays .................................................................................................... 326 Shared essence. ............................................................................................................... 327

Being present. ............................................................................................................. 327 Strategies and transformations. ....................................................................................... 329 Reflecting on the rays. .................................................................................................... 334

Final Reflections: Aloha as Fearlessness ............................................................................. 336 Common Contemporary (Mis)Conceptions of Aloha ......................................................... 336 Aloha as Fearlessness ......................................................................................................... 337 Power and Mana ................................................................................................................. 338

CHAPTER 7 .............................................................................................................................. 340 KA HO‘OKŌ KULEANA – ..................................................................................................... 340

IMPLICATIONS AND RECOMMENDATIONS FOR FUTURE WORK ........................ 340 Re-Imagining for Our Children .......................................................................................... 341 Pedagogical Approach .......................................................................................................... 344 Returning to Cultural Practice ............................................................................................ 344

Hula is Life ......................................................................................................................... 345 The Power of Protocol ........................................................................................................ 346 Re-imagining UHM Through Cultural Practice ................................................................. 347 Recommendations for Institutional Practices ..................................................................... 348

The Roles of Leadership ....................................................................................................... 350 Re-imagining UHM’s Leadership ....................................................................................... 350

Re-defining the Hawaiian role. ....................................................................................... 350 Kaikua‘ana. ................................................................................................................. 351

Hānai and ho‘omalu. ............................................................................................... 352 Kaikaina. ..................................................................................................................... 353

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Mālama. .................................................................................................................. 354 Re-defining the non-Hawaiian role. ................................................................................ 354

Kaikaina. ..................................................................................................................... 355 Kaikua‘ana. ................................................................................................................. 356

Recommendations for Leadership Development ................................................................ 358 Illustrative application. ...................................................... Error! Bookmark not defined.

Policy Action .......................................................................................................................... 360 Policy at UHM .................................................................................................................... 361

The lack of Native Hawaiian policymakers. ................................................................... 361 Slow and minimal implementation. ................................................................................ 362 The importance of process.. ............................................................................................ 363 Documents are key. ......................................................................................................... 364

Re-imagining Policy for Action .......................................................................................... 364 Recommendations for Policy .............................................................................................. 365

Concluding Thoughts ........................................................................................................... 367 Appendix A: Genealogical Chant ............................................................................................ 370

Appendix B: Māewa i ka hao mai a ka makani ..................................................................... 371 Appendix C: Sample Introduction Email ............................................................................... 372

Appendix D: Research Information and Consent Form ....................................................... 373 Appendix E: Interview Protocols ............................................................................................ 376

Appendix F: Sample Email Regarding Re-Presenting Mo‘olelo .......................................... 381 Appendix G: Translation of Ke Kumu ‘Alua’s Story ........................................................... 383

He Hua: A Beginning .............................................................................................................. 383 Hao Mai, Pā Mai, Iho Mai: The Elemental Influences ........................................................... 385 Kupu a Mohala: Coming Into Full Bloom .............................................................................. 398

Appendix ................................................................................................................................... 403

Glossary of Hawaiian Terms.................................................................................................... 405 REFERENCES .......................................................................................................................... 410

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List of Figures

Figure Page

1.1 My Four Principles of ‘Ohana……………………………………………….15

1.2 ‘A‘ali‘i Tree………………………………………………………………….25

1.3 ‘A‘ali‘i Cluster………………………………………………………………..25

3.1 Ka Papa Lo‘i ‘o Kānewai……………………………………………………..61

6.1 My Original ‘Ohana Model…………………………………………………..318

6.2 Hō‘ālani Framework………………………………………………………….318

7.1 My Son and Daughter………………………………………………………...341

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CHAPTER 1

HE HO‘OLAUNA – AN INTRODUCTION

E ō e nā mo‘o kūpuna ē E ō e nā kamalei makamae ‘O Kame‘eleihiwa noho iā Kuikuipua Hānau ‘o Hana Lale ‘O Hana Lale noho iā Meineki Reuter Hānau ‘o Kēhaulani ‘O Kēhaulani noho iā Ke‘ehukūlani Hānau ‘o Haleakalā ‘O Haleakalā noho iā Lasco Lee Hānau ‘o Leilani ‘O Leilani noho iā Malcolm Dorton Hānau ‘o Lilikalā Kame‘eleihiwa Huli ho‘i iā Nani Mini no ‘Inia ē ‘O Nani Mini noho iā Sir Henry Scott Hānau ‘o Angelina Poni ‘O Angelina Poni noho iā Thomas Anthony Hānau ‘o James Michael Anthony ‘O Lilikalā Kame‘eleihiwa noho iā James Michael Anthony Hānau ‘o Kaiwipunikauikawēkiu, ka muli loa ‘O Kaiwipunikauikawēkiu noho iā Daniel Lipe Hānau ‘o Hā‘ena Echota, he wahine Hānau ‘o Lamakūokānehoalani, he kāne Eō e nā mo‘o kūpuna ē Eō e nā kama lei makamae ‘Ae1

1 For an English translation see Appendix A.

2

Ancestral Lines

I recall the names of my ancestors in this ko‘ihonua or genealogical chant. Specifically, I

honor the female lines, because those are the women that I have come to know through their

stories and their names. Many of their names embody the natural elements which my family

honors as ancestors and protectors. Dr. Pualani Kanaka‘ole Kanahele (2012), revered hula

master, cultural practitioner, and Native Hawaiian2 scholar, reminds us that when we speak the

names of our ancestors and gift our children those names, we give life to the elements and to the

mana, the power, within. Because we embody our ancestors, when we give life to their names,

we also give life to ourselves. For Hawaiians, our genealogical connections are foundational to

our understandings of the world; to our ontological worldview3 (Olafson, Schraw, & Veldt,

2010), because it is through those lines that we know who we are; our connections to our

ancestors and our connections to the elements around us. These are the connections that define

our identity and give us life purpose.

Therefore, I begin this dissertation, which focuses on how the University of Hawai‘i at

Mānoa (UHM), a predominantly non-Hawaiian university4 in Hawai‘i, can become a Hawaiian

place of learning,5 by first introducing myself and my story through my mo‘olelo6 and

2 I use the terms ʻNative Hawaiian’ and ʻHawaiian’ interchangeably throughout this dissertation to refer to those people whose ancestors are genealogically connected to the islands of Hawai‘i and to Papahānaumoku. Blood quantum is not a factor for my use of the term. 3 I use the term ʻontological worldview’ as Olafson, Schraw, and Veldt (2010) do: “...an individual’s collective beliefs about the nature and reality of being” (p. 244). 4 I use the term ʻpredominantly non-Hawaiian university’ for UH Mānoa because Native Hawaiians are less than four percent of faculty, one percent of administration (Native Hawaiian Advancement Task Force, 2012), 15.8 % of undergraduates and 12.5% of graduate students (Balutski & Wright, 2012). 5 Within strategic goal number one of UH Mānoa’s strategic plan is the goal to “Promote a Hawaiian Place of Learning” (“Achieving Our Destiny,” 2011, p. 6). Therefore, the focus of my dissertation draws from that goal. 6 Mo‘olelo: Pukui and Elbert (1986) translate as: “Story, tradition; (From mo‘o ‘ōlelo, succession of talk; all stories were oral, not written)” (p. 254). I use the terms ‘mo‘olelo’ and ʻstory’ interchangeably throughout this dissertation. When I use the term ʻstory’ I am using it as an English translation of moʻolelo, therefore I mean for it to carry the

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mo‘okū‘auhau.7 This is a critical step, as it demonstrates the relevance and responsibility that I

carry in this work.

My Story

Dr. Kanahele (2012) says that our ancestors live within us. She states that the knowledge

and experiences of our ancestors are passed down generation to generation through our DNA. I

build on Dr. Kanahele’s argument by adding that in different spaces and times we are awakened

to that knowledge. Being engaged in Hawaiian practices like hula, ‘ōlelo Hawai‘i,8 singing,

chanting, parenting, and storytelling awaken my awareness and ability to connect to that

ancestral knowledge. In these instances, I find kuleana – as purpose, responsibility, and

motivation – to live into those ancestral gifts.

My Hawaiian World

I am privileged to have been exposed to and engaged in many instances that have

awakened ancestral knowledgeg within me and around me. For example, as a child at bedtime, I

would drift off into the world of sleep as my mother recounted the amazing stories of our gods

and goddesses. Some of my favorite stories include that of Tutu Pele’s9 hot temper, matched by

her fiery lava flow; of Hi‘iakaikapoliopele’s gifts as both a warrior and a healer. These stories

taught me at least two lessons. First, that my ancestors had incredible power and knowledge.

Second, that their strength and ability resided in me as their descendent. These stories were

critical to my identity formation as a strong, intelligent, capable Hawaiian woman. many intricate meanings that moʻolelo carries, which I further explain in Chapter 2. Also, I translate each Hawaiian word once throughout this dissertation unless it is being used in a different context. All Hawaiian words will be included in the Glossary (p. 404). 7 Mo‘okū‘auhau: Pukui and Elbert (1986) translate as: “Genealogical succession, pedigree” (p. 254). This terms is often understood as ʻgenealogy.’ I further explain this concept later in this chapter. 8 ‘Ōlelo Hawai‘i: Hawaiian language (common translation). 9 Tutu Pele is the affectionate name my family (and many others) gives to Pele, the Hawaiian goddess responsible for volcanoes, lava, and new land (Handy & Pukui, 1998; Kame‘eleihiwa, 1999).

4

Growing up with my maternal grandmother, she reminded me of both her trials and

triumphs. In the face of financial poverty, she kept food on the table, a roof over her children’s

heads, and even sent my mother to a private school. When all other schools failed my uncle and

his struggle with dyslexia, with nearly no money but much determination, my grandmother

organized a new school for children needing special assistance. Her stories instilled in me a

resiliency and a determination to care for all, not just my immediate family, but for others as

well. I learned from her the true meaning of community and aloha.10

I have also been influenced by my parents, two brown scholars and activists11 who have

always stood up for what they believed in despite the overwhelming opposition in their paths. I

have been shaped by their commitment on the front lines, their academic scholarship, and their

confidence to speak out. Witnessing their brilliance and their bravery, I am driven to continue

their quest for social justice.

I have not only been shaped by the mo‘olelo and spirit of both my ancestors as well as

my immediate family, but also by many of my early educational settings in which Hawaiian

ontologies, pedagogies, and epistemologies were a main focus. In my Hawaiian language

immersion school experiences we learned through songs that honored the land and ocean that

surrounded us; we learned all the important aspects of the water cycle through traditional chants;

and we spoke the same language that our ancestors did, which further connected us to them with

each statement that we made.

10 Aloha: Pukui and Elbert (1986) translate this to “love, affection, compassion, mercy, sympathy, pity, kindness, sentiment, grace, charity” (p. 21). Indeed my grandma showed all of these things in the way she took care of others. 11 My father, Dr. James Anthony, is a Fiji born East Indian. He earned his PhD in History from Australia National University. My mother, Dr. Lilikalā Kame‘eleihiwa, is a Hawaiian academic. She earned her PhD in History from the Univeristy of Hawai‘i at Mānoa.

5

When I was not in school, I was with my mother at work at the University of Hawai‘i at

Mānoa, where she is a professor in Hawaiian Studies.12 Therefore, my education and identity

formation as a young Hawaiian was further influenced by my role models at the University; by

educated, outspoken, brown Hawaiian professors; by budding Hawaiian academics who looked

like me and who could speak Hawaiian to me. I also stood side by side with these Hawaiian role

models on protest lines, at rallies, and at community events fighting for the survival of Hawaiian

language and culture. Therefore, from an early age, I believed I would grow up to be an

intelligent and strong Hawaiian woman just like my role models.

In addition to my influences at home and at school, I also grew up in a hālau hula13 and a

hālau wa‘a.14 These hālau provided me a canvas for practical application and further immersion

in the Hawaiian values and customs I grew up with at home and in school. These hālau were also

opportunities for me to further delve into ancestral knowledge, which was made relevant by my

teachers for my life today.15

Indeed, I was extremely fortunate as a child to be immersed by Hawaiian teachers,

language, curriculum, role models, community, and practice. Because of this immersion, the

world made sense to me as a Hawaiian; I knew my place in it and I drew strength, confidence,

and responsibility from it. In addition, my social, cultural, linguistic, familial, and aspirational

capital (Yosso, 2005) were welcomed and valued as important assets in each sphere of my life,

as my home, school, and community influences were grounded in the same underlying values

(Schein, 2010). As such, I perceived my world as holistically Hawaiian and my Hawaiian

identity was fostered.

12 My parents divorced when I was six years old and I grew up primarily with my mom. 13 Hālau hula: A hula school 14 Hālau wa‘a: Canoe paddling school 15 I expand on some of the lessons from these two hālau throughout this dissertation.

6

Tension

I began to recognize tension in college when I experienced life outside of my Hawaiian

world, which for me, was anywhere except the Center for Hawaiian Studies at UH Mānoa. As an

18 year-old freshman at UHM I recognized, both intellectually as well as instinctually, that the

larger campus did not include, incorporate, or welcome who I was as a young Hawaiian woman.

The artifacts (Schein, 2010) of UH Mānoa did not reflect my Hawaiian world; for example there

were few Hawaiian students and even less Hawaiian faculty and staff. Consequently, curriculum,

environment, values and assumptions (Schein, 2010) permeating the campus were also non-

Hawaiian. I felt lonely, angry, and worthless at times. Though I grew up as a very confident girl

in my Hawaiian world, I suddenly felt extremely insecure and self-doubting at UH Mānoa, a

predominantly non-Hawaiian institution, which failed to reflect and acknowledge the assets and

values I brought there (Yosso, 2005).

Dr. Samuel Museus (2008) describes this tension as cultural dissonance – the tension and

conflict due to the inconsistencies between the home culture and the university culture.16 I

continued to experience this cultural dissonance when I began working at UH Mānoa. As I

worked with colleagues across departments and colleges, I realized how conflicting many of

their underlying values (Schein, 2010) were with Hawaiian values. This incongruence made it

difficult to establish policies and appropriate practices when engaging with Native Hawaiian

students and their families.

The ultimate conflict for me arose when I became a mother while employed as an

academic advisor at UH Mānoa. The birth of my first daughter, Hā‘ena, was perfect timing for

16 I use the term ʻcampus culture’ as Jayakumar and Museus (2012) do: “...[campus culture] takes into account the historical context, rituals and traditions, and other symbolic components of a campus’s identity, as well as both the observed and unobserved values and assumptions that shape perspectives, behaviors, and the way education is approached and delivered” (p. 5).

7

me as an academic advisor because it was during the summer when most students were not in

school. Before giving birth, I had been preparing a welcome-back event for my students and their

families that would occur in late August. Therefore, I stayed home with Hā‘ena for the first six

weeks, and then I brought her back to the office with me and hosted the family night as planned.

Bringing her with me was the natural thing for me to do, as I was committed to nursing her and

raising her in my mother tongue, ‘ōlelo Hawai‘i.

I also never imagined sending her to a babysitter at such a young age. Instinctively as a

mother, it just did not seem the right thing to do and I was always taught to follow my na‘au.17 In

addition, I could not afford to send her to a sitter, as the high cost of living in Hawai‘i makes

these extra costs unfathomable. In addition, no one in my family could watch her. Everyone

works. Moreover, having grown up at UHM as the child of a single-mother professor, raising

children at the university seemed natural to me. Most importantly, I felt that as a Hawaiian living

in Hawai‘i and working at an institution who stated a commitment to ‘ohana and the Hawaiian

culture (“Achieving Our Destiny,” 2011), it was appropriate and responsible for me to bring my

baby with me. I could be a role model for how the institution could support a Hawaiian

university and healthy baby raising.

Each day Hā‘ena came with me to work for the first six months. She was happy with me

and I nursed her on demand. I was also able to speak to her in Hawaiian and expose her to other

aunties and uncles who spoke to her in Hawaiian as well.18 My students were drawn to her and

loved to come to my office to visit her. Having Hā‘ena with me at work re-enforced my

commitment to ‘ohana as a way of work and life. My students felt nurtured by that. To be sure,

17 Na‘au: The terms most commonly used in English are ʻgut’ and ‘instinct.’ Pukui & Elbert (1986) also translate it to “mind, heart, affections; of the heart or mind” (p. 257). 18 This is significant because Hawai‘i, and especially the island of O‘ahu in which we live, is a predominantly English-speaking society. Therefore, the Hawaiian language community at UHM was key to immersing my daughterin Hawaiian language.

8

some of my students began to bring their own families to meet me. My students brought in their

parents, their partners, and their own children. In this way, we were together building stronger

support networks for the students to be successful in not only their academic goals but also their

life values and aspirations. We were growing our power as a collective ‘ohana and helping UH

Mānoa live into its own goal to “promote a Hawaiian place of learning” (“Achieving Our

Destiny,” 2011, p. 6).

When Hā‘ena was six months old, I was told that I was no longer allowed to bring her to

work with me. I was devastated on so many levels. I was still nursing and did not want to stop

(neither did Hā‘ena), worried that if I had to express my milk I would lose my supply as many of

my friends had experienced. I also wanted to continue to raise her in a Hawaiian-speaking

environment and I knew that there were few, if any, baby sitters who spoke Hawaiian. She was

also still very little and I did not know who I could really trust to care for her. At the same time, I

did not want to lose my job. I loved my work and my students and I had a deep commitment to

them. I also could not afford to quit my job and continue to pay rent on my husband’s salary

alone. I felt very torn, very sad, and very desperate.

In addition to my personal struggle with the decision that was served to me rather than

made with me, I was also concerned about the larger implications of such a value system. I was

told to stop bringing my baby to work not because my work suffered or because she was a

nuisance to the surrounding work environment. In contrast, having a baby in the office lifted the

spirits of those who encountered us and fostered a sense of ‘ohana. Instead, I was told that

Hā‘ena could no longer come because it was ʻinappropriate’ to have a baby in the office. This

struck me as very problematic, as it reflected a culture and value system that in fact did not

support the very foundations of a Hawaiian place of learning including ‘ohana and aloha. Not

9

only was my ‘ohana being rejected by the academy, but the process was done in a manner that

did not reflect aloha. Conversation and dialogue did not take place that could have led to possible

solutions that worked for everyone (Guajardo & Guajardo, 2010; Wheatley, 2009).

In the end, I quit my job and we moved out of our house and back home with family. My

decision to leave my job was a huge sacrifice in terms of foregoing private living space, income,

and a job that fulfilled me and supported student success. However, it was a decision well worth

it for the sake of our child. My deep sense of disappointment in the academy pushed me to

search for alternative ways of engaging the higher education system, however. I wanted to have a

greater impact on the university system and specifically on how the campus culture (Jayakumar

& Museus, 2012) of my university could shift by grounding itself in Hawaiian of ways of

knowing and being.

The Value of Mo‘olelo

I share the mo‘olelo above for several reasons. First, people and experiences shape my

framework as a researcher and a person in this world. My parents, grandparents, and ancient

ancestors remind me to question the status quo, to take care of my ‘ohana, and to defend and

perpetuate the knowledge systems of the host land and culture – in this instance, Hawai‘i.

Further, my children fuel me with the fire to reflect and act now (Freire, 1993) so that they can

always be Hawaiian in Hawai‘i.

I am also informed by the mo‘olelo and mo‘okū‘auhau of artifacts (Schein, 2010) such as

policies and documents including but not limited to the United Nations’ Declaration on the

Rights of Indigenous Peoples (UNDRIP) (“United Nations Declaration,” 2008), United States

Public Law 103-150 (U.S. Congress, 1993), UH Board of Regents Policy (UH Board of Regents,

2012), and the UHM Strategic Plan (“Achieving Our Destiny,” 2011). All of these documents

10

testify to both the political and Indigenous rights that Native Hawaiians have to education that

appropriately reflects their knowledge systems. This is further discussed in Chapter Three.

In addition to the critical people, experiences, and documents that inform my view of

education and lāhui,19 traditional Hawaiian mo‘olelo have also shaped my values and worldview.

There are many intricate stories and traditions that tell us, as Hawaiians, who we are and where

we come from (see for example Fornander, 1916; Kamakau, 1991). I draw from one particular

story that has guided my ontological worldview my entire life, namely the mo‘olelo of Hāloa.20

Kame‘eleihiwa (1992) re-tells this mo‘olelo in her introduction of a Hawaiian model by which to

understand Hawaiian society. Drawing on her retelling, I summarize it below:

Papa is the earth mother and Wākea is the sky father. They parent many of the Hawaiian

Islands together. In addition, they produce a human child, Ho‘ohōkūkalani. Later, Wākea

seduces Ho‘ohōkūkalani21 and she becomes pregnant. Her child is born prematurely and does not

survive. They name him Hāloa-naka and bury him in the ground. From this burial site grows the

first kalo, or taro plant, which becomes the staple food of the Hawaiian people. Wākea and

Ho‘ohōkūkalani mate again, and their second child is born a healthy boy, whom they name

Hāloa in honor of his elder sibling. Hāloa is the first high chief of Hawai‘i and is the common

ancestor of all the Hawaiian people. This is an important story because it lays the foundation for

key principles in the Hawaiian world and guides my ontological worldview.

19 Lāhui: Pukui and Elbert (1986) translate this to “Nation, race, tribe, people, nationality; great company of people” (p. 191). I use the term to refer specifically to the Hawaiian nation – people of Native Hawaiian genealogical descent. This term ʻlāhui’ and ‘lāhui Hawai‘i’ (Hawaiian nation) are used interchangeably throughout this dissertation to refer to the Hawaiian nation. 20 I am specifically referring to the Hawai‘i island version of this mo‘olelo, which follows the Ulu line rather than the O‘ahu island story that follows the Nanaulu line (Fornander, 1969). The reason for my selection of the Hawai‘i island version is because that is the version I grew up learning and knowing. 21 Only gods/godesses and ali‘i nui (high chiefs) could engage in the practice of nī‘aupi‘o (Kame‘eleihiwa, 1992). Kame‘eleihiwa (1992) describes nī‘aupi‘o mating as an incestuous relationship. If children are born from this union, they are akua children, meaning they are divine (Malo, 1951).

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My Ontology Emerges

The lessons from the story of Hāloa are many. Throughout my lifetime I have both

learned and taught this story. More so, I have lived essential concepts of this story. I have

experienced sustenance from the land. I have also engaged my role as a caretaker of the land and

other natural elements. Through these various learning and teaching opportunities, five main

concepts have emerged that guide my ontological worldview. These concepts include ‘ohana,

mo‘okū‘auhau, the interdependent relationship between kaikua‘ana and kaikaina, kuleana, and

the balance between hānai and mālama.

‘Ohana. One of the most important lessons I learn from the story of Hāloa is that the

entire lāhui Hawai‘i is connected genealogically; we are all related as ‘ohana, the Native

Hawaiian concept of interdependent and extended family relationships (Handy & Pukui, 1998).

In describing ‘ohana specific to the area of Ka‘ū on Hawai‘i Island, Handy and Pukui (1998)

state:

The fundamental unit in the social organization of the Hawaiians of Ka‘ū was the

dispersed community of ‘ohana, or relatives by blood, marriage and adoption, living

some inland and some near the sea but concentrated geographically in and tied by

ancestry, birth and sentiment to a particular locality which was termed the ‘āina. (p. 2)

Described in this way, the term ‘ohana is a reminder not only of connections that Hawaiians have

to each other as humans, but also to the ‘āina, or land, from which we draw nourishment.

Further, Handy and Pukui (1998) describe the term ‘ohana in connection to the kalo plant:

The term ‘ohana was likewise a figure essentially belonging to a people who were taro

planters. ‘Oha means “to sprout,” or “a sprout”; the “buds” or off-shoots of the taro plant

which furnished the staple of life for the Hawaiian are called ‘oha. With the substantive

12

suffix na added, ‘oha-na literally means “off-shoots,” or “that which is composed of off-

shoots.” This term, then, as employed to signify the family, has, precisely, the meaning

“the off-shoots of a family stock.” (p. 3)

In this way, Handy and Pukui remind us that not only is the term and thus the concept of ‘ohana

connected to the land and kalo, but we also receive a visual representation of the ‘ohana in which

each off shoot is connected to the next. These are important points of interconnectedness that

distinguish ‘ohana from the English concept of family.

Mo‘okū‘auhau. ‘Ohana can be further described through the Hawaiian concept of

mo‘okū‘auhau. In the Hawaiian world, we see the connections between all elements in the

universe through mo‘okū‘auhau. Pukui and Elbert (1986) translate mo‘okū‘auhau to

“genealogical succession, pedigree” (p. 254). Kanahele (2011) further describes mo‘okū‘auhau:

Mo‘okū‘auhau is a literary introduction to a family lineage. The family line may include

humans, elements of nature, sharks, or other froms of life. If important enough in the

mythological framework of the social structure, the name is recorded. (p. 1)

Therefore, mo‘okū‘auhau is the genealogical story. It is the thread that connects all the elements

of the world through space and time. The Kumulipo, a Hawaiian cosmogonic genealogy, and

birth chant for the high chief Kalaninui‘iamamao is explained in English by Lili‘uokalani (1897).

As a cosmogonic genealogy, the Kumulipo defines each generation of life. Born from the primal

darkness is every element of the Hawaiian world, including humans. It is important to note that

in the Kumulipo, a mo‘okū‘auhau of the Hawaiian world, Hawaiians are the direct descendants

of the elements of the world, including Papahānaumoku, the earth mother. Therefore, two core

elements of ‘ohana include genealogical ties and familial relationships between every animate

and inanimate element as well as the understanding that Hawaiian people are deeply and

13

genealogically rooted in their land and place. Consequently, ‘ohana is an Indigenous, place-

based ontology.

Kaikua‘ana and kaikaina. Because of genealogical connections, there is a relational

order established, namely the kaikua‘ana and kaikaina relationship. Kaikua‘ana is translated into

English as the “older sibling or cousin of the same sex; sibling or cousin of the same sex of the

senior line…” (Pukui & Elbert, 1986, p. 116). Similarly, kaikaina is translated into English as the

“younger sibling or cousin of the same sex, as younger brother or male cousin of a male…sibling

or cousin of the same sex of the junior line…” (Pukui & Elbert, 1986, p. 116). The terms also

refer to the senior and junior genealogical lines, respectively. The basic premise of kaikua‘ana

and kaikaina, therefore, is that there is always a person or element that is interdependent on the

next. Nothing is alone or without connection to the next; everything is intergenerational.

Drawing on the traditional relationship of kaikua‘ana and kaikaina, I expand its relevance

in today’s world based on my experiences. I also see the roles of kaikua‘ana and kaikaina to be

defined not only by age or genealogical bloodlines, but also by distinctions in knowledge and

experience. In addition, each person or element can be both the kaikua‘ana and kaikaina in

different situations. For example, when I am in the presence of my elders, I am the kaikaina in

terms of age, knowledge, and experience. In another context, such as when I am a college

advisor, I am the kaikua‘ana to my students because of my knowledge, experience, and resources

in terms of the university setting. However, in that very same relationship I can be the kaikaina

in certain respects if my student is older than me in by age. It is a very delicate balance.

However, what helps us to know our role is our mo‘okū‘auahau; more than just genealogical

pedigrees, it is also our genealogical stories of place, knowledge, and experiences. When we are

able to recognize and acknowledge our mo‘okū‘auhau with people, places, and elements on

14

many different levels, bloodline and birth order being just two of them, then we know our role as

kaikua‘ana or kaikaina in a given situation. When we know where we are in space and time

within different relationships, we know how to behave appropriately.

Kuleana. Defining the relationship between kaikua‘ana and kaikaina is kuleana. English

terms provided for kuleana by Pukui and Elbert (1986) include “right, privilege, concern,

responsibility…” (p. 179). In the mo‘olelo of Hāloa, kuleana is captured well in the relationship

of the land and the kalo, those elements being the kaikua‘ana, with the people, the kaikaina in

that context. As the kaikua‘ana of the Hawaiian people, the land and kalo have the kuleana to

provide for and feed the people. In return, the people, as the kaikaina, have the privilege to take

care of the land and cultivate it well so the kalo can grow (Kame‘eleihiwa, 1992). In other words,

kuleana is about nurturing and sustaining the life of each of the entities in specific ways

depending on our given roles.

Ka ho‘okō kuleana. The last aspect of this framework is the ho‘okō kuleana, or enacting

of kuleana. Without action, the kuleana is not fulfilled. The terms I highlight are hānai,

ho‘omalu, and mālama (Kame‘eleihiwa, 1992). In English, terms for hānai include “feeding,

fostering, raising as a child, and providing for” (Pukui & Elbert, 1986, p. 56). Ho‘omalu is

translated to, “To bring under the care and protection of, to protect” (Pukui & Elbert, 1986, p.

234). This is what the elder sibling, such as the land or taro, does for the younger line: it feeds,

clothes, and protects us, the people. Mālama, in English is to “tend to, take care of, and

maintain” (Pukui & Elbert, 1986, p. 232). This is the kuleana of the junior line; to take care of

the elder line as a younger child would tend to his grandparent or a kalo farmer tends to his lo‘i.22

22 Lo‘i: “Irrigated terrace, especially for taro” (Pukui & Elbert, 1986, p. 209).

15

When all of these aspects of ‘ohana are fulfilled, there is pono or goodness, balance, and order in

the family and society (Kame‘eleihiwa, 1992).

I employ the principles of ‘ohana as a framework for looking at education because this is

the culture that I come from; ‘ohana is part of my ontological position. I have been raised in

many different ‘ohana and those accumulated experiences make up my worldview. When my

educational experiences were grounded in ‘ohana, I felt a strong sense of congruence (Museus,

2008); those educational experiences were meaningful to me. As such, when I look at UHM and

the professors there, I look to them as my kaikua‘ana because they have resources that can feed

and nurture me in many ways. Similarly, when I am in a teaching or advising role to others, I see

my kuleana to feed and nurture my students. Consequently, from the Hawaiian perspective that I

come from, education is a resource and a gift; and the business of education is the business of

feeding and nurturing to sustain the next generation.

Figure 1 represents my understanding of the four interdependent Hawaiian concepts that

come out of the concept of ‘ohana.

Figure 1.1. My Four Principles of ‘Ohana

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The Emerging Problem

Because the university is a potential source of knowledge, service, and opportunity, it

therefore bears the role of kaikua‘ana to students and the community. For example, the term for

teacher in Hawaiian is kumu, which literally translates to “source” (Pukui & Elbert, 1986, p.

182). In terms of UH Mānoa, its distinction as a land-grant institution (“About UH Manoa,”

2012) formally defines itself in the Western context as an institution with a specific

responsibility to serve the community. As a university situated on Native Hawaiian land23 there

is an even more distincit and profound relationship to serve the Native Hawaiian people.24

However, one hundred years have passed since the inception of UHM (“About UH Manoa,”

2012) and during that time the academy has been predominantly non-Hawaiian in terms of

people, access, curriculum, culture, and climate, (Balutski & Wright, 2012; Hawaiian Studies

Task Force, 1986; Native Hawaiian Advancement Task Force, 2012), hence silencing Hawaiian

voices and ways of knowing. The university has not been providing appropriate resources to its

people and thus has not been fulfilling its land-grant kuleana (“About UH Manoa,” 2012) in its

role as a kaikua‘ana. Therefore, students and other kaikaina cannot fulfill their kuleana in terms

of accessing the resources, successfully accomplishing their goals, and returning to serve their

communities.

At the same time UHM, as an institution, is also a kaikaina to the Hawaiian people in

terms of its genealogy of place, space and time in Hawai‘i. Native Hawaiians, in this context, are

the kaikua‘ana because of their genealogical connection to the land and to the Indigenous

23 Essentially, all land in Hawai‘i is Hawaiian land as it is our ancient grandmother, Papahānaumoku. 24 I further discuss the issue of Native Hawaiian land in Chapter Three.

17

knowledge systems of Hawai‘i. However, UHM25 does not understand its role as the junior line

in this context and, because it is an institution established by the American colonizer, founded on

ideals of hegemony and racial superiority (Benham & Heck; 1998; Trask, 1993),26 it has mainly

not been open to the Native Hawaiian people as sources of knowledge and guidance.27

However, in the last 30 years, there has been a consorted effort to re-imagine and re-

define UHM as a Hawaiian place of learning (Hawaiian Studies Task Force, 1986; Native

Hawaiian Advancement Task Force, 2012; Native Hawaiian Task Force, 2011). Native Hawaiian

acts of survivance (Vizenor, 2008) can be identified as Native Hawaiian individuals have

asserted their kuleana as the kaikua‘ana by providing energy, knowledge, and vision to the

University. During this time, Native Hawaiian activists and educators, both within the academy

and also in the community have lead, engaged, and witnessed the changes, resistance, and the

shifts of the academy. This time period is important in the life span of the institution and to

Hawai‘i’s community because it is during the last decade when the most powerful and

Indigenous responsive language has been adopted, spanning from international language to

university-specific language (“Achieving Our Destiny,” 2011; “UH Board of Regents,” 2012;

“United Nations Declaration,” 2008). This language has declared the basic rights Indigenous

peoples have in terms of Indigenous-centered education.

The efforts to indigenize the academy as well as the policies and documents are tools to

help the University live into its kuleana to provide the appropriate resources and also to

recognize its role to learn from the Native Hawaiian people and their knowledge systems. Yet,

25 When I refer to ʻUHM/UH Mānoa’ as an institution, I am referring ot the overall culture of the institution. This culture is comprised of individuals and in the case of UHM, the majority of the individuals are non-Hawaiian (“About UH Mānoa,” 2013; Balutski & Wright, 2012) and therefore create a non-Hawaiian campus culture with little to no understanding of a Hawaiian value system (Schein, 2010). 26 In Chapter Three I delve further into the hegemonic role UHM has played in perpetuating racism and continuing to colonize Hawaiians and Hawai‘i. 27 In Chapter Three I demonstrate how UHM has largely failed to do this.

18

the flagship campus of the UH system, the University of Hawai‘i at Mānoa, a research-one

university (“About UH Manoa,” 2012), continues to be predominantly non-Hawaiian by all

definitions (“About UH Manoa,” 2012; Native Hawaiian Advancement Task Force, 2012), thus

continuing to be oblivious to its roles and kuleana to both mālama and hānai Native Hawaiians,

by continuing to exclude necessary Native Hawaiian ways of learning, knowing, and being.

Consequently, in its current state, UHM is unable to fully live into its own goal to “…promote a

Hawaiian place of learning” (“Achieving Our Destiny,” 2011, p. 6).

Purpose of This Study

The purpose of this study, therefore, was to explore the evolution and pockets of

transformation at the University of Hawai‘i at Mānoa – and in some of its surrounding

communities – into Hawaiian places of learning, or educational kīpuka28 (Goodyear-

Ka‘ōpua, 2013). Through such exploration, I was interested in how we might glean lessons

from the transformation of individual kīpuka to inform the transformation of UH Mānoa into

a Hawaiian place of learning. For this study, I captured these changes through the experiences

of eight intergenerational Native Hawaiian women who have witnessed and engaged in these

transformations.

First, I aimed to explore UHM’s mo‘okū‘auhau, or genealogical story, in terms of

people, policies, stories, demographics, and culture. By doing so, I sought to discover how

these different genealogical elements have supported or inhibited the evolution of UHM into

a Hawaiian place of learning.

28Dr. Noelani Goodyear-Ka‘ōpua (2013) uses the term ‘educational kīpuka’ to describe “zones of indigenous cultural growth” (p. 7). Further, Pukui & Elbert translate ʻkīpuka’ as “variation or change of form, as a calm place in a high sea, deep place in a shoal, opening in a forest, openings in cloud formations, and especially a clear place or oasis within a lava bed where there may be vegetation” (p. 155). Therefore, I used the term ‘educational kīpuka’ as a Hawaiian term to describe Hawaiian places of learning that have grown and flourished despite the variety of challenging conditions around it.

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Second, I explored Native Hawaiian remembrance, understandings, and beliefs

regarding what it means to be a Hawaiian place of learning and what skills and approaches it

has taken to push UHM in that direction. I explored this through the stories of select Native

Hawaiian women who live into the concepts of survivance and ‘a‘ali‘i kū makani.29

Research Questions

This study focused on three primary exploratory questions:

1. How can UHM, a predominantly non-Hawaiian university, transform into a Hawaiian

place of learning?

2. What are the relationships between Native Hawaiian values and Western higher

education values that support and/or inhibit the transformation of UHM into a Hawaiian

place of learning?

3. How might UHM utilize these lessons learned to build its capacity to transform into a

Hawaiian place of learning?

To better understand these queries, three key questions regarding values-based organizational

change were of particular interest:

1. What do the mo‘olelo and memories of eight female Hawaiian educational leaders

teach us about:

a. The people and the processes that have defined a Hawaiian place of learning at

UHM over time?

b. The relationships between their personal values and the values of the institution

(UHM) in their life’s work?

c. How the women have used their lessons learned to build capacity and transform 29 ‘A‘ali‘i kū makani refers to the ‘a‘ali‘i plant that can withstand the strongest gales (Pukui, 1983). This framework is discussed in detail later in this chapter.

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the institution?

2. What do the mo‘olelo and mo‘okū‘auhau of UHM’s artifacts teach us about:

a. The people and the processes that have defined a Hawaiian place of learning at

UHM over time?

b. The relationship between UHM’s espoused values and its enacted values?

c. The power of artifacts in the process of transformation?

3. What are the organizational and leadership lessons learned that can impact

transformation?

Some Definitions and Frameworks

Searching for frameworks in Western literature on transformation and higher education

that encompassed my Hawaiian ontological worldview was difficult. However, there are

several definitions and frameworks that were useful as starting points, which I used as

springboards from which to dive into other frameworks and dialogues.

Defining Transformation

In order to begin a discussion on institutional change and transformation in higher

education, it is important to first review the definitions of the terms. I draw from two definitions

in particular. First, Eckel, Hill, and Green (1998) define transformational change as that which

“alters the culture of the institution by changing select underlying assumptions and institutional

behaviors, processes, and products; is deep and pervasive affecting the whole institution; is

intentional; and occurs over time” (p. 3). Furthermore, I draw from Engeström’s (2001)

discussion on transformation in which an activity or institution can be “reconceptualized to

embrace a radically wider horizon of possibilities than in the previous mode…” (p. 137).

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While these frameworks are useful, based on my ontological worldview, Eckel et. al’s

(1998) boundaries need expanding. The framework assesses the extent of transformation based

on pervasiveness and depth of change across the institution. For Hawaiians, however, family,

community, and our natural resources are central to all that we do (Handy & Pukui, 1998;

Kanahele, 2011). Consequently, I used the premise of Eckel et al.’s model, but I expanded it to

include how the transformation reaches beyond the institution and touches families,

communities, and the environment, as those are extensions of the individual in the Hawaiian

world. Therefore, in my use of the term transformation, I am referring to the breadth and depth of

change that creates space for a variety of ontologies, epistemologies, and pedagogies to emerge

and affect people on campus as well as the families, communities, and natural environments

surrounding institutions of higher education.

Campus Culture Transformation

In framing my perspective on campus culture transformation, I drew from Schein

(2010) and Kezar (2012). Schein’s work focuses on the three levels of culture, including

artifacts, espoused values, and underlying assumptions, which helped me to analyze UHM’s

culture. Kezar’s analysis of several shared leadership styles to create transformational change

across the campus provided me a framework to identify leadership strategies at UH Mānoa.

Schein’s levels of culture. Artifacts are the easiest parts of the campus culture to identify

because artifacts are the enacted events, programs, and practices of the institution (Schein, 2010).

For example, Native Hawaiian support programs in various departments are artifacts of the

institution. Other artifacts include Hawaiian chanting at graduation. Because such Hawaiian

artifacts are interspersed throughout the campus, at face value, UHM may appear as a Hawaiian

place of learning to some people. However, not only are the Hawaiian artifacts few and far

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between at UHM, but further analysis of culture (Schein, 2010) reveal levels of a predominantly

non-Hawaiian culture (Jayakumar & Museus, 2012).

Espoused values are the norms and values found in the language of documents,

policies, mission statements, and also within conversations between members of the

university community (Schein, 2010). For example, the policy goal that aims to “promote a

Hawaiian place of learning” (“Achieving Our Destiny,” 2012, p. 6) at UHM is an espoused

value of the institution. Being aware of the concept of espoused values (Schein, 2010) helped

me to then look at the enacted values (Museus, 2007) and become aware of the congruencies

and contradictions on campus.

Underlying assumptions are the core beliefs that guide individual behavior (Schein,

2010). For example, one of my underlying assumptions is all Hawaiians are ‘ohana, therefore

we have a kuleana to take care of each other as such. As Kezar (2012) notes, however,

underlying assumptions are “the most intangible and hidden aspects of culture” (p. 152).

Therefore, such assumptions are not often talked about and are thus difficult to address. As

such, I expected my colleagues to approach students the same way that I did in order to

create a more Hawaiian-centered environment. However, because underlying assumptions

are not readily discussed, there were few opportunities for me to challenge their values and

behaviors and explain my own.

Though all three aspects of culture, including artifacts, espoused values, and

underlying assumptions (Schein, 2010) are important and all three need to be impacted in

order for transformation to occur, underlying assumptions are key (Kezar, 2012). When

underlying assumptions are challenged, discussed, and changed, then behavior will change,

aiding in the transformation of the campus culture. The emphasis on underlying assumptions

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was particularly helpful in guiding my thinking and analysis because it illuminated the issue

of different individuals in a given campus having very different types of deep-rooted beliefs,

which ultimately guide their behavior. Thinking about the various underlying assumptions

individuals hold helped me to realize the complexity of transforming the UH Mānoa campus

culture.

Kezar’s analysis of shared leadership styles. In exploring different types of leadership

to create transformational change across the campus, Kezar (2012) highlights several types of

shared leadership styles, including hierarchical, bottom-up, and convergent. Hierarchical

leadership is the situation in which executive leaders, such as presidents, work with their

network of provosts and deans across the campus. Bottom-up leadership is the situation in

which people work together to make change but the effort is not guided or coordinated by

executive administration. Convergent leadership is different from hierarchical and bottom-up

leadership in that it is a model by which executive administration works collectively with

other faculty and staff across the campus to “recreate campus culture” (Kezar, 2012, p. 155).

These styles of shared leadership were of particular interest to me as I learned about the

different processes of leadership and transformation at UH Mānoa over time.

Indigenous-Centered Frameworks

In addition to analyzing culture, leadership, and transformation through mainstream

Western lenses, there were frameworks focused on Indigenous peoples that also illuminated

points of interest. In particular, critical Indigenous theory (Denzin & Lincoln, 2008) as well as

survivance (Vizenor, 2008) were helpful to me as starting points. Later in the research, the

‘a‘ali‘i kū makani framework became central to my framing and analysis.

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Critical Indigenous theory. According to Denzin and Lincoln (2008), critical

Indigenous theory (CIT) “begins with the concerns of Indigenous peoples” and “must represent

Indigenous peoples honestly, without distortion or stereotype” (p. 2). Therefore, using CIT

provided me the space to focus on the authentic voices and stories of Indigenous peoples,

specifically Native Hawaiians in this case, as vital sources of knowledge regarding campus

culture transformation. Furthermore, CIT offered a platform for me to ground this work in my

Hawaiian ontology. Denzin and Lincoln argue, “…there is a pressing need to decolonize and

deconstruct those structures within the Western academy that privilege Western knowledge

systems and their epistemologies” (p. 4). Using my Hawaiian ontology as the guiding framework

is a first step towards deconstructing such Western structures.

Survivance. Central to the covenants of CIT, with its attention and focus on Indigenous

peoples and their stories, is the concept of survivance, a term coined by Dr. Gerald Vizenor,

Anishinabe activist, scholar, and writer. Vizenor (2008) describes survivance as an “active

presence” (p. 1) of Indigenous peoples in the world today. Vizenor says survivance is “Found in

spirit, cast of mind, and moral courage” (p. 1). It is the “continuance of stories” (Vizenor, 2008,

p. 1). Survivance is a state of being in which we, as Indigenous peoples, “reject being the victim”

(Vizenor, 2008, p. 1). Rather than allowing the stories of colonization and victimization to define

us, survivance suggests that we move beyond it and focus on the amazing people we are and the

tremendous things we do. Dr. Graham Smith of Aotearoa (2011) reminds us that making this

shift and recognizing our strengths is an important step in the process of being self-determining.

Hence, survivance was a framework that illuminated the spirit, energy, and work of each of the

women in my study.

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‘A‘ali‘i kū makani framework. I utilized survivance as a framework through two-thirds

of my research process. Then a Hawaiian framework revealed itself to me, resembling

survivance, but grounded and derived from a Hawaiian knowledge base.30 I call this the ‘‘a‘ali‘i

kū makani framework,’ informed by what I know about the ‘a‘ali‘i plant and also by the chant

Māewa i ka hao mai a ka makani by Kainani Kahaunaele (1997).31

Figure 1.2. ‘A‘ali‘i Tree Blowing in the Wind.32 Figure 1.3. ‘A‘ali‘i Cluster.33

The ‘a‘ali‘i plant is often known by the ‘ōlelo no‘eau,34 “He ‘a‘ali‘i kū makani mai au,

‘a‘ohe makani nāna e kūla‘i. I am the wind withstanding ‘a‘ali‘i. No gale can push me over”

(Pukui, 1983, p. 60). This ‘ōlelo no‘eau is further described by Pukui (1983), “A boast meaning

ʻI can hold my own even in the face of difficulties.’ The ‘a‘ali‘i bush can stand the worst of

gales, twisting and bending but seldom breaking off or falling over” (p. 60). As such, the ‘a‘ali‘i

has long been used as a Hawaiian metaphor for strength, resiliency, flexibility, and I would like

to add, survivance. Viewing each of the women in my study not only though the frame of

survivance but also through the frame of the ‘a‘ali‘i illuminated many things for me. Because of

my familiarity to the ‘a‘ali‘i as both a plant and a metaphor, utilizing it allowed me to get even

closer to the women’s stories and make sense of their many lessons.

30 I explain the process of realizing this framework in Chapter Two. 31 See Appendix B for the chant and translation. 32 Photo courtesy of my hula sister, Sylvia Plemer. 33 Photo courtesy of my hula sister, ‘Ānela Iwane. 34 ‘Ōlelo no‘eau: Proverb or wise saying (Pukui, 1983).

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Kahaunaele’s (1997) chant, Māewa i ka hao mai a ka makani, skillfully weaves together

the elements, the environments, and the genealogies, that both feed and challenge the ‘a‘ali‘i.

Therefore, the chant becomes the perfect frame in which to understand the breadth and depth of

the women’s’ experiences through their mo‘olelo and mo‘okū‘auhau. As the chant describes, the

‘a‘ali‘i begins as a hua ‘a‘ali‘i, a seed. Through the gusts of wind, the seeds are scattered and

distributed. By the downpour of rain, the seeds become swollen and sprout. Then the sun shines

down and nourishes the blossom until the ‘a‘ali‘i becomes strong and abundant.

These components of the life cycle are the genealogies, people, critical events and

experiences that make the women in this study strong; that motivate them to get up everyday and

continue to do the transformational work they do both in the academy and in the community.

Some of the conditions are indeed harsh and overwhelming. Sometimes the ‘a‘ali‘i must survive

amongst high winds or periods of drought. But these very conditions are what make the ‘a‘ali‘i

so admirable and so powerful. Therefore, the ‘a‘ali‘i kū makani framework helped me to explore

the resiliency and survivance in each woman’s story and also the lifecycles that shape them to be

transformational leaders.

Ka Haku Mo‘olelo ‘Ana – An Overview of the Chapters

I grew up knowing the Hawaiian term for author as ‘haku puke’35 or ‘haku mo‘olelo’.36

When I got older and learned how to make lei, I realized that the term ‘haku’ also refers to

‘braid’ as in the term ‘haku lei’ which is a specific style of lei making (and also can be the term

for the lei maker him/herself) in which different flowers and ferns are braided together to create a

beautiful lei. Similarly, as I wrote this dissertation, I realized that I had become a haku mo‘olelo

35 Haku puke: usually translated as ʻbook author.’ 36 Haku mo‘olelo: usually translated as ʻstory author.’

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as I carefully learned and braided together the many stories that present some insight into how

UHM can transform into a Hawaiian place of learning.

Therefore, in this first chapter, He Ho‘olauna – An Introduction, I started with my

mo‘olelo and a recognition of some of the significant mo‘okū‘auhau of which I am a part. I

recounted them in an effort to demonstrate my kuleana – as my responsibilities, motivations, and

privileges – to be a storyteller; a weaver of the mo‘olelo related to UH Mānoa and its goal of

becoming a Hawaiian place of learning. In the following chapters, as a haku lei would do, I

carefully place and present each element of this larger story in five separate chapters with the

goal that by the last chapter, the reader will have a complete picture, an adorning lei to take with

them, reminding them of crucial next steps for UHM and Hawai‘i.

In Chapter Two, Ke Kuleana a ka Haumāna – Intentional Methodologies, I detail the

methodologies central to this research. Specifically, I illuminate three Hawaiian methodologies:

‘ohana and mo‘okū‘auhau connections, nānā a ho‘olohe mua (observe first), and mo‘olelo aku,

mo‘olelo mai (sharing stories). In addition, I explain how these methodologies came to life

through the various methods I employed.

In Chapter Three, ‘O Mānoa He ‘Āina Momona – Mānoa’s Potential as a Life Giving

Source, I examine UHM from many perspectives, including historical contexts of Mānoa as an

abundant land and the beginning years of UHM as an institution. I also explore UHM in its

contemporary contexts, including the many international as well as local documents that shape

its current and future roles as well as the artifacts that speak to its current state with relation to

being a Hawaiian place of learning.

In Chapters Four and Five, I highlight the stories of the female leaders who are central to

this dissertation. Chapter Four, Nā ‘A‘ali‘i Kū Makani – Stories of Survivance, is a presentation

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of the individual stories of each of the seven women I met with individually. Chapter Five is a

glimpse into the ‘aha wahine (group discussion). During this gathering, the women further

shared their stories, in particular they focused on the different elements that shaped them to

become educational leaders and how they use those experiences to shape future leaders to

continue the work of transforming spaces into Hawaiian places of learning.

Chapter Six, No ke Aloha o ka Lāhui Hawai‘i – Focused Intentionality, is my

presentation of a completed haku lei. It is my sense making based on my observations of

listening, watching, reading, thinking and reflecting, and dialoguing. I present and explain two

frameworks that resulted from this research, namely the ‘a‘ali‘i kū makani and hō‘ālani

frameworks. I detail how these frameworks inform the processes of transforming UHM into a

Hawaiian place of learning.

In Chapter Seven, Ka Ho‘okō Kuleana – Implications and Recommendations for Future

Work, I employ the ‘a‘ali‘i kū makani and hō‘ālani frameworks. Using the frameworks, inspired

by the mo‘olelo of the women in this study, I make recommendations for how UHM can begin to

transform into a Hawaiian place of learning by transforming institutional practices, leadership,

and policy. Finally, I explain how the women’s stories and the frameworks have transformed me

as an educational leader and mother.

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CHAPTER 2

KE KULEANA A KA HAUMĀNA – INTENTIONAL METHODOLOGIES

The purpose of this study was to explore the evolution and pockets of transformation

at the University of Hawai‘i at Mānoa – and in some of its surrounding communities – into

Hawaiian places of learning, into educational kīpuka (Goodyear-Ka‘ōpua, 2013). Through

such exploration, I was interested in how we might glean lessons from the transformation of

individual educational kīpuka to inform the transformation of UH Mānoa into a Hawaiian

place of learning. Specifically I explored UHM’s mo‘okū‘auhau through its various artifacts

and espoused values (Schein, 2010) as well as through the experiences of eight

intergenerational Native Hawaiian women who have witnessed and engaged in these

transformations.

The question becomes, therefore, how does one study this topic in an appropriate manner?

What are the methodologies, and hence the methods, that will best suit the purpose at hand? I

find the answer in exploring and explaining what I know as ‘ke kuleana a ka haumāna’37 or the

appropriate and intentional behavior and methodologies of the student learner.

Defining Methodology

According to The Greenwood Dictionary of Education (Collins III & O’Brien, 2003), the

term ʻmethodology’ is defined as, “The application of principles, practices, and procedures to a

problem, project, course of study, or given discipline” (p. 220). Similarly, Tuhiwai Smith (2012)

states, “Methodology in its simplest definition generally refers to the theory of method, or the

37 Haumāna: “Student, pupil, apprentice, recruit” (Pukui & Elbert, 1986, p. 61). In these definitions, it is clear that the haumāna is a learner and maintains the role of kaikaina in terms of the relationship between the haumāna and the kumu (the teacher/source of knowledge). Therefore, haumāna is much more than simply a ‘student.’ It is an important learning relationship embedded in the role of kaikaina.

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approach or technique being taken, or the reasoning for selecting a set of methods” (p. ix.)

Tuhiwai Smith then specifies:

Indigenous methodologies tend to approach cultural protocols, values and behaviours as an

integral part of methodology. They are ʻfactors’ to be built into research explicitly, to be

thought about reflexively, to be declared openly as part of the research design, to be

discussed as part of the final results of a study and to be disseminated back to the people in

culturally appropriate ways and in a language that can be understood. (pp. 15-16)

Taking into account the definitions above, I have thought long and hard about what methodology

means to me and where I have been exposed to such concepts and practices.

Grounding Methodology in Practice

The best way for me to explain the roots of my methodology is to explain the protocol

around entering my hālau hula as a haumāna. Upon arriving at the place where we dance as a

group, the haumāna stand outside of the covered area where we practice. We prepare ourselves

quiety. We put on our pā‘ū hula38 and gather as a group. We wait for our kumu to prepare

himself under the covered area where we will dance. When he is settled and ready for us, we

request entry. Our request is in the form of a chant. We chant to request entry and also to

demonstrate to our kumu that we are prepared to enter and learn. This protocol is key for many

reasons.

First, as Kumu Hula Ho‘oulu Cambra taught my kumu, Kumu Hula Manu Boyd, the chant

we use to ask permission to enter, Kūnihi ka mauna, acknowledges hierarchy. It is the password

to enter into hālau. Specifically, it reminds us, as haumāna, that we are indeed the kaikaina.

38 Pā‘ū hula: “Any kind of dance skirt” [for hula] (Pukui & Elbert, 1986, p. 320).

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Our role, therefore, is to care for our kumu and the knowledge he shares with us by learning it

well. As a haumāna and kaikaina, we are also reminded that our teacher, who is identified by the

title ʻkumu’ is literally our “foundation and source of knowledge” (Pukui & Elbert, 1986, p.

182). We recognize his immense knowledge in the realm of hula, which includes not only dance

and song but also protocols, ancestral knowledge, history of gods and chiefs, as well as plants,

birds, weaving, carving and many other skills necessary in the hula world. We recognize that we

have much to learn from him and that if we are appropriately prepared, he will share some of his

knowledge with us. Therefore, we learn humility (M. Hind, personal communication, April 26,

2013).

Second, in this protocol of requesting entrance to learn, we recognize our kuleana to provide

a ho‘okupu. Pukui and Elbert (1986) describe ho‘okupu as a “tribute...ceremonial gift-giving to a

chief as a sign of honor and respect...” (p. 186). In short, ho‘okupu is an offering to show respect

and appreciation for the gift of knowledge being requested. In this context, our ho‘okupu is our

chant; it is the properly chanted words and the smooth melody of our voice (M. Boyd, personal

communication, ongoing).39 When we go to the volcano on Hawai‘i island to pay tribute to Tutu

Pele, our ho‘okupu usually includes chant, hula, as well as lei40 we throw into the crater.

Whatever the ho‘okupu may be, through our protocol in hula, we are reminded that ho‘okupu is

essential when requesting something and honoring the intelligence and mana41 of a particular

entity. Furthermore, ho‘okupu also translates to “sprout, cause growth” (Pukui & Elbert, 1986p.

39 Manu Boyd is my kumu hula. He graduated as a kumu hula in the hula tradition of ‘ūniki – “graduation exercises, as for hula, lua fighting, and other ancient arts” (Pukui & Elbert, 1986, p. 372) – from Robert Uluwehi Cazimero. 40 Lei: Lei are flower garlands either braided, tied, or strung together (my description). 41 Mana: Mana is often translated as ʻpower.’ But it is much more than that. Pukui and Elbert describe mana as “supernatural or divine power...miraculous power...authority, authorization, privilege...” (p. 235). More on ‘mana’ in Chapter Six.

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186). Therefore, we give our ho‘okupu an an offering so that we may be gifted back the blessing

of grwoth.

When our kumu chants back to us accepting our ho‘okupu and welcoming us into the space

to learn, we gather and then chant together. There are prayers we do to request knowledge and

insipriation from our kūpuna and other chants we do to ground us in the place and space we are

in. In these moments, we again recognize that there is mana and knowledge around all of us from

which we can learn. We recognize the many genealogies and elements that feed us and give us

life (Kanahele, 2011 ).

When we begin to dance, it is quiet. Only our kumu speaks or chants or sings with the

accompaniment of his ipu,42 pahu,43 ‘ukulele, guitar, or piano. We listen and dance. When he

teaches us a new hula, we first watch. When he teaches us a new chant or song, we first listen.

This is where the ‘ōlelo no‘eau “Nānā ka maka; ho‘olohe ka pepeiao; pa‘a ka waha”44 (Pukui,

1983, p. 248) and “I ka nānā nō a ‘ike”45 (Pukui, 1983, p. 129) come to life. These ‘ōlelo no‘eau

are reminders from our kūpuna about the power of first carefully observing with our senses.

In hula, after we observe, we ho‘opili; we mimic and copy our kumu’s movements or vocal

sounds. If we are making a lei, we do as he does. This practice is captured in the ‘ōlelo no‘eau,

“Ma ka hana ka ‘ike” (Pukui, 1983, p. 227). This is often translated to “By working [or doing],

one learns” (Pukui, 1983, p. 227). Indeed, as we begin to mimic our kumu’s movements or

sounds and thus dance and chant, we fully immerse ourself in the learning process. Similarly, as

we begin to actually weave our lei, we learn the art of lei making. Therefore, we first learn by

observing, and then by engaging in the practice.

42 Ipu: “Dance drum made of gourds” (Pukui & Elbert, 1986, p. 103). 43 Pahu: “Hula drum” (Pukui & Elbert, 1986, p. 301). 44 This is translated to: “Observe with the eyes; listen with the ears; shut the mouth. Thus one learns” (Pukui, 1983, p. 248). 45 This is translated to: “By observing, one learns” (Pukui, 1983, p. 129).

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As we continue to dance or chant or weave a lei, we internalize the practice. If we do it well,

then our kumu recognizes our skill and level of proficiency. By engaging in the practice, our

kumu can observe us and determine if we have been good haumāna, good learners. The better we

become not only in our dancing and chanting, but also in our lei making and other related

responsibilities and skills in hula, our kumu might bestow upon us more kuleana. This kuleana

might include taking on more work for a certain gathering or making decisions reserved only for

those whom he deems as alaka‘i.46 In these special relationships, conversations begin. He may

engage an alaka‘i in a conversation in which the alaka‘i’s opinion is requested. Within these

instances, it might become appropriate for the haumāna to ask our kumu a question. This is the

careful art of mo‘olelo aku, mo‘olelo mai.47 But we always must be aware and careful with our

question, as we never want to seem as though we are questioning. In addition, we always want to

make sure our question is warranted; that the answer has not already been taught. If we ask a

question we should already know the answer to, the we reveal our lack of observational skills.

Hence, these are some of the protocols for learning in my hālau. They are based on the same

principles described in Chapter One with regards to mo‘okū‘auhau, our role as a kaikua‘ana or

kaikaina, and the kuleana we are assigned and engage in in our given roles.

Hula is Life

My kumu, Manu Boyd, often reminds us what Aunty Maiki Aiu Lake, the kumu of my

kumu’s kumu, used to say: “Hula is the art of Hawaiian dance; it expresses all that we hear, see,

smell, taste, touch and feel. Hula is life.” Indeed, being a hula dancer, a learner in a hālau hula,

has provided me a methodology for being a learner in all areas of my life, including my

46 Alaka‘i: In this context, alaka‘i refers to a leader who is deemed so by the kumu. In essence, an alaka‘i in hula is someone who has earned the role of taking on more kuleana to help the kumu. 47 This loosely translates to sharing stories and receiving stories (ie. Conversational storytelling).

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academic and scholarly work in the university. Therefore, I apply the lessons and methodologies

from hula in this dissertation research.

My Approach to This Learning

At the core of my ontology and thus my methodology are my given roles. First,

I am part of a larger ‘ohana and mo‘okū‘auhau. My role as a kaikaina to the women

and to UHM is significant. As such, I recognize my role as a learner, with much to

acquire from the stories and genealogies of UH Mānoa and also the female leaders.

Naturally, therefore, I approached this learning the way I have been trained to

approach learning as a hula dancer and learner in a hālau hula.

The Methodology of ‘Ohana and Mo‘okū‘auhau Connections

My research followed the mo‘olelo and experiences of eight Native Hawaiian women

educational leaders. Many researchers would view each woman as a single case. According to

Jones, Torres, and Arminio (2006), “Implicit in the selection of case study methodology is the

assumption that there is something significant that can be learned from a single case” (p. 53).

Indeed, each woman shared unique stories, experiences, and perspectives about education and

transformation. Another reason many would view each of my participants as a single study is

because “…case study research involves the study of an issue explored through one or more

cases within a bounded system (i.e., a setting, a context)” (Creswell, 2007, p. 73). Certainly, each

woman grew up, and now lives and works, in different places. In addition, the context for their

work has varied. For these reasons, a general research perspective would view my research as a

multiple-case study.

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Throughout the process of my research, however, I was reminded that we, myself as the

learner along with the educational leaders in this study, are part of a larger ‘ohana and

mo‘okū‘auhau. Their stories and experiences illuminated the interconnectedness between each

other, with the university, with me, and also with our communities. Though each leader grew

up in a different location and now works and lives in different areas, their commitment to

social justice and to their lāhui connect them. Further, sometimes conscious of it and other

times not, the work each of them has been involved in builds upon the work of the next.

Therefore, the ʻmethodology of ‘ohana and mo‘okū‘auhau connectionsʻ was a guiding

approach and se of principles for this research.

The Methodology of Nānā a Ho‘olohe Mua

When we learn to dance hula, we watch and listen first. It is not because speaking and

doing are not important, but because if we are speaking and doing when the kumu is teaching,

we may not hear or see important parts of the lesson. In hula we learn that there is a time to

speak and a time to be quiet and that there are reasons for each. Therefore, I carried the

methodology of ʻnānā a ho‘olohe mua’ – to first observe by using all our senses – into my

learning role in this research. In this sense, observation became more than a method, rather it is

a methodology. As The Greenwood Dictionary of Education (Collins III & O’Brien, 2003)

reminds us, methodology “...is the application of principles...” (p. 220). As such, it is the

principle of nānā a ho‘olohe mua, to pay close attention through observation, because there is

much to be learned in those quiet moments.

As I reflected on my engagement with each of the educational leaders who guided this

research, I realized that I have spent years observing them. Some I have known my entire life.

Others I have known for eight years or more. In each relationship, however, I have spent time

36

observing them as teachers, leaders, mothers, grandmothers, partners, and friends. I have

known them in their homes, their work places, and in their communities. This time observing

them in their different roles allowed me to build relationships with them, reflect about their

work, and ultimately replicate what they do in my own life. Further, my time with them

allowed them to observe me and watch me grow over the years. Therefore, nānā a ho‘olohe

mua is a way to foster relationships, as well as to teach and learn together.

The Methodology of Mo‘olelo Aku, Mo‘olelo Mai

The focus of this dissertation was on the mo‘olelo of Native Hawaiian female

educational leaders. Mo‘olelo is often translated to ʻstory’ or ‘narrative.’ For these reasons

narrative methodology might seem like a good fit. According to Merriam (2009), narrative

analysis, as a research methodology, refers to learning from the first-person stories of

participants. I did rely heavily on the stories each of the leaders shared with me. Further, Dunbar

(2008) states, “…storytelling is a sacred act shared from the heart that relives/recounts their

[indigenous peoples] history and culture. It is their story – stories that bring back life” (p. 96). In

this statement, Dunbar captures a sense of mo‘olelo, though not completely.

Mo‘olelo. In my academic scholarship both within the University and also in Hawaiian

learning contexts such as in my hālau hula and Papakū Makawalu workshops,48 I have looked

deeper into the meanings of words and concepts common to me as a child, such as ʻmo‘olelo.’

As trained and encouraged in Papakū Makawalu, I explored the word ‘mo‘olelo’ from different

points of view, with different sets of eyes. With the help of the Hawaiian Dictionary (Pukui &

48 Papakū Makawalu: This is an initiative of the Edith Kanaka‘ole Foundation. Their website describes it: “Papakū Makawalu is the ability of our kupuna to categorize and organize our natural world and all systems of existence within the universe. Papakū Makawalu is the foundation to understanding, knowing, acknowledging, becoming involved with, but most importantly, becoming the experts of the systems of this natural world” (“Papakū Makawalu,” 2014, p. 1).

37

Elbert, 1986), I have come to understand mo‘olelo to derive from two words. The first is mo‘o,

which is translated as “succession, series, especially a genealogical line, lineage” (p. 253). It has

also been explained to me as each vertebra connecting the spine together. The second word,

‘ōlelo, translates into English as “language, speech, word, statement, utterance; to speak, say,

converse” (p. 284). Furthermore, Pukui (1983) transcribed a famous Hawaiian proverb, “I ka

‘ōlelo nō ke ola, i ka ‘ōlelo nō ka make” (p. 129). Translated literally, this means that in speech

there is life and in speech there is death (Pukui, 1983, p. 129). Therefore, not only do Hawaiians

place a heavy importance on mo‘olelo, but specifically mo‘olelo as they are spoken and told,

because of the power and weight of the spoken word in Hawaiian society. Because Hawaiian

language was a completely oral language until the mid 1800s (Benham & Heck, 1998) it makes

sense that ‘ōlelo was given so much emphasis and power, as the livelihood of the Hawaiian

people, our entire knowledge system, depended on the continuance of mo‘olelo.

Therefore, mo‘olelo does not translate well into English. ‘Narrative’ simply will not do.

What I learn through the combination of mo‘o and ‘ōlelo is that mo‘olelo are integral parts of

Hawaiian society. It is through mo‘olelo that Hawaiian traditions live on and also how

Hawaiians trace their connections to their ancestors. Furthermore, it is through mo‘olelo that

Hawaiians make connections in our world today.

Mo‘olelo do not exist alone, however. The word itself tells us that it comes to life when

spoken. Therefore, mo‘olelo aku49 refers to the sharing of mo‘olelo with another. Mo‘olelo mai50

refers to receiving a story. Hence, the methodology of mo‘olelo aku, mo‘olelo mai is the sharing

– giving and receiving – of stories. The methodology emphasizes the connections made and

49 Aku: “Expressing direction away from the speaker” (Pukui & Elbert, 1986, p. 15) 50 Mai: “Towards the speaker, this way” (Pukui & Elbert, 1986, p. 220).

38

preserved through mo‘olelo and the power of sharing those mo‘olelo with each other by listening

and hearing, internalizing, learning, and then re-telling with accuracy.

The significance of interconnectivity and exchange in mo‘olelo aku and mo‘olelo mai are

also illuminated in Freire’s (1993) dialogical process. According to Freire (Freire & Macedo,

1995):

In order to understand the meaning of the dialogical practice, we have to put aside the

simplistic understanding of dialogue as a mere technique…dialogue characterizes an

epistemological relationship…dialogue is a way of knowing and should never be viewed

as a mere tactic to involve students in a particular task. We have to make this point very

clear. I engage in dialogue not necessarily because I like the person. I engage in dialogue

because I recognize the social and not merely the individualistic character of the process

of knowing. In this sense, dialogue presents itself as an indispensible component of the

process of both learning and knowing. (p. 379)

Therefore, as Freire points out, the interchange of mo‘olelo aku, mo‘olelo mai is key in the

interdependent processes of learning and teaching that characterize this methodology and are

demonstrated in Chapters 4 and 5.

Ma ka Hana ka ‘Ike – Engaging the Methodologies

The theoretical concepts of my methodologies are valuable. However, they are

meaningless without application. “Ma ka hana ka ‘ike” (Pukui, 1983, p. 227), while usually

understood as “By working one learns” (Pukui, 1983, p. 227), also speaks to showing what one

knows by engaging in the practice. Therefore, my explicit explanation of how I applied the

methodologies is important.

39

Nā Kumu – The Sources of the Stories

My relationships and experiences with each of the Native Hawaiian female

educational leaders guided me to them. Each of them are kumu to me, as sources of

physical life as well as inspiration, knowledge, and motivation.51

When I first began this study, I described my process for engaging with my kumu as

ʻpurposeful maximal sampling’ (Creswell, 2007). I wrote:

According to Creswell “I prefer to select cases that show different perspectives on the

problem, process, or event I want to portray (p. 75). I will use the method Creswell is

referring to, purposeful maximal sampling, to select Native Hawaiian women to

participate who have a variation in stories and backgrounds. I will begin the study by

selecting Native Hawaiian women through criterion-based sampling (Patton, 1990).

According to Patton (1990), “The point of criterion sampling is to be sure to

understand cases that are likely to be information-rich because they may reveal major

system weaknesses that become targets of opportunity for program or system

improvement” (pp. 176-177). Indeed, the women I select will have stories and

experiences that provide lessons for progress in UHM’s goal to become a Hawaiian

place of learning.

There are some worthy points here. Each of the kumu indeed shared with me mo‘olelo that

were information-rich, revealing points of tension, weakness, strength, and resiliency beyond

my imagination (Patton, 1990). Their mo‘olelo also came from many perspectives and varied

experiences (Creswell, 2007).

Over the course of my research, however, as I presented and wrote about portions of

51 For these reasons, I refer to each of the women through the remainder of this dissertation as ʻkumu.’

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my research, I had the opportunity to reflect on this notion of ʻparticipant selection’ that I

wrote about previously. Through these opportunities of reflection, I realized that I did not

ʻselect’ my ʻparticipants.’ First, they are not participants. That term does not qualify our

relationships. They are my kumu. They are sources of light and teachers of many things. I am

their haumāna. Second, I did not select them. In many ways, they selected me when, over

time, they bestowed upon me responsibilities for me to carry forward.52 My recognition of

that invitation and heightened kuleana within each of my relationships with them helped me

to realize the appropriateness of engaging with them in conversations around this research

topic.

With that said, there are elements in my relationships with each kumu that lent

themselves nicely to explicit criterion. First, each kumu is of Native Hawaiian ancestry. In

line with critical Indigenous theory (Denzin & Lincoln, 2008) and survivance (Vizenor,

2008), I wanted to focus on the stories and experiences of the Indigenous peoples of Hawai‘i

because their voices are central as the foundational knowledge keepers of this place. Second,

all the kumu are female. This is congruent with the concept of kaikua‘ana and kaikaina in that

information is passed down from the elder sibling to the younger sibling of the same sex

(Pukui, Haertig, & Lee, 1971). Because I am female, it was appropriate for me to seek

knowledge from other females. On another note, Native Hawaiian women are the ones who

have lead much of the transformational work in education in Hawai‘i. Furthermore, in the

Hawaiian world, Haumea, the principal Hawaiian goddess, is the source of all knowledge, and

she is reborn in every Hawaiian woman (Beckwith, 1951; Kame‘eleihiwa, 1999;

Lili‘uokalani, 1897). Therefore, it was appropriate to seek knowledge from Hawaiian women

52 I explain more about this process in Chapter Four when I introduce each of the kumu through their individual stories.

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because they are the keepers of knowledge. Third, as explained previously, I have strong

relationships with each of the kumu. In connecting with my mo‘okū‘auhau, it was important

for me to connect with women who are in the same genealogy as me.53 If I did not have a

relationship with them or did not share mo‘okū‘auhau with them, it would have been

considered maha‘oi, or rude,54 to inquire of their stories. Fourth, each of the women are

Native Hawaiian educational leaders in their field. This was an important criterion because as

such leaders, the women have all been engaged with UHM and education in general on many

different levels and were able to share very rich stories and experiences.

Number of participants. When I first began my study, I planned to invites five kumu

into these conversations and research journey with me. Assuming the women accepted my

humble invitation, four of the five women would be directly affiliated with UH Mānoa. The fifth

woman would be a community leader in education. I planned it this way because I had four

women from UHM specifically in mind and one who was not in the university. Moreover, I

started this research assuming that the most important stories would come from those directly

invovled with UH Mānoa. To be inclusive, however, I wanted to invite one community voice. I

thought that the community perspective was necessary because it is the community whom the

university is supposed to serve (“About UH Manoa,” 2012). In addition the kumu from the

community would provide perspectives of what those within the academy may not see or

experience. In retrospect, it was very university-centric of me to think that one community voice

would suffice. This point of view demonstrates a bias that I held and was not aware of (Jones et

al., 2006).

53 I further explain my genealogical connections to each kumu in Chapter Four. 54 This business of being maha‘oi or rude is extremely important in the Hawaiian community and considered a major faux pas.

42

In the beginning stages of my research I approached the original five women whom I

planned to meet with for this study. Three of the kumu directly involved with UHM agreed to

help guide this research journey. The fourth UHM kumu, for family reasons, was unable to

commit time to meet with me individually but was able to join a group conversation later on

in the research. When I met with the fifth kumu for the first time, the woman whom I planned

would be the community voice, she really expanded my views and challenged my biases. She

shared with me so many stories and perspectives that I did not know existed about UHM.

Consequently, I realized I needed more community voices. Therefore, I reflected on

relationships I had with other kumu in the community and three more kumu were invited into

this journey. All of them agreed. Thus, in the end, the kumu whose individual stories guided

this research include three who are still directly invovled with UHM, three who have been

directly invovled with UHM in the past but now occupy different roles in the community, as

well as one woman who has neither been a student nor an employee at UH Mānoa. Therefore,

a total of seven individual stories were central to this research.

Creating the Space for Storytelling

There were several steps involved in creating the safe space (Wheatley, 2009) for my

kumu to share their stories. Even though I have strong relationships with each of these kumu, I

never assumed that it was my natural right to ask them questions or record their stories. It is a

delicate thing to approach a kumu, as described in my hula experiences, and I wanted to make

sure that my approach showed the appropriate care required of a haumāna and kaikaina.

Leading up to the initial conversations for the purposes of this research, I made sure that

each kumu was aware of my doctoral work. When we met at different kinds of social or

professional gatherings or bumped into each other at school or at the grocery store, we would

43

always catch up on the latest news in each of our lives. We would often share stories of our

families and also our most recent projects. For the past five years, my main project has been my

doctoral work. They would ask how I was progressing, so I always had the opportunity to share

some of my work with them. Therefore, when it came time to approach each kumu more

formally about this research, they already had at least a vague idea of what I was doing. It was

not completely foreign to them.

Contacting my kumu. After much reflection on the kumu I should approach to share

stories for this study, I began to contact them. The first thing I did with each kumu was send

them an email with a more detailed description of what my research was covering.55 In that email

I asked that if they were interested in my project and wanted to find out more, would they be

willing to meet with me in person to talk more about it. My main reason for emailing them rather

than calling or setting up appointments in person was to respect their time. These kumu are some

of the busiest people I know and I did not want to detract from their own priorities and

schedules.

I was very pleased that, except for one kumu who had family commitments, each woman

agreed to meet with me in person to further discuss the project.56 Because of my relationships

with each of them and their own work in the field of Hawaiian education, they were delighted to

meet on this subject. My goal for this initial conversation on the research was to feel out their

overall perceptions of the project and to clarify any questions they might have had. Though each

conversation was a little different, all those elements were covered. Some kumu had questions

55 See Appendix C for an example of this email. 56 It is important and relevant to note that the kumu who was unable to meet with me personally called me several times to share her ideas and reflections with me and encouraged me to puruse this topic. These conversations shed light on important things to consider in my conversations with the other women. I am grateful for these conversations with this particular kumu.

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about the project, others started telling me stories with regards to their experiences on the topic. I

did not record any of these initial meetings. Instead it was a time for me to introduce the project

and listen to the questions, concerns, and other thoughts the women had.

During these initial conversations in which each of the women expressed their interest

and trust in me to share their stories, we planned a date for our first focused conversation. I

always planned for a two-hour time period unless the kumu wanted otherwise. I also provided

them a binder with the project description, the questions I planned to ask them, and the consent

form.

Consent forms. With regard to consent forms, I always treaded carefully.57 As Tuhiwai

Smith (2012) reminds us,

…the term ʻresearch’ is inextricably linked to European imperialism and colonialism.

The word itself, ʻresearch,’ is probably one of the dirtiest words in the indigenous world’s

vocabulary. When mentioned in many indigenous contexts, it stirs up silence, it conjures

up bad memories, it raises a smile that is knowing and distrustful. (p. 1)

I myself understand this mistrust first-hand, having been exploited by researchers on many

occasions during my lifetime. Somehow, consent forms always feel like the ultimate symbol of

presumptuous and arrogant research behavior, pretending as though a single form of promises

and signatures ensures trust and safety of those sharing their precious stories, wisdom, and

knowledge with the world. To the contrary, especially in Indigenous communities, such research

with accompanying consent forms (if there even is one) often produces long-lasting damaging

effects for those being researched (Tuhiwai Smith, 2012).

57 See Appendix D for an example of the consent form.

45

Especially with the group of women who guided this dissertation journey, who have first-

hand experience with detrimental research and researchers, I wanted to make sure that my

engagement of any such consent form was approached appropriately.58 If consent forms are

about trust and safeguarding (Tuhiwai Smith, 2012; University of Hawai‘i at Manoa, n.d.), then

through my worldview, that building of trust happens through understanding my role as a

kaikaina and fulfilling my responsibility to mālama my kaikua‘ana. Within this particular

context, fulfilling my kuleana that means taking the time to foster the relationship, whether it be

spending time with their families, helping out when appropriate, talking story and catching up, or

anything else that demonstrates my ultimate aloha and commitment to them because of our

relationship, rather than some type of profit I seek to gain from their moʻolelo (which is the

perspective of many researchers we have encountered).

Tuhiwai Smith (2012) points out, “Asking directly for consent to interview can also be

interpreted as quite rude behaviour in some cultures” (p. 137). Therefore, I never brought out or

talked about the consent form at the beginning of any of my meetings with my kumu. Instead, I

included the consent form in the three-ring binder I provided them, which also included the

interview questions and overall description of the project. Each section of the binder was divided

by a labeled divider, so it was clear that a consent form was include because of the label

ʻConsent Form.’ During my initial conversation with each kumu (described below), usually

towards the end of our time together, I mentioned the consent form casually and asked that they

review it at their convenience. I followed up by saying that we could discuss the form more at a

later date when they wanted to. They usually responded with something like, “Don’t worry baby,

58 I would have rather not had consent forms in this process because of the stigma it carries, but it is a UHM requirement through the Institutional Review Board (IRB).

46

I trust you. I don’t mind signing it because I know you.” These types of comments meant a lot to

me, as I felt that I had not offended them with the presentation of the form.

Mo‘olelo Aku, Mo‘olelo Mai – Focused Conversations

The individual conversations that I had with the kumu were indeed an exchange of

mo‘olelo and an engagement in the dialogical process (Freire, 1993). Though the goal was to

focus on their mo‘olelo, at times I shared my own mo‘olelo as a way to connect to them, to show

that I was listening, and to encourage more storytelling.

In addition to the concept of mo‘olelo aku, mo‘olelo mai, which focuses on the sharing of

stories and making connections through storytelling, there were also elements of in-depth

interviews (Guion, Diehl, and McDonald, 2006), including open-ended questions, a semi-

structured format, seeking to understand and interpret, as well as a conversational style.

Specifically, Guion et al. (2006) describes the in-depth interview as an “…open-ended,

discovery-oriented method…to deeply explore the respondent’s point of view, feelings, and

perspectives” (p. 1). Guion et al.’s description of in-depth open-ended interviews captures the

focus I gave to the kumu’s stories, their perspectives, and also their feelings. The open-ended

style allowed me the deepest and best understanding of my participants’ experiences through

their own authentic stories. Further, a semi-structured format allowed me, as the weaver of the

stories, to gather additional information from my participants that might not have otherwise been

discovered through direct questioning.

Meeting with the kumu. We always met at a place of convenience for the kumu, which

sometimes meant in their offices, in their homes, or at restaurants. In line with the practice of

ho‘okupu, I always brought food to our meetings or I took them to eat at a restaurant. This was a

very small way I could honor them as their haumāna and mālama them as their kaikaina. In a

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practical sense, I was very aware that these women rarely take the time to eat. They are usually

too busy taking care of the rest of their world. Therefore, they really appreciated when I took

food to their offices, especially. It was usually their first meal of the day.

Though I planned to meet with each of the women three times individually, the open-

ended, conversational style of our meetings allowed for a lot to be discussed. The focus of the

second meeting was to be on each kumu’s values and to discuss how those aligned or not with

UHM’s values.59 However, by the end of my first meeting with each kumu, many of the

elements for that second conversation had already been covered within the first. I also assumed

that more conversations about values would come out the next time we met. Therefore, in the

end, I met with most kumu two times as a means to be mindful of their time and also to refrain

from asking questions they had already spoken to.

During our conversations I took few notes. My focus was always on the kumu and her

mo‘olelo. I wanted to be fully engaged and present with her (Yalom, 2009). I relied on the digital

recorder and wrote down notes usually only to remind me of a question to follow up with if not

answered at some point in her story. Upon leaving our time together, I would turn on my digital

recorder again and reflect out loud as I drove home.60 Within these reflections I spoke not only of

thoughts and questions I had, but also my feelings on what was discussed and my relationship

with the kumu. These reflections were important for me as I crafted their individual stories

presented in Chapter Four.

Transcriptions and printed stories. After each interview, I went home and transcribed

the recordings from my digital recorder. I did most of my transcription late at night after my

59 See Appendix E for the interview protocol. 60 I was often in a hurry to pick up my toddler son from whom ever I was fortunate enough to get to watch him while I spent time with each kumu.

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children were in bed. Because my son was still young and woke up often to nurse on demand, I

did my transcriptions in bed next to him in the dark with only the light of my computer screen

illuminated. Without doubt, this was a slow process. Nevertheless, I persevered. However,

because I wanted to get the two to three hour transcriptions back to each kumu in a timely

fashion, I finally sought help. Therefore, I transcribed some of the transcripts and others were

sent to a trusted professional transcriber. Whether or not I did the transcription personally, after

each transcription was complete, I proofread the entire document again while also listening to the

audio recording. I always found errors in both my transcriptions as well as those from the

professional. I think this is part of natural human error. Because I only wanted to return the best

product to each of my kumu, however, I always proofread with the audio before returning their

stories to them.

After each kumu read their transcriptions, they either sent it back to me with the “Okay”

or had comments and small edits. At that point, I collected the printed transcriptions into binders

and began reading them again. I read them several times, sometimes with the audio and other

times without.

Coding. As I began to read the transcripts, I wrote analytic memos on the left side of the

transcript notes, which was an opportunity for me to reflect, think critically, and ask questions

with regards to the stories (Saldaña, 2013). During this initial phase of transcript analysis, I also

applied In Vivo coding on the right side of the transcripts, in which I coded the actual words of

my kumu (Saldaña, 2013). According to Charmaz (2006), In Vivo Codes “can provide a crucial

check on whether you have grasped what is significant” (p. 57). Indeed, as I employed In Vivo

coding, I was able to clearly see and privilege significant elements from the voices of the kumu. I

also went back a second time and employed values coding, so that I could “…explore cultural

49

values, identity, intrapersonal and interpersonal participant experiences and actions…” (Saldaña,

2013, p. 23). It was important for me to code for values because exploring the values of my

kumu with comparison to those of UHM was central to my research.

Theming. After I employed analytical notes as well as coding, I began to theme the data

(Saldaña, 2013). Some of the initial categories that surfaced regarding key experiences included

being immersed and engaged in a Hawaiian cultural practice, being a mother and/or

grandmother, being overwhelmed and frustrated with UHM at one time or another, having

renewed hope in UHM, and the belief that the work ‘just needed to get done.’ These were some

of the themes that I took with me later into the collective conversation with the women.

After initial theming, I was lead to future themes and finally to the ‘a‘ali‘i kū makani

framework through my own engaged practice of chanting with my children. Having gotten to

know the stories of the kumu very well after memoing, coding, reading, and listening many

times (Saldaña, 2013), the stories became a part of me. I took those stories with me

everywhere I went in my head and in my na‘au. Though the initial themes (Saldaña, 2013)

made some sense to me, they did not fit nicely together in the way I felt they should. I knew I

was not seeing the whole picture. Parts of those themes spoke to my guiding frameworks, but

not in a way that settled well within me.

The reason why I was struggling with the themes was because I was looking at them

through a non-Hawaiian framework, without taking into account my Hawaiian worldview.

Though survivance (Vizenor, 2008) is an incredibly important frame in our journey as

Indigenous peoples to reclaim the stories that define us, throughout my process, I could not

help but think that for me, as a Native Hawaiian researcher, someone who has been privileged

to be raised in my language and culture, a descendent of my many genealogies, there must be

50

something more. I felt a kuleana to dig deeper to find a Hawaiian concept from which I could

draw as a framework for looking at the stories of the kumu, which would lead me to better

understanding and sense-making of the themes. I thought of Indigenous scholars like Dr.

Graham Smith (2003) who argues that Indigenous peoples must move beyond the terms and

processes of decolonization and look to our own traditions and cultures to rediscover what is

innately in us. Similarly, I thought of Dr. Pualani Kanaka‘ole-Kanahele (2012) who reminds

us that our ancestors live within us and that the knowledge and experiences of our ancestors

are passed down generation to generation through our DNA. But opening myself up to this

ancestral knowledge within the scope of a dissertation in a Western academy was sometimes

difficult because I was constantly referring to the Western theory and literature from my

doctoral coursework. Little, if any space, was made for Indigneous knowledge systems during

my academic studies within the academy.

The ‘a‘ali‘i kū makani process. Though struggling with the western hegemonic reality

within the academy, I continued to think about the wisdom of Indigenous scholars like Smith

(2003) and Kanahele (2012) and listened and studied the mo‘olelo of the women in my research

over and over again, trying to make sense of the richness of their experiences, and I was

confident that the ancestral wisdom would come. Then one morning while I was driving my

children to school, I happened to be chanting Māewa i ka hao mai a ka makani (Kahaunaele,

1997) to them. As I chanted and heard the ancestral words out loud, telling the story of the life

cycle of the ‘a‘ali‘i, and simultaneously thinking about the mo‘olelo of my kumu, the themes

organically emerged. Because the mo‘olelo of my kumu had become so much a part of my

consciousness, as I was chanting to my children, at that moment immersed in a Hawaiian

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practice, the women’s mo‘olelo finally made sense to me. This is how I came to see the three

overarching themes, including He Hua, Hao Mai Iho Mai Pā Mai, and Kupu a Mohala.

First, ʻhe hua.’ My English interpretation for this is ‘a beginning.’ I use the term hua, as a

fruit or seed (Pukui & Elbert, 1986, p. 83), as a metaphor for a beginning. There are many

beginnings in each of our lives, as in the lives of each kumu. They shared some of those

beginnings with me that lead to future paths. Second, ‘hao mai, iho mai, pā mai.’ In English, this

refers to the powerful blowing of the wind, the downpour of the rain, and the shining of the sun:

the elements that challenge and nourish the ‘a‘ali‘i tree. Therefore, in the women’s stories, these

are the elemental influences that both challenge as well as nourish each of the women, giving

context to their strength, resiliency, and survivance. Third, ‘kupu a mohala.’ This is the phase of

coming into full bloom, in which the stories reveal the way the women have blossomed by using

the elemental influences and the inspirations of their beginnings to transform various spaces into

Hawaiian places of learning.

Haku mo‘olelo – Re-presenting the stories. When I finally began to see the stories in

light of the ‘a‘ali‘i kū makani framework, I was instructed by the chair of my committee to begin

to craft the individual stories for each kumu. I did not originally plan to do this. At the beginning

of my research, I did not know what I was going to do with the individual conversations.

Therefore, it took me some time to find my rhythm and style by which to craft the stories.

I reviewed several styles of re-telling a person’s stories. I turned to texts such as Let my

spirit soar: Narratives of diverse women in school leadership (Benham & Cooper, 1998), I’ve

known rivers: Lives of loss and liberation (Lawrence-Lightfoot, 1994), as well as A secret

weavers anthology: selections from the secret weavers series: Writing by Latin American women

(Herrera, 1998). While all of those styles were beautiful and powerful I could not seem to

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commit to any of them. Then I was given a copy of Dr. Valerie Johnson’s (1997) dissertation,

“Weavers of change: Portraits of Native American women educational leaders.” In her

dissertation she presents the stories of her women in their own words. This is the style that I

originally wanted to employ, but I talked myself out of it, thinking that it would make the

dissertation too long. Seeing Dr. Johnson’s dissertation, however, was an invitation to me

(Block, 2009) to commit to the ‘ōlelo no‘eau “I ka ‘ōlelo nō ke ola, i ka ‘ōlelo nō ka make”

(Pukui, 1983, p. 129) and let the stories of my kumu live. I personally drew so much strength and

power from the voices and words of my kumu in those transcripts; I wanted to honor their stories

by letting them live for others to experience as well. Although I am aware that there is a time for

summarizing and re-telling in my own words, for this debut of their stories, I felt it best to keep it

in their own words.

Therefore, my process for editing and producing the individual stories in Chapter Four

was as follows: After receiving the transcripts back from each kumu, I re-read them again with

the audio. I began to see and hear parts of their stories that I could perhaps edit out, that were not

absolutely relevant to the focus of the dissertation. This was a difficult process for me, but I felt

that I wanted their stories, for the purpose of this dissertation, to be clear so that others reading it

would recognize the critical lessons related to the topic of this dissertation. I knew that at some

other point I might revisit the original transcript with each kumu for other publications if they so

wish.

As I was editing the transcripts, I realized two things: First, the stories did not naturally

flow without the dialogue between us. Although the focus was on the kumu’s stories, some of

my questions and comments were critical with regards to the direction their stories went. Hence,

presenting some of my dialogue made sense to the flow. It was also a way to show the dialogical

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process (Freire, 1993) in action as well as to demonstrate mo‘olelo aku, mo‘olelo mai. Therefore,

each kumu’s story is presented as a dialogue between the two of us. Second, in order to highlight

the three major themes of the ‘a‘ali‘i life cycle evident in their stories, I gently present their

mo‘olelo in the three thematic phases of the ‘a‘ali‘i life cycle. This is presented in Chapter Four.

When I completed the edits of each story, I sent them back to the appropriate kumu for

feedback. I emailed each of them with their story and described my process, including a

description of the ‘a‘ali‘i framework and other important notes.61 With some of the kumu, we sat

together and read through the mo‘olelo side by side, discussing points, reflecting, and editing as

needed. Other kumu sent their feedback to me via email. Their feedback was critical, because it

was important that they validated that I had heard and learned from them correctly.

Focus Group

When I wrote my research proposal, I included a ʻfocus group’ as a part of my research

plan. I wrote:

I will invite the participants to join together in a focus group. This group conversation

will take place after all the women have sat with me for their individual interviews.

According to Patton (1990), the purpose of a focus group “is to get high-quality data in a

social context where people can consider their own views in the context of the views of

others” (p. 335). Therefore, engaging the women in a focus group will provide them an

opportunity to build on both their shared as well as their unique experiences. In this

sense, it will be an opportunity for the women to co-analyze their stories in light of the

overall focus of transforming the university into a Hawaiian place of learning.

61 See Appendix F for a sample of my email.

54

Though the focus group was planned for the reasons stated above, after I met with each

of the women individually and began to make sense of their stories, themes began to emerge

(Saldaña, 2013) that pointed towards a type of transformative leadership development model. It

seemed to me as though critical moments, experiences, and people shaped them into leaders who

were equipped with a certain set of tools, which they then used to then transform their spaces.

Therefore, as I was preparing for this focus group, I saw it as an opportunity to highlight some of

the themes I was hearing and ask them to expound on those themes in terms of a possible

emerging leadership development model. I saw this gathering as an opportunity to check with the

kumu on what I thought I was hearing (Jones et. al, 2006).

From focus group to ‘aha wahine. Previous to the gathering, I viewed the time we were

going to share as merely a focus group (Patton, 1990). However, after the night of the gathering,

I realized it was much more. I came to this conclusion based on my experiences at the gathering,

my learning with each of the kumu individually, and also through reading and reflection. It

became clear to me that a more appropriate term for the gathering was an ‘aha wahine

(Ka‘imikaua in Minton, 2000; Pukui & Elbert, 1986).

According to Pukui and Elbert (1986), the term ‘aha has several meanings. The first

English definition describes ‘aha as a “meeting, assembly, or gathering” (p. 5). This ‘aha

wahine62 was indeed a gathering of women together. Five of the women whom I had individual

conversations with attended this ‘aha.63 In addition, a sixth woman participated in this ‘aha

whom I did not meet with individually but who greatly added to the conversation.64 To honor the

62 Wahine: “Female” (Pukui & Elbert, p. 377) 63 The other two women whom I met with individually could not attend this ‘aha because of last minute family emergencies. 64 This is the kumu who could not meet with me individually due to family responsibilities. I was delighted when she informed me of her availability for the ‘aha wahine because her experiences greatly added to the conversation

55

female essence of the night, two Native Hawaiian female camera operators documented the

‘aha.65 In addition, I also asked a kaikaina66 of mine to be an assistant for the night. Therefore,

including myself, there was a total of 10 wahine at this ‘aha. We could also feel the presence of

all the genealogies and kūpuna whom each of us brought.

The second meaning that Pukui and Elbert (1986) offer for ‘aha in an English translation

is “sennit; cord braided of coconut husk, human hair” (p. 5). The late kumu hula John

Ka‘imikaua similarly describes ‘aha as the intertwining of many individual cords into a strong

single ‘aha or sennit (in Minton, 2000). In the same way, by all of the women coming together,

cordage was constructed. The cordage was the interweaving of their mo‘olelo into a larger, more

powerful story of change and action, transformational leadership, and ‘a‘ali‘i kū makani. Most

importantly, this gathering was an opportunity to create cordage bound by the strengthening of

relationships, through exchanging stories, sharing hopes, and planning for the future together.

Preparing the collective story. I did not plan to present any of the transcripts from the

‘aha wahine in this dissertation. However, after reviewing the audio, video, and transcripts

several times, I was convinced that those collective stories needed to be included. There were too

many powerful moments of valuable epiphanies and collective reflections that spoke to how we

transform UHM into a Hawaiian place of learning. However, I did not know how to present these

critical conversations.

and my overall learning. She was a pioneer in her field with regards to recruiting, retaining, and graduating students as well as institutionalizing her Hawaiian program within UH Mānoa. 65 My brother runs a film studio and has many camera operators on staff. Per my humble request, he loaned me two of his female opearators for the evening. 66 This kaikaina of mine is a Native Hawaiian female doctoral student. She is a kaikaina to me in the sense that she is younger than me in age but also right behind me in this journey of doctoral work. My mentor and I thought it would be a good idea for her to come to observe such a gathering and also to just be there to help me with logistical things so I could focus on ʻholding the space’ for the women to engage and tell stories.

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During the time that I was contemplating some type of inclusion of the ‘aha wahine in the

dissertation, I was also reviewing Dr. Mónica Valadez’s (2012) dissertation, “Surveying and

living critical consciousness: From critical awareness of self to our action within spaces of

learning” in which she dedicates a chapter to a “virtual dialogue” (p. 108) in which she

constructed a group dialogue from the individual interview transcripts. This example, like Dr.

Johnson’s (1997) dissertation, helped me to re-imagine and push the boundaries of what I

thought a dissertation must look like. Therefore, I decided to include the ‘aha wahine

conversation as a separate chapter in which I would present the dialogue in an edited form.

In preparing the ‘aha wahine dialogue as a chapter-appropriate piece, I struggled with

what to edit out and what to keep in. I kept finding reasons why each piece of each story was

relevant, though I knew the 60 plus page transcription was too long and also needed condensing

for purposes of concentrating on the main topic of this conversation. Therefore, in my moments

of struggle, I turned to my dissertation chair for guidance. She wrote to me in an email, “Keep in

mind that there needs to be an intentionality for including the focus group. What is it? Is it to

help transition to the analysis/conclusion? Or is it to tell more stories?” (M. Benham, personal

communication, January 30, 2014). This set of questions helped me to think back to the ‘a‘ali‘i

framework as I held it lightly over the group conversation. After more reflection on the ʻmeat’ of

the group stories, what I realized is that this group conversation helped to illuminate the ʻHao

mai, iho mai, pā mai’ phase in the ‘a‘ali‘i life cycle. This group conversation further illustrated,

clarified, and solidified the elemental influences that continue to shape these women and the

work they do. As a group, they helped me to see a central theme for the emerging leadership

development model (the focus of Chapter 6).

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Nā Manamana – Artifacts

Manamana are translated to “appendages, claws, branches, rays” (Pukui & Elbert, 1986,

p. 236). Though the term ʻartifacts’ (Schein, 2010) is often used to describe the most visible parts

of an organization’s culture, such as “diversity policies, recruitment practices, and rituals and

events” (Kezar, 2012). I like the term ‘manamana’ because it is tangible for me. Therefore, I use

the term manamana to describe the tangible parts of the university that help to tell UHM’s

mo‘olelo in terms of becoming a Hawaiian place of learning. I studied many of these manamana

through careful observation (Merriam, 2009).

Archival Documents

According to Merriam (2009), documents are useful data that are easily attainable and

unobtrusive to the research environment. Merriam describes the term ‘document’ as “a wide

range of written, visual, digital, and physical material relevant to the study at hand” (p. 139). I

collected a range of both historical as well as contemporary documents related to the mo‘olelo of

UH Mānoa. Such documents included founding documents, policies, board of regents meeting

minutes, course catalogues, UHM-wide emails and announcements, and institutional research

data on students and faculty. These documents illuminated many values (Schein, 2010), and

helped with overall triangulation (Patton, 1990) of the mo‘olelo and mo‘okū‘auhau of UH

Mānoa.

I ka Nānā nō a ‘Ike – Observations

In addition to learning from archival documents, I also spent time observing (Merriam,

2009). The ‘ōlelo no‘eau, “I ka nānā nō a ‘ike” (Pukui, 1983, p. 129) is a reminder that we learn

by observing. As such, I observed, with my many senses, several gatherings and conversations

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that took place on campus, including Kūali‘i Council internal meetings, Kūali‘i Council meetings

with the UHM chancellor, as well as campus-wide conversations with the UHM chancellor as

well as the UH system president.

Kūali‘i council meetings. Kūali‘i Council is the Native Hawaiian advisory body to the

chancellor of UH Mānoa (“Organization Chart,” 2013). The Council is comprised of Native

Hawaiian faculty and staff from many colleges and departments throughout UH Mānoa. Kūali‘i

Council is what Kezar (2012) would refer to as an organization of “bottom-up grassroots

leadership” (p. 154) because it is a body of Native Hawaiians who self-organized to create

positive change for Hawaiians at UH Mānoa (Kūali‘i Council, 2004).67 Therefore, I attended

monthly Kūali‘i Council meetings to learn, observe, and participate in the challenges, successes,

and strategies of a Hawaiian organized body, itself an artifact (Schein, 2010), of UH Mānoa.

Kūali‘i council meetings with the chancellor. In addition to attending and taking field

notes (Merriam, 2009) at internal Kūali‘i Council meetings, I also attended, observed, and

participated in the Council’s monthly meetings with the UHM chancellor. These meetings were a

type of leadership that Kezar (2012) might describe as “both the bottom and top collectively

working together to recreate campus culture” (p. 155).68 These meetings were a key inside look

into the inner workings of UHM as well as many of the values and strategies individuals have

and employ.

Campus-wide conversations. I also took field notes (Merriam, 2009) while attending,

observing, and participating in several campus-wide conversations with the chancellor of UHM

67 Kūali‘i Council later became a formal advisory body to the UHM chancellor after advocating for itself to become so (“Organization Chart,” 2013). 68 I did not see this as the two bodies sharing equal power. This issue will be discussed further in Chapter Three.

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as well as the president and board of regents of the UH system. These conversations were an

opportunity for me to listen to the varied opinions on campus, observe the presence (or lack

thereof) of Hawaiian knowledge, language, and culture in the broad UHM campus culture

(Jayakumar & Museus, 2012), and also observe how executive administration dealt with

Hawaiian issues in public.

Therefore, through all of these learning and research opportunities, both with the kumu

whose mo‘olelo are central to this study, as well as the other manamana of the University of

Hawai‘i at Mānoa that helped to triangulate (Patton, 199) the overall mo‘olelo, I am confident

and able to present the next five chapters of this dissertation.

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CHAPTER 3

‘O MĀNOA HE ‘ĀINA MOMONA – MĀNOA’S POTENTIAL

AS A LIFE-GIVING SOURCE

Welina Mānoa ua kama‘āina He ‘āina i ka ihu la o nā moku A moku mai ka pawa, ‘o ke ao a‘ela Ala a‘e kāua, ua ao ‘eā A he ao mālama ko uhai aloha He kilohana no Kānewai i ke pili Ho‘i pili aloha me Ka-ua-wa‘ahila Ia ua ho‘opulu i ke kula o Puahia Pua ana ke kupa ala leia ke kama nei Kama ‘ia i kama‘āina ke aloha Aloha Mānoa i ka ua Tuahine Halihali ‘ia maila e ka ‘olu Kahaukani Kani a‘ela ia uka o Kaho‘iwai Ia ‘āina kaulana i ka ulu lehua Lehua-kea o ka uka la o Naniuapō Pōwehi i ka wai pe‘e palai o Waiakeakua A ka pohu la‘i la a‘o Akaaka I ka ua koko‘ula a‘o Kahala (Kahalaopuna) Ua kau, ua holo, ua pae aku Ua ho‘i ka u‘i o Mānoa, ua ahiahi69 (Basham & Lopes, 2002) In Chapter One, I introduced the main research question of this dissertation: How can the

University of Hawai‘i at Mānoa (UHM), a predominantly non-Hawaiian university, transform

into a Hawaiian place of learning? In Chapter Two, I introduced the methodologies and methods

that I employed in order to explore the research question. With regards to my research, I had

three main foci. First, I learned from artifacts (Schein, 2010) and documents (Merriam, 2009)

69 The composers of this chant do not translate it into English, therefore I do not provide an English translation.

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from UHM itself. Second, I learned from the individual stories of the women. Third, I learned

from the collective conversation of the women during our ‘aha wahine. Therefore, in this

chapter, I present data from my research and learning from UHM’s artifacts and documents.

Specifically, I explored UHM’s history with Hawai‘i, UHM’s history with Native Hawaiians,

and UHM’s role as both a kaikua‘ana as well as a kaikaina to Hawai‘i and her first people.

E Ho‘i i ka ‘Āina: Return to the Land

Figure 3.1. Ka Papa Lo‘i ‘o Kānewai. I began in Chapter One by describing UHM as a kaikua‘ana to Hawai‘i’s communities

because it is a source of knowledge, service, and opportunity. In reflecting on this analysis and

also spending time in the valley of Mānoa – the land in which UHM is situated – it became

apparent to me that Mānoa herself is a great example of a kaikua‘ana who feeds, nourishes, and

protects her people. Therefore, engaging with Mānoa – the place and land division70 - as the

70 Specifically, Mānoa is an ‘ili within the ahupua‘a of Waikīkī on the island of O‘ahu (Department of Land and Natural Resources, 1848). ‘Ili: “Land section, next in importance to ahupua‘a and usually a subdivision of an ahupua‘a” (Pukui & Elbert, 1986, p. 97). Ahupua‘a: “Land division usually extending from the uplands to the sea, so called because the boundary was marked by a heap (ahu) of stones surmounted by an image of a pig (pua‘a), or because a pig or other tribute was laid on the altar as tax to the chief (Pukui & Elbert, 1986, p. 9).

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kaikua‘ana, allows us to be fed by her both physically and intellectually, as her land and natural

elements provide us tangible examples of what it feels like to be nourished.

Welina Mānoa Ua Kama‘āina

The Hawaiian poetical chant presented above, Welina Mānoa Ua Kama‘āina, by Basham

and Lopes (2002), introduces us to Mānoa by taking us on a journey from the sea to the uplands,

pointing out many of the natural elements along the way. Specifically, this chant introduces us to

the many kaikua‘ana and kūpuna of Mānoa. For example, we are introduced to the ‘ili of

Kānewai, the Wa‘ahila rain, the Puahia plain, the Kahaukani wind, and the waters of Akaaka.

These kaikua‘ana are the physical manifestations of the land that quench our thirst and feed our

bodies. Therefore, this chant introduces us to many of the kaikua‘ana whom we, all humans as

kaikaina to the land, can still visit today and learn from.

Through the poetry of the chant, Basham and Lopes (2002) skillfully demonstrate the

reciprocal relationship between kaikua‘ana and kaikaina that exists in Mānoa today. Specifically,

they refer to Kānewai, a land division within Mānoa and also the site of Ka Papa Lo‘i ‘o

Kānewai,71 the present day lo‘i kalo that is situated on the eastern side of the UHM campus. Ka

Papa Lo‘i ‘o Kānewai is a living remnant of the lo‘i kalo system in Mānoa, an intricate Hawaiian

engineering and agricultural feat. The composers also introduce us to “Uhai” as not only the

name of the first lo‘i kalo re-opened at Ka Papa Lo‘i ‘o Kānewai, but also as the methodology of

engaging in Hawaiian practices to further the brilliance laid out by our kūpuna.72

Therefore, as this chant helps to remind us, the land of Mānoa is a great model for the

interdependent relationship between kaikua‘ana and kaikaina. As the elder sibling, Mānoa indeed

71 To learn more about Ka Papa Lo‘i ‘o Kānewai, visit http://manoa.hawaii.edu/hshk/ka-papa-loi-o-kanewai/. 72 Uhai: “Same as hahai” (Pukui & Elbert, 1986, p. 363). Hahai: “Persons following, pursuit; to follow” (Pukui & Elbert, 1986, p. 46).

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nourishes us. The land is rich and fertile, attracting the rain, capturing the wind, and soaking up

the sun necessary for much life and sustenance. As the younger sibling, the Hawaiian people

recognized this gift of their kaikua‘ana, the land of Mānoa, and engineered and managed those

natural resources by establishing a great lo‘i system that fed the multitudes (Kame‘eleihiwa,

forthcoming). Ali‘i73 and maka‘āinana74 alike thrived throughout Mānoa (Sterling & Summers,

1978) as a result of their engagement in mālama ‘āina.75 Furthermore, the land fulfilled its

kuleana to feed and protect the people by providing an environment by which the people could

teach and learn through ‘āina-based practices and in which an abundance of food and other

materials were produced that allowed the people to enjoy healthy and thriving lives.

The ‘Āina Momona Model

What we learn from Basham and Lopes’ (2002) chant is that Mānoa was once a ‘‘āina

momona,’76 a rich and bountiful land that fed and sustained the people. Though today nearly all

of Mānoa’s fertile land and lo‘i kalo have been replaced with housing and development, Mānoa –

and especially UHM – can still feed its people as a source of knowledge, service, and

opportunity. The University of Hawai‘i at Mānoa bears the role of kaikua‘ana to students and the

community. To be sure, the term for ʻteacher’ in Hawaiian is ‘kumu,’ which literally translates to

“source” (Pukui & Elbert, 1986, p. 182). Further, UHM’s distinction as a land-grant institution

(“About UH Manoa,” 2012) formally defines itself in the Western context as an institution with a

specific responsibility to hānai – to feed and serve – the community through practical, accessible

education. Further, as an American university situated on Native Hawaiian land, UHM is also a

73 Ali‘i: “Chief, chiefess…” (Pukui & Elbert, 1986, p. 20). 74 Maka‘āinana: “Commoner, populace, people in general; citizen, subject” (Pukui & Elbert, 1986, p. 224). 75 Mālama ‘āina: To care for the land as we care for our grandparents (my translation). 76 ‘Āina momona: Lands that are fat/abundant with food (Kame‘eleihiwa, forthcoming). Kame‘eleihiwa (Forthcoming) draws on the quote by Kahekilinuiahuamanu, king of Māui, who describes O‘ahu as “O‘ahu, ‘āina momona” (Kamakau, 1992). Kam‘eleihiwa’s article exapands on this idea of O‘ahu as an ‘āina momona.

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kaikaina to Hawai‘i and her people. Specifically, UHM has arrived into the Hawaiian genealogy

much later than the land or Hawaiians. In this way, UHM also has a kuleana to mālama Hawai‘i

and her people.

UHM as a Kaikua‘ana

Being situated in Mānoa, UHM could be located in no better a place to replicate such a

relevant, suitable model of living into its role as a kaikua‘ana. The ‘āina of Mānoa teaches us the

responsibilities of feeding not only the physical state of the people, but also providing an

abundance of natural elements that allowed the Hawaiian people to engage their values by

becoming experts in such fields including but not limited to engineering, biology, agriculture,

and hydrology. Indeed, Mānoa itself was a Hawaiian place of learning and teaching in which the

land and the Hawaiian people fed and cared for one another, interdependently thriving.

Conflict

In 1907, however, when the Legislature of the Territory of Hawai‘i established ‘The

College of Agriculture and Mechanics of the Territory of Hawai‘i’ – which was later renamed as

ʻThe College of Hawai‘i’ and finally ʻThe University of Hawai‘i at Mānoa’ – it was established

with different values and purposes for Hawaiians and Hawai‘i other than those modeled by the

kaikua‘ana/kaikaina relationship. Kamins (1998) explains:

Hawaii at the beginning of the twentieth century needed an institution of higher learning.

The further integration into the United States desired by those who had sided against the

Hawaiian monarchy, if it was to work politically, required the further development of

American culture here [Hawai‘i]. (p. 3)

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Hence, Kamins’ analysis points directly to UHM’s role as a bastion of colonization (K.

Maunakea-Forth, personal communication, ongoing) in Hawai‘i rather than a bountiful source to

support the true health and well being of the Hawaiian people and culture.

A Political and Historical Overview

There are many publications that present the historical and political relationship between

the United States and Hawai‘i (see for example Benham & Heck, 1998; Churchill & Venne,

2005; Kame‘eleihiwa, 1992; Lili‘uokalani, 1898; Osorio, 2002). Professor Haunani Kay Trask

(1992), a prominent Native Hawaiian political scholar, educational leader, and community

activist summarizes some important points that situate UHM in the larger political and historical

landscape:

When the University of Hawai‘i began…in 1907, the Hawaiian people were in a state of

utter despair. Not only had our population collapsed in the 19th century due to introduced

diseases, reducing us to a minority in our own country, but our government had been

overthrown by a handful of sugar capitalists and a regiment of U.S. marines a mere 14

years before. To a people grieving from the humiliation of foreign occupation and the

subsequent imprisonment of their chiefly leader, Queen Lili‘uokalani, the forcible

transformation of their beloved country from an independent Native nation to an

American colony seemed total: The Hawaiian language had been officially supplanted

with English by order of the Republic of Hawai‘i in 1896; the government and Crown

lands had been confiscated by the Republic; and the plantation system was

entrenched…haole aristocracy set the colonial tone in everything from social manners

and music to banking and transportation. The University of Hawai‘i was one of the new

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institutions of colonization, the means whereby things American would replace and

eventually extinguish things Hawaiian. (p. 2)77

Trask’s summary and analysis of UHM’s position and purpose aligns with that of Kamins’

(1998), in which they both agree that a central principal of UHM at its inception was to promote

American culture to dominate Hawai‘i.

Further colonization of Hawai‘i was clear in UHM’s early years. For example, the

centrality of the sugar industry was apparent. As an agriculture and mechanic arts college, much

of the coursework was geared towards the sugar industry, such as sugar engineering and

technology (College of Hawaii Catalogue, 1920). Furthermore, though Hawaiian names are

listed in the ʻList of Students’ within the College of Hawaii Catalogue (1920), there is no

evidence of Hawaiian knowledge or Hawaiian values (Schein, 2010) embedded in the curriculum

or campus culture (Jayakumar & Museus, 2012). Therefore, the College of Hawaii’s

advancement of the sugar industry, an industry that decimated Hawaiian land – the ancient

grandmother of the Hawaiian people – and whose profits lead to the greed of American

businessmen who illegally overthrew Queen Lili‘uokalani and the Kingdom of Hawai‘i (Blount,

1893; Lili‘uokalani, 1898) is further evidence of UHM being founded and grounded in principals

and values that do not align with a Hawaiian place of learning.

Over the next fifty years, there were no large value shifts (Schein, 1985) made that

transformed the UHM campus culture (Jayakumar & Museus) into one that promoted any sense

of a Hawaiian place of learning. The artifacts (Schein, 1985) are minimal. For example, only one

course was taught in Hawaiian history and Hawaiian language beginning in the 1920s (Trask,

1992). In addition, as late as 1977, the Native Hawaiian population comprised a mere 1.6% of

77 For population statistics see Kame‘eleihiwa (1992). For details of the overthrow see Lili‘uokalani (1898) and Blount (1993). For information on the banning of Hawaiian language see Kawai‘ae‘a, Housman, and Alencastre (2007).

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the total student body at UH Mānoa (“Historical Enrollment,” n.d.). There is little additional

evidence of any other embrace or promotion of Hawaiian people and culture. Trask (1992)

describes UHM in the latter 1900s, “By mid-century, the University of Hawai‘i seemed like just

another college campus. American colonialism had been so thoroughly successful, no one

questioned why the University of Hawai‘i was not, truly, ʻof Hawai‘i' but was, rather, ʻof

America’” (p. 3). Therefore, UHM’s campus culture continued to be a non-Hawaiian one.

UHM Today

Today several strides have been made at UH Mānoa with regards to Hawaiians and

Hawaiian knowledge. Balutski and Wright (2012) have documented much of the data on this

progress. For example, whereas Hawaiian students once comprised only 1.6% of the total student

body (Historical Enrollment, n.d.), today they comprise nearly fifteen percent. Now there are

dozens of courses focused on Hawaiian language and Hawaiian studies (“Spring 2014 Class

Availability,” 2014). Further, there is now a School of Hawaiian Knowledge, Centers for

Hawaiian Language and Studies, Native Hawaiian Student Services, and Native Hawaiian

support programs in disciplines across the campus including but not limited to Engineering,

Medical School, Nursing, and Law (Native Hawaiian Advancement Task Force, 2012). In

addition, Kūali‘i Council – a UHM council comprised of Hawaiians and organized by Hawaiians

– has been established and approved as the Native Hawaiian advisory body to the chancellor of

Mānoa (“Organization Chart I,” 2013). Further, there is Hawaiian-focused language in UHM’s

guiding documents.78 Though these Hawaiian advancements are impressive compared to UHM’s

beginning years, Native Hawaiians are still underrepresented in students, faculty, and

administration (Native Hawaiian Advancement Task Force, 2012). Further, the underlying

78 These guiding documents will be described later in this chapter.

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values and operations of UHM have not shifted to fully embrace a Hawaiian culture within the

institution (Jayakumar & Museus, 2012).

A Kuleana Nonetheless

Though not established with a commitment to Hawai‘i’s first people and culture and even

created to promote the erasure of all things Hawaiian, UHM still has a kuleana. The majority of

UHM’s history as a predominantly non-Hawaiian university does not relinquish its responsibility

to the Hawaiian community. For example, UHM continues to reap the benefits and consume the

resources of Mānoa, ancestor of the Hawaiian people. Further, UHM is situated on ceded lands.

According to Dr. Lilikalā Kame‘eleihiwa (in Lipe, 2014) professor and Hawaiian land expert,

“Ceded lands are everything the State [of Hawai‘i] controls except lands produced by Tutu Pele

[the volcano] since 1959, and anything that they [the State of Hawai‘i] had condemned that was

privately owned since 1959” (pp. 105-106). Indeed, UHM is a state university on state lands and

consequently is on ceded lands. That UHM is on ceded lands is particularly significant to

Hawaiians because, as Dr. Kame‘eleihiwa continues,

In 1900, when America took over [Hawai‘i], the missionary government ceded both

crown and government land to America. That was everything they were controlling at the

time. It was the government land from the Kingdom of Hawai‘i, and it was the crown

lands that had been held by whomever was sovereign. Lili‘uokalani tried to sue for the

crown lands, but the court decided that you had to be sitting on the throne in order to get

control of the lands. So they merged the crown lands with the government lands. All of

that is ceded to the American government in 1900 and in 1959 the American government

gave control of all those so-called ceded lands to the State of Hawai‘i in the state

constitution. (p. 106)

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Kame‘eleihiwa’s explanation of ceded lands reveals yet another important connection between

Hawaiians and the lands on which UHM sits. In this case, the relationship is a political one, in

which the ceded lands of the State of Hawai‘i are originally the lands of the Hawaiian peoples’

last sovereign government and their last sovereign queen. In summary, UHM is situated on and

draws resources from land in which the Hawaiian people are in relationship with genealogically,

geographically, and politically. In these ways, UHM has a kuleana to transform into a Hawaiian

place of learning in order to fulfill its role as a kaikaina – a junior line – to Hawaiians and

Hawai‘i and also as a kaikua‘ana in terms of being a source of knowledge and opportunity.

Significant Policies and Documents

In addition to Hawaiian connections to the land, several policies and other guiding

documents make clear why UHM has the kuleana to transform into a Hawaiian place of learning.

These documents include the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples

(UNDRIP) (“United Nations Declaration,” 2008), United States Public Law 103-150 (U.S.

Congress, 1993), UH Board of Regents Policy (UH Board of Regents, 2012), UHM Strategic

Plan (“Achieving Our Destiny,” 2011), UH and UHM organizational charts, and several UH and

UHM Task Force reports. The documents are presented from the most overarching international

documents down to the most specific UHM documents in order to show the various levels of

documents that provide support for UHM’s transformation into a Hawaiian place of learning.

The United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (UNDRIP)

The UNDRIP is perhaps the most overarching document in terms of its recognition of the

basic rights of all Indigenous peoples throughout the world (“United Nations Declaration,”

2008). Articles 11, 13, 14, and 15 of the UNDRIP specifically define the rights of Indigenous

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peoples in terms of education and the responsibilities of States to support Indigenous education.

Article 11 states:

1. Indigenous peoples have the right to practice and revitalize their cultural traditions and

customs. This includes the right to maintain, protect and develop the past, present and

future manifestations of their cultures, such as archaeological and historical sites,

artifacts, designs, ceremonies, technologies and visual and performing arts and literature.

2. States shall provide redress through effective mechanisms, which may include

restitution, developed in conjunction with indigenous peoples, with respect to their

cultural, intellectual, religious and spiritual property taken without their free, prior and

informed consent or in violation of their laws, traditions and customs. (p. 6)

Article 13 establishes that, “Indigenous peoples have the right to revitalize, use, develop and

transmit to future generations their histories, languages, oral traditions, philosophies, writing

systems and literatures…” (p. 7). Article 14 recognizes that, “Indigenous peoples have the right

to establish and control their educational systems and institutions providing education in their

own languages, in a manner appropriate to their cultural methods of teaching and learning” (p.

7). Finally, Article 15 declares that, “Indigenous peoples have the right to the dignity and

diversity of their cultures, traditions, histories and aspirations which shall be appropriately

reflected in education and public information” (p. 7). In summary, all of these Articles point to

the rights of Indigenous peoples, including Native Hawaiians, to have educational experiences

that are relevant and appropriate to Indigenous ways of learning, knowing, and being. Further, it

identifies the kuleana of states, including the United States, and thus the State of Hawai‘i, to

support and implement those educational experiences.

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Implementing the UNDRIP. In 2010, President Obama endorsed the UNDRIP (“US

Announces,” 2010). In terms of the rights of Indigenous peoples in the United States, President

Obama’s endorsement is an important step towards implementation and actualization of the

Declaration. Although containing very important language, the UNDRIP (“United Nations

Declaration,” 2008) is a document developed outside of the federalist system in which the legal

system of the United States is situated (Heck, 2004). As such, it might be viewed that the

UNDRIP does not necessarily have any legal standing for Indigenous peoples existing within the

United States, including Native Hawaiians. However, according to the United Nations, “The

implementation of the Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples should not be obscured

by a discussion about whether or not it is a legally binding document and should be regarded as a

“political, moral and legal imperative” without qualification…” (“Implementation” 2010, p.1).

Further, United Nations Special Rapporteur on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples, James Anaya,

stated:

The Declaration has a significant normative weight grounded in its high degree of

legitimacy as a product of decades of struggle and advocacy by indigenous

peoples…Further, that normative weight is augmented by the Declaration’s grounding in

the human rights principles of the United Nations Charter and other international treaties.

(“Implementation,” 2010, p.1)

Therefore, according to the UN and Anaya, the UNDRIP should be honored and implemented as

policy regardless of its legal standing within countries. Furthermore, Wiessner (2008) noted that

“maximum compliance is expected” (p. 1) by the international community of states with regards

to the implementation of the Declaration. The statements urging compliance and implementation

of the UNDRIP, therefore, suggests that state universities, including UHM, need to move

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towards transformation of the institution into one that re-grounds itself in Hawaiian ways of

learning, knowing, and being.

United States Public Law 103-150

Locally known as the “Apology Bill,” United States Public Law 103-150 103d Congress

Joint Resolution 19 is a formal resolution and apology made by the U.S. government in 1993 to

the Native Hawaiian people for the overthrow of the Kingdom of Hawai‘i (U.S. Congress, 1993).

Initiated by President Clinton, the Law admits to the illegal overthrow of the Hawaiian kingdom

and recognizes the Hawaiian Kingdom’s political sovereignty at the time of the overthrow.

Furthermore, the Law acknowledges the responsibility that the U.S. government has to the

Native Hawaiian people. Specifically the Law “expresses its commitment to acknowledge the

ramifications of the overthrow of the Kingdom of Hawaii, in order to provide a proper

foundation for reconciliation between the United States and the Native Hawaiian people…”

(U.S. Congress, 1993, p. 1).

A legal relationship. The Apology Bill demonstrates the political relationship between

the Native Hawaiian people and the U.S. government that had been made by several treaties of

friendship between the Kingdom of Hawai‘i and America (Kuykendall, 1938, 1953, 1967). The

political relationship is an important one because, in the similar case of Native Americans,

Austin (2005) points out that Native American students are not merely another minority in higher

education “clamoring for special attention” (p. 42). Instead, Native Americans are a group of

peoples with distinct political relationships with the United States. Austin says, “Awareness of

this special relationship would help key college and university officials better understand their

American Indian students, the students’ tribes, and the responsibilities the universities have

assumed by admitting American Indian students” (p. 42). Similarly, it is important for UHM

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faculty/staff/administration to understand the political relationship Native Hawaiians have with

the United States and State of Hawai‘i so that they too can undertand their kuleana to Native

Hawaiians and can then begin to live into that kuleana.

UH Board of Regents Policy

In addition to international and national policy on the importance of honoring Indigenous

ways in the university, the UH Board of Regents (BOR) Policy also advocates for honoring

Hawai‘i’s Indigenous people. Specifically, the UH BOR Policy (2012) states the following:

As the only provider of public higher education in Hawai‘i, the University embraces its

unique responsibilities to the Indigenous people of Hawai‘i and to Hawai‘i’s Indigenous

language and culture. To fulfill this responsibility, the University ensures active support

for the participation of Native Hawaiians at the University and supports vigorous

programs of study and support for the Hawaiian language, history, and culture (section 4-

2).

This language asserts the commitment UH has to Native Hawaiians and their ways of learning,

knowing, and being and provides weight for implementation of processes to transform UHM into

a Hawaiian place of learning.

The UHM Strategic Plan

Aligning with the UH BOR Policy, the UHM 2011-2015 Strategic Plan (2011) highlights

its commitment to Native Hawaiians several times throughout the document. First, the mission

states, “Taking as its historic trust the Native Hawaiian values embedded in the concepts of

kuleana, ‘ohana, and ahupua‘a [Hawaiian land management] that serve to remind us of our

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responsibilities to family, community, and the environment…” (p. 4). Second, illuminated in the

values of UHM is its commitment to a Hawaiian place of learning:

The significance of Mānoa as a campus physically and conceptually grounded in Native

Hawaiian knowledge and values cuts across each of our strategic goals. Hawai‘i’s unique

location and strength in Indigenous scholarship sets us apart from other universities. (p.

5)

Third, the first strategic goal aims to “promote a “Hawaiian place of learning” (p. 6). In

summary, the UHM Strategic Plan is highly committed to creating a Hawaiian place of learning,

grounded in core Hawaiian values, place, and knowledge. Both the UH BOR Policy and the

UHM Strategic Plan demonstrate an institutional commitment to Native Hawaiians and their

unique ways of learning, knowing, and being.

Pūko‘a and Kūali‘i Councils

According to the 2013 UH Mānoa Organization Chart I, Kūali‘i Council is the Native

Hawaiian advisory body to the chancellor. Further, Kūali‘i Council is a member of Pūko‘a

Council (Kūali‘i Council Charter, 2004), the Native Hawaiian advisory body to the president of

the UH system (“Advisory Groups,” 2014). Specifically, the Kūali‘i Council Charter (2004)

states, “The mission of the Kūali‘i Council is to honor, empower, and advance Native Hawaiian

people, culture and language through excellence in higher education” (p. 1). Therefore, UHM’s

adoption of the Kūali‘i Council as a Native Hawaiian advisory body further demonstrates its

kuleana and commitment to advancing Native Hawaiians at the University.

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Task Force Reports

Over the last two and a half decades several task force reports, at both the UH system

level as well as specifically at UHM, have been authored with a focus on Native Hawaiians.

These reports are of particular significance because they are products of the collective voices of

Native Hawaiians from the UH campuses. In this sense, not only is the information relevant to

the Hawaiian people, but the process is also one of Native Hawaiians reclaiming their kuleana at

the university.

Hawaiian calls to action. One of the most important elements of all three task force

reports is that they are all products of Hawaiian voices uniting within and across campuses,

calling for greater attention and action with regards to Native Hawaiian people and their ways of

learning, knowing, and being. Therefore, in our understanding of why it is important for UHM to

honor Native Hawaiians, the supporting arguments come not only from the international and

national arenas, as well as from UH and UHM policy, but also from the voice of the Indigenous

people themselves.

The 1986 Ka‘ū report. The Ka‘ū Report (Hawaiian Studies Task Force, 1986) is the first

of the task force reports. This report highlights several challenges to Native Hawaiian people and

the study of Native Hawaiian language and culture across the UH system. In response to those

problems, the Task Force made several recommendations, including but not limited to the

establishment of a Hawaiian Studies Center, the recruitment and retention of Native Hawaiian

students, and the development of Native Hawaiian faculty.

The Ka‘ū Report (Hawaiian Studies Task Force, 1986) is a foundational document

because it has been used as the baseline for future Native Hawaiian development at the

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University of Hawai‘i. Though most of the goals set out in this report have been reached (Native

Hawaiian Advancement Task Force, 2012), both the qualitative as well as the quantitative data

collected since the Ka‘ū Report reveal that the UH system and most significantly UHM have

much work to do in terms of re-grounding the campus culture as a Hawaiian place of learning

(Balutski & Wright, 2012). Such data continue to include low Native Hawaiian student

recruitment, retention, and graduation rates (Balutski & Wright, 2012) as well as few Native

Hawaiians hired in permanent faculty and administrative positions (Native Hawaiian

Advancement Task Force, 2012). Furthermore, the goals set out in the report target artifacts and

espoused values, but do not explicitly challenge underlying values and assumptions permeating

throughout the institution (Schein, 1985). Therefore, according to Schein’s (1985) framework,

the culture of the campus cannot be truly transformed even if all the goals of the Ka‘ū Report are

reached if underlying assumptions are not addressed.

Hawai‘i papa o ke ao. The Hawai‘i Papa o Ke Ao Task Force Report (Native Hawaiian

Task Force, 2011), is the UH report on indigenizing the academy. Similar to the Ka‘ū Report

(Hawaiian Studies Task Force, 1986), Hawai‘i Papa o Ke Ao provides an overview of the current

status and challenges to Native Hawaiians in the UH system and recommendations in the areas

of leadership development, community, and Hawaiian language culture and parity. Similar to the

Ka‘ū Report, Hawai‘i Papa o Ke Ao also targets transformation in artifacts and espoused values

of the UH system but focuses less on challenging and uncovering underlying assumptions within

the institution (Schein, 1985).

Ke au hou. Ke Au Hou (Native Hawaiian Advancement Task Force, 2012) is the UHM

Native Hawaiian Advancement Task Force Report. It is very similar to both the Ka‘ū Report, as

well as Hawai‘i Papa o ke Ao, but the information is specific to Mānoa’s campus. This report

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recommends very specific and detailed actions to meet the goals and objectives of the report.

Like the other two Native Hawaiian Task Force reports, Ke Au Hou focuses on changing the

artifacts and espoused values of Mānoa’s campus. For example, in the Ke Au Hou report, there

are recommendations for the establishment of Native Hawaiian positions and further engagement

with the Native Hawaiian community (Native Hawaiian Advancement Task Force, 2012).

Although some recommendations target a shift in values, for example transforming the

university environment into one that embraces the spiritual aspects of Hawaiian culture, the

report does not provide examples of underlying assumptions that need to be challenged nor does

it call for such discussions to occur (Native Hawaiian Advancement Task Force, 2012). The

absence of such challenges is not a weakness of the reports, however. Instead, the gap provides

an opportunity for further research to explore and uncover underlying assumptions and values as

experienced by those who have spent considerable time at Mānoa’s campus. Further, that data

can be used as tools to further the dialogue and action towards transformation.

All of the policies, documents, and reports calling for a Hawaiian place of learning are

examples of espoused values and artifacts (Schein, 1985) and can help in the transformation of

campus culture (Kezar, 2012). In addition, within each of these documents, there are specific

recommendations that target further espoused values and artifacts, such as creating Native

Hawaiian spaces on campus and providing tuition waivers to Native Hawaiian students (Native

Hawaiian Advancement Task Force, 2012). Implementation of these artifacts can be difficult,

however. According to Boyd (1993), “…educators are inclined to minimize the personal costs of

change by only partial or “symbolic” implementation of innovations” (p. 513). Furthermore,

Kezar (2012) reminds us, “…people tend to operate unconsciously off, and rely most on their

underlying assumptions…” (p. 153). Therefore, genuine implementation of these policies and

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guiding documents will be difficult without also addressing individual assumptions through a

process of dialogue and deep reflection (Wheatley, 2009; Witham & Bensimon, 2012) and

opportunity to offer up alternative value systems, such as Hawaiian values.

Native American Models

In considering how to implement policies that call for transformation of a predominantly

non-Indigenous university into an Indigenous serving institution, it is necessary to explore what

is currently being done to serve Indigenous peoples in higher education in the United States of

America, in which the Hawai‘i educational system is situated. In reviewing literature on

universities serving Native American students and also searching the websites of the 2011 Title

III Native American serving, non-tribal universities, three themes have emerged. First, although

every university in the 49 continental states of the United States is situated on Native American

land (Justice, 2004), most of the universities I reviewed made no mention of Native Americans

or intent to foster a relationship with Native Americans and their knowledge systems in any

campus-wide policy language. Instead, any focus on Native Americans is more commonly found

in programmatic services and academic studies in small sections of the campuses.

Programmatic Services

At the few universities across the United States that do provide resources to Native

Americans and Alaska First Nations peoples, a common thread is programmatic services. For

example, in her description of American Indian Student Services at the University of North

Dakota (UND), Brown (2005) provides a comprehensive overview of the typical programs

provided to Native American students on the select campuses that do provide resources. Brown

describes such resources:

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UND offers a wide array of programs and services designed specifically

to assist Native American students at the institution. Among this array are programs and

services in the areas of recruitment, admissions, financial aid, housing, orientation,

academic support and enhancement, mentorship, advisement, retention, graduation, and

alumni activities. Each of these programs and services was designed to address the

historical barriers to success in higher education that American Indians have encountered

at predominantly white institutions. (p. 88)

Such services are often embedded within a Native American Center, which is usually a cultural

safe haven for Indigenous students. For example, Fort Lewis College’s Native American Center

is described, “The Center is a friendly and inviting place for Native American students to come

and study, socialize, participate in academic support programs, utilize resources, or attend

cultural programs and activities” (“Academics at Fort Lewis,” 2012, p. 1). Similarly, a variety of

recruitment and retention programs such as those listed by Brown also provide support to Native

American students by incorporating Native American culture and knowledge systems.

In the case of UH Mānoa, similar support programs exist for Native Hawaiians (Native

Hawaiian Advancement Task Force, 2012). For example, Native Hawaiian Student Services

provides tutoring, advising, student work areas, laptops, and snacks. There are also several

support programs within larger academic units that act as centers of support both culturally and

academically for Native Hawaiian students. Similar to the programs described by Brown (2005),

Native Hawaiian support programs in such areas as Nursing and Engineering provide financial

resources, cultural connection with communities, and study areas where Hawaiian students can

form families (N. Minton, personal communication, April 26, 2013) within their discipline

(Native Hawaiian Advancement Task Force, 2012).

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Though Native centers and other programs provide a space and environment that is

inclusive of Native cultures, the need for such safe havens suggests that the larger university

system does not honor and include Native perspectives and cultures across the campus.

Moreover, the lack of institutional policy language directing a campus-wide focus on Native

American communities and culture also provides evidence of a general deficiency in moral and

legal obligation of American universities to its Indigenous, host peoples. However, the presence

of such programs is a first step towards more Indigenous-grounded campuses. Though only

existing in silos or small sections of the university, the processes by which Native centers are

established are important learning tools. Therefore, how small Native programs at largely non-

Native universities are learning laboratories for exploration and further expansion of Native

culture across the campus.

Academic Studies

In addition to programmatic services, another way Native American peoples and

knowledge systems are included in universities is through academic studies. For example at Fort

Lewis College there is the Department of Native American and Indigenous Studies (“Academics

at Fort Lewis,” 2012), at East Central University there is the Department of History and Native

American Studies (“History and Native American Studies,” n.d), and at Northeastern State

University there is Cherokee Cultural Studies (“Undergraduate Majors”, n.d.). In addition to

academic units with a central focus on Native American studies, on occasion other disciplines

including but not limited to English, Psychology, and Resource Management also include Native

American perspectives in their curriculum (Gone; 2004; Hunter, 2004; Justice, 2004).

At the University of Hawai‘i at Mānoa, similar academic programs exist. In its review of

academic units across the campus, the Native Hawaiian Advancement Task Force (2012)

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reviewed the list of academic programs that include a Hawaiian focus. The Hawai‘inuiākea

School of Hawaiian Knowledge is an entire school dedicated to Hawaiian Studies and Language.

In addition, courses and academic programs within larger units with a focus on Native Hawaiian

perspectives exist in areas such as medicine, law, political science, and English. Similar to the

Native American models, however, such academic studies exist within a larger non-Hawaiian

environment. Even the School of Hawaiian Knowledge is surrounded and subject to non-

Hawaiian policies and practices. Therefore, the academic models are useful in terms of lessons

learned, because those models can be microcosms for campus-wide transformation. However,

scant amounts of literature exist on the actual processes, steps, and experiences of those involved

in creating those Native programs, big or small. Further, as Jayakumar and Museus (2012) point

out, programmatic changes can help to make changes in campus climates but do not necessarily

stimulate deep pervasive change. Hence, although the programmatic and academic unit models

are useful in terms of witnessing what is possible on small scales, little has been collected on

how those changes were realized and how to do it campus-wide.

Strategies for Transformation

In order to explore transformation on either a small scale, such as the development of

Indigenous-focused support programs, or on a large scale such as the transformation of an entire

campus culture, further investigation of processes and strategies is required. As I have explored

the literature, three themes have emerged with regards to transforming campus cultures,

including shared leadership, learning, and conversations.

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Shared Leadership

According to Kezar (2012), leadership within the university can play an important role in

altering campus culture as well as “…improving the campus culture for students of color” (p.

153). Additionally, Kezar, Eckel, Contreas-McGavin, and Quaye (2008) found that rather than

individual leadership alone, networks of leadership were further helpful in creating successful

opportunities for students of color. Therefore, in exploring ways to provide opportunities for not

only Native Hawaiians students but also Native Hawaiian people in general in higher education,

understanding the concepts of shared leadership are important.

As described in Chapter One, Kezar (2012) discusses three types of shared leadership,

including hierarchical, bottom-up, and convergent. Though Kezar argues that all three types

of shared leadership are important, my focus in on convergent leadership, because it is a

model by which all members of the institution can live into their particular kuleana and are

honored and respected for doing so. Convergent leadership is a Western model that helps to

speak to some of the Hawaiian values as described in my ontology. Therefore, I put forth

convergent leadership (Kezar, 2012), as an important model because it is a way of exploring

how many different people in the institution can live into their respective kuleana without

exclusion.

Learning

As leaders attempt to transform the institution either individually or collectively, learning

is essential. In a 2007 study by Kezar and Eckel, they found that university presidents who were

committed to the success of students of color approached their commitment through

“organizational learning” (p. 20). Organizational learning is a two-step process. First,

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information on the organization is gathered. Second, the organization takes the information and

makes changes of practices based on what was gathered.

The five areas that make up organizational learning include learning from data, learning

from students, acting on new learning, controversy as a learning opportunity, and knowing when

and how to act (Kezar & Eckel, 2007). Learning from the data includes updating data, building a

data infrastructure, and using existing data effectively. Learning from students means creating

student advisory panels and student focus groups that meet on a consistent basis. Acting on new

learning requires all parties to be involved, including the faculty, administration, staff, students,

boards, and external organizations. According to the presidents, when all of these bodies act

together, there is a sense of synergy that is experienced on campus.

After gathering an array of information on how to help organizations learn, Kezar and

Eckel (2007) reported that one of the most important parts of the learning process is knowing

when and how to act upon the information. This includes proper assessment of the campus

climate, which takes time and patience. Depending on how much progress the institution has

previously made and is accustomed to, the proper speed at which to move ahead can be

determined. Therefore, organizational learning is strategic in not only the gathering of the

information but also in the implementation process.

Culture of inquiry. Organizational learning (Kezar & Eckel, 2007) is a useful concept

because it is an approach to learning about the institution that integrates data as well as

conversations with an array of people. However, it lacks a certain level of critical analysis and

self-reflection necessary when challenging individual underlying assumptions. Therefore,

moving beyond organizational learning is the concept of “culture of inquiry” (p. 47). According

to Witham and Bensimon (2012), a culture of inquiry

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(1) reflects the unique culture of academic institutions by involving faculty and campus

practitioners in iterative processes of inquiry, (2) uses data as a jumping-off point for

intentional and critical analysis of equity in outcomes, (3) fosters reflection on practices

and a process of practitioner self-change, and (4) shifts focus to institutional

responsibility, rather than student deficits, when devising solutions. (p. 47)

Therefore, a culture of inquiry focuses on many people learning together through critical

reflection and dialogue and shared responsibility.

Integral to learning through a culture of inquiry is double-loop learning (Witham &

Bensimon, 2012). According to Witham and Bensimon (2012), “double-loop learning is one that

focuses on institutional values and practices, brings invisible issues to the surface, and considers

how conventional problem-solving approaches may themselves contribute to the problem” (p.

49). Therefore, establishing a culture of inquiry and employing double-loop learning affords the

institution the opportunity to dig deeply into the issues that are at the root of preventing campus

culture transformation.

Conversations

One of the common threads throughout the examples of shared leadership (Kezar, 2012),

organizational learning (Kezar & Eckel, 2007), and double-loop learning (Witham & Bensimon,

2012), is the importance of dialogue (Freire, 1993) and conversations (Wheatley, 2009).

Similarly, Schein (2010) suggests that the way to uncovering individual underlying assumptions

within the institution is to engage in discussion. Therefore, exploring the art of conversation is

necessary.

In his discussion of transforming schools into learning organizations, Schlechty (2009)

suggests that school leaders often need to make the time to go from person to person to sit, listen,

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and build relationships. Schelchty is referring to the process of conversation. Along the same

lines, Wheatley (2009) states, “I believe we can change the world if we start listening to one

another again…if we begin talking with each other – especially with those we call stranger or

enemy – then this world can reverse…and change for the good” (p. 4). Further, as described in

Chapter Two, Freire (1993) recognizes the social process of learning and knowing. Therefore,

Schlechty, Wheatley, and Freire suggest that dialogue and conversation can indeed transform

educational institutions and the world.

As conversation is critical, remembering the elements of a meaningful conversation is

important. Guajardo and Guajardo (2010) describe a good conversation as “understanding how

to listen, how to ask questions, how to build on what others say” (p. 87). Similarly, Wheatley

(2009) aims at conversation that is “simple, truthful conversation where we each have a chance

to speak, we each feel heard, and we each listen well” (p. 7). Therefore, key concepts to

transformational conversations include the power of listening to what other people have to say

and in return feeling the satisfaction of being heard. When those elements are present, a

meaningful dialogue can be had. Furthermore, according to Wheatley, “Human conversation is

the most ancient and easiest way to cultivate the conditions for change…” (p. 7). Therefore, it

may be returning to what is most simple and common to all people that can help us transform our

schools and thus our communities for the better.

With all this said, although strategies for transformation exist, it is unknown how such

strategies have been employed at UHM for the purpose of transforming into a Hawaiian place of

learning. Certainly shared leadership (Kezar, 2012), institution-wide learning (Kezar & Eckel,

2007; Witham & Bensimon, 2012), and conversations (Freire, 1993; Guajardo & Guajardo,

2010; Schlechty, 2009; Wheatley, 2009) may have occurred, however, such engagement has not

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been well documented, especially with respect to Native Hawaiian focused efforts.

Summary

In order to conceptualize UHM as a Hawaiian place of learning, I first turned to Mānoa

itself as a model for a nourishing kaikua‘ana. I then reviewed UHM’s history with Hawai‘i and

with Hawaiians. Further, in exploring ways to transform UHM’s campus culture into a Hawaiian

place of learning, policies and documents were reviewed, models were identified, and strategies

were sought out. The literature reveals that many policies and other supporting documents call

for state education in Hawai‘i to be grounded in Hawaiian ways of knowing, learning, and being.

What is not yet clear is how those policies and plans have been implemented thus far and how

they can be further implemented in the future. Also, it is not yet clear how individuals grounded

in different cultural value systems interpret and live into such policies. In addition, literature on

existing higher education models serving Indigenous peoples of the United States provides

examples of compartmentalized shifts, particularly in student services programs and Native-

focused academic units. These examples are useful because they provide proof that

transformation can occur within large, non-tribal universities.

Though the current Native American models are useful, the current models lack two

important things. First, there is no example of institution-wide transformation of a predominantly

non-tribal, Western-based university into one grounded in Indigenous ways of learning,

knowing, and being in the United States. Second, there are few accounts of the stories and

experiences of those involved in the processes of transforming small parts of the campus or their

attempts at campus-wide transformation. Lastly, the literature includes several strategies for

transforming campus culture, including shared leadership, different approaches to institution-

wide learning, and utilizing conversations as a means to learn from one another. Absent from this

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piece is how these strategies have been used at UHM to move towards transformation into a

Hawaiian place of learning and how Native Hawaiians might want to use such strategies in the

future.

Therefore, in reviewing what exists in the literature regarding transformation of higher

education institutions, particularly predominantly non-Indigenous institutions on Indigenous

land, into Indigenous places of learning, there are several gaps. Hence, this study sought to

explore some of those gaps and add to the larger body of literature and praxis (Freire, 1993).

Specifically, in the following two chapters, the mo‘olelo of eight Native Hawaiian female

educational leaders are highlighted. Their mo‘olelo inform some of the gaps identified in the

literature, such as how they have begun to make both deep and pervasive changes (Eckel et al.,

1998) across the institutions and also in the communities. In addition, their mo‘olelo also

describe the processes of how they have accomplished their transformational work.

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CHAPTER 4

NĀ ‘A‘ALI‘I KŪ MAKANI – STORIES OF SURVIVANCE

In order to explore how UH Mānoa can transform into a Hawaiian place of learning, I

began, in Chapter Three, by exploring UHM’s mo‘olelo. I started off by presenting the ‘āina

momona framework in which the land of Mānoa demonstrates how it has been long looked to as

a source of abundance and health for the people, specifically the Indigenous people of Hawai‘i,

Native Hawaiians. I then used that ‘āina momona framework to analyze UHM’s genealogy as a

source of abundance and health (or not) for Native Hawaiians throughout its 107 year history

(“About UH Mānoa,” 2013). Specifically, I examined and analyzed UHM’s artifacts (Schein,

2010), archival documents (Merriam, 2009), and related espoused values (Schein, 2010) found

within those artifacts and archival documents. What is revealed throughout Chapter Three,

therefore, is that UHM’s relationship with Native Hawaiians as a source of nourishment has been

limited. However, in the past thirty years there has been growth and expansion in terms of Native

Hawaiian presence at UHM and thus an increase in UHM’s presence and service to the Native

Hawaiian community (Balutski & Wright, 2012; Hawaiian Studies Task Force, 1986; Native

Hawaiian Advancement Task Force, 2012).

Therefore, in this chapter, Chapter Four, I turn to the mo‘olelo of seven Native Hawaiian

women who have been at the forefront of much of the change and transformation that has

allowed UHM to begin to live into its role as a kaikua‘ana; as a provider of nourishment to the

Native Hawaiian people. The women central to these stories have created educational kīpuka

(Goodyear-Ka‘ōpua, 2013), thus leading the transformation of spaces into Hawaiian places of

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learning. These educational kīpuka can be found on the UHM campus and also in the

community. Moreover, these educational kīpuka inform and influence UHM’s campus culture

(Jayakumar & Museus, 2012), its mission and goals today. However, as documented in Chapter

Three and further revealed in this chapter, much of the work to create educational kīpuka has

been difficult and challenging, given the predominantly non-Hawaiian environments this work

takes place in. Therefore, the women have had to become ‘a‘ali‘i kū makani – firmly and deeply

rooted to withstand the gales they have faced. Thus, their stories are those of survivance, in

which despite the conditions of racism, oppression, and colonization, they have not only survived

but have also transformed spaces for their people to thrive (Vizenor, 2008).

In learning from the mo‘olelo of these Native Hawaiian female educational leaders, I kept

the following questions in mind:

What do the mo‘olelo and memories of select female Hawaiian educational leaders

teach us about:

a. The people and the processes that have defined a Hawaiian place of learning at

UHM over time?

b. The relationships between their personal values and the values of the institution

(UHM) in their life’s work?

c. How the women have used their lessons learned to build capacity and transform

the institution?

Therefore, in this chapter, I present the mo‘olelo of seven female Hawaiian educational

leaders, using the ‘a‘ali‘i kū makani framework described in Chapters One and Two.

Specifically, the women’s stories are presented in three cyclical phases. First, He Hua. This

phase represents a beginning: the beginning of a story, the beginning of a journey, or the

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beginning of a consciousness. The hua is slightly different for each woman. Second, Hao Mai,

Iho Mai, Pā Mai. This phase takes into account the many influences – including people,

experiences, and processes – that have defined who they are and the work they do at UHM

and in the community to transform spaces into Hawaiian places of learning. Third, Kupu a

Mohala. This phase captures the way each of the women have blossomed and transformed,

thus engaging in transformational work.

Naming Each Kumu

Each of their stories are marked by a two-part title. First, I introduce each one as ʻKe

Kumu ‘Akahi,’ ‘Ke Kumu ‘Alua’ and so forth. The term ʻkumu’ has already been introduced

in previous chapters as ʻsource or teacher’ (Pukui & Elbert, 1986). The terms ‘akahi, ‘alua,

‘akolu, ‘ahā, ‘alima, ‘aono, and ‘ahiku are simply ways of numbering a succession of things in

Hawaiian. Therefore, I am simply numbering the stories to help us keep track. The numbering

is not hierarchical in nature, rather just a way to remind us what story we have arrived to.

Second, I introduce each woman’s story with a ‘ōlelo no‘eau – a Hawaiian proverb or

wise saying (Pukui, 1983). These ‘ōlelo no‘eau revealed themselves to me as I learned from

each of the mo‘olelo; the ‘ōlelo no‘eau arrived in my consciousness as a main lesson learned

from each of my kumu. Therefore, in one sense, the ‘ōlelo no‘eau are a type of thematic

coding and early analysis (Saldana, 2013). In another sense, I see the ‘ōlelo no‘eau as

Hawaiian ancestral knowledge that speak through the women’s stories.

Story Format

Each of the stories are presented as a conversation, illuminating the methodology of

mo‘olelo aku, mo‘olelo mai as detailed in Chapter Two. To be clear, my voice is marked by the

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bolded term ʻKa Haumāna’ referring to my role as the student. In each story, the teacher’s voice

is marked by the bolded term ‘Ke Kumu’ referring to their role as the teacher and source of

knowledge in this chapter. As demonstrated in this chapter, the power of dialogue (Freire, 1993)

and conversation (Wheatley, 2009) allow those involved to teach and learn together. As

previously explained, I am in deep relationship with each of these women. They are my ‘ohana

(Handy & Pukui, 1998). As such, I have been learning from these women most of my life. To

now sit and be afforded the special time with each of them was a shared act of deep trust and

aloha. Therefore, I now invite you, the reader, into this special place and relationship, to learn

from the powerful mo‘olelo of these women as we explore the first-hand accounts of

transforming spaces at UHM and in the community into Hawaiian places of learning.

Ke Kumu ‘Akahi – The First Teacher: Kau ka lā i ka lolo79

The intensity of the sun’s heat at high noon80

I can only begin by saying that the kumu central to this mo‘olelo is my original kumu:

my original source of physical, intellectual, and spiritual life. This is my mother’s story. She has

always wanted me to name her explicitly. She did not want a pseudonym. She wanted to claim

her genealogical connection to the story she was sharing. Though I will only refer to her as

“Kumu” in her story below in order to maintain the consistency across the mo‘olelo of each of

the women, I honor her here by introducing her by name. This is the story of my mother, Dr.

Lilikalā Kame‘eleihiwa.

The natural question to arise is: Why would I interview my own mother? The long

answer is in her story. The short answer includes: Earning her PhD at UHM and becoming a

79 This comes from the ‘ōlelo no‘eau: Kau ka lā i ka lolo, ho‘i ke aka i ke kino (#1611) which is translated as “The sun stands over the brain, the shadow retreats to the body. Said of high noon, when the sun is directly overhead and no shadows are seen – an important time for some ancient rites and ceremonies (Pukui, 1983, p. 174) 80 My interpretation for the context of this mo‘olelo.

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professor at UHM in 1987, she is one of the longest standing Native Hawaiian professors at the

University of Hawai‘i at Mānoa. Her institutional memory is one of a kind. During the past 27

years, she has been integral in building the Hawaiian Studies program at UH Mānoa. In addition,

she has written and taught many courses in Hawaiian Studies, helping to shape the way a new

generation interacts and understands Hawai‘i’s history and culture. As a scholar, she has

authored three important books that help us better understand Hawaiian history and culture.81

She has also been integral in the organizing and formation of Native Hawaiian advisory bodies at

each UH campus and also spanning the UH system. This organization of Hawaiian councils is a

first in the university’s 102-year history. At the same time, she has been an active and significant

member of the Hawaiian language immersion revitalization movement, the Ka Lāhui Hawai‘i82

sovereignty movement, and also the Polynesian Voyaging Society.83 Needless to say, over the

last 30 years, she has been involved in countless efforts to create Hawaiian places of learning and

practice both within the university and in our homes and communities across the state of

Hawai‘i. Within each of these settings, the American military, American systems and

government, and American settler colonialism all control resources and types of power.

Therefore, learning from her stories – her approaches, skills, frameworks, successes, and failures

– are all key to our understanding of not only how to make UH Mānoa a Hawaiian place of

learning, but also some of the bigger political, social, and environmental factors that influence

this thing we call ʻeducation.’

81 These books include: Kame‘eleihiwa, L. K. (1992). Native land and foreign desires – Pehea la e pono ai? Honolulu, HI: Bishop Museum Press. Kame‘eleihiwa, L. K. (1996). A legendary tradition of Kamapua‘a: The Hawaiian pig-god. Honolulu, HI: Bishop Museum Press. Kame‘eleihiwa, L. K. (1999). Nā wāhine kapu: Divine Hawaiian women. Honolulu, HI: ‘Aipōhaku Press. 82 Ka Lāhui Hawai‘i was described as a Native Hawaiian nation initiative for self-determination or a nation in exile. It had 20,000 citizens and a formal constitution. 83 The Polynesian Voyaging Society (PVS) was organized around the re-birth of Hawaiian double-hulled canoe sailing and traditional navigation across the Pacific Ocean. For more information visit http://www.pvs-hawaii.com.

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I could try and describe what I have witnessed and learned from her in each of her

separate roles, but it does not make sense to divide her. She cares for her students as a mother,

she is an active advocate while a professor, she teaches while leading in the community. In the

31 years that I have been her daughter, her student, and her friend, what I have learned the most

from her is a kind of conviction and intense commitment to her culture and her people. That is

what I see as her biggest tool in making change.

I draw from the ‘ōlelo no‘eau “Kau ka lā i ka lolo, ho‘i ke aka i ke kino” (Pukui, 1983, p.

174) to describe her essence. As Pukui (1983) describes, “Kau ka lā i ka lolo” refers to high

noon, when the sun is directly overhead, a time for ceremonies. It is the time when the heat of the

sun is most intense, an intensity necessary for ceremonies. This kumu’s work has been

approached with that same kind of heat and intensity, I think because she views her work –

namely to make positive change for her lāhui Hawai‘i through creating Hawaiian places of

learning, both in and out of the academy – as a sacred ceremonial act.

On one hand, it has been exhausting to watch her engage every single effort that she has

been involved in with such intensity and commitment. As a daughter, I sometimes worry about

what the work does to her, the toll it takes on her. On the other hand, it has been amazing to see

the change she has made. I know without doubt that the opportunities I have had – and countless

of other Hawaiians have had in my generation (and in generations to come) – are due in large

part to the work this kumu has done. That makes me incredibly proud.

The conversations that inform the story below are ongoing. However, the two focused

conversations we had in which I recorded her stories for the purpose of this dissertation

happened late at night after I put my children to sleep (we live with her). During the first

conversation we sat at the dining room table and talked for three hours. For the second

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conversation we met in my make-shift office (my old bedroom). That conversation lasted two

and a half hours. We spoke of many things those two nights in which I learned a great deal about

not only her methods and approaches to transforming the University, but also about my family

and the genealogies from which I come. These are treasured stories and I am honored to share

some of them here.

He Hua: A Beginning

KE KUMU:

Your first question,84 I could probably speak for about ten hours. But it has really got me to think

about those early days that I haven’t talked about in a very long time and what University was

like in 1970 when I first went there.85 In Hawai‘i, the 1960s were a time of change because of the

Vietnam War. People were protesting. Stokely Carmichael from the Black Power movement

came to town and talked. I cut school from Kamehameha86 to go listen to him and got detention

for doing so. It was a time of intense, deep conversations.

I graduated from high school in 1970 and I went straight to UH Mānoa. I think there were

about three Hawaiians in the whole campus. At that time our people, Hawaiians, were so

Americanized and so demoralized and generally so willing to bow down. It was disgusting. And

it just so happened that right before school started, in August some time, I was in a second hand

bookstore and I found a copy of the Queen’s own story - Hawai‘i’s Story by Hawai‘i’s Queen –

by Lili‘u. I always call it the Queen’s own story.87 When I read it I just became so angry that

white people had taken over our country. I had never heard about the overthrow, read about the

84 I asked her about her first memories of UH Mānoa. 85 She is referring to UH Mānoa. 86 Kamehameha Schools is a private school, founded by Princess Pauahi, to educate Hawaiian children. To learn more go to www.ksbe.edu. 87 Queen Lili‘uokalani. (1898). Hawai‘i’s story by Hawai‘i’s queen. Boston, MA: Lee and Shepard. Or http://digital.library.upenn.edu/women/liliuokalani/hawaii/hawaii.html

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overthrow. I knew nothing about the overthrow. We learned nothing at Kamehameha. So reading

the Queen’s words was like a blow to my head and I thought, “My god! How stupid are we?”

And this was the time when if you ever heard anybody speaking Hawaiian it was like one in one

hundred thousand. It was only usually done in church. And when people sang Hawaiian songs

they didn’t know what the words meant. People just lip-synced. They memorized the sound but

they didn’t know what the words meant. Our identity was in shreds. And here was this most

powerful book that we had never read at one of the premier high schools in Hawai‘i. So, I got a

real attitude about it and I just got very angry.

For my first classes at the university, I decided I was going to take French, Japanese, and

Hawaiian because languages were easier than writing essays. This was right when Kaiser and

Kamehameha Schools were developing Maunalua, the Hawai‘i Kai area, changing the largest

fishpond in the world into a marina – for rich people – and they were evicting all the pig farmers

in the back of Kalama Valley. A lot of Hawaiians who’d become radicalized by the Black Power

movement and the anti-Vietnam War movement who were a little older than me decided they

were going to form a communist group called Kōkua Hawai‘i. They were going to fight the

eviction of the farmers. My boyfriend and I were invited to join. I didn’t even know what a

communist was, frankly. But I thought Kōkua Hawai‘i was a good thing. I didn’t think the pig

farmers should be evicted. I just didn’t have time to go to any protests because I was working

full time at the ‘Ilikai Hotel trying to make enough money to go to school on account of my

mother didn’t want me to go to college. She wanted me to be a hairdresser and go to hairdresser

school like her, which I thought was a fate worse than death. I would rather work as a maid at the

‘Ilikai! And yet all of this stuff was going on around me.

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After I read the Queen’s own story, I was taking Hawaiian language from Pua Anthony

and she was telling us about the struggle that was going on in Ethnic Studies. Her husband, who

eventually became my husband and your father, was made an offer of hire to become an assistant

professor in Ethnic Studies but then the BOR88 withdrew the offer because they deemed him too

radical. The whole of Ethnic Studies was in an uproar because of that and because they weren’t

being allowed to put forward new courses that would lift and teach history. “Our history our

way” was the slogan. So a whole lot of Hawaiians, Filipinos, and Asians came to campus, who

were all underrepresented, every single one, and they took over Bachman Hall.89 I was one of the

people who took over Bachman Hall.

The president of the university at the time was named President Harlan Cleveland. When

we took over Bachman Hall he was kind of upset. We wouldn’t leave Bachman Hall and we

were ordering pizza and were just hanging out there. They didn’t have guards in those days. I

remember he came walking in and he asked us what we were doing there and what were our

problems. I remember saying to him that we were tired of eating shit at this university. He said,

“What course would that be where you learned to do that?” I said, “Bachman 101.” That was a

big uproar. So I kind of came out as one of the leaders of the students early on because I was just

so angry. I could not believe that we had been lied to about the overthrow and the queen had

been so badly treated and we didn’t know anything about it. I was just full of rage.

KA HAUMĀNA:

So it was kind of coincidental that this was happening at UH, the “Our history our way” struggle

since you had just read…

KE KUMU:

88 BOR: Board of Regents 89 Bachman Hall is the UH system administration building located on the UH Mānoa campus.

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The book! And I thought, “We’ve been lied to all this time. We are not learning anything in these

white courses. There’s white people around us. Just white, white, white, everywhere! And they

have taken over our country! That’s why we are so poor!”

Out of that struggle, out of that taking over of Bachman Hall, there was a group called the

People’s Committee on Ethnic Studies. It had four students, four faculty, and four community

members. That was actually a really radicalizing thing. The first thing I learned in Bachman 101

is that you can take over power if you have a strong enough will. I learned from an early time

that you didn’t have to obey white people and if you wanted to make a change you had to think

for yourself. You had to do the reading and you had to really be a scholar.

Eventually I was going to be taking classes. I would take Hawaiian History. That was my

3rd semester in university. I was a sophomore. And one day I just decided this Haole90 bullshit is

enough and I’m leaving and I walked out.

KA HAUMĀNA:

But if it was such a strong push to change the university…

KE KUMU:

Why would I leave?

KA HAUMĀNA:

Why did you leave?

KE KUMU:

Well, one of the members on the People’s Committee started making deals with the

administration behind closed doors and she was the leak from our committee meetings, which

didn’t make things too happy between us. They fired your father and he filed a lawsuit. So I just

90 ʻHaole’ is a term that sometimes refers to any non-Hawaiian. However, she uses the term specifically in reference refer to ʻwhite’ foreigners, especially Euro-Americans.

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decided I needed to move to the country,91 get back to my roots, dance hula, get a job, work, and

be focused on what it means to be a Hawaiian. I didn’t want to be in the Haole world anymore. I

wasn’t going to learn anything about being a Hawaiian or anything Hawaiian in this university so

I’m leaving and I’m gonna go live in Ka‘a‘awa.

Hao Mai, Iho Mai, Pā Mai: The Elemental Influences

KE KUMU:

I was so enthralled with being immersed in hula and learning chant. We were learning hula

kahiko92 and we were dancing all the time. If I wasn’t at work I was at hula. It fed my soul. It

made me feel like, this is the wisdom of the ancestors. Not what some white people are teaching

in a university! It had nothing to do with me. And that’s why, when I finally did come back to

the university, I was so adamant that we should have a strong Hawaiian Studies program where

we could teach the wisdom of our ancestors. Where we would bring in people who knew what

we were about. Not American Hawaiians, not the Ethnic Studies thing, not the ‘we are going to

be part of America.’ No! We need the country back! That’s what we need. That’s what Lili’u

said, “We need the country back.”

Also I think the ancestors decided a path for me a long time ago, but I had no idea. I was

always interested in genealogy, even as a young child. I was always interested in Hawaiian

language and chanting in particular; what it meant, what the words meant, traditional hula. Those

are things that I really, really wanted to do.

When I started learning hula kahiko, it was terrifying but it was thrilling, too. I’d actually

try to memorize everything that my kumu said and I’d go home and write it down immediately

91 She is using the term ʻcountry’ to refer to the rural communities of O‘ahu, especially Ka‘a‘awa and Kahana where she went to live. 92 Hula kahiko is traditional hula, accompanied by an ipu (gourd) or pahu (drum) with chanting.

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and try to look up Eia nō Kawika,93 try to understand what the words meant. I had this little

Hawaiian dictionary, a pocket dictionary. Then at Kamehameha Schools I had to find a way to

get to Hawaiian language.

Now I think all of my research in my life has really been ancestors. Why would I care

about genealogy? My grandmother was a genealogist and she lives in me because of our

names.94 That fascinates me. Why would I want to learn about Hawaiian gods? It really comes

from the time that my mother used to say, “Don’t forget, I’m Pele.” What is Pele? I know Pele

the goddess, but what does that mean, “I am Pele”? What does that mean and how does that

affect us?

So the reason I love teaching four classes a semester is because I am learning so much.

Every time I teach a class in mythology,95 I learn something new that I’ve never learned before.

It’s like the ancestors open up a little window and they say, “Take a look at this. Did you pay

attention to this?” I’m like, “Wow!” Every day, I’m learning something new and that, to me, is

really the most fun.

I believe that every Hawaiian should have access to this kind of knowledge because it

empowers who we are and it makes life really fun. No need to cry about, “Oh what was taken

away.” Look what’s still there! Look at all the stuff that we can learn and really informs us!

That’s why when you say your student tells you she feels she’s been cheated, she was! We all

have been cheated and it thrills me beyond belief that I get to help with righting that wrong. That

to me is more important than politics, it’s more important than land, getting land, running a

93 Eia Nō Kāwika, dedicated to King Kālakaua, is a hula kahiko that many children learn as their first hula. 94 Her grandmother’s name was Haleakalā, connected to her name, Lilikalā. 95 HWST 270: Hawaiian Mythology is a course she wrote and teaches every semester. For more information on this and other Hawaiian Studies classes, visit http://www.catalog.hawaii.edu/courses/departments/hwst.htm

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country, being in political control, being a president, whatever. That imparting of the potential to

our people, that’s really good fun.

Anyway, getting back to my story. In 1974 I got pregnant with Nā‘ālehu.96 I thought, “Oh

my god, here I am with a small baby. What am I going to do?” I was kind of floundering around.

I happened to go to a chant class with Kalena Silva. He was finishing his master’s. He was the

class of 1971 and I was class of 1970.97 And here I had not finished my BA and he was finishing

his master’s.

I decided to go back to school even though it was a white place because I needed

credentials to get a job or else I would be working in Hau‘ula at they Pay-n-Save for the rest of

my life, living in poverty. My thing about coming back to school was how to take care of

Nā‘ālehu and how to get a job where I could make money and take care of him. Motherhood

really changed me. Now I had a real focus, which was taking care of my child.

When I had Nā‘ālehu and I came back to school, I was very aggressive about wanting to

be an A student. I had all these Fs I had to bring up. I never had such a terrible thing happen to

me in my academic career.98 I graduated third in my class at Kamehameha. So I came back into

school saying to my professors, “I am an A student. What do I have to do in this class to get an

A?” It really helped me re-focus my life.

So my first experiences, those earliest memories, which I kind of had forgotten, actually,

about the Peoples Committee and taking over Bachman Hall, that made me realize that I had to

be an aggressive player in my own education. By that time there were some courses in Hawaiian

Language and there were some courses in Hawaiian Studies. I did a Liberal Studies degree and I

96 Nā‘ālehu is her eldest born son. 97 She is referring to their high school graduation years. 98 She got all Fs when she walked away mid-semester without formally withdrawing during her 3rd semester of college.

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did every course there was about Hawai‘i, whether it was history, geography, environment,

language, grammar, or whatever. I got up to 4th year Hawaiian language and I really kind of liked

going to school then, especially since there were courses to take about Hawaiian stuff.

By this time there was a Hawaiian Studies program. Abe Pi‘ianai‘a was running it. It was

conditional. They had to prove themselves. It was made up of two Hawaiian Studies courses and

courses from other departments. There was an introductory class, Hawaiian Studies 301, and an

exit class, Hawaiian Studies 490. There was one small room in Porteus, which is now Saunders,

home of the Geography Department, that the program was run out of. Marvlee99 was the

secretary. I was hanging out with the Hawaiians who were there – more than three Hawaiians.

That was kind of nice. Now we had a program. That’s a little bit different from 1970 when there

was nothing.

I think it was 1978 when the Hawaiian Studies Program started. It all came out of the

whole con-con100 thing with Waihe‘e101 and all of them. The legislature called for a Hawaiian

Studies Program at the university because there was really nothing taught about Hawaiian

culture. This was when Waihe‘e was an activist, a senator. He was up and coming.

KA HAUMĀNA:

Wow! So the legislature was asking for more Hawaiian things at the university?

KE KUMU:

Yup, I’m pretty sure this is how it started. Just like tuition waivers102 came in from the

legislature. And actually the legislature has been the greatest friend of the Hawaiian people. If it

hadn’t been for the legislature we wouldn’t have a building in Hawaiian Studies.

99 Marvlee Naukana-Gilding. 100 A ʻcon-con’ refers to a constitutional convention. In 1978 there was a Hawai‘i State con-con. 101 John Waihe‘e, senator in the 1970s, became governor of Hawai‘i from 1986-1994. 102 She is referring to tuition waivers for Native Hawaiian students at UH Mānoa.

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KA HAUMĀNA:

Even though we don’t have many Hawaiian legislators?

KE KUMU:

That’s right. But the Japanese liked the fact that Haunani-Kay and I would work so hard for our

people. “Try hard never give up.”103 They like that. We weren’t weeping; we weren’t saying,

“Oh boo hoo look how horrible our lives are.” We were saying, “This is the way it ought to be

because we are the Native people and this is our land.” They liked that. They gave money to it.

Anyway, going back to the 1980s, I applied for the East West Center grant104 and I got it.

That’s where I met Mike Walker. The first time I met Mike I had just started my master’s

program and I went to my first ever talk at East West Center. There was a Japanese professor

there. He started talking about kanaka maoli105 and the mana of the kanaka maoli. I thought,

“This Japanese. Who does he think is saying these things about Hawaiians? He’s not even

Hawaiian! He’s trying to pretend he’s Hawaiian!” So immediately I stood up and I challenged

him ma ka ‘ōlelo Hawai‘i.106 “‘O wai ‘oe? Hiki iā ‘oe ke ‘olelo Hawai‘i? Malia paha, hiki iā ‘oe

ke wehewehe i kou mo‘okū‘auhau?”107 All in Hawaiian! And the professor just looked at me

like, “Oh my god!”

KA HAUMĀNA:

Who taught you to do that?

KE KUMU:

I guess your father taught me some things. But I was just really angry about the queen being

overthrown. I really tell you that book changed my life. Also, I was looking around thinking,

103 That is a Japanese motto she learned at Hongwanji. 104 The graduate scholarship from East-West Center supports graduate students through four years of study. 105 ‘Kanaka maoli’ literally meaning ‘real people’ refers to the first people of Hawai‘i, namely Native Hawaiians. 106 Ma ka ‘ōlelo Hawai‘i: In the Hawaiian language 107 Translation: Who are you? Can you speak Hawaiian? Perhaps you can reveal your genealogy.

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there’s all these people acting like they know something about Hawaiians. All the professors I

had to take classes from who were Haole and knew nothing but who were making a living

teaching about my ancestors.

So Mike had seen me maumauing this guy. Maumauing is a term that comes out of the

radical literature. It refers to the way the Samoans would torture the British when the British

were taking over Samoa. So it is maumauing the white man. Mike came up to me afterwards and

he said, “I love the way you attacked him! You have to join the Pacific Club!”108 Eventually I

did join and we became friends.

Then one day Mike said to me, “You gotta meet my Uncle Pat, cause he’s just this really

neat guy” and all this stuff. I said, “Yeah, yeah.” Then Mike said, “And there’s a language

conference. And you speak your language so you should be at this conference.” I said, “Okay,

okay. I’m going to the conference!”

The morning of the conference I met Pat Hohepa. We instantly hit it off. He was the kind

of person to take over power and I was the kind of person to take over power, too. He taught me

how to take over a conference. I showed up at the conference and I wasn’t registered. But Pat got

me a nametag and he said, “Sit next to me.” Then he said to me, “Look around here. Are there

any Hawaiians here?” I said, “No.” He said, “You’re the only Hawaiian?” I said, “Yeah.” He

said, “Don’t you think you ought to invite people to your country and welcome them?” I said,

“Oh yeah. How should I do that?” He said, “Do it now.” So I stood up and I did it because he

told me to.

KA HAUMĀNA:

Can you talk about that a little bit more? What happened?

108 The Pacific Club was a student club of graduate students who were on fellowhip together at East West Center.

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KE KUMU:

There was a lull. The conference was about to begin. Right before the person who was running

the conference could stand up I stood up and grabbed the mic and I chanted. After I chanted I

said, “As the only Native Hawaiian here in this room, I welcome you to my country and to the

land of my ancestors. I think that we have a very fruitful conference because you have come to

learn about the Hawaiian people and our language.”

KA HAUMĀNA:

Was it the first time you ever did that?

KE KUMU:

Yeah. It was good fun. And Pat said, “That’s right!” It really came from a deep sense of anger

and this irritation that I couldn’t do too much about it. What Pat was for me was that elderly

academic. He was a generation above me who did not obey white people’s rules either. Then I

started to hear how Maoris were always maumauing the white man and their different strategies

for doing so. I was like, “Wow, this is cool. This is really cool.”

So I was working on Kamapua‘a109 as my MA thesis. My department did not want me to

do Kamapua‘a because they said it wasn’t pan-Pacific enough and I was a graduate student in

Pacific Island Studies. I told them that it was racist to say that Hawaiians weren’t part of

Polynesia when we obviously are and that this was an important piece of literature and I was

going to translate it and that was going to be my MA thesis. Get it? Because I’m an A student!

They kind of let me go especially since they knew that your father was my partner and they

109 Kamapua‘a is a Hawaiian kupua or demi-god who has many adventures around Hawai‘i and the Pacific. For more, refer to: Kame‘eleihiwa, L. K. (1996). A legendary tradition of Kamapua‘a: The Hawaiian pig-god. Honolulu, HI: Bishop Museum Press.

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didn’t want to have any trouble with him. Plus I had passed my comprehensive exams really

well. I knew everything they had to teach in Pacific Island Studies.

I didn’t really think I was going to stay in the university. I thought with an MA I was

going to get out and go teach somewhere. I had been teaching already. I was the teacher at

Waiāhole Summer Fun. I had been the intermediate Hawaiian language teacher at Kalāheo

School. I was starting to get little teaching gigs here and there. That was good.

While I was doing my MA, Marshal Sahlins came to town and he had written all this

stuff about Hawai‘i. He was teaching a course in anthropology and the anthropological view of

Hawaiians. I sat in his front row and I was his best student and challenged everything he had to

say. Then I decided I liked him. So I wrote him a mele ma‘i.110 Then we had a party and we did

the mele ma‘i for him. When I was in East West Center I had this hula troupe I put together and

we did all mele ma‘i. So I choreographed it and they did this hula for Marshal Sahlins.

KA HAUMĀNA:

He was your professor?!

KE KUMU:

Yes. But he was leaving and I thought that this was kind of the last thing before he leaves. His

wife Barbara came and she thought it was just charming and Marshal made a crack, “Now I can

see what happened to Captain Cook. The Natives were charming and then they killed him.” And

I said, “That’s right. You better be careful!”

While we were talking and laughing about these kinds of things, Barbara came up to me

and said, “Now that you’ve done your MA, where will you do your PhD?” It was life changing.

110 A mele ma‘i is a procreation chant, honoring someone of significance. Specifically, the genitalia of the person is honored, done in a flirtatious, fun, and exciting manner. To be gifted a mele ma‘i is quite an honor in the Hawaiian culture.

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No one had ever said to me that I should do a PhD. I didn’t think I was good enough to do a

PhD. I didn’t know that Hawaiians really did PhDs.

I listened to Barbara Sahlins and I went to the chair of my department, Bob Kiste, and I

said, “Bob, so what do you think? Can I do a PhD?” And he said, “Well of course.” I thought,

“Of course! You never said anything to me!” He was the chair of my committee and he never

said anything to me. That’s why I’m so evangelical about saying to students who are smart, “Go

and do it!” because nobody said that to me.

I wanted to apply to the History Department. I don’t even know why I chose history. I

liked reading history. I guess I had a couple of good courses in history. Pauline King taught the

survey of Hawaiian History. She couldn’t even pronounce Hawaiian words. But the one good

thing she did was she had Nick Shweizer come to talk who was a white man and not American. I

think he was one of the first white man I ever met who was not an American. He said Kalākaua

was a great king, he was a great diplomat in the world and Hawai‘i deserved to have its kingdom.

That was it! I was going to be a historian and that’s what I was going to say. I was going to re-

write Hawaiian history!

I think that’s why I chose the History Department. I didn’t know any other department. It

was August. I graduated with my MA in the summer. So Bob Kiste picked up the phone and

called the history department and said, “I’m sending my A student over to you and I want you to

admit her immediately.” No deadlines, no writing an essay, no begging to get in, nothing. One

phone call. One white man to the next white man. That’s how it works.

I went into History thinking, “I want to find out what happened to our peoples’ land.” But

I didn’t really know how to enunciate that. I’d just done Kamapua‘a. I didn’t have much of an

academic background or analysis. I kind of wanted to write about the sexuality of Hawaiian

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chiefs. I was really interested in the sexual politics of the chiefs. Reading Ruling Chiefs and

reading Kamakau, I thought I should do a history on that, because I wanted to know how our

own power elite worked.

Pauline King was the Hawaiian history professor. We talked story and I told her what I

wanted to do. She said, “Oh no. You can’t do that.” I said, “Really?” She said, “Oh no.” I said,

“Why not?” She said, “Not about sexuality, no.” I said, “Okay, what can I do?” She said, “Well

you can choose a different topic.”

While I was in her office, sitting on her desk was the Buke Mahele.111 She went to answer

a telephone call while I was meeting with her and I picked up the Buke Mahele and looked at the

names of all these chiefs. I was like, “Damn! Who are these chiefs?” We started talking and it

became very clear to me that she didn’t know anything, really, about the Buke Mahele. Here

were all these chiefs that I could research and probably find out a lot about sexual politics. So I

said, “Well, couldn’t I write about this? Let me write about this.” And she thought, “Ah, that’s

too hard.” But I’m kind of crazy, so she sent me away to go write about it.

Then Haunani-Kay112 came home. She was so radical. She was doing the Protect

Kaho‘olawe ‘Ohana113 and she was kicking everybody’s ass. She was writing letters to the

newspapers and calling white people racists. That’s what I thought but I was too scared to say

those things publically. So one day when I was hāpai114 with you, I met her in Hamilton Library.

I walked over to her and I said, “I really like the letters you write to the editor. I really like your

work.” And so we became friends. 111 The Buke Mahele is the source of all titles to land in the Hawaiian Islands in 1848. It can be downloaded at http://www.avakonohiki.org/uploads/1/2/5/5/12550111/buke_mahele.pdf 112 Dr. Haunani-Kay Trask is a Native Hawaiian female scholar who completed her PhD in Political Science at the University of Madison – Wisconsin. She was “coming home” to Hawai‘i after finishing her doctoral work in Wisconsin. 113 Protect Kaho‘olawe ‘Ohana (PKO): A grassroots organization dedicated to protecting the island of Kaho‘olawe. For more information visit http://www.protectkahoolaweohana.org. 114 Hāpai: “Pregnant” (Pukui & Elbert, 1986, p. 59).

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Haunani-Kay read my first draft and thought it was brilliant. Pauline King read my first

draft and said I had to cut 100 pages. I was really upset by that. By that time I already had you.

Now I had two small kids and worried about money. I had done all my four years at East-West

Center. They only you give you money for four years. On my fifth year I wrote to them and said,

“You’ve been on Hawaiian land all this time and you don’t educate Hawaiians. Here you are at

the East-West Center but what are you doing for the people of the land? I want a fifth year. Give

me money. I’m almost through with my dissertation.” So they gave me a fifth year. But it wasn’t

a grant. I had to go to work and be a research assistant.

I was to report to Mary Bitterman whose husband, Jim Bitterman, was really good friends

with Mike Walker and was his professor, so she was kind of pro-Native. I walked into her office

and I said to Dr. Bitterman, “I’m here to report for work and I wanna know what it is you’d like

me to do for my job.” She said, “Your job is to write your dissertation.” I said, “Really?” She

said, “Yeah. You have an office right over there. You write your dissertation and don’t do

anything else.” I said, “Cool. Okay, I’m writing a dissertation.” Everyday I’d write five pages. In

five hours I’d write five pages. And I eventually finished!

While I was writing my dissertation, Pauline King went on sabbatical, so she

recommended that I teach her courses while she was gone. The History Department wanted to

hire me as a lecturer. I went to Mary Bitterman and I said, “Listen, you have a PhD in the

History Department and you’re a woman and this is what they are asking me to do. You know

how much a lecturer gets paid? I don’t think I can afford to be a lecturer. What do I do?” She

said, “You tell them they are offering you too little, that since you are ABD,115 that they should

hire you as an acting assistant professor, that if not you won’t take the job at all and if not they

won’t have a Hawaiian historian.” I said, “Cool.” That’s how you do it! I wrote back to them. 115 ABD: “All but dissertation.”

109

KA HAUMĀNA:

You wrote to them or you went to go talk to them?

KE KUMU:

I wrote to them because it is better to have it in writing. Always better to have it in writing. Don’t

talk to people, especially if you don’t have somebody else with you. Always go by two, never

just one. I didn’t talk to them. I wrote to them. And they hired me. I was hired as an acting

assistant professor. In 1985 assistant professors were hired at twenty-two thousand dollars a year.

Can you believe that?

KA HAUMĀNA:

Was that good, though?

KE KUMU:

It paid some bills. I also needed teaching experience to be in line for the position that was

coming up in Hawaiian Studies.

Back to my dissertation. I wasn’t very confident in my writing skills so I had Setsu

Okubo help me. She edited my dissertation for English. She was an English teacher at McKinley

High School and she was a real radical. She went through and made a bunch of changes until it

was good enough to present. Even though my committee didn’t like my anti-missionary

argument they had to read it.

Haunani-Kay organized every Hawaiian she could find and all the sympathetic Haoles to

come to my defense. The room was packed. Pauline King and the others on the committee were

very nervous. They must have thought, “Oh my god, oh my god! The Natives are uprising. They

are out to get us!” I guess that’s the other thing I learned from Haunani-Kay: she never obeyed a

white man. Period. You want power? You want to make a change? You cannot obey the power

110

structure that is oppressing you and is racist to the core to begin with. That’s something I learned

from her a lot.

After they questioned me for a while they declared that my dissertation was brilliant.

Pauline King said, “It’s brilliant. You just have to make a few grammatical changes and you’ll be

graduating.” Meanwhile I knew that by this time there was going to be a job coming up in

Hawaiian Studies because in 1985 the Ka‘ū Task Force116 had been formed.

KA HAUMĀNA:

You graduated the same year the Ka‘ū Task Force was formed?

KE KUMU:

Actually I graduated the next year. It took me about three and a half years to finish my PhD.

Then it was haggling with Pauline King about getting it out of her hands. She took the

dissertation back after my defense and sat on it for about three to four months. She did nothing.

Then I found out I didn’t need five signatures to graduate, only three. So I fired her as my chair. I

said, “I want my dissertation back.” I got the three of five to sign off and I graduated! I needed

my PhD. I needed to get done. Then, because I was finishing a PhD, I was invited to be on the

Ka‘ū Task Force.

KA HAUMĀNA:

Who gathered the Hawaiians?

KE KUMU:

Tony Marcella. Tony Marcella put the task force together. He was the vice president for

academic affairs.

KA HAUMĀNA:

116 The Ka‘ū Task Force was a gathering of Hawaiians to research and come up with recommendations to increase the number of Hawaiian students in the University of Hawai‘i.

111

Is he Hawaiian?

KE KUMU:

No. Haole. He’s Italian. But he had a real sense of outrage at injustice. He’s that kind of Haole.

The president at the time was Al Simone. Gladys Brandt was chair of the board of regents. Tony

had been writing speeches for her and he passed it by her and she liked the idea. Only five

percent of the students at Mānoa were Hawaiian! And only one percent of the faculty were

Hawaiian. Most of them were not tenured.

KA HAUMĀNA:

What did it feel like being with all those people?

KE KUMU:

It was really good to be around so many Hawaiians, actually.

KA HAUMĀNA:

How did you folks do it? Because there was no email!

KE KUMU:

There was no email and no computers. Tony Marcella got the president to agree there should be

a task force because Aunty Gladys backed it. He brought a few Hawaiians together, the ones he

could find. He said to us, “We want to know why, of all the students, we have only five percent

who are Native Hawaiians.”

KA HAUMĀNA:

Was this five percent only at Mānoa or was it system wide?

KE KUMU:

Good question. I think it was at Mānoa. It was less system wide. Community colleges hardly had

any Hawaiians. We didn’t even have a Hawaiian language teacher at every community college

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campus. What was interesting was coming together really made us strong. We had people from

different campuses coming together. For example, Midge Mossman was from Windward. Lucy

Gay was from Leeward. Pua Kanahele was from Hawai‘i Community College.

I remember saying to Tony Marcella, “Are you for real?” And he said, “I want you to

dream your dreams.” I said, “You are a white man telling us to dream our dreams? Are you, a

white man, going to do anything about it? We’re going to dream our dreams and tell you?”

KA HAUMĀNA:

You really said that to him?

KE KUMU:

I did! He said, “I promise you. I’m going to do something about it. I’m not lying to you.” So I’m

thinking, “I bet he’s lying to me anyway because he’s a white man.” But, actually, he still writes

to me about social justice kinds of things today. And I have to say, he got tremendous flack from

the Haoles for being what they called a ʻnigger lover.’ They thought it was outrageous that he

should get the Hawaiians together and not have any Haoles on this task force. He got a lot of

flack for it and eventually he lost his job over it.

Anyhow, they would fly us in to meet and we’d go to different campuses and we’d

discuss, why is it that Hawaiians don’t come to university? Everybody said almost the identical

thing: “What are we going to study? Nothing about Hawaiians here. We don’t learn the wisdom

of our ancestors here.” And there’s so much wisdom! Edith McKenzie had been doing so much

work in the Hawaiian language newspapers.117 She knew them inside and out and she was

talking about all this stuff that was there. Pua Kanehele had so much knowledge with all the Pele

117 Over 125,000 pages of Hawaiian language newspapers were printed in more than 100 different newspapers from 1834-1948. To know more, visit http://www.awaiaulu.org/main/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=16&Itemid=41

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traditions.118 Pua was the driving force. She named it Ka‘ū. She was the driving force because

she was already like, “I’m Pele, get out of my way!”

KA HAUMĀNA:

Why the name Ka‘ū?

KE KUMU:

She chose Ka‘ū because it means ʻthe bosom.’ The bosom of the Hawaiian people is what

nourishes us, so this task force report would nourish the people. Also her family is from Ka‘ū. So

it’s the place of Pele and she wanted to have that kind of image for this report so nobody could

mess with us, nobody would say, “Oh it’s the Native Hawaiians.” No, it’s not the Native

Hawaiians, it’s called Ka‘ū. You don’t know what it means? Well, you better learn something

about the Natives because there’s kaona119 to the meaning!

We’d meet every couple of months and talk about what were the things we needed. We

needed more courses. We needed more student services so people could know how to get money

to come to school, so they could get tutors if they were screwing up in school. We needed to

have more talking across the campuses and we needed a building where Hawaiians could feel

like “This is our place and we’re not going to be kicked out because we’re not white.” That was

the Hawaiian Studies building that got built much later on. There was always an argument,

should it be at Mānoa or at Hilo? We said, “There’s more Hawaiians who live on O‘ahu. We got

to have it at Mānoa. And the next one, Hilo can have. The first one’s going to be at Mānoa and

118 Pele is a Hawaiian goddess. There is much literature and many traditions associated with Pele. 119 Kaona: “Hidden meaning, as in Hawaiian poetry” (Pukui & Elbert, 1986, p. 130).

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we’ll fight for you to get the second one down there in Hilo.” And I held true to that promise. I

fought for Hilo to get a building.120

So we decided we need a site, we need a building, we need more classes, we need more

instructors, we need more professors, we need to have student services, and we need to serve the

community. The first thing we thought of was how to serve the Hawaiian language immersion

schools and how to serve the prisons. We had never served the prisons like we should have

served the prisons, ever.

KA HAUMĀNA:

Was the Hawaiian language immersion movement beginning at the same time as Ka‘ū was being

written?

KE KUMU:

Same time. Same time as Polynesian Voyaging Society with Hōkūle‘a,121 same time with the rise

of the formation of Ka Lāhui Hawai‘i. Beginning in 1982 we were going to the legislature every

year to fight for the right to sue.122 We couldn’t get the right to sue bill through so finally

Mililani123 said that we should form a government in exile. That was in 1987. That was Ka Lāhui

Hawai‘i. All these things that were going on at a similar time – it was a synergy of consciousness

about what it is to be Hawaiian, what is our identity, and how we insist that we must have a place

in our own homeland. I really liked that. I just thought that was great.

120 She is referring to the Ka Haka ‘Ula o Ke‘elikolani College of Hawaiian Language at UH Hilo. Their building was completed in spring 2014 and is name Hale ‘Ōlelo. For more information visit http://www.olelo.hawaii.edu/khuok/. 121 Hōkūle‘a was the first double-hulled canoe to sail to Tahiti from Hawai‘i in the 20th century. For more information visit http://www.pvs-hawaii.com. 122 Hawaiians, as a collective group, do not have the right to sue the State of Hawai‘i because they are classified as ʻwards of the state’ along with foster children and the mentally disabled. During this time, there was a big push to change that law so that Hawaiians could file a class-action suit against the State of Hawai‘i for the many illegal actions taken against the Hawaiian people. The bill that was introduced several times was knows at “The right to sue bill.” 123 Mililani Trask is a Native Hawaiian lawyer.

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In the mean time, we said we should hire more people in Hawaiian Studies and we

needed a director who was going to be full time. At the time Abe Pi‘ianae‘a was the part-time

director. He could only be part-time because he also had a half-time position in Geography. He

was a kupuna124 and he did some good things. He opened the door for Hawaiians in a haole

university. So we went to him and said, “Uncle, you know, we need to hire a full-time director

for Hawaiian Studies. Who would you choose to replace you, because you can only be half-

time?” He chose Kekuni Blaisdell. Kekuni was the first full-time director. But Kekuni was also

working full-time at the Medical School so he’d come in at about four o’clock in the afternoon

and he’d write memos for Haunani-Kay and I to do.

Haunani-Kay was the first full-time professor in Hawaiian Studies. Tony Marcella had

moved her out of American Studies into Hawaiian Studies because she had filed an anti-racism

lawsuit against the University.125 She got tenure immediately too. She totally deserved it

because her work on Eros and Power126 was just path breaking.

Kupu a Mohala: Coming Into Full Bloom

KE KUMU:

I was up against Michael Dudley for the position in Hawaiian Studies. He had just finished a

PhD in Hawaiian philosophy. In the ad for the Hawaiian Studies position they had put in that you

must be fluent in Hawaiian language in order to get the job. Michael Dudley said he was fluent

in Hawaiian. So I called up Michael Dudley and I said to him, “Well Michael, I understand that

124 Kupuna: “Grandparent, ancestor, relatvie or close friend of the grandparent’s generation...” (Pukui & Elbert, 1986, p. 186). This term is also commonly used for any elder. 125 For more information on Dr. Trask’s lawsuit, refer to: Trask, H. K. (1993). “Racism Against Native Hawaiians at the University of Hawai‘i at Mānoa” in From a native daughter (pp. 201-224). Monroe, Maine: Common Courage Press. 126 Eros and Power was the name of her book: Trask, H. K. (1986). Eros and power: The promise of feminist theory. Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press.

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you are fluent in Hawaiian. He said, “Yes I am.” I said, “Really? Do you know the word

maha‘oi?”127 He said, “Well, no, I’m not familiar with that term.” I said, “Well, let me tell you

what it means, okay?” And I read him the riot act and said, “You’re not going to get that job, I’m

going to get that job. You will get that job over my dead body, okay? You think you’re going to

walk in here and take over my job? A Hawaiian should be hired, not some white man. Are you

going tell us what to do? If you think this is going to happen, forget it because I will be there

protesting you every single day for the rest of my life.” And he was like, “Ahhhh.” We both

interviewed and I got the job. I don’t think he withdrew. But, I had two small children and I

needed a job. And that was my job!

KA HAUMĀNA:

This was in the late 1980s, right? What was UH Mānoa like at that time? How different was it

than when you had first come as a student?

KE KUMU:

Well, at least there were five percent Hawaiians. I think in 1970 it must have been one percent

Hawaiians among the student body. We now had an office and we were starting to do courses.

KA HAUMĀNA:

Did you have your own office when you became a professor?

KE KUMU:

No, we were all in one big room. Marvlee was in one corner. The director was in there, too. All

of us were in the same room and finally Haunani-Kay threw a tantrum so they gave her another

office.

127 Maha‘oi: “Bold, impertinent, impudent, insolent, nervy, cheeky, rude, presumptuous” (Pukui & Elbert, 1986, p. 219).

117

KA HAUMĀNA:

Was that typical or did most people have their own offices?

KE KUMU:

Oh, everybody had their own offices.

KA HAUMĀNA:

Where were you folks located?

KE KUMU:

Porteus, on the Geography floor. Then David Stannard from American Studies figured out that

the prisoners in OCCC128 had more personal space than we did. We decided we had to move out

of there because we couldn’t meet with the students. They couldn’t come and talk to us about

their classes or anything.

Right around this time we decided that we would take a walk around campus and go

measure different offices with a measuring tape. And we would say, “Oh, Chinese Studies has

this, Japanese Studies has this, and various studies have that. How did you get this space?” When

Aunty Gladys found out I was walking around campus she was very upset with me because I

didn’t act like one of her Kamehameha girls.129 I was too working-class. I was too blunt. So in

order to keep me from doing these horribly embarrassing things, she got the building moving

along. That’s when Aunty Gladys said, “Okay, in the meantime, until we can get the building

built, you folks are going to move to Moore Hall and you have space there. I think they moved

American Studies.

128 OCCC: O‘ahu Community Correctional Center 129 Gladys Brandt was the principal at Kamehameha Schools in the 1970s and expected her female students to behave with a certain conservative demeanor. She carried this expectation with her while she was the president of the UH Board of Regents.

118

KA HAUMĀNA:

They had to move another department out in order to move you in? How was that? Was it a big

deal?

KE KUMU:

It was interesting because it wasn’t the Hawaiians against the Haoles or the Haoles against the

Hawaiians so much as it was the Haoles who hated Haunani-Kay. She was the lightening rod.

She was the radical. She was the one to say to Joey Carter, “You know there are fifty United

Airlines flights a day out of Hawai‘i. Take one. And ʻHaole’ is a perfectly good Hawaiian word.

If you don’t like it, get on a plane.” She was investigated for that in three different committees.

They really tried to fire her. So because she was the lightening rod for that kind of criticism, it

wasn’t all Hawaiians, it was just one Hawaiian. To me, it was really important for all Hawaiians

on campus to support the one who was being attacked. Even if I disagreed with her, I thought we

should support her.

During this same time, Haunani-Kay and I divided the work since Kekuni was working

another full-time job. Her job was to work on getting a building and to do the budget. I was

writing new courses and advising students. Then they told us, “You can’t have the new building

until you write a ten year plan and you do projections on how you are going to grow it. Are you

going to have a PhD and how many students are you going to have?” and all that. I said, “Okay,

I’ll write it. So tell me what’s the template? Who’s written this before?” Nobody had written it

before. It was a brand-new hoop for the Hawaiians to jump through.

So I wrote one, this is my projection. Since they had no template they couldn’t tell me it

was wrong. I just wrote it, this is what I think. We had meetings with various people to find out

what they were thinking about what courses they would want, how many people would take

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those courses, and how many more people would come to school if these kind of courses were

being offered.

But really, it didn’t matter if we wrote a plan or not. It mattered that Gladys Brandt was

the chair of the Board of Regents and she got Inouye to give five million dollars for the building.

Then Al Simone said, “No, we don’t want the money because the Hawaiians are the new kids on

the block. They need to wait until everybody else gets a building.” And so we went to the

Legislature. We went down there and we talked to all of those folks. We said why we needed the

building, how much it was going to cost.

At the time Waihe‘e was the governor. He was good friends with Aunty Gladys and she

was pushing him to support the building. Haunani-Kay was attacking him publicly, so he didn’t

really want to give us the money because he didn’t really like Haunani-Kay. I’d been holding

signs protesting outside of his house all that time, too.

But when Haunani-Kay went on sabbatical in 1994, I became director. Aunty Gladys said

to me, “Hey, don’t close the door. You go talk to him. You go make a deal with him.” So I did. I

went to Waihe‘e and I said, “I’m here to be the nice person. You’ve got good cop and bad cop.

Bad cop is in Colorado, good cop is here. Make a deal now. You don’t want to really be known

as the Hawaiian governor who denied the only building for the Hawaiian Studies program? You

don’t like Haunani-Kay. She’s not going to be around forever. Think of our children. You are

going to be the governor for Hawaiian education and I will say so publicly.” So he agreed that

we should have the building. So we got five million dollars from the legislature to build our

building.

KA HAUMĀNA:

What was that like for you going to talk to him?

120

KE KUMU:

I just felt like Aunty Gladys knew more than I did and I should just follow what she said.

KA HAUMĀNA:

This was in 1994. What was happening in the rest of UH at this time?

KE KUMU:

There were hardly any Hawaiians.

KA HAUMĀNA

What were the Haoles saying about the building?

KE KUMU:

I don’t know, I didn’t pay attention. All I knew was that Tony Marcella was on our side and

Gladys Brandt was on our side.

KA HAUMĀNA:

It sounds like Aunty Gladys really worked behind the scenes with so many people.

KE KUMU:

Yes she did. And there’s a lot of power working behind closed doors. And there’s something to

be said about what Aunty Gladys did. Even though I don’t know how to be Aunty Gladys and

I’m not sure I’d be comfortable even if I understood the mechanics of it, I really did admire her.

She was so political. She would take Haunani-Kay and I in our little pareaus130 to the Pacific

Club131 and sit us right in the middle where all the people could see that she was having lunch

with the two radicals, the fire-breathing dragons from Mānoa. As they would walk by and have

to say hello to her she would say to them, “Oh I’m raising money for the cancer fund, I can count

on you for five thousand; I can count on you for fifteen; I can count on you for twenty-five.”

130 Pareau – a Hawaiian style sarong. Both Lilikalā and Haunani wore pareau tied above their bust or around their necks. That was their usual attire to work and to all professional engagements. 131 The Pacific Club is a private club for the wealthy.

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Right in front of us, she was collecting money like that from all these Haoles and Japanese who

were walking by because they were afraid to say “no” in front of us. That’s political. That was

great.

What I also learned from Aunty Gladys was how much she could do working behind the

scenes and smiling and giving the stink eye when she had to. She was also very careful to have

any kind of disagreements behind closed doors. She never fought in public. She was never going

to do what Haunani-Kay did, give a speech in public about Haoles or anything. And she was

very careful to always count her votes. When she went into a Board of Regents meeting, she was

very good at doing the broker thing: I’ll give you this if you give me this, or how about we do

this together because you know I’m going to support you with this other thing that you’re doing.

She knew all the politics and the money things that were going on; who was making money off

of what. She really, really understood all the players. I’m not on her level yet. I don’t know if I

ever will be. But I admire it.

KA HAUMĀNA:

What else was going on during that time?

KE KUMU:

It was a busy time in the 1990s. We were fighting for Hawaiian immersion,132 we were fighting

against H3,133 we were fighting for Hawaiian rights, and we were fighting for Ka Lāhui Hawai‘i.

All of those things were going on at the same time while writing and teaching new courses.

In the mean time, there was this guy named Richard Kawainui and I felt like he was the

student that we should be fighting for because he was obviously very intelligent but had been so

132 Hawaiian language immersion programs were developed by a small group of educators and parents within the Hawai‘i public school system. It was only accomplished through many meetings and struggles with the Hawai‘i Board of Education. 133 H3 Freeway is a freeway built to connect Kāne‘ohe to Pearl Harbor on the island of O‘ahu. The construction and building of this freeway desecrated many cultural and sacred sites. Therefore, many Hawaiias were against it.

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miseducated all his life by public schools. He fought his way into University. I just felt that

Richard was me. That’s how I had grown up, with people who were so poor and yet there were

lots of smart people in the community who were Hawaiian, who’d never had a chance because

the university is a racist institution and we’d been shut out for a hundred years. So I just said,

“Never again. I’m not going to let this happen again.” That has fueled me to fight for things

Hawaiian.

After I’d gotten a whole set of courses going, I liked the courses that I was teaching.

Haunani-Kay was teaching her politics. Then we started to add a couple more professors. That’s

great. We got the program going. By that time Tony Marcella had been fired. There was no Tony

Marcella white man trying to help the Hawaiian people. There were no more position counts

coming through. There was no more money. We were fighting for the building but really that

was like a drop in the bucket.

The building was finally built and we had the official opening and celebration in 1997.

But we were still a really small world at the time. We had a building, which was kind of

amazing, but we only had four professors and one secretary, and then all these classes we were

teaching.134 We had some people we were hiring sometimes as lecturers. We also had some

volunteers. But we didn’t actually have that many positions. I had been waiting for the

University to support Hawaiian things from 1987 when I got hired and here it was 1997 and we

really didn’t have many tenured faculty. We were waiting for nothing. We got nothing. We135

were still only two percent of the faculty across the campus.

When I became director in 1998, that’s when I started to actually think about budget.

What do I do? We needed positions and we needed money. Noe Arista was working for me as

134 In 1997 there were nine different courses being taught. In the introductory course alone, HWST 107, nearly 600 students enrolled in the course annually (“Hawaiian Studies Program Review,” 1997). 135 “We” referring to Native Hawaiians.

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my assistant, and I said to her, “We need to write a budget of what our dreams are. Let’s get a

whole list of things that we think we ought to have: books, library, more professors, whatever it

is. How much will it cost?” I made her figure all that out. It turned out to be one point five

million dollars. So the next year I gave it to Dean Tanabe136 and I said, “This is how much we

need for Hawaiian Studies” and she just laughed at me and she gave me three hundred fifty

thousand because that’s what we had been getting in previous years. We kind of did this back

and forth for a couple years.

Then we had a new president coming in, Evan Dobelle. So, I sent an email out to all the

Hawaiian faculty and staff I knew at UH Mānoa and I said, “Hey gang, let’s get together. There’s

this new guy coming in. Let’s get together and sit down and ask him for what we want. Let’s say

we’re forming a council. What should we call it?” And people came up with different names. I

said, “You know there was this chief that united O‘ahu, his name was Kūali‘i. Why don’t we just

call it the Kūali‘i Council? Kū – war god. Ali‘i – chiefly leadership. How about that?” They said,

“Okay, let’s do that.” At the time, there weren’t actually that many Hawaiians across the campus.

They were mostly in Hawaiian Language and Hawaiian Studies. There were a few individuals

who came from other departments like Medicine, Nursing, Engineering, Business, and Student

Services. But most of those people were in temporary positions at the time. So when we started I

said, “What can we do? What do we think we can do?”

When Dobelle came in, the Japanese guy who was the secretary of the Board of Regents,

David Iha said, “Hey, how about you Hawaiians come and bless his office for him?” I said,

“Shoots!” So I called up all the Kūali‘i Council and I said, “Gang, let’s go bless his office.

Everybody bring leis, all the kind presents you want, and bring your budget requests.” So Keali‘i

136 Dean Tanabe was the dean of the School of Hawaiian, Asian, and Pacific Studies (SHAPS), which Hawaiian Studies was a part of at the time.

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and I, we’re chanting and we’re clapping, and we’re blessing the office. We give him the leis and

everything.

Then I was waiting for everybody else to give him budgets but nobody else knew how to

do a budget. But they didn’t tell me they didn’t know how to a budget so I was the only one with

a budget request – one point five million – and two weeks later Dobelle gave me one point five

million. I thought, “Oh this works! Ask and you shall receive.” I’ve been asking ever since.

Actually, that’s one thing you must do. If you want more money you have to ask for the money.

We also had to develop a really detailed budget plan to justify that money coming to us, but we

did get the one point five million.

KA HAUMĀNA:

Did the money go to Hawaiian Studies or to Kūali‘i Council?

KE KUMU:

It went to Kūali‘i. What happened was we were at the meeting with Dobelle where he said he

was going to give us this money and my heart was beating faster and faster. And he says, “It’s a

one time deal. I have no more money after this.” Then Ed Porter137 pipes up and he says, “Is this

for just Hawaiian Studies or is it for the other Hawaiian programs as well? Or is it for Mānoa or

is it for the other campuses as well?” Then Dobelle replied, “Well, Mānoa asks so Mānoa should

get. But sharing is good.” So Kūali‘i did a needs assessment and we said, “What do we need in

each of our units?”

KA HAUMĀNA:

Was it positions, too? Or just money?

KE KUMU:

It was just money but we had to say what positions we would hire in order to spend the money. 137 Ed Porter was the dean of SHAPS at the time.

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KA HAUMĀNA:

I see. So in essence Dobelle was giving Kūali‘i Council money to create temporary positions. Is

that correct?

KE KUMU:

Right. It was start-up money. I think Dobelle thought that he just didn’t want the Hawaiians

screaming at him, so he’s going to give us some money to shut us up. But he also said that it was

the final offer. He said, “I can’t give you any more and this is all the money I got. So one of the

Kūali‘i Council members was upset. She said, “One point five! What’s one point five? That’s

nothing. He should give us one point five every year!” And I said, “That’s more money than

we’ve ever got!” But she was right, actually, because what is one point five million when they

have a billion dollars in the University budget?

But I said, “I’ll take it!” Then we had to do all this work to actually get the money out of

the system. The president can say to do it, but you have to go through all the Japanese fiscal

officers to get it. We had to write justifications on how we were going to spend it. It was really

hard learning how to put together how much everything costs, what different people cost.

Marvlee and Manu Ka‘iama helped me learn how to do that. Then I realized that nobody else

knew how to do budget in Kūali‘i Council. I was the only person doing a budget for a

department on Kūali‘i Council. So then I helped folks learn.

KA HAUMĀNA:

I didn’t realize that Aunty Marvlee did a lot of budget work.

KE KUMU:

I would run every budget past her and she would find mistakes. She was really good. I never did

anything without Marvlee’s position or agreement. She was my right hand.

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KA HAUMĀNA:

What happened after you got the Dobelle money?

KE KUMU:

When we finally got the money we started hiring people. Then one day John Waihe‘e Jr.,138

Governor Waihe‘e’s son, came to Hawaiian Studies to get my opinion and support on a project

he was working on. During our conversation I mentioned that I had plans to approach OHA for

money in the future. Then he said, “Do you need money?” I said, “Oh yes.” So I brought out the

one point five million dollar budget proposal, “This is what I need.” That’s all I had to give him

at the time. Then he said, “You need this money?” I said, “Well, if you decide you’re going to

put some aside for education, yes, this is what we need.” So he took it to the OHA board and

Clayton,139 and put the budget request on the agenda for the next board meeting. But nobody told

me.

One day Marvlee was looking at the agenda for the OHA board meeting and she said to

me, “Eh, Lilikalā, you’re supposed to be at this OHA meeting.” I said, “What are you talking

about?” She said, “Yeah, you’re on the agenda, look, right over here.” So I zipped down there. It

was that day! I had no prep except I had the one point five million dollar budget.

When I went forward to propose the budget, the Japanese trustee at the time said to me,

“Girly, we’re not going to give you one point five million” because he thought I would get mad

and then I would lose my cool and then the whole thing would fall apart. So I said, “Oh, Uncle, I

don’t expect you to give me the whole thing. But if there’s something here that you like, maybe

you want to fund something? That’s all. And I understand if you folks don’t have money to give.

You know, I’m so glad you’re even talking about it. Thank you so much. When is the

138 At the time, John Waihe‘e Jr. was a trustee at the Office of Hawaiian Affairs (OHA). To learn more about OHA go to www.oha.org. 139 Clayton Hee was the chair of the OHA board at the time.

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appropriate time for me to come back and ask for money? I will do that.” Meanwhile, John

Waihe’e Jr. says, “Wait a minute Clayton, I thought you wanted to spend money on education?

This is a very good plan that she has here. This is a very good thing. We ought to be supporting

this. Don’t you think we ought to be supporting this, Clayton?” I said, “Well these are the things

we need in order to make a master’s program in Hawaiian Studies. It would be really wonderful

if you would like to support this. So when you folks need some support or you have some money

that you can share with us, let me know.”

KA HAUMĀNA:

Why didn’t you get mad since the Japanese trustee was obviously belittling you?

KE KUMU:

I wasn’t going to give them any reason to throw me out of the meeting. Also, I was trying to, at

that time, work with everybody. I was trying to be nice and find a way. I was trying to show

people that I’m not the nasty person who’s going to scream at you. I’m the person who’s going

to work with you. I’ll be the good cop. In general, it did not work. I got my throat slit many times

and I wasn’t getting any money. I kept thinking, “Damn, no money, no money.” But I did get

some money from Dobelle, so that was kind of nice. And I knew it was going to run out.

Then OHA called me back and they decided they wanted to fund the land research. They

wanted to train students how to do land research and they wanted to hire some people on a

temporary basis to do cultural classes like the fishponds or lā‘au lapa‘au.140 So we got the money

from Dobelle, we hired people in those positions and then we flipped it over to the OHA monies.

140 Lā‘au lapa‘au: “Hawaiian medicine” (Pukui & Elbert, 1986, p. 194).

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By that time they hired Chancellor Englert141 and so I went to Englert and I said, “Hey, give us

money.”

KA HAUMĀNA:

Were you asking on behalf of Kūali‘i?

KE KUMU:

Yes, because each of the departments had dreams. We also wanted to make sure that the

Hawaiian language people got out of temporary positions and got into permanent positions.

Englert decided he would give us 17 positions so we kind of latched on to that number.

We wanted 75 but if we’re going to get 17, we’ll take the seventeen. And he was giving us

permanent positions, which meant the money and the people who we hired on Dobelle’s money

could become permanent. And then in Hawaiian Studies, those we hired on Dobelle money, who

we flipped on to OHA money, could also become permanent.

Because of this work there are now a few Hawaiians in permanent positions across the

campus. For example we have a Hawaiian running a program in Engineering, one in Nursing,

one in Native Hawaiian Student Services, and a couple in Medical School. We’ve also been able

to make people permanent in Hawaiian Studies and Hawaiian Language who were previously in

temporary positions. That’s really a step forward!

I think permanent positions for Hawaiians is the only way to make the University a

Hawaiian friendly place. Even if you get really conservative Hawaiians, which we do have quite

a few of, who don’t want to do anything radical, who don’t want the country back, it’s still

Hawaiian faces in different disciplines and kids can see, “Oh look, there’s Hawaiians in this

141 Chancellor Peter Englert was the first chancellor for the UH Mānoa campus. He served as chancellor from 2002-2005.

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place” and it opens the door to their imagination. Then they can think, “I too could become a

professor in that field. I too, could become great in that field.”

I’m adamant that this is the only way to make change, even if it’s not as much change as I

want to happen. For example, half the people in Pūko‘a142 are still in temporary positions. That

bothers me. But at least I have tenure. That’s why I love that I can go to the Board of Regents

and speak the truth and speak with that experience. That’s why I don’t give up doing budget for

Kūali‘i and Pūko‘a, because I can’t get fired when I advocate for those Hawaiians who are not

yet permanent.

KA HAUMĀNA:

So permanent positions are really important to you.

KE KUMU:

I think it’s the only way because I waited for how long for things to change but unless you’ve got

the bodies and the armies to do it, it doesn’t happen. When I look at where we have come, the

only time I noticed change is when we were out there screaming and yelling and holding signs,

and then there would be some change. For me, that was an empowering experience no matter

how frustrating it was because at least we weren’t crying. At least we weren’t saying, “Oh poor

Hawaiians, look what happened to us, they took everything.” No, no, no. Whatever’s gone can

now come back.

I love this guy, Kawaipuna Prejean. He used to go all around the world talking about how

the Native Hawaiians want their country back, want America out. I really liked him. He said,

“We’re the Native people, we’re the landlords, we’ve come to collect the rent” and it was very

brave. It was like Kekuni who would say, “This is our country. Who are these people who come

142 Pūko‘a is the Native Hawaiian advisory body to the president of the UH sytem. It is made up of Hawaiian representatives from each of the 10 UH campuses from their respective councils, just like Kūali‘i Council.

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here? Who are they? Why do they think they have a right to run our country? This is our

country” and that’s very empowering.

Now our challenge is not only to get new positions but to fill them with people who are

going to be great academics, who have PhDs, and to figure out a pipeline to get people through

in the various disciplines; not only to be Hawaiian in the discipline but to be stars of that

discipline. It’s building capacity upon our people who are in these different positions. I see some

of our Hawaiian Studies graduates in leadership positions now in the university and they

understand what you have to do to get things through in a very racist environment. So now we

have a small army of intelligent academic Hawaiians who will not take “no” for an answer, who

will go forward and ask for more, and who will commit. I love that. It’s empowering our nation

and that makes me really happy.

KA HAUMĀNA:

Can you talk a bit about how Kūali‘i got the positions into the departments?

KE KUMU:

Organizationally, Kūali‘i Council is now an advisory body to the chancellor of UH Mānoa. That

was something that Dobelle helped to facilitate when Englert came in. But the administrative

position for Kūali‘i Council, the position Keali‘i143 is currently in, was hired through Hawaiian

Studies because we could not think of another department to house the position in and ensure

that it would be utilized the way it was meant to be. So because Kūali‘i Council, as an entity, is

not actually housed in any single unit, we could not receive positions. Instead, what we did was

advocate for positions and secure them from the chancellor’s office. Then we, as Kūali‘i

Council, would create a MOU144 for each position secured from the chancellor’s office that

143 Keali‘i Gora is currently the administrator of Kūali‘i Council and Pūko‘a Council. 144 MOU: Memorandum of understanding

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would follow the position to the department it would be housed in. That MOU would describe

the intention of the position to be used to serve Native Hawaiians. The MOU also specified that

if the position was to become vacant, then the position would vacate the department and Kūali‘i

would work with the chancellor to decide where it should go next, depending on the needs of the

participating departments within Kūali‘i Council at the given time.

KA HAUMĀNA:

That’s kind of brilliant. It seems like a lot of work, though. So it has been over ten years now of

this Kūali‘i work. What has it been like to sustain it?

KE KUMU:

It’s really hard to stick to something like Kūali‘i over time. There’s all kinds of things that come

up in our lives that should be more important than sitting at Kūali‘i Council meetings. It’s really

hard to be working full time and try to do this kind of advocacy work with no money. You go to

the faculty senate, you get paid, you get a stipend. So how do you do this kind of work and not

get any money every time?

If I was the chancellor I would give money to every department, to every person who

comes from within their department to work at Kūali‘i all year. It would be like the faculty

senate members who come once a week and get a forty-five hundred dollar stipend for the year

so they can go to conferences or have their time bought out. I would like us to have something

similar. I’d like to have people get some money so that they can go to conferences and get a little

something because they’re doing this extra work on behalf of the people.

KA HAUMĀNA:

I hear you saying that one of the challenges you folks have faced is an overwhelming amount of

work without fair compensation. Are there other challenges you still face?

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KE KUMU:

Once I got tenure and even before I got tenure, the challenges that we faced were challenges of

white people with racist attitudes towards Hawaiians and Hawaiian culture. The way to face that

challenge is to name it and to call it out and to insist that they change. You don’t want to change?

You can leave. This is our land, this is our country. So we’ve seen the shift. We see people say,

“Oh you know, actually, this is Hawaiian land, this is their country.”

KA HAUMĀNA:

So ʻcalling it out’ and being a bit more radical or loud than someone like Aunty Gladys has been

helpful to you. Are there any costs to this approach?

KE KUMU:

Yes. Money is a cost, is a trade-off. I would be making a lot more money if I was just the

Hawaiian who’s like, “Ah, this is fine, this is okay.” I don’t own a house yet. I’m not making two

hundred thousand, three hundred thousand a year, which I could be making as an executive

administrator if I kept my mouth shut.

Another cost is that it offends Hawaiians. A lot of conservative Hawaiians are offended

by it and I don’t want to offend them necessarily. I also think it’s a time in my life when I don’t

need to be the warrior up front any more. It should be the younger people who do it. Now is my

time to think great thoughts about the ancestors because that’s how I feel and that’s what I’m

best at. There’s only so many days left of my heart ticking on the earth, so do I really want to

waste it fighting with my people over their foolish racist standards? Let somebody else do that.

To tell the truth, though, I’m really a Polly-Anna kind of person. I think the best of

people until they disappoint me and every once in a while, I’ll find a Haole who’s actually kind

of nice, kind of good, and wants to support. Take Englert for instance. We had a raging, two-

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hour fight in front of everybody. All the Hawaiians were cringing “Oh my god, there she goes

again.” But after that fight, he came to understand my point of view and decided he was going to

work with it because it was easier to give me something to shut me up than to continually have

an open fight about it. But I also think he believed in what I had to say.

Somewhere along the line there’s going to be a shift and what I love about the university

is that it is a place for ideas to be discussed and for intellectual shifts to be made. For me as a

historian, when I say, “You know at one time the sun never set on the British Empire and now it

does.” That’s an intellectual shift. Those colonized by the British Empire said, “Wait a minute,

we’re not going to put up with this anymore. We want the country back. We’re going to march

hundreds of miles and get the country back.” That happened with the Berlin Wall and that

happened with the Soviet Union and that can happen in America and it can happen in Hawai‘i

and it can happen here. So I’m maumauing the white people, I’m shoving the U.N. Declaration

on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples in their faces. And lo and behold, now Indigenous people

are at the university. That’s an exciting shift.

KA HAUMĀNA:

Do you think the shift has happened because of your approach?

KE KUMU:

Yes, because somewhere they hear in my passion a truth. I’m not doing it to make more money.

I’m not doing it for political gain. I’m not putting anything more in my pocket. When I ask, I

never ask for myself. That’s actually the power that I have. Whatever that might be, because I’m

not asking for me. I’m asking for the people. And they can see that there is something inherently

good about that. And they, as white people, get a chance to participate in doing right.

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Haunani-Kay never got a single position for us but she changed the mindset. She made

them afraid. Fear is really important when you’re dealing with racist white people who have this

overwhelming military. They’d just as soon run you out of town if they could.

KA HAUMĀNA:

So Aunty Haunani’s work was critical here.

KE KUMU:

We would have had nothing if it hadn’t been for Haunani-Kay. Her political acumen and

understanding how to scare white people – she really got that and she was really good at that. I

wouldn’t go as far as she did but I admire it.

She was just so political. She was born political. She learned how to give political

speeches by standing on her father’s table as a child; being in a political household where politics

was always talked about and where everything was discussed about who’s doing what and why

they’re doing it. She absorbed all that and it was just natural for her and she claimed it.

KA HAUMĀNA:

Are there other approaches that have been helpful?

KE KUMU:

Just to be stubborn and single-minded. I also saw Haunani-Kay make tremendous progress by

scaring people. So I thought, “Oh, okay, I can do that. Let’s scare some white people.” But it

doesn’t always work.

Something else Haunani-Kay and I used to do was play good cop, bad cop. She was

usually the bad cop and I was the good cop. We would go into a meeting and want people to

move from the position A to the position B. You have the bad cop who really scares them and

then you have the good cop who is saying, “Can we find a way to compromise about this?” And

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they’re so scared of the bad cop that they go, “Oh, okay, let’s compromise.” But if you go in and

be nice, you get nothing. That’s generally really true because generally white people hate non-

white people. There’s a real hatred there. No one is supposed to talk about it but its there.

So, we would lay it out, who’s going to say what, deciding which points needed to be

made. I would say, “Kekuni, what do you feel comfortable saying? Fine, you do that. Haunani-

Kay’s going to be bad cop. She’s going to say this. I’m going to be the good cop and I’ll say,

ʻHow about we compromise?’” That’s how we worked it out ahead of time. And we always had

a rule: Never go into a meeting with white people by yourself. You always take somebody with

you. That was our rule.

We would go in and have these fights with Al Simone. Once he referred to Haunani-Kay

and I as Batman and Robin. The racism of white people was just so blatant and I was never

surprised. No, that’s not true, sometimes I am surprised and I think, “Why am I surprised?” I

wish it weren’t so, because I’d much rather be a nice happy person and be nice to people. But my

strategy, in order to protect myself from that white world I don’t like, was to build a Hawaiian

world. That was Hawaiian Studies. That’s why I have felt so attached to it because, actually, it’s

my safety net, it’s what protects me from having to live with only white people. Build a

Hawaiian world so I always see Hawaiian students, only work with Hawaiian professors. Also,

my students really like me and I really enjoy my students. I don’t know if you can ask for much

more than that. I see my students out in the community doing great things and serving our

people. That makes me feel like my work is validated.

It is exciting now because the director at Hawaiian Studies, Maile Andrade, has some

very strong ideas about how to empower Hawaiian Studies and how to grow it again. I really like

that because we need to grow. I think when we look at the intellectual capital that we represent,

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which is the wisdom of our ancestors, it is being reaffirmed and discussed now with our students.

That is the most important thing that can happen in Hawai‘i for Hawaiians today; we need to

continue that dialogue about the wisdom of our ancestors. I want to make sure the brilliance of

the ancestors is unfolded and that the next generation, and the next generation, and the next

generation is going to see that. Political work all by itself and getting political power is not that

important if you don’t have culture.

With that said, the only way I know how to turn the University into a Hawaiian place of

learning is, really, to have Hawaiians running it who are in permanent positions. We will have a

long discussion about what it means to be Hawaiian and what is culturally appropriate. We’re

still not there yet because we’re really colonized, including me. There’s so many things I’m

colonized about. But my question is: what did the ancestors think? How did they work things out

with one another? And the one thing I actually have learned, even though I’m still plugged in

every so often, is it’s a waste of time to be angry. That’s what I’ve learned from watching Mom

go through her stuff.145 Any of us could be dead tomorrow. Lots of my classmates are gone. So

whatever we want to make in change, whatever things we want to make permanent, whatever

good we want to do, we have to put energy into that.

Ke Kumu ‘Alua – The Second Teacher: ‘A‘ohe loa‘a i ka noho wale146 If you want to make it happen, you have to get up and try147

I have known the kumu central to this story nearly all my life. I grew up with her

daughter in Pūnana Leo,148 and as is typical Pūnana Leo culture, all the families spent a lot of

145 Her mother suffered from Alzheimer’s for approximately six years and passed away on March 15, 2013. 146 This is an ‘ōlelo no‘eau (#173). Pukui (1983) translates it to “Nothing is gained by idleness” (p. 21). 147 This is my translation. 148 Pūnana Leo: A Hawaiian language immersion pre-school. For more, visit www.ahapunanaleo.org.

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time together. This kumu worked alongside my mom and other parents to grow Hawaiian

immersion schools by building awareness and support for the language revitalization movement.

What this looked like in real life was parents taking turns picking us up from school while others

went to important meetings to advocate for our school. On other days this meant all families

going to critical events and gatherings in which all parents cared for each other’s children as if

they were their own. Consequently, during these memorable years, the children grew very close.

We became brothers and sisters. We fought and played and discovered the world together and

each of our parents became parents for the rest. In short, this kumu has always been one of my

beloved aunties.

From the time I was a little girl, I always knew this kumu as one of the aunties who

always spoke Hawaiian to us. This was fairly rare in the late 1980s and 1990s and is actually still

quite rare today. It was not until much later, however, as a young adult, that I really came to

understand that she was known as one of the best Hawaiian language teachers of her time,

focusing on people’s ability to speak rather than to just read and write. I now often hear people

refer to the ʻ‘[Name] teaching method,” in which no paper or pencil was allowed during class

time. Instead, students uesd their ears to listen and their mouths to speak. Moreover, she spoke

and continues to speak Hawaiian where ever she goes. If she knows you can speak Hawaiian,

that is the languge she will speak to you in. And even if you cannot speak Hawaiian, there is still

a good chance she will address you in her beloved mother tongue. She practices what she

preaches: If you want the language to live, speak! She has been a most powerful role model in

transforming how I and many other Hawaiian language speakers consciously choose to speak

Hawaiian in overwhelmingly English envrionments today.

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I also always knew this kumu as someone who had a deep commitment as an advocate

and practitioner of aloha ‘āina,149 evident in her presence at Ka Papa Lo‘i ‘o Kānewai.150 I

witnessed her as a worker who cleaned, weeded, and tended to the kalo. She also facilitated

learning experiences for guests from afar and kama‘aina alike. Above all, I always remember her

devotion to ‘ōlelo Hawai‘i at the lo‘i and her kind invitation for all to come and learn with the

practitioners and kūpuna there. She always made me feel welcome even though I felt a little

embarassed for growing up as a “city Hawaiian” who did not have much experience in the lo‘i. I

will never forget her aloha for me when I would go there.

In addition to both of these roles as mentioned above, I have always thought of her as the

original leader of student services for Native Hawaiians at UH Mānoa. Perhaps it is because of

my own interest in student services over the years that this particular role has stuck out to me.

But also, I think it is because of my own memories of her program at UH Mānoa when I was a

child, specifically of all the Hawaiian students who seemed so “at home” during her years as a

Native Hawaiian student services program coordinator.

Her program seemed to gather folks in ways that helped Hawaiians have common

gathering spaces on campus, despite their academic majors. The students, during her time,

seemed to have a special aloha for one another that was fostered by her program. Moreover,

when I speak to folks from that era, they describe their memories of UH Mānoa with a kind of

twinkle in their eye for the special bonds and families that were formed among the Hawaiian

students, staff, and faculty because of this kumu’s organizing. When I became an advisor at UH

Mānoa, I was excited and full of enthusiasm to bring back the energy she started so many years

ago.

149 Aloha ‘āina: Love, care, and stewardship of the land (my translation). 150 Ka Papa Lo‘i ‘o Kānewai is the lo‘i located on the UH Mānoa campus.

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For all these reasons, I knew her stories would be immensely important to my

understanding of the work that has been done and is possible to do to transform UH Mānoa into a

Hawaiian place of learning. Her work both in the academy and in the community speak to

several levels of transformation as you will see depicted in her stories below. In addition, her

stories and efforts speak to a “Can do!” kind of attitude that really challenged me to think, “What

do I want to do, what needs to be done, and what am I doing about it?”

I met with her twice to record the stories presented below. Each time we met at a

restaurant, once during lunch and once at dinner. We always began by catching up, sharing

stories of our families, my children, her children (my friends) and her grandchild. This is always

a favorite time for me because she is so easy to talk to, making me feel comfortable to share

things I am nervous about as a young mother or even just as a Hawaiian woman trying to find

my path in the world. When the food arrived, she would invite me to pray with her by reaching

out across the table to hold my hands. I always treasure these moments of prayer together, as she

is a great reminder to always stay connected spiritually. All of this took place in Hawaiian

language. As such, the stories below are presented in her beloved ‘ōlelo makuahine.151 Indeed, I

felt it such a privilege to collect and record her stories for future generations to learn from and

espeically to share with her own children and grandchildren.

He Hua: A Beginning

KE KUMU:

Ua ‘aka‘aka wau no ka mea ua ‘ōlelo ‘oe, “Think back to your first memory” and I was

like, “UH!” He ‘umikūmāmāhiku o‘u makahiki, so ua ‘ōpiopio wau no ke komo ‘ana i

loko. ‘A‘ohe o‘u mākaukau iki. No Aiea mai au. ‘A‘ole wau ‘ike i ka nui o nā papa, ka

151 ‘Ōlelo makuahine: Mother tongue (common translation). See Appendix G for an English translation of her story.

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nui o nā haumāna i loko o nā papa, ka nui o kēlā kula.152 ‘Oiai heluhelu wau ʻ‘Iwakālua kaukani

kanaka,’ ‘a‘ole hiki ia‘u ke no‘ono‘o i ka nui o kēlā. Ua ‘ike wau he nui. So kēlā lā mua o ko‘u

hele ‘ana, kau wau ma ke ka‘a ‘ōhua mai Hālawa a hele i Mānoa. ‘A‘ole wau kau mua i ke ka‘a

‘ōhua.

KA HAUMĀNA:

‘Auwē!

KE KUMU:

Yeah! ‘O ia ka maka mua. Pīhoihoi kēlā. A ua nui nā pa‘a ka‘a! A ma waho o Aiea, ‘a‘ole

mākou ‘ike. Hele paha i ka hale pule ma Kalihi. Holoholo ma Ala Moana paha, akā aia i ka

‘auinalā. ‘A‘ole i ka lā hana. No laila ‘a‘ole wau ‘ike i ka nui o nā ka‘a ma ke ala loa. So ua pa‘a

mākou ma ke ala loa.

Aia ka‘u papa i ka hola ‘eiwa o ke kakahiaka. Papa Philosophy 100. Komo wau i ka papa

ma Bilger 152. Ua pū‘iwa wau i ka nui o nā haumān. I was like, “Wow!” And ma hea ke kumu?

Lohe wau i kekahi leo. Oh! Aia ke kumu ma lalo loa. And lohi wau ‘ūmikūmālima minuke.

Hilahila wau. Just hilahila nā mea a pau. ‘A‘ole wau ‘ike. So komo wau i loko o ka papa. ‘Ike

wau i kekahi hoa papa mai Aiea. He Kepanī. Aia kekahi noho ma kona ‘ao‘ao, so ‘ōlelo wau,

“Hiki ke noho?” ‘Ōlelo ‘o ia, “Oh, ‘ae.” And ka‘aka‘a kona maka. ‘Ōlelo ‘o ia, “Oh lohi ‘oe.” I

was like, “Ew, ok! Yeah, lohi wau.” So ‘ōlelo wau, “He aha kāna i ‘ōlelo ai [ke kumu]?” ‘Ōlelo

‘o ia [ka haumāna kepanī], “Shh! Ke ‘ōlelo nei ke kumu.” So ho‘olohe wau i ke kumu. A ‘ōlelo

ke kumu, “What is your reality? Because if your reality is that I am here in this class speaking to

you, there might not be a place for you.” Ua pohihihi wau. Ua no‘ono‘o wau, “He aha kēia ‘ano

‘ōlelo?”

152 ‘O ia ho‘i ke Kula Nui o Hawai‘i ma Mānoa.

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Nui ka pilikia. Lohi wau. ‘A‘ole wau ‘ike kahi o ka lumi, ua pilikia kēlā. Ka nui o nā

haumāna. Kēia kāne e ‘ōlelo ana i kekahi mea. No‘ono‘o wau ua puhi paha ‘o ia i kekahi mea.

Pono kākou a pau e puhi i ka mea like āna i puhi ai i maopopo le‘a ia kākou kona reality. I was

like, “Hah?”

Ma hope o kēlā papa, ‘eha ko‘u na‘au. No‘ono‘o wau, pehea wau e holomua ai i kēia

kula? ‘A‘ole maopopo ia‘u kēia kāne, a ‘a‘ole ‘o ia ‘ōlelo Haole e like me ka po‘e ‘ē a‘e. No hea

mai ‘o ia? No ka ‘āina ‘ē. A ‘o ia kekahi. I ko‘u hānai ‘ia ma Aiea, ‘a‘ohe o mākou kama‘aina iki

i ka po‘e mai ka ‘āina ‘ē. Mai Hawai‘i wale nō. Maybe mai ka pū‘ali koa. ‘A‘ole kēia mau po‘e

mai Kina, mai ‘Apelika, mai nā wahi like ‘ole. Hopohopo nui wau.

Kekahi lā, komo wau i loko o ke ke‘ena o Aunty Suzanne.153 A nīnau wau iā ia inā hiki iā

iā ke kōkua mai ia‘u. ‘Ike ‘oe i kona ‘ano. Ka‘aka‘a ‘o ia i kona maka. Me he mea la, “Ugh, kēia

keiki, hūpō, hūpēkole, ‘a‘ole ‘ike i kekahi mea.” ‘Ōlelo ‘o ia, “Hele ‘oe noho ma ka holoē a

kāhea wau iā ‘oe ke mākaukau.” Aia wau ma ka holoē i ke komo ‘ana mai o Dr. Maurer.

Kama‘aina ‘oe iā Dr. Maurer?

KA HAUMĀNA:

‘A‘ole.

Hao Mai, Pā Mai, Iho Mai: The Elemental Influences

KE KUMU:

Ma mua, ‘o Dr. Maurer ke po‘o o Indo Pacific Languages.154 A ‘ōlelo ‘o ia, “Aloha, ‘o

wai kou inoa?” Ha‘i wau iā ia. A no‘ono‘o wau, ‘o wai lā kēia ‘elemakule Haole? ‘Ōlelo ‘o ia,

“Komo mai i ko‘u ke‘ena.” ‘A‘ole wau ‘ike, but ‘o ia ka lā i ho‘omaka ai ko‘u ao ho‘ona‘auao.

Ua komo wau i kona ke‘ena. ‘A‘ole wau i ‘ike i ka nui o nā puke pēlā ma mua. Ma nā paia a pau, 153 He inoa kapakapa no kēia mo‘olelo. ‘A‘ole ‘o Suzanne kona inoa maoli. 154 He papahana ‘o Indo Pacific Languages ma ke Kula Nui o Hawai‘i ma Mānoa.

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ua piha i nā puke like ‘ole. Me he mea lā ‘o wau ‘o Eliza Dolittle i loko o kona ke‘ena. Nānā wau

i nā puke. No‘ono‘o wau, he aha kēia Sanskrit? A a‘o ‘o ia ia‘u. A ‘ōlelo ‘o ia, “Hele mai ‘oe i

ko‘u ke‘ena i nā lā a pau. Kama‘ilio kāua i kou holomua ‘ana ma kēia kula. Mamake wau e lohe i

kou mau mana‘o.” Mana‘o wau, “‘A‘ole wau kama‘aina iki iā ‘oe a makemake ‘oe e ‘ike i ko‘u

mana‘o?” A ‘ōlelo ‘o ia, “Hele mai. A ‘a‘ole pilikia. Inā ‘oe komo i ko‘u ke‘ena a aia kekahi

luahine ma ‘ane‘i, ‘o ia ka‘u wahine. ‘A‘ole pilikia. Noho ‘oe, wala‘au me ia. Ho‘i wau.” So i

nā lā a pau hele wau.

KA HAUMĀNA:

Hoihoi loa!

KE KUMU:

Hele wau i kona ke‘ena. Kūkā kama‘ilio me ia e pili ana i ko‘u ‘ohana, ko‘u ‘imi

na‘auao, ka‘u mau papa, a hoihoi ‘o ia i nā mea a pau. A ‘ōlelo ‘o ia, “Kekahi lā e lilo

ana ‘oe i kumu maika‘i.” Mana‘o wau, “Pehea ‘oe ‘ike ai i kēlā? You just blowing smoke, I

know. ‘A‘ole ‘oe kama‘aina iki i ko‘u ‘ao‘ao.” But aloha ‘o ia ia‘u a aloha wau iā ia. Mau

makahiki kēlā.

‘O ia ko‘u kāko‘o mua. Ua ‘ike wau, ho‘okahi kanaka, ua hoihoi ‘o ia ia‘u. A

kōkua ‘o ia ia‘u ma nā mea like ‘ole. Even ke kālā. Mamake ‘o ia hā‘awi ia‘u kālā. ‘Ōlelo

wau, “‘A‘ole! Loa‘a ia‘u ke kālā.” A ‘o ia ka mea maika‘i. ‘Ale wau hopohopo i ke kālā

no ka hele kula. Na ku‘u pāpā i uku na‘u. ‘A‘ole loa‘a iki ka financial aid, kekahi

scholarship. Ko‘u pāpā wale nō i uku i nā mea a pau. No laila, ‘a‘ole kēlā kekahi o ko‘u

mau pilikia. ‘O ka pilikia ka ho‘omākaukau ‘ana. ‘A‘ole i ko‘u no‘ono‘o wale nō, i ko‘u

na‘au no kēia ‘ano hana. Ua pono wau e hele a kūpa‘a i loko; e hele a wiwo‘ole i ka

nīnau ‘ana, i ka wala‘au ‘ana. Ma mua, ‘ale wala‘au me ko‘u mau hoa, ma

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ko‘u ‘ao‘ao. ‘A‘ole i loko o kēia wahi. Na kēia kāne i kōkua nui. ‘O ia ko‘u hali‘a aloha

mua loa o kēlā kula. A ua ho‘ohiki wau ia‘u iho, inā hiki ia‘u ke kōkua iā ha‘i, pēlā wau e

kōkua aku ai iā ia. ‘O ia ka mole, ke kāhua o Kua‘ana.155

KA HAUMĀNA:

Kēlā wā mua me Dr. Maurer, pehea, aia kekahi mau kumu Hawai‘i ma laila?

KE KUMU:

‘Ae. Loa‘a nā kumu ‘ōlelo Hawai‘i ma kēlā holoē.

KA HAUMĀNA:

Ua launa ‘oe me lākou?

KE KUMU:

‘A‘ole. Ma ka papa wale nō. Ma hope o kēlā makahiki. ‘O kēlā makahiki mua, ‘a‘ole wau

launa nui me ka po‘e Hawai‘i. Komo wale wau i ka papa a ‘o ia wale nō.

KA HAUMĀNA:

‘O wai kāu mau kumu ‘ōlelo Hawai‘i?

KE KUMU:

‘O Pua156 ka‘u kumu mua makahiki ‘ekolu. A laila Nakoa Wahine me Lale157 makahiki ‘ehā.

‘A‘ole wau i komo i ka makahiki mua me ka makahiki ‘elua. Ko‘u mana‘o ‘a‘ole maika‘i kēlā.

Ua pono wau e komo i ka makahiki mua i maopopo le‘a ia‘u nā pepeke, nā analula. Ke komo ‘oe

i ka makahiki ‘ekolu, nalo kēlā iā ‘oe.

KA HAUMĀNA:

Like pū me a‘u.

KE KUMU:

155 ‘O Kua‘ana ka inoa o ka papahana kāko‘o āna i ho‘okumu a ho‘okele ai ma ke Kula Nui o Hawai‘i ma Mānoa. 156 Pua Hopkins. 157 Lale Kimura.

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Pehea e a‘o ai? ‘Ōlelo nā kānaka a pau, “Oh just a‘o aku ‘oe e like me kāu i a‘o ai.”

‘A‘ale wau ‘ike. ‘A‘ohe kanaka i a‘o mai ia‘u koe wale ka‘u kumu mua i ko‘u makahiki

‘eiwa. Mai ka makahiki ‘eiwa a i ka makahiki ‘umikūmāmālima, ‘umikūmāmāono paha,

aia wau ma ka papa ‘ōlelo Hawai‘i me Charles Ka‘eo. No Ho‘okena mai ‘o ia. He

kahu ha‘i ‘euanelio ma ko mākou halepule. Hana ‘o ia ma ka hale kū‘ai puke ma Mānoa. So

pili ‘o ia me Elbert me Pukui.158 Kona ‘ike ‘ana i kā lāua hana,159 no‘ono‘o ‘o ia, “Eh! Hiki

ia‘u ke hana i kēia ma ko‘u hale pule.”

KA HAUMĀNA:

Oh, maika‘i loa!

KE KUMU:

So lilo ‘o ia i kumu me ka ha‘awina me nā mea a pau a komo mai ka po‘e kūpuna i loko o kēlā

papa, e like me Libert O’Sullivan. ‘A‘ole ‘o Lunalilo ka mea kēia manawa, kona pāpā. A me

kona māmā. A me Elizabeth Ellis, ka māmā o Aunty Betty Jenkins. Nā kūpuna! Hiki iā lākou a

pau ke ‘ōlelo Hawai‘i akā komo lākou i loko o kēia papa.

KA HAUMĀNA:

Oh, so pōmaika‘i loa ‘oe.

KE KUMU:

Pōmaika‘i wau. Kēia manawa, ke nānā wau, ‘ike wau ke kumu no ko lākou noho ‘ana. Na ke

Akua i ho‘onohonoho iā lākou i loko i maopopo le‘a ia‘u ka ‘ao‘ao o ke kūpuna. Kēlā ‘ano

aloha. Kēlā ‘ano kani o ka ‘ōlelo. No ka mea na ku‘u tūtū i hānai mai ia‘u ma ka ‘ōlelo Hawai‘i

akā ua loa‘a ‘o ia i ka ma‘i huki so ‘a‘ole ‘o ia ‘ōlelo me ka maika‘i. Akā na‘e ‘o ia wale nō ka

‘ōlelo a‘u i lohe ai no laila maopopo le‘a ia‘u kona ‘ōlelo akā ‘a‘ole pēlā ka ‘ōlelo maoli o ka

158 He mau alaka‘i ‘ōlelo Hawai‘i ‘o Samuel Elbert me Mary Kawena Pukui. 159 E a‘o ana lāua i ka ‘ōlelo Hawai‘i ma loko ko ka lumi papa.

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po‘e a pau. So ma kēlā papa wau i lohe ai i ka ‘ōlelo ma‘amau, ka ‘ōlelo Hawai‘i, ma ka

halepule. Ha‘i wau i ka‘u po‘e haumāna, “Kēlā ‘ano ‘ōlelo Hawai‘i i loko o ka halepule me kēia

po‘e kūpuna, ‘olu‘olu, nahenahe. ‘A‘ohe ‘eha.” But maopopo ia‘u aia ma ka halepule kēlā ‘ano

‘ōlelo. Ma waho o kēlā, ‘a‘ole wau ‘ike. E like me ku‘u tūtū, ‘olu‘olu kona ‘ōlelo. Ko‘u

kūpunakāne, like pū. Kēlā ‘ano ‘ōlelo ‘olu‘olu, nani wale, nahenahe. Ke nīnau mai ka po‘e ia‘u,

“He aha ka ‘ōlelo pelapela?” ‘A‘ohe o‘u ‘ike iki no ka mea ‘a‘ole kēlā ma loko o ka ‘ōlelo

haipule. He hoihoi ka ho‘omaka.

‘A‘ole wau ‘ike inā ‘oe ‘ike i ka mo‘olelo. Na ku‘u tūtū i ha‘i mai ia‘u, “Lilo ana ‘oe i

kumu ‘ōlelo Hawai‘i.” ‘A‘ole wau makemake. Iā wai wau e a‘o ai? ‘Ōlelo ‘o ia, “Oh nui ana ka

po‘e. Hiki mai ana ka lehulehu i kou ‘īpuka e komo ai i kāu papa.” “Okay. Tūtū, nānā, po‘ohina

ka po‘e a pau i hiki ke ‘ōlelo Hawai‘i. ‘A‘ohe kamali‘i me a‘u. ‘A‘ohe keiki.” ‘Ōlelo ‘o ia, “A,

kekahi lā.” So kēia lā, ke no‘ono‘o wau i ko‘u mau makahiki he kanakolu a ‘oi i ke a‘o ‘ana aku i

ka ‘ōlelo Hawai‘i, pololei. Ua pololei ka wānana. Nā papa a pau a‘u i a‘o aku ai, aia kekahi

haumāna e ‘ōlelo ana, “Hiki ke komo i kāu papa?” A ke noi kekahi, no‘ono‘o wau iā ia. My

gosh! Mau nō ka hū ‘ana o kēia po‘e i loko o ka‘u papa e hō‘ike mai ia‘u i ka waiwai o ko kākou

‘ōlelo.

KA HAUMĀNA:

Wow! Pōmaika‘i maoli. So kou wā Kula Nui, ua launa ‘oe me nā haumāna Hawai‘i ‘ē a‘e ma

waho o ka papa ‘ōlelo Hawai‘i?

KE KUMU:

‘A‘ole. Mai ka‘u mau papa ‘ōlelo Hawai‘i ua hele a kama‘aina loa wau i ka po‘e haumāna mai

ke kula ‘o Kamehameha.160 Ko‘u mau hoa a pau he mau haumāna, mai ke kula ‘o Kamehameha.

160 Ke Kula Ki‘eki‘e ‘o Kamehameha.

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‘A‘ohe o‘u hoa ma waho o kēlā he pili. ‘O ia ka makahiki ‘elua mua. I ko‘u makahiki ‘ekolu ua

komo wau i ka Hui Aloha ‘Āina Tuahine.161

KA HAUMĀNA:

Na wai i mālama i kēlā hui?

KE KUMU:

Na Lale. Ua ho‘okumu ‘ia ma mua loa o mākou e Lale, Pila, Kalena, Lokomaika‘i,162 lākou. A

ua maika‘i. A mai kēlā hui i ho‘omaka ai ‘o Ho‘okahe Wai Ho‘oulu ‘Āina.163 So ua hele a pili

loa mākou i loko o kēlā Hui. He ‘umi o mākou. And then ho‘omaka i ka lo‘i.

He po‘e ‘ōpio nō mākou. ‘Umikūmāmāwalu, ‘umikūmāmāiwa makahiki. I ke kakahiaka

Pō‘aono, ma hope o ka inu nui ‘ana, ua no‘ono‘o ‘o Keoni mā – ‘o Keoni, Nāhoa , Lolana a me

Wini164 i ko‘u mana‘o – e pi‘i kuahiwi i kēlā wahi o ke kahawai, no ka mea ua heluhelu lākou e

pili ana i kēia wahi a me nā ‘auwai o laila a mamake lākou e hele huli nā ‘auwai. ‘Imi lākou a ua

loa‘a. Ho‘i mai lākou i ka hale me nā hoa, nā wahine, nā ipo, a ‘ōlelo, “E! He lo‘i ko kēia wahi.

Pono kākou e wehe.” I was like, “He aha? ‘A‘ole mākou ‘ike iki i ka wehe ‘ana i ka lo‘i.” ‘Ōlelo

lākou, “‘A‘ole lawa ka heluhelu wale nō. Pono kākou hana kekahi mea.” So hana!

Hele mākou me nā sickles no ka mea ‘a‘ole loa‘a iā mākou nā back hoe, kekahi mīkini.

Ke no‘ono‘o wau i kēlā mau lā, pupule! Kēia ‘ano ‘ōpio, urban Hawaiians, me ka no‘ono‘o ‘ole.

I kekahi lā, ho‘i mai nā kāne a ‘ōlelo lākou, “Hele kākou ‘oki mau‘u.” So ‘oki mau‘u mākou no

161 He hui ‘ōlelo Hawai‘i ka Hui Aloha ‘Āina Tuahine ma ke Kula Nui o Hawai‘i ma Mānoa. 162 Lale Kimura, Pila Wilson, Kalena Silva, a me Lokomaika‘i Snakenberg. He mau haumāna ‘ōlelo Hawai‘i lākou a pau. Ma hope he mau kumu ‘ōlelo Hawai‘i lākou a he mau alaka‘i ma ka ho‘oholomua ‘ana i ka ‘ōlelo Hawai‘i. 163 ‘O Ho‘okahe Wai Ho‘oulu ‘Āina ka hui i ho‘owehe hou ai i nā lo‘i ma ka Papa Lo‘i ‘o Kānewai. Inā hoihoi e kipa iā http://manoa.hawaii.edu/hshk/ka-papa-loi-o-kanewai/history/. 164 Keoni Fairbanks, Nāhoa Lucas, Lolana Fenstenmacher, a me Wini Terada. He mau alaka‘i lākou ma ka ho‘okumu hou ‘ana i ka Papa Lo‘i ‘o Kānewai.

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‘ehā mahina.165 Hapa o ka lo‘i. A ma hope o ‘ehā mahina, ua ‘imi a loa‘a kekahi kupuna e kōkua

mai iā mākou. A na ke Akua i hō‘ike mai iā mākou iā ‘Anakala Harry Mitchell.166

Ua noi mākou iā iā hele mai kōkua mai iā mākou. A ua kōkua nō, alaka‘i mai pehea e

wehe ai kēia ‘auwai. Nānā ‘o ia i nā ‘auwai i ho‘okū mau ‘ia ma laila. Hō‘ike maika‘i ‘o ia iā

mākou i ka hana. Ua lawe ‘ia mai nā huli mai Ke‘anae. ‘O ka Pi‘iali‘i167 ka mea mua loa a

mākou i kanu ai i loko o kēlā lo‘i mua ‘o ʻUhai’ no ka mea uhai mākou i ko kākou po‘e kūpuna.

He mea maika‘i cause ua ola. Ua ola nā mea a mākou i heluhelu wale ai; nā mea a mākou i lohe

ai.

No‘u, hānai ‘ia ko‘u māmā ma ka lo‘i ma Moanalua. No laila, ua uluhua ‘o ia. Huhū ‘o ia

ia‘u i kēia hana i ka lo‘i a pēlā wale aku no ka mea i kona mana‘o, ho‘ouna ‘ia wau i ke kula i

pau kēlā ‘ao‘ao o kākou; i pau loa kēlā ‘ao‘ao. ‘A‘ole pono e hana nui no ke kino. ‘A‘ole pono e

hana nui e ho‘i i ka ‘āina. Ua pau kēlā wā. I kēia manawa aia kākou i ke ao. Nui nā manawa a‘u i

ho‘i ai i ka hale a namunamu, ho‘opa‘apa‘a.

A laila ma hope o kēlā komo i ka hana o ka PKO.168 That was like the natural

progression. Now we are going from the lo‘i to Kaho‘olawe. A pilikia nui kēlā ma ka hale no ka

mea ‘a‘ole maopopo i ko‘u po‘e mākua ku‘u ‘i‘ini e kūpa‘a ai i ko kākou lāhui. Mana‘o lākou he

ho‘opaumanawa, he pohō. Maka‘u loa lāua. ‘O ia ka mea nui. Maka‘u loa lāua e ho‘opa‘a ‘ia ana

i ka pa‘ahao.

KA HAUMĀNA:

Pehea ka mana‘o o nā kanaka o ke Kula Nui? 165 I kēlā wā ua uluāhewa ka lo‘i i ka mau‘u me ka nāhelehele. 166 He kupuna hiwahiwa ‘o ‘Anakala Harry Kunihi Mitchell. Inā hoihoi e a‘o mai i nā mo‘olelo pili iā ia, eia kekahi mo‘olelo e ‘imi aku ai: Aluli, N. E. (1992). Mai ke kai mai ke ola, from the ocean comes life: Hawaiian customs, uses, and practices on Kaho‘olawe relating to the surrounding ocean. The Hawaiian Journal of History, (26), pp. 231-254. McGregor, D. P. (2007). Nā kua‘āina: Living Hawaiian culture. Honolulu, HI: Univeristy of Hawai‘i Press. 167 ‘O ka Pi‘iali‘i he ‘ano kalo, kekahi o nā kalo kahiko loa ‘o Hawai‘i nei (Pukui & Elbert, 1986, p. 327). 168 Protect Kaho‘olawe ‘Ohana. Inā hoihoi, e kipa iā http://www.protectkahoolaweohana.org.

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KE KUMU:

I kēlā wā? Wahi a ‘Anakala,169 “Say sorry later. Hana wale.” And ‘a‘ohe kanaka i hele mai.

‘A‘ohe kanaka i hele iki mai a ‘ōlelo iā mākou, “He aha kā ‘oukou hana?” So hana wale mākou.

I nā Pō‘aono a pau hele mai ka lehulehu, kōkua mai iā mākou e like me nā papa Ethnic Studies.

Hele a nui a lehulehu nā kanaka i kōkua mai iā mākou. A ma hope o ho‘okahi makahiki, ua hiki

mai ka wā e huki ai i ke kalo. Kono ‘ia mai ka lieutenant governor, na kenekoa, ka pelekikena o

ke kula nui, a hele mai lākou. ‘A‘ohe kānaka i nīnau mai iā mākou, “Na wai kēia ‘āina? ‘A‘ole

hiki iā ‘oukou ke hana i kēia.” Ua hau‘oli lākou.

KA HAUMĀNA:

Na ‘oukou i kono i ka lehulehu?

KE KUMU:

‘Ae. Na mākou pākahi e kono aku i ko mākou po‘e hoa, nā papa a mākou noho ai. Ua maika‘i. A

laila ua kūkulu mākou i kekahi hale li‘ili‘i e mālama ai i nā pono hana a laila ua pilikia no ka

mea ua kūkulu mākou i kekahi mea. He mea li‘ili‘i loa. Akā i kēlā manawa, akamai ‘o Keoni. Ua

‘eleu ‘o ia. Ua ‘ike ‘o ia, ke ulu nei kēia i kekahi mea nui a‘e. ‘A‘ole mākou i no‘ono‘o iki i ka

nui o kēia lo‘i i ke kula nui. No laila ua hele ‘o ia iā Abe Pi‘ianai‘a170 a wala‘au pū me ia a ua ‘ae

‘o Mr. P., “‘Ae hiki nō.” A ua hā‘awi kekahi kulana lo‘i coordinator.

KA HAUMĀNA:

Oh, mai kēlā wā kēlā kulana hana! ‘O wai ka mea mua?

169 ‘Anakala Harry Mitchell. 170 ‘O Abe Pi‘ianai‘a ke alaka‘i o ka papahana Hawaiian Studies ma UH Mānoa i kēlā wā. Nāna nō i ‘imi a loa‘a kekahi kulana hana no ke kahu o ka lo‘i.

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KE KUMU:

‘O Keoni a laila ‘o Charlie, Pōmaika‘i, Makahiapo.171 He hoihoi. Kēia manawa he mau kaukani

kanaka i komo ai i kēia lo‘i.

KA HAUMĀNA:

‘Ae, nani. ‘Akahi nō au a launa me kekahi haumāna hou mai Maui mai. A ua nani no ka mea ua

kūpa‘a kēlā haumāna ma ka ‘ōlelo Hawai‘i ‘oiai ‘o ia ma ka lo‘i. He mea hoihoi nō.

KE KUMU:

Maika‘i. Hau‘oli wau. Hau‘oli wau e lohe i kēlā no ka mea ke lohe wau i kēlā, hau‘oli ku‘u na‘au

no ka mea ‘o ia ke kumu no kēlā wahi: e mālama ai i ko kākou wahi po‘e mai nā wahi like ‘ole; e

ho‘onā i ko lākou na‘au, i wahi maluhia i ka ‘ōlelo. ‘O ia ka mea nui o kēlā wahi. ‘O ia ke kumu

i mālama ‘ia ai kēlā wahi. I wahi ‘ōlelo Hawai‘i, hana Hawai‘i. ‘A‘ole no ka Hawai‘i wale nō.

No ka po‘e a pau hoihoi i ka nohona Hawai‘i. Ka ho‘okani pila, nā mea ma ke ahi. He wahi e nā

ai ka na‘au.

KA HAUMĀNA:

‘Ae, no ka mea he pu‘uhonua. Ua pale ‘ia mai kēlā mau mea o ke ao ‘ē a‘e.

KE KUMU:

‘O ia ka nani o ka lo‘i. Noho i ka pō ‘ele‘ele. Nanea, kūkā kama‘ilio.

KA HAUMĀNA:

So i ka wā a ‘oukou i kūkulu ai i kēlā hale li‘ili‘i he aha nā pilikia? Namunamu?

KE KUMU:

Yeah, ‘a‘ole pono e kūkulu i kekahi mea ma‘ō. Ua luku a laila ua kūkulu kēlā hale lō‘ihi. A ua

‘ae lākou iā mākou. Just ‘a‘ole loa‘a ka lua a i ‘ole ka mea me ka wai. I ko Keoni wā ua ho‘ololi

171 Keoni Fairbanks, Charlie Kupa, Pōmaika‘i Crozier, Makahiapo Cashman. ‘O kēia nā kānaka i alaka‘i i ka Papa Lo‘i ‘o Kānewai mai ka ho‘okumu hou ‘ana a i kēia manawa nō.

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‘ia kekahi mau mea, ko Charlie wā, ho‘ololi ‘ia kekahi mau mea, ko Pōmaika‘i wā ho‘ololi nui

‘ia kekahi mau mea. Nāna nō i ho‘okomo i ka wai ma loko me ka shower, loa‘a ka paipū wai, ka

‘ili wai. Ma mua, pono e halihali wai.

KA HAUMĀNA:

Wow! A ua pono e noi no kēlā mau mea a i ‘ole ua hana wale?

KE KUMU:

Ua hana wale. Just went tap into the water line. Nui nā mea i hana ‘ia me ka ‘ae ‘ole o ke Kula

Nui. So you know what, ho‘ohenehene mau wau, ‘o kēia kahi o ke ea Hawai‘i, pono e kau ka hae

ma ‘ane‘i. A ‘o ia ke kumu aia mau ka hae ma kēlā wahi no ka mea ‘a‘ole noi ‘ia kekahi mea mai

ke Kula Nui.

KA HAUMĀNA:

Hoihoi ka waiho wale ‘ana ‘o ke Kula Nui iā ‘oukou.

KE KUMU:

‘Ae no ka mea ua lilo kēlā wahi i show case. Ua hele mai ko lākou po‘e ho‘okipa kaulana loa i

ka lo‘i. ‘O ia kahi mua e lawe ai iā lākou. Ka pelekikena o Mongolia, ka pelekikena o kēlā wahi

kēia wahi, lawe pololei ‘ia i ka lo‘i.

KA HAUMĀNA:

So ma hope o ko ‘oukou ho‘owehe ‘ana i kēlā lo‘i, ua hele ‘oe e hana me ka PKO, komo i

kēlā ‘ano hana?

KE KUMU:

‘Ae, ua kōkua, kū‘ē.

KA HAUMĀNA:

A laila, ua a‘o ‘oe i ka ‘ōlelo Hawai‘i?

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KE KUMU:

Ko‘u makahiki ‘umikūmāmāiwa, ua ho‘omaka mākou i kēlā kula kaiapuni, ‘o Nā Liko o

ka ‘Āina.

KA HAUMĀNA:

‘A‘ole wau i lohe mua. Ma hea?

KE KUMU:

Ma QLCC172 ma Waimānalo. He polokalamu pailaka, ‘ewalu pule pākahi, ‘elua kau i ke

kauwela. No nā keiki i ka papa ‘ekolu a i ka papa ‘umikūmāmālua. ‘O No‘eau173 kekahi kumu,

‘o Keiki Kawai‘ae‘a, Tuti,174 ‘o wau. I kēlā wā, ‘ōpiopio wale mākou. ‘A‘ole mākou ‘ike iki i ka

hana a‘o i ka ‘ōlelo Hawai‘i. Akā ua ho‘ā‘o.

KA HAUMĀNA:

No ke aha ‘oukou i ho‘omaka i kēia hana?

KE KUMU:

Na Rona me Rusty Rodenhurst i ho‘okumu i kēia a ua noi iā mākou nā haumāna holomua

papa makahiki ‘ehā paha, “Hoihoi ‘oukou i kēia ‘ano hana?” A ua maika‘i ke kālā. A ma

laila wau i a‘o ai ka ho‘onohonoho papa, lesson plans, objectives, goals. ‘Ōpiopio loa

wau. ‘A‘ole wau i no‘ono‘o iki i kēlā mau mea. So ma mua o ko‘u komo ‘ana i ke

College of Ed, ua ho‘omaka wau kēlā ‘ano no‘ono‘o ‘ana, ka hana kurikulama, ka hana

papa a‘o no ka mea ua pono mākou e hana. I nā Pō‘alima a pau pono mākou e hā‘awi aku

iā ia [nā alaka‘i] e hō‘ike ai iā ia kā mākou hana ma ka papa.

KA HAUMĀNA:

A mau nō kou hele ‘ana i ke kula?

172 Queen Lili‘uokalani Children’s Center. 173 No‘eau Warner. 174 Tuti Kanahele.

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KE KUMU:

Mau nō ka hele ‘ana i ke kula, mau nō ka hula ‘ana i nā ahiahi. A ma hope o kēlā

kauwela, ‘o ia ka makahiki 1978, aia ma QLCC, ua noi ‘o No‘eau ia‘u e pani nāna ma

ke kula makua ma Kaimukī.175 Na Lale i hā‘awi iā No‘eau a i kēlā manawa ua

pono ‘o No‘eau e ho‘opau i kona kekelē a i ‘ole kekahi mea. So ua hā‘awi ‘o ia ia‘u. No

laila, eia wau he ‘umikūmāmāiwa makahiki, a‘o ana i nā kūpuna, kanaonokūmāmālima

makahiki. It was just like, “Wow! How did all this happen?”

So ua a‘o wau ma Kaimukī a laila ua wehe ma Kaiser176 so a‘o wau i nā pō a pau,

hula i ka hopenapule, hele i ke kula i ka lā, a hele a‘o ma ke kula ‘o Kamehameha i loko

o kēlā kula KEEP. ‘Oiai wau e hana ana i kēlā mau mea, hele wau i ke kula, puka 1981

me ke kekelē BA a ho‘i hou wau i ke College of Ed no ka‘u PD.177 ‘A‘ohe kanaka ha‘i

mai ia‘u pono e ki‘i ka MA.178 ‘Ōlelo lākou, “You just need your fifth year.” A ua hana wau i

kēlā me kekeahi mau ‘ai a ‘oi a‘e. Ua hiki ia‘u ke ho‘opau i ka‘u MEd,179 but ‘a‘ohe kanaka!

KA HAUMĀNA:

Ma hope mai, ua ho‘i ‘oe e ho‘okō i ka MEd?

KE KUMU:

‘A‘ole. So loa‘a ia‘u ka BA me ka fifth year wale nō a laila ua komo wau i ka hana.

Nā mea a‘u i hana ai, kahi a‘u i hana ai, ‘a‘ole pono ka fifth year. Maika‘i inā ua loa‘a

ia‘u ka MEd. ‘O ia ka mea i uluhua no ka mea ‘a‘ohe kanaka i ha‘i mai hiki ke hana kēia.

Just a fish, hoping someone was gonna catch you. ‘O ia ka wā o kēlā ‘ano. Pono e

175 E a‘o i ka papa ‘ōlelo Hawai‘i. 176 Ke Kula Ki‘eki‘e ‘o Kaiser. 177 Ka palapala Professional Development. 178 Master’s degree. 179 Master’s in Education.

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ho‘okele i loko kēia wahi pupule loa nou iho. ‘A‘ohe kanaka ‘ōlelo, “Eia ke ala e hele ai.”

‘A‘ohe kanaka ma mua o kākou, a ‘o nā kanaka i komo ma mua o mākou, ‘a‘ole lākou huli a

kōkua.

KA HAUMĀNA:

He Hawai‘i kekahi o lākou?

KE KUMU:

He Hawai‘i nō. But holomua. A ho‘omaka i ko lākou hana. Me ka no‘ono‘o, “Oh you’ll

figure it out.” ‘O ia ke kumu i ko‘u ho‘okumu ‘ana iā Kua‘ana, ua ho‘okumu wau me

kēlā mana‘o: Pono e huli a kōkua i kou kaina ‘oiai ‘a‘ohe kanaka ‘ē a‘e e kōkua iā lākou.

Na kākou, nā mea i holomua i loko o kēia wahi kama‘aina ‘ole, huli a kōkua, alaka‘i iā

lākou, hi‘ipoi iā lākou ke hiki.

KA HAUMĀNA:

No laila, pehea i hai ‘ia ‘oe ma Kua‘ana?

KE KUMU:

Na kou māmā! A mahalo nui wau i kou māmā i kona kono mai ia‘u e mālama i kēia kuleana. Ua

pū‘iwa wau. I ke kelepona ‘ana mai ona ia‘u, “Oh tita, pono ‘oe hele mai ho‘okumu i kēia

polokalamu. Ho‘omana‘o ‘oe ma kēlā Ka‘ū Report.” ‘O ia ke ‘ano o kou makuahine. Just hilina‘i

‘o ia iā ‘oe. “Hiki iā ‘oe ke hana. Hana!” ‘O wau? ‘A‘ohe o‘u ‘ike iki i kēlā ‘ano directorship,

fiscal affairs, kēlā mau mea. ‘Ōlelo wau iā ia, “No ke aha ‘oe koho mai ai ia‘u?” Pane ‘o ia, “No

ka mea ‘ike wau hiki iā ‘oe ke hana i kēia.” Ha‘i wau iā ia, “But ‘a‘ohe o‘u ‘ike iki i kēia ‘ano

hana.” A pane hou ‘o ia, “‘A‘ole pilikia, hana! ‘A‘ole pilikia. We’ll figure it out.”

KA HAUMĀNA:

Ma mua o kou hai ‘ia ana ma ke kula nui, ma hea ‘oe e hana nei?

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KE KUMU:

I kēlā manawa, ‘o wau ke kumu a‘oa‘o no kekahi papa kula ki‘eki‘e. So ua mana‘o paha

‘o ia ma muli o ko‘u komo ‘ana i kēlā kulana. ‘A‘ole wau ‘ike. But ua mana‘o wau,

“Shua ‘oe? ‘Ano ‘ē.”

Kupu a Mohala: Coming Into Full Bloom

KA HAUMĀNA:

So, pehea ‘oe i ho‘okō i kēlā kuleana hou ma Kua‘ana?

KE KUMU:

‘O ka ‘ōlelo no‘eau, ‘‘Ike ke ali‘i i kona kanaka, ‘ike ke kanaka i kona ali‘i.’180 He

mea nui kēlā. Inā ‘a‘ole ‘oe ‘ike i ka po‘e āu e lawelawe ai or na lākou e lawelawe ai iā

‘oe, pehea ‘oe e kōkua ai iā lākou? Pehea ‘oe e wala‘au ai iā lākou? Pehea ‘oe e hā‘awi

aku ai iā lākou i nā mea pono? ‘A‘ole ‘oe ‘ike i nā mea pono no lākou. No laila, ‘a‘ole

hiki ke poina i kēlā ‘ao‘ao.

Maopopo ia‘u ka pilikia o ko kākou po‘e lāhui i ko lākou komo ‘ana i loko o kēia

‘ano kula me ka ho‘omākaukau ‘ole, me ke kama‘aina ‘ole iā ha‘i, me kahi kama‘aina

‘ole. Pono e loa‘a kekahi wahi no lākou wale nō, me ke aloha. ‘O ia ka pilikia! Ke ‘ōlelo

lākou,181 “Oh, he wahi kēia no ka Hawai‘i. But eia nā lula.”182 You know?

KA HAUMĀNA:

Pololei! ‘A‘ole like.

KE KUMU:

No laila aia wau ma lalo pono o ka VP183 ‘o Doris Ching. Eia ka pelekikena, ka

180 He ‘ōlelo no‘eau (#1213) (Pukui, 1983, p. 132). 181 “Lākou” – Nā luna o ke kula nui, nā kānaka i ho‘okumu i nā lula. 182 Nā lula – nā ‘ano lula pili ‘ole i ka nohona Hawai‘i, ke ‘ano Hawai‘i.

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hope pelekikena, and then ‘o wau! Wait! Pehea e hana ai? ‘A‘ole wau ‘ike. I ia

manawa a‘o aku wau i ka ‘ōlelo Hawai‘i kekahi ma ke kula nui. I kēlā wā, just hana!

‘A‘ole ‘oe no‘ono‘o “‘A‘ole hiki.” Just maopopo iā ‘oe ‘a‘ohe ou ‘ike, but hiki, hiki!

So ua hai wau i nā haumāna no ka mea ua loa‘a ke kālā no ka peer advisors. But

‘a‘ole loa‘a ke kālā no ke kākau ‘ōlelo, no kekahi mea mālama i ke kālā, so ua pono wau

e a‘o i nā mea fiscal, nā policy o ke kula nui no ka Office of Student Affairs.

KA HAUMĀNA:

He aha kāu i nā peer advisors?

KE KUMU:

‘Ōlelo wau, “Well, pono kākou e ho‘onui i ka pākeneka o ka Hawai‘i ma Mānoa.”

KA HAUMĀNA:

‘O ia kā Doris i ha‘i iā ‘oe?

KE KUMU:

Yup. Kou māmā kekahi. Aia ma loko o kēlā Ka‘ū Report. So ‘ōlelo ‘o Kaleikoa,184 “Pehea kākou

e hana ai?” ‘Ōlelo wau, “‘A‘ole wau ‘ike! ‘O ia kā kākou e ho‘olālā ai.” ‘Ōlelo ‘o ia, “‘O wai

kākou?” I go, “Well, ‘o ‘oe ka mua. Kelepona ‘oe i kou po‘e hoa.” So ua kono ‘ia kēia po‘e.

‘O ‘Alohilani ‘o ia ka mea hoihoi. Aia wau e iho ana ma ka holoē ma Moore a

aia ‘o ia ma hope o‘u. ‘Ike wau i kēia keiki Haole. ‘Ōlelo wau, “Ke huli nei ‘oe i kekahi

mea?” “‘Ae, Operation Kua‘ana.” I go, “Oh.” She goes, “I know, he Hawai‘i au.”185 I was like,

“Oh, okay.” I go, “I’m [inoa].” She goes, “Yeah! I’m supposed to talk to you cause I want a job

183 Vice president – ka luna o Student Affairs. 184 ‘O Kaleikoa Ka‘eo ka mua o kāna mau peer advisors. 185 ‘O ka mea ‘apiki, he ‘ili kea ko ‘Alohilani, no laila ‘a‘ole ‘ike ma‘alahi ‘ia kona mo‘okū‘auhau Hawai‘i i ko lāua launa mua ‘ana. ‘O ia ke kumu i hō‘oia ‘o Alohilani he Hawai‘i nō ‘o ia.

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as a peer counselor.” I’m like, “Okay.” So pēlā nō wau i hai ai i kēia mau keiki a pau a lilo lākou

i peer counselors. A ua hana nui lākou. No kēlā ‘ano uku haumāna!

‘O Kaleikoa Ka‘eo, ‘Alohilani Rogers, Konia Freitas, Malia Melemai, me

Keanu Sai ka‘u mau limahana. Look who that was! Nānā iā lākou i kēia manawa.186 Mau

nō ko lākou kāko‘o ‘ana i ka ‘āina, i ka lāhui, ka holomua ‘ana, mālama ‘ana i nā kaina.

But you remember those days when we used to have read outs of addresses and

we’d be setting up bus schedules to go out to Wai‘anae and pick them up and bring them

to the college fair? Today I think about that and I think, “How did we do it? We didn’t

even have technology to coordinate hundreds of Hawaiians e komo i ke kula nui e lohe ai

i ke kumu nui no ko lākou hele ‘ana i ke kula nui. A ‘o ia wale nō ko mākou hana.

Ka mea mua ho‘ouna ‘ia nā haumāna Hawai‘i mai ke kula nui, ho‘ouna ‘ia lākou i

nā wahi like ‘ole, kakahiaka nui, hapalua hola ‘elima paha. Pono lākou e hele i Wai‘anae,

Waimānalo, Hau‘ula, Kahana, a kū ma kahi kū ka‘a ‘ōhua a kali i nā haumāna. A ‘ōlelo

lākou, “He aha ka hana?” ‘Ōlelo wau, “Just kali ‘oe ma ‘ō a ke hele mai lākou, aloha aku

iā lākou. Ha‘i iā lākou ʻMai hopohopo, e hele ana kākou i ke kula nui’ and you make it as

fun as it can be. I no care how early it is!” But ua hau‘oli lākou no ka mea ua huli mākou

i ko mākou ‘ohana e hele mai i ko mākou kula.

Kau lākou ma ke ka‘a ‘ōhua me kēia po‘e keiki, nā po‘e seniors paha, a holo i ke kula

nui, a lilo i alaka‘i no kēlā hui māka‘ika‘i i ke kula nui. Komo i ka ballroom ma Campus Center,

nānā i nā haumāna Hawai‘i a pau, pi‘i ma ke kahua a ‘ōlelo lākou, “‘O mea mea ko‘u inoa. I’m

from Waia‘anae, my major is…” Ua hiki ke ‘ike kā kākou po‘e haumāna i hele mai me ke

kāhāhā, “Wow po‘e Hawai‘i e like me a‘u mai ko‘u ‘āina!” And just kū ha‘aheo i pili i

186 I kēia manawa he mau alaka‘i lākou ma nā kula nui, nā kula kaiapuni, a ma loko o nā kaiāulu.

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kēlā alaka‘i cause ua launa a mālama i ka pilina mai kā lākou ‘āina a i Mānoa a puni o ke kula

nui a ho‘i ana me lākou. Ua hele a kama‘aina he kaina a he kua‘ana.

‘O kekahi mea ‘ē a‘e, hana mākou i nā Kua‘ana Bash.187 Kekahi manawa hiki iā

mākou ke hana i ka pelehū kālua. Maikaʻi. Kekahi manawa loa‘a ke corned beef and onions.

That’s all we had. But loa‘a ka pila, loa‘a ka Hawai‘i i kahi li‘ili‘i loa ‘o Moore. Who would

think of doing this? ‘A‘ohe kālā. Ua hele mai lākou a pau. Corned beef and onions!

‘O kekahi, ua mālama mākou i nā study groups and ‘o ia ka mea ‘aka‘aka loa.

Pono e huli, ‘o wai nā haumāna i loko o ka papa History 151? A kēlā wā ‘a‘ole loa‘a kēlā

‘enehana, ka technology no ka waele ‘ana i nā haumāna Hawai‘i. Ua pono mākou e kū

ma waho o Spalding 155 me kekahi hō‘ailona, “Are you Hawaiian?”

KA HAUMĀNA:

Oh my gosh! That’s awesome!

KE KUMU:

A ‘ōlelo lākou, “Oh yeah, I’m Hawaiian.” “Okay, come! Come over here. You guys need

help in this class?” “Oh yeah.” “Okay, meet us in Moore at this time and we get somebody who

gonna help you.” And we ran study groups for math, history, all this stuff we thought pa‘akīkī

loa. Yeah, pupule, but nui ke aloha. ‘O ke aloha ka mea i hō‘eu‘eu ai iā kākou e hana. ‘A‘ole ke

kālā.

187 ‘O ke Kua‘ana Bash kekahi ‘aha mele e hō‘ākoakoa i nā haumāna Hawai‘i ma ke Kula Nui.

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Ke Kumu ‘Akolu – The Third Teacher I ulu nō ka lālā i ke kumu188

The young people thrive because of their source/teachers189

I remember the first time I met the kumu central to this story in my adulthood. I sat next

to her on a plane ride from Honolulu to Texas as part of a Hawai‘i-based team going to a

gathering in South Texas. It was the year 2010. I knew that I had met her before as a child but I

could not recall any of those memories. During this airplane ride, I attempted to mask my clumsy

forgetfulness by trying not to ask too many “stupid” questions; questions I thought I probably

should know the answer to from knowing her as a child. I do not think I did a good job at this.

Instead, as I normally do when I get nervous, I spoke too much. But I quickly observed that she

is not the talkative type. So I respectfully took out my homework and began working quietly next

to her on our long flight to Texas.

The more I was around her the more I realized that the reason she was not very talkative

was because she is a deep thinker. In a room full of people, I can always spot her sitting back in

her chair, looking off into what seems like another realm of reality, scrunching her eyes together

a little bit, and thinking deeply. Then when she chooses to speak, it is always profound. Her

grandmother and her grandmother’s grandmother speak through her. I just know it.

Since that first trip with her in 2010, I have had the privilege of doing work with this

kumu, the young people in her organization, and also some of her support staff. I have also had

the opportunity to visit her organization’s site, MA‘O Organic Farms, out on the Wai‘anae coast

of O‘ahu. When visiting the farm, I am always taken aback by the intelligence of organic

farming and the technical processes of making that all happen. More than that, however, what

inspires me is witnessing how MA‘O grows not only organic food, but also young leaders.

188 ‘Ōlelo no‘eau #1261 (Pukui, 1983, p. 137). 189 My interpretation for the context of this story.

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The young people who work at the farm learn how to grow, package, and distribute

organic vegetables throughout the island while earning college tuition waivers and monthly

stipends for doing so. Therefore, over the past four years, I have witnessed MA‘O’s young

people become scientists, business people, and academic scholars as a result of their involvement

on the farm. On a visit to the farm this past summer, not only did I watch these young people

engage in their ʻbusiness’ but I also saw them ascend their leadership roles, taking charge of their

tasks, their teams, and both their technical as well as their cultural protocols. Over the several

hours that I was at the farm, not once did I see an ʻadult’ (these young people are approximately

18-22 years old) intervene. At the closing of their work day, the young people lead a reflection

and closing circle, acknowledging what went well and also addressing issues of what could have

gone better. It was an impressive set of facilitation skills that I have not seen amongst most

ʻadult’ groups in academia and the business world. Furthermore, these young people were

obviously observers and deep thinkers of life, challenging and motivating us adults in the room

with some of the most profound comments and speeches I have ever heard. Indeed, I was

witnessing leadership development on the farm.

I share these highlights of the farm in reference to this kumu because she is the executive

director and visionary behind MA‘O. Knowing the farm and the young people who work there is

also knowing her. I think of the Hawaiian proverb, “I ulu nō ka lālā i ke kumu,” which Pukui

(1983) translates as, “The branch grows from its trunk; without our ancestors we would not be

here” (p. 137). I expand this translation to include that the young people thrive because of their

sources and teachers. Indeed their success is a reflection of her. Thus, through the brilliance,

commitment, and passion of her students, I felt like I have been able to learn about this kumu:

the deep thinking, often quiet woman who creates the space for young people to thrive.

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Moreover, what I continue to learn from this kumu, her students, and her organization is that we

live and thrive when our ‘āina – our land, source, and ancestor – thrives.

The question remains, why highlight the mo‘olelo of a non-profit executive director who

teaches young people to run an organic farm with reference to making a university a Hawaiian

place of learning? There are so many reasons! First and perhaps most obvious, the young people

who work on her farm are UH system students. More specifically, the majority of her students

are Native Hawaiian, coming from communities that are predominantly Native Hawaiian. Many

of them start at the community college near their hometowns, but eventually will matriculate to

UH Mānoa. Therefore, her perceptions and expectations of UH Mānoa and how her students will

succeed there are important as we expand our imagination of what a Hawaiian place of learning

in higher education should be like.

Second, and perhaps much less obvious in my description above, the typical data

gathered on the MA‘O students, their home communities, and their high schools is all deficit-

focused. For example, the Wai‘anae coast is known for its high drop out and low high school

completion rates. Many families on this coast are in the lowest socio-economic stratas in the

State of Hawai‘i (“Assessment and Priorities”, 2013).190 All of this deficit-focused data, which is

commonly publicized, limits the expectations and imaginations these young people have of

themselves and what the rest of the State of Hawai‘i thinks of them. Therefore, the MA‘O model

becomes increasingly significant as we think about a Hawaiian place of learning, especially the

processes that have gone into making MA‘O an organization that focuses on and further

develops the assets of the land, the people, and their communities.

190 The report, “Assessment and Priorities for Health & Well-being in Native Hawaiians and Other Pacific Peoples” was authored by the Department of Native Hawaiian Health, Center for Native and Pacific Health Diparities Research, John A. Burns School of Medicine, University of Hawai‘i at Mānoa. For the full report visit: http://blog.hawaii.edu/uhmednow/files/2013/09/AP-Hlth-REPORT-2013.pdf.

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Third, over the years as I have gotten to know this kumu better (and also as I have been

reminded by mother who did a lot of work with her in the 1980s - 1990s), not only is she an

educational, organizational, and community leader, but she also has a keen sense of politics and

the political landscape of Hawai‘i. This political sharpness naturally informs her work in the

community and also her analysis of the university system. Therefore, I was interested in her

political analysis of the University of Hawai‘i and the systems of which it is a part.

For all these reasons, as I thought of ‘community leaders’ to inform this research, she

immediately came to mind. My initial introduction of this research to her was done via email.

Knowing her very busy schedule, I thought email was best. She responded with support of my

project and a willingness to share some of her stories regarding the university, her organization,

and also her family. But she asked if she could respond to my questions via the written word. She

wrote in an email:

Aloha kāua e Punihei!

As you know, I usually shy away from these kinds of ventures but for you – how can I not

say yes?

It helps that this is a question very close to my heart/mind/work in every way. How

refreshingly relevant.

So, let’s take a deep dive into this. Am most happy with a phone conversations but am

hoping that writing those thoughts and communicating by email is acceptable as well. I’m a

better talker that way, more focused – I noticed that I channel emotional energy much better that

way:-) When the time comes, would love to meet, eat and talk story with you, always.

So, no need for further clarification – am just happy to be on this journey with you and to

share our story of how we create a Hawaiian place of learning within the university.

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Aloha,

[Her name]

Having the chance to get to know her over the last four years, I was not surprised when

she asked if she could write her responses. Therefore, what ensued was a back and forth

correspondence via email. I sent her the questions as an email attachment then she responded. I

would then respond back with clarifying questions and sometimes asked her to expand on some

of her stories. Hence, the mo‘olelo I share below is a combination of her stories shared with me

over the course of several weeks of back and forth writing and storytelling.

He Hua: A Beginning

KA HAUMĀNA:

Think back to your first perception of UH Mānoa. Could you describe what you thought about

the university?

KE KUMU:

Our ‘ohana always expected us to go to college. My mother graduated from Waipahu High

School. My Dad dropped out of high school in the 8th grade. One of my mother’s brothers is a

PhD. Both of my older sisters graduated from UH Mānoa. Our ‘ohana helped them move into the

dorms in 1976 and 1978. My sisters were home often and brought college home with them:

friends, stories, and homework.

KA HAUMĀNA:

Wow! This is a lot of exposure to UH Mānoa. What did you think about UHM through the

exposure from your sisters?

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KE KUMU:

Quite a bit, actually. They were only two years apart, so they were each other’s support while in

school together. Many of the folks that I met through my sisters became family friends. They

loved coming out to Nānākuli. They gravitated towards my kupuna wahine191 and mama. I think

that Hawaiians gravitated to one another then, much like today. They shared the same values in

Hawaiian households and also shared the same experiences trying to translate growing up in

Nānākuli, Kaua‘i/Ni‘ihau and Hilo/Keaukaha with the University and Honolulu. We still stay in

touch with those folks. Over the years they have helped to shape my pathway – folks like Tuti

Kanahele and Keiki Kawai‘ae‘a.192

Our hale193 was also a hub for community. As an ‘ōpio194 I was fortunate to have been

able to talk story and hang out with lots of folks who came for the Kūpuna’s Council.195 All

those connections with kūpuna is how I met many of my mentors like Kū, Lilikalā, Papa Auwae,

Kekuni, Mililani,196 and countless others. Weavers, lā‘au practitioners, dressmakers, quilters,

musicians and teachers were just a part of our lives. The University was seemingly traversed by

these folks easily and seamlessly. Hawaiian expertise was being sought after. Perpetuation of

language, culture and practice was imminently crucial to our survival. It was a venue from which

we could articulate our mana‘o. It’s exciting to know how much we have transformed the

institution from then to now.

191 Kupuna wahine: “Grandmother” (Pukui & Elbert, 1986, p. 186). 192 Tuti Kanehele and Keiki Kawai‘ae‘a are leaders in Hawaiian language today. 193 Hale: “House” (Pukui & Elbert, 1986, p. 52). 194 ‘Ōpio: “Youth” (Pukui & Elbert, 1986, p. 292). 195 A council of Hawaiian elders. 196 These are all Hawaiian leaders and practitioners.

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KA HAUMĀNA:

What an amazing group of people to be exposed to in your home. What was happening at school

for you?

KE KUMU:

In 9th grade I met Catherine Payne. She was my English teacher. From that time I knew I wanted

to teach. She mentored me until I graduated.

KA HAUMĀNA:

What was it about Ms. Payne that made you want to be a teacher? How did she mentor you?

KE KUMU:

My first teachers were my family. You didn’t need a formal degree to share knowledge. I

gravitated toward Ms. Payne because she taught me how to express myself through writing. We

read a lot at home, but it was not content I was passionate about. It wasn’t until I was exposed to

the writers of our time and started to broaden my worldview that I learned to esteem and

contextualize my own value and voice as a Hawaiian woman from Nānākuli.

Ms. Payne exposed me to a lot of writers through our Language Arts/English classes.

When we started to write and she edited my work, rather than being upset at all of the red marks,

I was totally taken in at the rigor of dialogue that I was too timid to actually articulate verbally.

As a kid in public school in the 1970s and 1980s, you didn’t question your elders. She not only

supported me to do that through writing, but she also really intentionalized the effort to finding

the power of my own narrative.

In 11th and 12th grade, I was also mentored by many of my science teachers, including

Ms. Tawata, Mr. Nozawa, and Mr. Oshiro. They were all alum of UH Mānoa.

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KA HAUMĀNA:

How did they mentor you? What stood out about those experiences?

KE KUMU:

The project-based, hands-on learning experiences that we take for granted today was not the

norm in public education back then. Through the after school clubs, we brought a lot of our

learning in the classroom to bear by entering district and statewide contests. My cohort was

amongst a small handful that was taken aside for our interest in the sciences and taken on field

trips or to participate in service projects in the field. I think that part of the assets that these

science teachers had is that they functioned administratively as a ʻdepartment,’ so they really

paid attention to their facilities. They were also maʻa197 to bringing in outside resources

(speakers, equipment and unusual projects). Even at that age, I knew that this was different from

the status quo. Whereas Ms. Payne was totally about the content, the science teachers were also

innovating the learning strategies that I could relate to. All of these teachers were graduates of

the UH system and advised me to go there. By the time I graduated I was ready for college. I

knew what to expect. It felt like a natural next step.

But college life was challenging. Dorming at Johnson Hall, mainland198 students, huge

class sizes, social life and freedoms, and nothing familiar like friends and surroundings was

difficult to overcome. The university was huge. The sheer number of people I met was

overwhelming. I was used to forming a relationship, making time for people by talking story. But

life on campus was fast. Since I was at Johnson, my roommate and other folks on my floor were

Haole and wanted to experience Hawai‘i. But their idea of Hawai‘i was Waikīkī, sunset cruises,

bars and laying out at the beach. It was not the transition that I had anticipated.

197 Ma‘a: “Accustomed, used to, knowing thoroughly” (Pukui & Elbert, 1986, p. 217). 198 “Mainland” is a term many local Hawai‘i residents use to describe the continental United States.

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Social life was time-consuming and took my attention from school. I also remember the

super-large classes and not having a personal interaction with teachers. The culture of college

was very impersonal and unfriendly. Folks stayed at superficial levels.

I was extremely aware that I was Hawaiian from Wai‘anae. People often asked where I

was from but it wasn’t that interesting to them. Where people come from, what high school you

are from, surf breaks and where to get the best local food was not interesting to my new friends.

Hao Mai, Iho Mai, Pā Mai: The Elemental Influences

KE KUMU:

I did make a few friends and started to go home during the breaks and at Christmas, dragging

them with me. That helped to bring some of my family, my place, and my culture back to UH

Mānoa. I also developed a love for social science and political science where there seemed to be

a Hawaiian community already around. I found some of my high school classmates in the second

semester and we would hang out. I also made more time to discover campus culture and context

– not to make it fit what I wanted or to make me fit what it seemed to be. I was just learning to

survive at UHM while staying true to myself.

KA HAUMĀNA:

When was the first time you perceived change at UHM?

KE KUMU:

I transferred out of UHM after two years and started a family at the same time. Change was

tangible, not insulated by the perils of being a freshman. There seemed to be a movement and

growth toward being Hawaiian in all spaces.

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I finished my AA199 at Leeward CC200 and then transferred to UH West O‘ahu, which

was a very different experience from UHM. It was more communal and cultural. Faculty were

more on a first name basis with students and the entire culture of college seemed much more

intimate and personal. There was no Hawaiian Studies program. Instead it was wrapped within

Pacific Island Studies. A Social Science major seemed a good fit for me.

At the same time I met folks from Ka Lāhui Hawai‘i, folks that I knew from my time at

UHM who were coming into the Wai‘anae moku201 to meet with community members. The

blend of UH, Ka Lāhui and Nānākuli folks provided a really grounded intersect for me to start

processing some of the academic non-success I had experienced at Mānoa. Utilizing this sense of

community helped me to balance work, school and life, eventually allowing me to graduate from

the BA program. But even better, this sense of community created mentors that would prove

very important to where my na‘au was leading me.

Kupu a Mohala: Coming Into Full Bloom

KE KUMU:

I saw UHM as a platform for what was happening at the community level. I was completely

involved in nation building,202 believing that the civic engagement toward lāhui self-

determination was critical to recognition. As a part of KLH, I blended a lot of the

intellectualization of global independence struggles to what was happening to the first people’s

of Hawai‘i.

It turns out that the entire UH system was itself a bastion for the elitism of colonialism

over the Hawaiian nation. What was being articulated so eloquently in the spaces which Ka

199 AA: Associates of Arts degree 200 Leeward CC: Leeward Community College (much closer to her home community) 201 Moku: major land district 202 She is referring to her nation-building work with Ka Lāhui Hawai‘i.

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Lāhui presided, internally at con-con,203 legislative or caucus meetings to the educational

activities, commemorations and marches that we organized, became the actual platform for

empowerment.

KA HAUMĀNA:

Today you are fairly engaged with UHM. Given your thoughts about UHM as a bastion for the

elitism of colonialism, can you explain a bit why you have chosen your level of engagement with

UHM?

KE KUMU:

A culture shift has taken place and Hawaiian empowerment at the UH campuses has been

growing. Evidence includes explicit programming being created, the number of instructors,

faculty and administrators increasing, and the culture. Active recruitment and graduation of

Native Hawaiian students is on the upswing. Governance has been infiltrated by Hawaiians

through pedagogy and practice. Being ‘Hawaiian’ is the most important market factor for the

University as it should be. Engagement of students in defining the college is becoming

increasingly more apparent, growing ownership and presence of Native Hawaiian thoughts and

values.

KA HAUMĀNA:

So because of these growing Hawaiian characteristics of UHM today, you feel more confident

and willing to engage?

KE KUMU:

Absolutely key. When I went to school there in the late ’80s, you were anonymous unless you

had high school friends that were at the same college. Luckily, I had many of my peers there, but

that only lasted for a couple of semesters as our paths diverged. Now with the 203 Con-con: She is referring to the constitutional conventions that Ka Lāhui Hawai‘i held.

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Hawaiian/Indigenous centers, I think people can more readily connect and feel comfortable as

they transition into academia with all of its vast and diverse communities.

As a community based advocate and now current director of an organizational program, I

work toward creating a collegial, partnership-based approach to bridge the new student (like I

was) to one that is well grounded, connected and then successful in the pathway chosen. There

are now opportunities for genuine and authentic community interaction and collaboration that

brings to life the academic theories that are worked on doing class time. In addition, indigenizing

the current system’s programs and administration now provides opportunity to really work on

governance and policy issues that have not served Native Hawaiians in the past.

Limitations and constraints previously experienced when developing programs were

actually as much about not having the confidence internally to change. That has changed. Now,

with several successes despite the system, we can replicate away from the status quo of academic

rigor and attainment set upon ourselves by ourselves to aspire to greater. Redefining for our

selves what Hawaiian rigor is allows space to bring our own excellence to bear – the excellence

of our kūpuna who learned to feed a million kanaka204 in a finite natural system.

KA HAUMĀNA:

Do I understand correctly that you have more confidence to engage with UHM because of the

change you described above?

KE KUMU:

From my perspective, an institution cannot change unless the peopling of those institutions

change. Infrastructural changes (from physical built environments to policy changes) were key to

a shift from an institution that services Hawaiians to one that is a Hawaiian serving institution

204 Kanaka: “Human being...individual” (Pukui & Elbert, 1986, p. 127). More specifically, ‘kanaka’ refers to individuals who are genealogically Hawaiian.

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that values an educational process that is contextualized by the first peoples, our host culture, the

maoli.

KA HAUMĀNA:

In addition to being a director of your organization, you are also a mother. How do you view UH

Mānoa as a makuahine Hawai‘i?205

KE KUMU:

The potential is great now that there exists a knowledgeable generation of our history.

Makuahine Hawai‘i speakers206 are growing, but more than that, we all aspire to learn our ‘ōlelo

and speak it every day. We are at a tipping point with our other lāhui assets as well in terms of

regeneration of our ‘ike hawai‘i207 and practice. We are no longer in the mode of recovery or of

survival. In less than 20 years since the 100th commemoration of our nation’s overthrow, we

have arrived in full position and authority of who we are and our connection to ‘āina. Our

aspiration to be a nation is coming to pass as we simply live into nationhood by being, building

and strengthening our relationship with ‘āina and with one another.

KA HAUMĀNA:

What are your feelings about sending your children and students there?

KE KUMU:

I think it’s a much clearer choice now, not just a natural choice because we can aspire toward all

of these great programs, but because it is at the leading edge of the regeneration of nationhood. It

is a place in which we are learning not just to meet your own individual post-secondary goals,

but where you are actually being trained to lead your nation, your lāhui. And, as a community,

we must bring the current narrative of colonization as it is being practiced today into those safe

205 Makuahine Hawai‘i: Hawaiian mother (common translation) 206 Makuahine Hawai‘i speakers: She is referring to Hawaiian mothers who can speak Hawaiian. 207 ‘Ike Hawai‘i: Hawaiian ancestral knowledge (common translation)

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places of Hawaiian excellence so that we may learn about them, so that we may create ways to

address them, and so that we can send back into these communities our ‘āina koa208 fully

equipped to meet the institutionalized racism that still exists. I think that there is also so much

opportunity to have UHM be a greater resource to community through the collaborative

engagements. There is such richness to be shared between the university and the communities.

KA HAUMĀNA:

What are the stories from your students who attend UHM? Are their assets recognized more in

some departments than others?

KE KUMU:

Absolutely. The university is still an institution for the individual’s success. It is a transactional

relationship at its face. We just need to understand that and create space (like Hawai‘inuiākea209)

for us to be able to function at that level but then through our Hawaiian worldview, recreate and

regenerate spaces in which we can flourish collectively, as kākou,210 because that is the way that

we are.

Over time, it is the people who we have invested in who take this knowledge system and

practice into Western academia and the corporate world and transform it from within. It is about

understanding ourselves as change agents in places where there is not a recognition of cultural

and communal assets. What grounds our students and allows them to flourish is that we try to

give them a chance to see the dysfunction that colonial and racist structures have given rise to.

We give them the tools to articulate and address it so that they can reconcile the disconnects,

continuing to find their center of safety and stability, to manage chaos and change from that

center and then to grow from the oftentimes black and white, polarized, divergent and siloed

208 She is using the term ‘āina koa to refer to warriors of the land. 209 She is referring to Hawai‘inuiākea School of Hawaiian Knowledge at UH Mānoa. 210 Kākou: We (inclusive three or more) (Pukui & Elbert, 1986, p. 120).

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ways of knowing, to one that is holistic and balanced. It takes time to unwind and unravel these

unproductive thoughts and behaviors around ʻeducation’ – we’ve been conditioned to think that

this is our educational system. At the community level, we get to bring in the ‘āina, the mākua

and the ‘ohana, our culture and values that support these young people to be empowered over

their mo‘olelo of learning.

KA HAUMĀNA:

Can you tell me about your foundational values for you, your family, and your organization?

KE KUMU:

• Love, respect and the willingness to work.

• Aloha – love, respect

• Kāko‘o – support, mentorship

• Ea – self determination, self-sufficiency

• ‘Ohana – family

• Ho‘omalu – peace, justice

KA HAUMĀNA:

What are the values that you see driving UHM as an institution?

KE KUMU:

I looked it up:

Vision, Mission, Values

Our Vision. The University of Hawaii at Manoa will gain international recognition as among

the nation’s leading land, sea, and space grant universities. Grounded in the traditional values

of our host culture, we strive for excellence in teaching, research, and community engagement,

while promoting environmental sustainability and human justice.

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Our Mission. As a land, sea, and space grant university, the University of Hawaii at Manoa is

dedicated not only to academic and research excellence but also to serving with aloha the local,

national, and international communities that surround us. Taking as its historic trust the Native

Hawaiian values embedded in the concepts of kuleana, ‘ohana, and ahupua‘a that serve to

remind us of our responsibilities to family, community, and the environment, Manoa’s hallmark

is a culture of community engagement that extends far beyond the classroom to bridge theory

and practice, fostering creative and critical thinking, and promoting students’ intellectual

growth and success as contributing members of society. Central to this mission is faculty

dedication to a fertile, engaged, and ethical learning environment characterized by a free

exchange of ideas, shared intellectual resources, cutting edge scholarship, and high academic

expectations. With its unique geographic location bridging East and West, Manoa serves as a

portal to an exceptional educational experience while striving to improve quality of life in the

region through collaborative partnerships that support innovations in education, health care,

social development, culture and arts, earth, space, and ocean sciences, sustainable land

management, and technological advancement.

Our Values. Hawaiian Place of Learning—the significance of Mānoa as a campus physically

and conceptually grounded in Native Hawaiian knowledge and values cuts across each of our

strategic goals. Hawai‘i’s unique location and strength in indigenous scholarship sets us apart

from other universities.

• Local to Global—Mānoa is uniquely positioned to contribute both locally and globally; we

are committed to providing global leadership that models strong local identity and commitment.

• Sustainability—our unique location has required Mānoa to prioritize environmental,

cultural and economic sustainability so we can become an international leader in this area.

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• Technology—effective use of technology is inherently linked to the value of sustainability

and the growth of community. Smart technologies will allow us to emerge as a stronger and

more organizationally sustainable campus and will expand our connections locally and globally.

• Community and Diversity—the diversity of people (local, national, international) who live

and work here.211

I was surprised at the alignment in terms of having ‘āina-based values, but it shouldn’t

surprise me because it is a land-grant institution. I think that enacting the vision, mission, and

values sincerely and sustainably is the challenge. I also think vision/mission statements are

aspirational. With that said, it takes hard work, commitment and motivation to live and manifest

those values and ideals in the daily operations of a huge organization like Mānoa.

Because Mānoa is a part of a statewide system and in essence is a public owned entity, the

institution is often at the mercy of or acted upon by the social, political, and economic climate of

the times – its wellbeing is affected by how we as a society value ʻeducation’ and most

especially our institutions of higher learning. I guess I feel that as an individual, I cannot make

systems change in order for the alignment and integration of our values to make Mānoa a place

in which Hawaiian/Indigenous ways of knowing is esteemed.

My ʻsurprise’ that the Hawaiian values alignment is already there because UH is

considered a land-grant institution is actually more of a ʻfrustration.’ Frustration because the

moves that UHM is making now should have been realized and acted upon sooner. Hawaiian

undergraduate, MA, and PhD programs should have been invested in a long time ago. Current

programs should get ramped up today. All Native students that go through the system today

should be heavily recruited and sustained in ‘ike Hawai‘i programs and they should

automatically work for lāhui through community service. 211 To see the full text visit: http://www.uhm.hawaii.edu/vision/pdf/achieving-our-destiny.pdf

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Furthermore, Mānoa is not a realistic choice for moku students today. There are too many

disconnects and barriers. My competency to engage higher education after high school was

unique and the majority of folks I graduated212 with did not have a post-secondary experience. It

is the same today. It is not really about values, it is about institutionalized racism in public

education that starts in early education, through elementary, middle and high school.

Our public universities are battlegrounds for lāhui advancement. Mānoa is a historical

bastion for a part of our culture, language and way of life. Mānoa is where we have created a

kīpuka in which we can cultivate our practice towards excellence as a means of defense against

the uniformity that Western public education continues to perpetuate. From the kīpuka, we must

return to our places throughout the pae ‘āina213 – people as the transmitters of ‘ike,214 people as

the folks who regenerate practice in our beloved homeland. We cannot linger in academia. For

those that do stay as kahu ‘āina215 in those spaces like Mānoa, they are careful not to be

subsumed by it. They are warriors that thrive on the mana that the community and lāhui at large

feeds them. The purpose of their calling is fulfilled daily, in their practice, as they create a

Hawaiian learning process for their students to excel beyond just surviving as a degreed

professional, but thriving as a 21st century Hawaiian citizen.

For me, UH Mānoa’s credibility as an institution squares directly to how Hawaiian

education is advocated for and supported, how Hawaiian programs are growing/maturing, how

Hawaiian faculty are being given the supports needed to be excellent practitioners, and how

Native Hawaiian students are able to not only have greater access to Mānoa, but that while in the

212 She is referring to her high school graduation. 213 Pae ‘āina: “Group of islands, archipelago” (Pukui & Elbert, 1986, p. 298). 214 ‘Ike: “Knowledge, awareness, understanding” (Pukui & Elbert, 1986, p. 96). 215 Kahu ‘āina: “Honored attendants, guardians of the a place” (Pukui & Elbert, 1986, p. 113).

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system, they are regarded as the waiwai216 of campus life and the educational vision of the whole

institution.

KA HAUMĀNA:

These sound like some indicators of a Hawaiian place of learning. Can you further describe what

a Hawaiian place of learning at UHM would look and feel like to you?

KE KUMU:

Governance: Native Hawaiian/Kūpuna/Community Advisory to President/Board of Regents.

Hawaiian based programs in every Department. More alignment of mission, vision, values and

philosophy and oversee integration of these in every department. Board/Trustees/Leaders are

trained in protocol and ho‘oponopono.217

Physical setting: Native trees, shrubs and food gardens on campus. Hawaiian-English signage.

Facilities for Hawaiian arts/cultural uses. Perhaps hālau218 throughout the campuses for

students/faculty to have access to ‘ike Hawai‘i resources. All buildings, current and new, must be

certified by industry LEED219 standards and Native Hawaiian standards of excellence

Programmatic: Hawaiian undergraduate to PhD pathways. Hawaiian based programs in every

department. Recruit at least 100 students annually from high concentrated Native Hawaiian

communities with tuition waivers for year one. Hawaiian history and language mandatory for all

students. All programs must be certified by a Native Hawaiian accreditation. Community service

is mandatory for all students.

Operations: More community delivery sites. More Hawaiian faculty/staff. Inclusion of quality

organic, local, Hawaiian, sustainable foods in cafeteria/food venues. Student services are student

216 Waiwai: “Wealth, value, asset, resource, importance” (Pukui & Elbert, 1986, p. 380). 217 Ho‘oponopono: “Mental cleansing: family conferences in which relationships were set right through prayer, discussion, confession, repentance, and mutual restitution and forgiveness” (Pukui & Elbert, 1986, p. 341). 218 Hālau: Meeting house (Pukui & Elbert, 1986, p. 52). 219 LEED: Leadership in Energy and Environmental Design

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focused in that peer mentorship and guidance can be framed and utilized for community service.

Streamline the waste stream. Institute sustainable practices in maintenance of the university.

KA HAUMĀNA:

What skills and approaches do you think it is going to take to transform UHM into the kind of

Hawaiian place of learning you describe?

KE KUMU:

Community engagement, leveraging partnerships, networking and building collaborations with

private sector. Diversify funding resources, conserve on expenditures (reallocate savings to

capacity building and retooling leaders).

KA HAUMĀNA:

What about your organization? Would you describe your organization as a Hawaiian place of

learning?

KE KUMU:

‘Ae,220 in a basic sense. We don’t separate our culture from who we are. Anything that we think,

say or do is intrinsically reflective of the ‘āina, of the people we come from and the history,

traditions and values of our community.

KA HAUMĀNA:

What skills and approaches have you used to shape your organization?

• ‘Ohana as the basic economic unit, foundational to the way we work and function as a

social enterprise.

• ‘Auwai221 as the metaphor for education. Whole system, ahupua‘a based pedagogy and

practice.

220 ‘Ae: “Yes” (Pukui & Elbert, 1986, p. 4).

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• Aloha as the measure of success.

• Reciprocity as a way of relating to the ‘āina and to one another.

• Kūpuna provides guidance (WWUWD? – “What would Uncle William do?”)

• Invest in our waiwai: ‘āina, kanaka and ‘ike.

KA HAUMĀNA:

Is there anything else that you would like to share about how UHM could become a Hawaiian

place of learning?

KE KUMU:

• Always have compassion for our leadership

• Create gracious space for folks to share ideas

• Find motivation for leaders to act and advocate

• Foster ownership and accountability

• Process: circular, reflective, mutual, respectful

• Intention/Intentional: bring to bear pono in all matters

Ke Kumu ‘Ahā – The Fourth Teacher: Nānā i ke Kumu

Start from the beginning and look to the source

The first time I remember meeting the kumu central to this story was in 2002. I probably

met her before that as a child because I grew up with many people in her extended family. She

also knew my mother from past experiences. However, in 2002, when I was 19 years old, I met

her on my own. A friend of mine told me that she was hiring people to work on a Hawaiian

221 ‘Auwai: “Ditch, canal” (Pukui & Elbert, 1986, p. 33). Specifically, she is referring to the ‘auwai related to the lo‘i system in which the water flows through and feeds each of the individual lo‘i.

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language newspaper project. I did not really understand what that meant, but my friend assured

me that I had the required skills.

Over the next three years, I worked for this kumu on that Hawaiian language newspaper

project, Ho‘olaupa‘i,222 as I completed college. I learned a lot about Hawaiian language

newspapers, Hawaiian language, Hawaiian history, and my Hawaiian ancestors. I also learned a

lot about this kumu. I watched her seamlessly navigate and execute her roles of mother, wife,

boss, aunty, and friend. Her husband and many of her twelve children often came into the office

where we worked. All her children were younger than us, so I, along with my other girlfriends in

the office, assumed the role of kaikua‘ana to her daughters and kaikuahine223 to her sons. I

remember giving “boyfriend” advice to her eldest daughter and even helping her find a date for

prom. In summary, this kumu opened her family to us and also looked after us as her own.

Though I stopped working for her as an employee in 2005, her spirit always stayed with

me. Not only was she kind and honest, but she had an inner (and outer) strength that was

impressionable. I was very attracted to her peaceful strength and really liked being around her. In

2007 I gave birth to my first child, my daughter Hā‘ena. As I grew into my role as a mother, I

often thought of the role models in my life who are great mothers, like this kumu. I tried to

embody this kumu’s gifts of patience, kindness, tenderness, and fearlessness in myself for my

daughter.

Over the years I kept in touch with this kumu. When her mother passed away, I attended

the funeral. When her daughter graduated from high school, I attended the graduation. When her

twin granddaughters were born, I went to the hospital to welcome them to the world. I also

bumped into her at various events and gatherings. Then in 2012 she called a few of the women

222 For more information on Ho‘olaupa‘i, go to http://nupepa.org. To look at other projects stemming from Ho‘olaupa‘i, go to http://www.awaiaulu.org/main/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=16&Itemid=41 223 Kaikuahine: “Sister or a female cousin to a male” (Pukui & Elbert, 1986, p. 116).

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together who had worked at Ho‘olaupa‘i. She posed the gathering as a ʻmini reunion’ of sorts. In

attendance t this reunion was this kumu, two other women, and myself.

At dinner that night, we reminisced and caught up. In addition, she invited us to

brainstorm with her. There were several projects on her mind that she wanted our opinions and

ideas on. These invitations to think, dream, and create with her again were an honor to me. By

the end of the night, she asked the three of us who were with her to co-present at an upcoming

conference. After that dinner, I also felt like I had reached a new level in my relationship with

this kumu. I felt as though that dinner was an open invitation to continue dialogue and action

together.

Later on in 2012, I was preparing my proposal for this dissertation research. I knew I

wanted to include one non-UH Mānoa woman in my study to give an ʻoutside’ and ʻcommunity’

perspective to UH Mānoa. I immediately thought of this kumu for a number of reasons. First, she

is a mother of twelve children. Her eldest son had already entered UH Mānoa and the odds of

some of her other children attending UH Mānoa are quite high. Therefore, first and foremost, as

a mother, I was curious about her impressions, perceptions, and expectations of UH Mānoa as a

Hawaiian place of learning for her children.

Second, she is a scholar and active community member. She has long been an archival

researcher, unearthing and making sense of much of Hawai‘i’s history. Furthermore, she has

used that knowledge to make change in Hawai‘i for Hawaiians today. Because of her scholarly

background, I was curious what her ideas were of UH Mānoa in terms of its historical and

political context.

Third, though a scholar, she does not work at a college or university. Therefore, I was

very curious why she chose not to work at UH Mānoa, an institution that seems a likely place (in

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my opinion) for a scholar such as herself to work and continue her research and teach others all

that she knows.

Last but definitely not least, she has been involved in work that has and will continue to

transform the way we must all look at Hawaiian history. Her work to make the Hawaiian

language newspapers of the eighteen and nineteen hundreds available in digital format is

groundbreaking. And though this is crucially important work, it has been accomplished under

difficult conditions. She describes this work when she first started:

…There was no steady funding beyond the current year, where the technology was so

new that there was no help or guidance, where the I.T. requirements were unknown, where the

staff needed to be fluent in both Hawaiian language and computer technology, where the last

inventory was done some twenty years previously, and where there was no office space.

Furthermore, we were part of a larger institution, so could not compete for funding, and we

didn’t qualify as a language project because we didn’t write or teach a curriculum (p. 37).

Knowing about these difficult conditions and yet the success the Hawaiian language

newspaper project has had, I wanted to learn about the approaches she used to actually move her

initiative forward. Whether it is fostering a Hawaiian place of learning at UH Mānoa or

establishing a digital archive of Hawaiian language newspapers to make accessible to the public,

both of these initiatives exist in predominantly non-Hawaiian systems and worlds. Therefore, I

thought that many of the strategies she has used in her work with Ho‘olaupa‘i could also be used

at UH Mānoa.

Relying on what I assumed as an open invitation to learn and discuss with her, I

contacted her to see if she would be interested in sharing some of her stories with me for my

research. After initially calling to introduce the project to her, I sent her a copy of my proposal

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and a summary of what I wanted to talk story with her about. Then one day, after not hearing

from her for a couple of weeks, she called me. To my surprise she said, “Are you sure you want

to talk to me?” I quickly responded, “Of course I do! Why wouldn’t I?” She responded, “You

know that I don’t let my kids go into Hawaiian Studies,224 right? You know I have strong

opinions, right?” Without hesitation I said, “That’s why I want to talk to you. I want to learn

from your mana‘o225 because it will be so important and different from some of the other

womens’ stories.” She said, “Okay, then.” We set up a time and place to meet.

Truth be told, I had no idea that she did not allow her children to major in Hawaiian

Studies at UH Mānoa where my mother has long been a driving force as a Hawaiian Studies

professor and advocate for higher education. These revelations made me feel both nervous and

excited. My nervousness came from the surprise and unfamiliarity with opinions against

Hawaiian Studies, the place I grew up and was largely educated in. My excitement came from

knowing that I was about to learn some really great thoughts and perceptions from her that would

be invaluable not only to my study but also to my expanding worldview.

The first time I sat with her to talk about my project in person, we met at Zippy’s

Restaurant, ate lunch together, and spent three hours sharing stories, connecting, and finding our

path together on the topic of my dissertation. I did not record this interview. Having the

background information that I had from my initial phone conversation with her, I thought it was

best to ʻfeel her out’ first. What I mean by this is I wanted to make sure she was comfortable

speaking honestly to me. I wanted to show her through my words and actions that she could

speak honestly with me, especially about topics close to me personally such as Hawaiian Studies

224 What she meant by this comment is that she does not allow her children to major in Hawaiian Studies at UH Mānoa. 225 Mana‘o: “Thought, idea, belief, opinion” (Pukui & Elbert, 1986, p. 236).

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and my mother. I did this by being an attentive listener of her stories, not defending any

particular perspective, rather listening and merely clarifying.

At the end of our time together at Zippy’s, I was confident about her trust in me. She was

very honest with her opinions on a number of subjects, including those she knew were personal

to me. Then she said to me, “But enough about me. If you really want to know my story, you can

go read it in that book that was just published. I don’t need to tell you all about that.” She also

invited me to her home. She said, “If you really want to know about UH Mānoa as a Hawaiian

place of learning, come to my house and speak with my kids. They are the ones that have to deal

with the University system now. You should talk to them.”

Although I still really wanted to talk to her, I respected her approach and knew I would

also learn much from her writing and also from her children. Furthermore, I took her direction to

focus on her children as a lesson in itself in terms of how we transform UH Mānoa into a

Hawaiian place of learning: speak to the people who are directly affected. Listen to their stories.

With that said, I present below a re-telling of her mo‘olelo, informed not only by our

conversations and shared time together, but also by the stories of her family as well as by some

of her writings (presented in italics). After our initial meeting at Zippy’s Restaurant, my next

visit was to her home. I brought food as a very small token of appreciation to her family for

opening their home to me. I sat on the living room floor and played with her twin granddaughters

while speaking with her and also two of her grown daughters.

He Hua: A Beginning

During a dinner gathering with this kumu and a few friends, we could not decide on

which salad to order to share amongst ourselves. She said, “Nothing with fruit.” We all laughed.

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Then she said, “I haven’t liked fruit since I was a kid.” The three other women at the table,

myself included, looked at her a little confused. Then she explained.

She grew up in Hawai‘i Kai with her parents and siblings. In the summers, however, she

and her siblings went to Hawai‘i Island, to a place called Kalapana. There in Kalapana they

stayed with her grandmother and her grandma’s common-law husband. She describes Kalapana,

“…there was only space, vast expanses of space. The silence was deafening. There was no

running water, only catchments; no electricity, only kerosene lanterns and boxes of cowboy

safety matches to help keep the darkness at bay” (p. 27).

She told us that she loved Kalapana, especially how different and ʻcountry’ it was. We all

sat at the restaurant table imagining Kalapana as she described it to us but also waiting for a

connection to her aversion to fruit. Then she told us that she and her siblings would spend day

after day wandering about Kalapana, after completing their morning chores, of course. She told

us that her grandma would send all of the grandchildren out into the world, brushing her hand

away as if shooing a fly, showing her grandmother’s gesture to encourage them into the natural

world. She said that she and the other grandchildren explored Kalapana, on foot, with no snacks

packed for the adventure. They explored until dark. Therefore, when they got hungry, they would

forage the forests and fields for food, often finding an assortment of fruit to keep their stomachs

full. She said that ever since those summers as a child, if there are options, she does not choose

fruit.

We all laughed together at the table, coming to understand a little bit more about our

beloved Aunty. For me, not only did her story of young Kalapana days explain to me about a

unique fruit aversion, but also about a kind of connectedness she has to her ‘āina, beginning as a

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child and staying with her into adulthood. She comes back to this rootedness always, planted

through such experiences as summers in Kalapana, and drawn on in every aspect of her life.

In addition to her time in Kalapana, she went to school in Hawai‘i Kai on the island of

O‘ahu. Her experiences as a young girl growing up in urban O‘ahu in many ways contrasted her

adventures in rustic Kalapana. She explains:

I attended Niu Valley Intermediate School, and my favorite class was Hawaiian history,

which was taught by Mrs. Fujishige, a local Japanese woman who had been teaching, it seemed

to me then, since forever. I looked forward to the days when I had this class, and realized later

that it was the only time in school I heard anything about Hawaiian history and what Hawai‘i

was like in the past. I was like a sponge and did well on most of the assignments. In fact, I

remember thinking that the teacher didn’t give us enough homework, so starved was I for

knowledge of my heritage.

It was in this class that I remember first hearing with any detail about Kamehameha the

Great and the terrible battles that he instigated in his campaign to gain control of Hawai‘i. Mrs.

Fujishige said that the missionaries later came and taught us how to read and write, and we

were so grateful for their wisdom that all the Hawaiians became Christians and gave up their

heathen practices. Mind you, I had nothing to compare this to, so even though some of it was

tough to swallow, I couldn’t argue until the day that Mrs. Fujishige said, “And Hawaiians gave

it all away for a nail.” This one stopped me cold. I can still remember how angry this made me,

and although I couldn’t argue the finer historical points, I knew Hawaiians. I knew my Puna, my

grandparents, parents, uncles, aunties, and an extremely large “calabash” family, and I was

absolutely sure that my teacher was wrong. I tried to envision Grandma and Uncle Sam in

Kalapana, who spent their days upkeeping and working their massive fields, battling lava flows

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and taxes because they felt a responsibility to and respect for the land. Although I argued this

point with my history teacher, I didn’t know the facts. This confrontation did, however, ignite a

spark that would be fed and satisfied later (pp. 29-30).

Hao Mai, Iho Mai, Pā Mai: The Elemental Influences

Since her childhood days, she recalls many experiences that further shaped the woman

she is today. I was drawn to one of her stories that she describes in her writing:

I graduated from Kaiser High School in 1981 and, through the urging of my mother and

the help of Uncle Roger Kanoho, received a scholarship to attend the University of Hawai‘i.

Unwilling at that point to get off the path I was on, I humbly declined the offer [At that time she

was shadowing her mom at work at OHA, traveling from island to island to hear the concerns of

the Hawaiian communities].

In the fall of 1982, while still working with mom at OHA, I volunteered to go to Moloka‘i

with OHA trustee Walter Ritte on what was supposed to be a two-week project. I stayed with the

Ritte ‘Ohana at Kamiloloa, and it was like I had always been there. Through Walter, his

beautiful wife, Loretta, and their four children, Tiare, Liana, Kalaniua, and Kamohai, I was

introduced to a Hawaiian perspective that not only resonated with me, it resounded. At the

conclusion of the two weeks, I was invited to stay, and with no reservations, I agreed. My two

weeks on Moloka‘i became a four-year sojourn, during which I transitioned from a girl of

nineteen into a twenty-three year-old Hawaiian woman.

I hunted. I danced. I participated in the Moloka‘i Makahiki. I nursed a baby deer whose

mother had been shot. I skinned, cleaned, and packaged venison. I worked in the morgue

embalming bodies and drove the hearse. I watched as Ma Ritte knowingly and lovingly prepared

people for their final rest. I had quiet moments in Kamakou Preserve gathering palapalai and

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pala‘ā. I helped to reopen a forgotten lo‘i kalo in Mana‘e. I saw how when a community is

united, things get accomplished. I drank the sweetest water right out of the ground. I learned

how to pick still-closed ‘ākulikuli blossoms at dawn with Aunty Clara Ku in Ho‘olehua. I drove

airport shuttles to Kaluako‘i. I learned Hawaiian mo‘olelo and crafts from Uncle Kilolani

Mitchell. I worked with the kūpuna program. I danced at Ka‘ana with John Ka‘imikaua and his

hālau. I spent afternoons with Aunty Harriet Ne touring the island while she recounted

Moloka‘i’s proud stories. I ate hīhīwai. I spent time with Aunty Lani Kapuni at Kilohana. I

danced in the shadows of Moa‘ula in Hālawa. I marched with Hui Alaloa to reopen traditional

access points. I learned that being Hawaiian was more than wearing a beautiful mu‘umu‘u on

Aloha Friday and having the most Hawaiian bracelets.

Moloka‘i and its people became my mentors, and Walter and Loretta were my guides.

From Walter I learned the deep interconnectedness of aloha ‘āina, and through his political and

cultural journey, I learned that timing is everything. Knowing when to fight and when to listen,

when to work and when to play, and always, always, his love for Moloka‘i and his culture was

constant. From Loretta I learned aloha as a part of one’s conscious self. She is my other mom,

my friend, my hula sister, my co-worker, my holoholo partner, and my teacher (pp. 32-33).

Kupu a Mohala: Coming Into Full Bloom

In 1986, this kumu became a mother for the first time. Her eldest born child was a son. In

1988 she gave birth to a daughter. In 1990, she was pregnant with her third child. She describes

her situation at the time of her third pregnancy:

…A glitch in the system left me without medical insurance in the seventh month of my

pregnancy. One day while talking story with my oldest brother…and my cousin…we recalled

that our paternal grandmother, our Nana, had told us that when she had given birth to my father

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at Kapi‘olani Hospital in the latter 1930s, the nurse had said that there was a reduced rate for

Hawaiian women…

This set in motion a journey of research and discovery that went beyond what I had

imagined. For the next couple of days, my cousin and I scoured the Bureau of Conveyances and

the Hawai‘i State Archives, pulling everything that we could find on Kapi‘olani Hospital, its

articles of incorporation, and its trust documents. What started as a means to an end put us

firmly on a path of new perspectives and growing respect for our ali‘i and kūpuna.

Here is a summary of our research. We uncovered the efforts of Queen Kapi‘olani and

King Kalākaua to raise funds, set aside lands, and build the Ho‘oulu Lāhui Maternity Home for

Young Women. The Kapi‘olani Trust deed stated that the home was intended for the charitable

care of Hawaiian women to have their babies. We looked up ʻcharitable’ in Black’s Law

Dictionary and found that it means “free of charge.”…

My medical insurance problems were eventually resolved but not before a test run of the

system, during which we discovered that everything we had uncovered was fact. The birth of my

third son…was another turning point. Not only was my family growing, but also the realization

that we couldn’t, in good faith, just blindly believe what was written or passed down about our

history. We needed to do our own research using legal and primary documents, in addition to

Hawaiian-language sources (p. 34).

Since this initial challenge with the system and using research as a tool for her family,

she has continued to research primary source documents. Now she uses what she learns not only

for her own family, but also for the larger Hawaiian community, sharing what she knows about

history with anyone who asks. Her interest in research along with her commitment as a mother

have taken her on many journeys, including working in and with the Hawaiian language

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immersion schools, challenging the State of Hawai‘i’s legal and land title system, and

representing the Hawaiian Kingdom at the Permanent Court of Arbitration at the Peace Palace in

Den Hague. No matter what challenge she takes on, this kumu believes in the Hawaiian concept:

ʻNānā i ke kumu’ – look to the source. She explains:

Through trial and error, we realized that in order to understand the current issues we

needed to go back to the origin and walk it forward. We learned that we couldn’t judge history

by today’s standards; we needed to study the dynamics and politics of the past in order to

discern the actions and maneuverings that would help us gain the comprehensive picture we

sought.

Without any real base to draw from except our own life experiences, we attended many

lectures, workshops, and meetings and participated in different “sovereignty” gatherings; we

even, in our youthful naiveté, sought out experts on different topics, finding them sincere and

informed but lacking the real, substantive depth we were seeking. Our search for a mentor to

guide us through this maze of confusing, contradicting, and misunderstood historical documents

finally brought us to the realization that no one living could help us. We needed to do this on our

own: wipe the slate clean and start from the beginning. Nānā i ke kumu (p. 35).

...Without realizing it at the time, a point came when research stopped being about

gathering data and started being more about dicovering who I was. What used to be a painful

and deliberate mental processing to reach some form of comprehension began to be absorbed

seamlessly. My fluency in Hawaiian language was improving while my understanding of

Hawaiian history was flourishing, and I excitedly wanted to share what I was learning with

everyone I met (p. 36).

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Her commitment and interest in Hawaiian primary source documents eventually lead to

her becoming the overall project manager and coordinator of the Ho‘olaupa‘i Hawaiian

Language Newspaper Project under the Bishop Museum. The goal of this project was to digitize

the 125,000 pages of Hawaiian language newspapers to make them word searchable and easily

accessible to the public. After funding for the Ho‘olaupa‘i initiative dried up, she then managed a

new, similar initiative called ‘Ike Kū‘oko‘a. The ‘Ike Kū‘oko‘a website describes the project:

Over 125,000 pages of Hawaiian-language newspapers were printed in more than a

hundred different papers from 1834 to 1948. They equal a million or more typescript

pages of text - apparently the largest native-language cache in the Western world. The

newspapers became an intentional repository of knowledge, opinion and historical

progress as Hawaiʻi moved through kingdom, constitutional monarchy, republic and

territory, yet only 2% of that repository has been integrated into our English-speaking

world today. 'Ike Kū'oko'a is a dynamic move to change that percentage and to open up

this resource for general access.

‘Ike Kū‘oko‘a — Liberating Knowledge is a Hawaiian-newspaper initiative where an

army of volunteers is taking 60,000 digital scans of Hawaiian-language newspapers and

transcribing them into searchable typescript. Of the 125,000 pages originally published,

75,000 have been found and made into digital images, and 15,000 of those images have

been typescripted by OCR or manually. 60,000 pages remain in hand, yet unsearchable.

Our goal is to make the whole available collection word searchable, and to do it by July

31, 2012. It will open up hundreds of thousands of pages worth of data on history,

culture, politics, sciences, world view, and more (‘Ike Kū‘oko‘a, n.d.).

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One of the main differences between the original Ho‘olaupa‘i project and the ‘Ike Kū‘oko‘a

initiative was that Ho‘olaupa‘i was staffed by paid employees. As is laid out in the description,

‘Ike Kū‘oko‘a was a mass volunteer effort.

Earlier I presented this kumu’s description of Ho‘olaupa‘i when she was first approached

about managing it. In summary, it was a big task with little financial and human capital to be

found. When funding finally did run out after years of managing Ho‘olaupa‘i, she, along with her

friend and colleague, imagined a new way to get the transcribing done: volunteers. While many

would have given up in the face of no funding, their spirit looked to find a way. This kumu

talked me through this approach while I sat in her living room.

KE KUMU:

It’s about taking the next step, then one more step, and then the next. Trying to rise above the

obstacles and connect. It is so easy to be knocked off track by the blocks, all the obstacles, and

really, unfortunately, I don’t think that way, or actually I am too stupid to know when to quit.

Obstacles are what you see when you take your mind off the prize. I look forward and see the

end, and where we have to get to, and then, which wall do I have to break? Who do I have to

move? But I notice that that’s not the way that we work with each other. Two organizations meet

together and it’s like, “We can’t do this because blah blah blah. Money is an obstacle. Oh there’s

no grant for that.” But ‘Ike Kū‘oko‘a was a 14-month project. We started out with a stupid idea,

a large idea to do this project. There was no funding, there was no way. And then we did it. In

the course of it we raised about half a million dollars and in in-kind services another three

hundred thousand. But there was not one penny at the beginning. All there was was the prize at

the end.

In the course of it we got the media award, the Pele Award, the number one media award

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of the year. We were nominated for the Pa‘a Mo‘olelo Award from the Hawaiian Historical

Society but more importantly we were successful in making the Hawaiian language newspaper

repository accessible at the click of a mouse. And all of that was because we made it happen and

didn’t let obstacles stop us. I think it’s the methodology. That’s what it’s about: to show a model.

Everybody that we brought on-board – interns, young people, organizational experts, organizers,

– we sat them down and said, “If anybody needs anything more, aloha is the middle name of this

project. You are to make everybody welcome. If there’s a problem, find a solution. You can’t

say ʻWe can’t.’” It was awesome. That methodology, that mindset, is what’s missing. Because

we all look at our problems, we all look at the problem. But the bigger problem, to me, my

personal focus always, is that my great grandchildren, without me here to fight for them, I fear,

will not know these things, so I have to do all that I can now, while I still breathe, to make these

connections obvious for their tomorrow.

It’s easier to embark on your path when you begin, you start from the goal. It’s easier to

mark back our path, then you can plan: what’s the attack for bridge one? Then work on bridge

two. It just makes sense to do that rather than start walking blind and just talk about all the

problems you’re going to run into. Plus there’s also the way we interact with each other. That’s a

big problem when you enter a room and a person struts in like ʻI’m so good you’re lucky to be in

the same room as me.’

[I was excited about her methodology and her analysis of peoples’ behaviors, wanting to link this

topic to the issues at the university. This sparked the following conversation between this kumu,

me, and two of her daughters]:

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KA HAUMĀNA:

So how do we take this concept, this methodology you are talking about, and use it in a place at

the University?

KE KUMU:

The problem is the system is flawed. It hasn’t worked for many years and really sometimes it is

easier to demolish a home and rebuild a new one than to remodel. You have to start by replacing

the chancellor with someone who is in line with the motto of UHM being a Hawaiian place of

learning, and if not a Hawaiian, then a person of Hawaiʻi. A plan has to be in place. And I’m sure

the University is doing a lot of good scholarly and brilliant things, but no one outside of the

University really knows that.

KA HAUMĀNA:

As people who are not necessarily there everyday at Mānoa, do you folks even hear any of the

good things that Mānoa does?

KE KUMU:

I do but that’s because through the newspapers226 we work with a lot of the sciences. We did this

one project on climactic change. I sat at a conference at NOAA227 with scientists from all over

the world. I felt really out of place but actually we had more to add than they did, because all

they had is what they studied or someone else had studied. We brought real life experiences from

the newspapers. For example, “In 1848 they said this” and “This is what the weather was like

here” and “There was snow on Hualalai here in this year.” That impacts their whole

understanding. It made me see things differently, too: the connection, the interconnectedness of

all of it. That’s important.

226 She is referring to the Hawaiian language newspapers. 227 NOAA: National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration

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KA HAUMĀNA:

So it sounds like this was a positive experience with Mānoa. But I still hear from you that your

overall perception of UH Mānoa is pretty negative. Can you explain?

KE KUMU:

There were angry people there back in the 1980s. For Hawaiians at the University, at that time,

Ka Lāhui228 was the driving force and they were always protesting something. Is that a thing in

life just to go through it looking for things to kū‘ē?229 I really can’t believe that that was our

traditional practice, to go through life looking for things to attack. I think we went to resolve

things and figure out solutions and help people bridge that. That’s who I think we are.

KA HAUMĀNA:

So I hear you saying that especially in the 1980s, the anger and kū‘ē initiatives by Hawaiians at

the university were problematic to you. Are there other things since then that have shaped your

perspective?

KE KUMU:

The in-fighting of staff and professional courtesies within staff up there is problematic. And then

overall, as a historian and somebody’s who’s life is trying to teach our people the right

education, the right history, the university is counter productive with my life’s work.

KA HAUMĀNA:

What can we do about this problem?

KE KUMU:

When ever a re-shuffling or re-structuring is needed everyone should be fired, wipe the slate

clean and then have them re-apply and if everybody is doing their job there shouldn’t be any

228 She is referring to Ka Lāhui Hawai‘i. 229 Kū‘ē: “To oppose, resist, protest” (Pukui & Elbert, 1986, p. 172).

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problem, right? And everyone gets put in the places where they are strongest suited to meet the

needs of the institution and the students, and those that don’t would be replaced with those who

do. Or you just build another institution and then nobody ever has to go there again, which is

counterproductive so it would be in their best interest to fix it.

KA HAUMĀNA:

I’ve asked my mom her opinion on building our own university. She’s generally opposed to it

because she believes the State230 has a kuleana, they have resources, and they should allocate

those resources in a proper way, which includes shaping the university to serve Native

Hawaiians.

KE KUMU:

Your mom’s whole life has been spent fighting them to get money to go where it’s supposed to

go. Sometimes she’s successful but it’s still not enough. Every year how many kids are turned

away? Turned down? There should even be a program for people like me.

KA HAUMĀNA:

Can you explain who ʻpeople like you’ are?

KE KUMU:

I would like some kind of program that looks at people’s life experiences and merit. Put me

through something. But do I have to start off and take one plus one is two and do the whole nine

yards? I’d like some recognition that all knowledge is not taught in one school.

There’s got to be something that acknowledges that our people are mothers and fathers,

who are raising families and have to work. But they need this college degree.

It should be a parent or family track. The way the system is set up, you have to decide what’s

more important. Either you choose the degree, starving, begging, struggling, and dying through it 230 Referring to the State of Hawai‘i.

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or screw the degree for now and go get a good job. But you’re gonna hit a plateau at work. It’s

going to plateau at some point because other people who just graduated are going to get the jobs

that you are more capable at because a piece of paper gives them a privilege that is unattainable

to the majority of us.

And then you have the kids who are coming out with degrees. They’re going to get the

big jobs, they’re going to be the managers, but they have no clue how to do things in real time, in

real life. Nothing connects. They know on paper but you need the guy without the palapala231 to

tell you how to do it. There are no tracks to make this all a better system.

DAUGHTER 1:

Exactly! The thing I really like about Chaminade is it is so conducive for a working schedule, for

a normal life, which is the awesome thing. But it is so expensive. That’s why I rather go to UH.

But UH makes it hard for people like me who have kids and have to work.

DAUGHTER 2:

[To Ka Haumāna] I need your help because I need to finish school. When I transferred

campuses, I couldn’t get my credits transferred. No one helped me out. Where I am right now in

this point in my life, I want somebody to be like, “These are the courses you need.” Put me on

the right track, and give me the fastest route. I just need to graduate.

[After the daughters explained to me about some of their specific difficulties with UH Mānoa,

this kumu reflected a bit more.]

231 Palapala: “Document of any kind” (Pukui & Elbert, 1986, p. 309). She is specifically referring to an academic certificate or degree.

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KE KUMU:

Some of the people I admire most are in your generation, not in mine. And they went to the

University:232 Mahina, Ānuenue, you, Mehana Hind, Kameha‘ililani, your brother, and others.233

There are people who are out there who are doing amazing things. They have talent, all the zeal

and a sincere desire to do something amazing.

I watch it. Whenever any of you call me for something, no matter what, whenever one of

you call me, I always respond because I think whatever I can do to help that happen, I’ll do. But

what I notice is happening is everybody works in their groups, in their specialty thing. And that’s

where their focus is. They do fabulous things in their own little houses. And I realize it’s a lot of

work and you can’t keep track of everything that’s going on while you’re working because

there’s a lot of need here.

What’s happening is everybody’s focused in their own places. The flow is still not

happening in that direction; the flow of continuity, that all our waters connect into one river and

that we all got to keep it pono, keep our conduits open so that they can all flow. We need our

flow so that it is in the same river, so anybody wants to jump in our river, they follow the path to

the place they need to get to.

KA HAUMĀNA:

Which is a problem of the University because if you’re in the University setting, they force you

to do that by siloing you in a department.

232 She is specifically referring to UHM and other campuses in the UH system. 233 Mahinapopoe Paishon-Duarte, Ānuenue Punua, Mehana Hind, Kameha‘ililani Waiau, and my brother Nā‘ālehu Anthony are all Native Hawaiians in their 30s and 40s who work in education and community building in various capacities.

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KE KUMU:

Right. We’re doing it out of necessity. So in the last couple years, my work has tried to go up

higher and higher to not just be in that one house. I’ll be fifty this year. I want to spend my fifties

making all these bridges, connecting so that everybody can utilize everybody. And we all have to

flow together somehow.

A Closing

Several months have passed since I sat in the living room with this kumu and her family.

Since then, we have had many conversations over dinner as we discussed with other women the

future of Hawaiian families and especially how we support Hawaiian women and mothers. Our

conversations have focused on education – community education – in which we look at ways to

bring Hawaiian women together to help them be the best equipped Hawaiian mothers who are

equipped with knowledge of Hawaiian history, language, culture, and practices.

Recently, we gathered as mothers and children to watch a film this kumu wrote and

produced, describing several generations of history in Hawai‘i. What became even more clear to

me during this gathering was her sincere and earnest concern about Hawaiians learning the

correct history of our people. This was evident in that though not a trained filmmaker, she

created a film to help communicate Hawaiian history to a larger audience. At the end of the film,

she challenges her audience to go look at the primary documents and learn from the writings and

first-hand stories of our kūpuna and those they engaged with. When the film was over, as her

children sat about and her grandchildren gathered in the corner playing and giggling, she looked

at the other mothers in the room and said to us, “What do you think? How do we help others

learn?” What I hear from her is that if more people look to the source and learn our history, it

will help us as we move forward collectively, most especially in how we raise and teach our

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children and grandchildren what it means to be Hawaiian. I think for her, any organized place or

places that can do that will be her Hawaiian places of learning.

Ke Kumu ‘Alima – The Fifth Teacher: Mehana o loko i ke aloha

We are secure because of your love

Whenever I am around the kumu central to this story, I always feel a bit intimidated. It is

not that she is mean or scary, instead she’s almost too good to be true. It is intimidation,

reverence, and deep awe. She has too many “superpowers” as I call them. She’s skilled at so

many things. Not only does she have a breadth of knowledge, but her knowledge is deep. From

hula, to oli, to political analysis, to public speaking, to advocacy, to being a present listener – she

seems to have mastered it all.

I do not remember the first time I met her, but some of my first memories are of her as an

advisor when I came to UHM in 2001. I was always a little embarrassed to go see her, especially

when I was feeling lost, because how does the daughter of a UHM professor get lost in college?

At the age of eighteen, I felt the heavy weight of thinking that I had to know it all and have my

entire academic plan securely mapped out and executed. When things would temporarily fall

apart, however, I turned to this kumu. She never judged me. Instead, she treated me like any

other student. She treated me with aloha and kindly gave me her presence and full attention. I

never forgot that.

During my college years I got to know her better not only as an advisor but as an older

sister. I shared office space with her when I was as a student assistant and I got to know her

hilarious personality and also her warm caring ways. She often joked with me and the other

student assistants and always watched out for us. I saw the same of her with every other student

who walked through her door.

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In 2005, after graduating with my undergraduated degree, I applied for a job as an

academic advisor in another department on campus. Watching her work with students and “make

things happen” for them with the magical “advisor wand” was inspiring to me, coupled with

other recent experiences I had engaging with young students in higher education.When I got the

job as the advisor, I began to work more closely with her, often in the role of mentee. I followed

her to meetings and events around campus and began to see the amazing web of networks for

which she was a part. I also went out into the community with her and witnessed her ability to

reach people with her carisma and voice; whether it was across the table or across an auditorium.

She had the ability to inspire people!

I also had the opportunity to work on committees with her; comittees focused on Native

Hawaiian students and also committees that focused on students across the campus and

throughout the UH system. What always impressed me about her was her keen political analysis

of any situation and also her ability to respond to several political constituencies. Indeed she

must be a superhero! She was transforming the institution into a Hawaiian place of learning by

building relationships, advocating for students, and sticking to her core values grounded in ‘ike

kūpuna. She did not just talk about a Hawaiian place of learning, she lived and modeled it.

When she was leaving her UH position to take job in the community, I helped organize a

small going away party for her. We were all supposed to take a turn saying something funny or

doing some kind of tribute to her. When it came to my turn, all I could do was sob. I was so sad

she was leaving. But in her typical fashion, she came to my side and put her arm around me. She

told a joke to lighten the moment for me. And then she said something I will never forget. She

thanked my brother and I for being her other family and for sharing our mother with her. Then

she thanked me for my work with students because that allowed her the confidence to leave

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UHM and know that her students would be well cared for. I was speechless in this moment. I

was so humbled. Because of those words and that aloha, I knew that she was bestowing on me a

great kuleana. I knew that she trusted me. This is a most amazing gift.

That afternoon at her gowing away party, I felt that my relationship with her had been

elevated. Though I will always look to her as my kaikua‘ana, I also felt the invitation to fully

engage. I spent much time observing, watching, listening, and learning. Though that learning will

always continue, I felt I reached a time in our relationship in which I could now ask questions.

When I first sat down to explain my reserach project to her and ask her if she would be

willing to share some stories with me, she told me that she would do anything she could to help

me. We met twice. The first time we met at her house. I brought Chinese food for lunch and we

sat in her living room and ate with her teenage son. We spent nearly three hours talking story. As

we got more engaged, we moved from the couch to the living room floor.

The second time we met, I took her to dinner at one of my favorite restaurants. I chose

the restaurant because of the good food and the normally quiet ambiance. That night the

restaurant was the busiest and loudest it had ever been! Nevertheless, on both occasions, I

recorded our conversations with a digital recorder. She had no reservations about being recorded.

I present her stories in her own words below. As you will see, she is a great storyteller. I only

wish you could also hear the recordings!

He Hua: A Beginning

KA HAUMĀNA:

I don’t really know when you first went to UH Mānoa. Was it as a student? What was it like?

KUMU:

It was so funny. I was a student at Honolulu Community College (HCC) and was

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introduced to ‘Ekela. 234 I’d never met her but I’d originally wanted to. I was thinking of a

hundred million things I wanted to do at the university and one of them was Social Work.

So one of my other professors, Le‘a Kanehe’s mom who is a social worker, told me, “Oh,

we’re going to have speakers coming down from the university and one of them is this lady,

‘Ekela Kanī‘aupi‘o and I want you to meet her.” So she introduced me and ‘Ekela told me about

Kua‘ana.235 I never heard of it before and up until this time, I wasn’t really identifying with my

Hawaiian-ness. So I signed up for that but that was about it and that was right about 1992 when

everyone was prepping for 1993.236

KA HAUMĀNA:

But you weren’t involved in any of that?

KE KUMU:

I wasn’t involved in any of that. What had happened was right in 1991 to 1992 I started going to

hula. My mom told me that kumu was opening up the class.237 I had never been in hālau238

before, not in our hālau before. I’d been around it my whole life but I’d never been in it. So I get

into hālau but I was still working full-time and going to school full-time. In 1992 everybody

starts prepping for 1993239 so now we start getting visits from the folks up at UH. Nohea Wallace

folks came to hālau and then other people were coming down to the community colleges, signing

234 ‘Ekela Kanī‘aupi‘o-Crozier was the director of Kua‘ana Student Services at UH Mānoa at the time. 235 Kua‘ana Student Services was a program set up to help recruit and retain more Native Hawaiian students at UH Mānoa. 236 She is referring to the 1993 Hawaiian sovereignty march that marked the 100th year since the illegal overthrow of the Hawaiian monarchy. Approximately 18,000 people marched through downtown Honolulu to ‘Iolani Palace. For more information on the march, refer to: Kame‘eleihiwa, L. K. (1993). “The Hawaiian Sovereignty Movement: January – August 1993.” Journal of Pacific History – Political Chronicles, 28, 3, December 1993. Pp. 63-72. 237 She is referring to the process in which a kumu opens enrollment into the hālau hula. 238 Hālau: She is referring to her hālau hula – her “hula school,” for lack of a better term. 239 She is referring to the 1993 Hawaiian sovereignty march as described previously.

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people up for Ka Lāhui.240 That was all happening and that was foreign to me. I didn’t know

what the hell was going on. Honestly, I don’t think even up to that time, I even heard of the

overthrow. It was weird. I was eighteen years old at that time and if I had heard about it, I’m sure

I must’ve read it in a schoolbook in high school some time, it was not something that I had

internalized as part of my own history.

So people were gearing up for that and then in 1993, you know, 1993 happens.241 With

hālau I participate in the march. That’s the first time, around 1992 and 1993, when I start seeing

your mom242 on TV. I start seeing Haunani-Kay243 on TV. I start seeing Mililani Trask244 on TV.

Then at school, at HCC, I became “the Hawaiian” all of the sudden in the classes. These things245

were boiling up in the news. There were more stories about it right around that time so people

were like, “Oh, okay, what do you think ʻOh Hawaiian who’s sitting in the front row of the

class’?” Then I found myself oddly speaking for a group of people, my people, and I have no

clue what any of us thought. But just trying to be the A student that I was, I was trying to put

information together and synthesize it and share it with other people and realized I was doing a

bad job at it so I became more conscious of it.

And then ‘Ekela came to talk to us at HCC and said, “There’s this thing called Kua‘ana.

If you’re coming up to Mānoa, you should maybe come and check us out and then we’ll help you

in Mānoa.” In 1994 I graduate from HCC and I start to make my move up to UH and my first

experience on campus at UH Mānoa was in 1994, right before I graduated. I thought, “I gotta go.

240 She is referring to Ka Lāhui Hawai‘i, the Hawaiian sovereignty group. 241 She is referring to the 1993 sovereignty march. 242 My mom is Dr. Lilikalā Kame‘eleihiwa, a professor at UH Mānoa and at the time also a community activist. 243 Dr. Haunani-Kay Trask was a professor at UH Mānoa who was also a Hawaiian community activist. 244 Mililani Trask is a Hawaiian lawyer who at the time was a community activist and founder of the Ka Lāhui Hawai‘i sovereignty group. 245 She is referring to Hawaiian sovereignty issues.

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I gotta do my own tour of UH Mānoa. I’m going to go check it out, just by myself, just going to

go up there and look at what the hell is going on.”

So I go up there, and I’m walking around the campus and I’m looking for Kua‘ana, which

was in Moore. But it was funny because I go up there and I go into Moore Hall and I turn the

corner and I see your mom walking down the hall and up until that point, I’d only seen her on

TV and it freaked me out a little bit. She’s walking with her students and she was talking and it

was so funny because I remember this scene: She was wearing scarves and she had socks on. She

was bundled up. And I thought, “Wow this is a freaky scene. We’re in Hawai‘i so why is this

professor all bundled up?” And then I soon realized when I was a student there how freaking

cold any of those halls can be. But I thought it was funny and that’s how come I remember it so

well. So she was coming down the hall, I turned the corner and saw her and I couldn’t breathe. I

was blown away a little bit. I didn’t know what to do and I don’t know why I was afraid and star-

struck at the same time. I was afraid she was going to say something to me and I was star-struck

like, “Oh my god, this is the person I’d seen on TV.” So, I back up into a door that’s just open

and I didn’t know what I was backing up into but I back up into the door and I hold my breath

and wait as she’s walking past the door. She walks past the door, she turns the corner and she

walks out. I can hear the glass doors closing outside and then I breathe. And then I turn around

and I was in Kua‘ana.

Ku‘umeaaloha was there, ‘Olani Decker was there. These women were there and I start to

ask, I start inquiring. That was my first step on to the campus. My most vivid memory of

entering UH was seeing all these women. I’m a very different woman [at the time] and reacted to

them very different.

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KA HAUMĀNA:

What was the rest of the campus like at that time? You did Political Science, right?

KE KUMU:

Actually my undergrad was in Liberal Studies. I graduated in Conflict Resolution. That was the

title of my degree. I floated around for a little while, which was really good because that was the

only way that allowed me to add in my Hawaiian Studies classes. I did spend most of my time up

in Poli-Sci [Political Science] but the rest of the campus was kind of trippy because I remember

walking around and I was just kind of oblivious to everything that was going on while I was

there. It was kind of strange for me. I realized I was living in the matrix. I was living in the

surface of all these things that were going on but I wasn’t looking at any of them. I wasn’t

looking at any of the controversies that were going on, wasn’t paying attention to any of the

issues that were being discussed even though my introduction was post-1993.

After that I was kind of a loner out there. I used to walk around the campus a lot by

myself and I think that’s what made me a good advisor later on because I would just wander into

places and I would be so nīele.246 I’d think, “Oh, what’s in here? Oh, I’m in the Geology

Department?” And I’d literally just spend time wandering the whole campus. And then when I

wasn’t there, I was at work, so I was still working full-time and going to school full-time, so I

almost was oblivious only because if I had any free time, I was wandering around but not really

paying attention. It was weird.

I remember after I gave birth to him [her son], that’s when I started to look at the same

spaces and see something totally different. When I gave birth to him, it made me more conscious

of stuff. But I was a senior already in college. So 1994, 1995 I entered into UH Mānoa, I get

pregnant with him in 1995 and give birth to him in 1996. 246 Nīele: “Curious, inquisitive” (Pukui & Elbert, 1986, p. 265).

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KA HAUMĀNA:

What was it like to have him on campus?

KE KUMU:

It’s weird because when I had him on campus, again, I was oblivious to the fact that maybe he

shouldn’t have been there. I just brought him. I don’t know why. I don’t know what made me

think that that was okay but I just made it happen.

It was weird when he was born. I had a different kind of hustle. I quit my full time job.

When I gave birth to him, I wasn’t finished with my undergrad yet. I had one more year to go

and I knew that if I went back to work I would never finish school. I knew how much of a

difference it would make. So I went back to work on the day that I was suppose to return from

maternity leave and I told them I quit. I quit and then I was a student on welfare for that first

year, finishing up college.

I would just put a hāli‘i247 down in the back and I sat at the back of the classroom and if

he made noise or whatever I just carried him outside. But that seemed natural to me. I didn’t see

other people doing it necessarily. I didn’t recognize other people bringing their kids to school but

all I know is I did. I think I brought him out of necessity. I think I created whatever space I

needed for him whether it was feeding spaces or changing spaces. I didn’t feel bad at all. I would

pull his stroller right into class and take him out and sit at the desk with him and just listen to

lectures, take my notes, and participate. I wasn’t sitting in front of the class. When I had him I

always sat in back of the class, just so if I had to run out I could. I was conscious at least of that

much.

247 Hāli‘i: A blanket (my translation).

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KA HAUMĀNA:

I know you said you were kind oblivious to the environment around you for a long time but

something in you changed over time for sure! I know you said some of

it was because of him [her son who is sitting next to her]. Other than him, can you think

of anything that really sparked that kind of critical consciousness?

KE KUMU:

Everything I think merged at the same time for me. I was lucky that right at the same time I

graduated and he was born, I realized I didn’t know shit. I didn’t know shit. That’s what I

realized. I was like, oh my god, I don’t know anything to teach this kid. And I’m not going to be

like that. I already knew that I couldn’t be like the generation that raised me in the sense that

there was just way too much stuff going on that we couldn’t avoid knowing. I already knew too

much. I already knew how much I didn’t know. Most people don’t get to that level. They don’t

get to the stage to realize all the stuff they don’t know. So I got to that stage and realized, oh my

god, what am I going to do?

Hao Mai, Pā Mai, Iho Mai: The Elemental Influences

KE KUMU:

So he [her son] was born in 1996. In 1997 I graduated with my BA. But 1997 was also the first

year that ‘Īlio‘ula248 came about. Aunty Pua249 forced the kumu hula [involved in

‘Īlio‘ulaokalani] at that time, to do certain things. The first thing that she said was, “All you

folks, all you kumu hula who are involved with us in this movement, need to know your

genealogies.” So of course, what do good kumu hula do? They turn back around, go to their

248 The ‘Īlio‘ulaokalani Coalition was formed in 1997 by a group of cultural practitioners to take action on legal and policy matters affecting Hawaiians. For more information, visit http://www.ilio.org and http://artofresistanceshow.wordpress.com/2008/05/16/ilioulaokalani-coalition/. 249 Dr. Pualani Kanaka‘ole Kanahele is a kumu hula and Hawaiian scholar.

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hālau and say, “All you folks need to know this.” So my kumu hula made us all learn our

personal genealogies.

I come from a family of genealogists. We have these big fat genealogy books in my

family. So my kumu gives us this assignment. At the same time I’m taking classes because we’re

all prepping to go to Aotearoa, so I’m taking chant classes with Kumu Lake.250 That’s a no-no in

hālau. You don’t take classes from another kumu. But again, I was oblivious. I wasn’t that into

hālau where I understood all the rules. I was there all the time but I was always ‘my mother’s

daughter.’ Nobody knew my name. The aunties knew my name but I was still always ‘my

mother’s daughter.’ I was nameless in hālau.

I’m taking classes from Kumu Lake because all of us who are going to New Zealand are

learning this set repertoire. Kumu Lake teaches us all the basics: Kūnihi ka Mauna, E Hō Mai,

Nā ‘Aumākua.251 When ‘Īlio‘ulaokalani starts up, this whole political movement, one of the

ha‘awina252 they get is you need to know your genealogies and you need to learn these chants.

Wow! It just so happens to be the same chants Kumu Lake already taught me. So now I’m the

only one in hālau who knows all of these chants.

In hālau we get this genealogy assignment. For me, that basically means I just open my

family book that’s already written, and I’m just memorizing the names back. I memorized ten

generations. My kumu tells everybody we need to memorize at least five generations. I

memorize ten.

One night at hālau my kumu says, “Okay everybody. Stand up and go one by one.” I go

last. I’m scared shitless. I go last. I do my genealogy. After that moment, I’m now [her personal

250 Kumu John Keola Lake was a well-respected kumu hula. 251 These three chants have become “basics” in the sense that they are fairly well-known by members of the Hawaiian community. 252 Ha‘awina: “Lesson, assignment” (Pukui & Elbert, 1986, p. 45).

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name], no longer my mother’s daughter. Everybody knows me. All of a sudden, overnight, I get

elevated to this whole other level of expectation by everybody in there. I now sit right next to my

kumu in this whole ‘Īlio movement.

I become the one that’s always with my kumu. So now I have my kumu, Aunty Vicky,

Aunty Hoku, and Aunty Pua.253 Now I’m also starting to be around people my age like Ulalia

and Kekuhi;254 people from our generation who all sit right next to all of their kumu. We start

having to do things. We have to go testify at different things. We have to now do presentations

all throughout the islands. So within a really short amount of time, I had to get akamai255 to all

the issues that were important to us. I had such a sharp learning curve and I had to couple that

with learning the culture stuff really fast because wherever we did things, our kumu’s

expectations of what we had to do and the kind of level of protocol was so high that you just

knew you just had to be on it. We would learn chants in the car from the airport to wherever and

then have to execute them. We’d have to know what communities we were interacting with

before we’d go so that we knew how to behave. It was the most stressful yet awesome time in

my life. In a short amount of time I learned a ton of stuff about our people, our ways, our

language. Whatever it was, I had to learn it.

Couple that with coming back to work and to school with your mom and the people who

were in my generation like Lani, Kahi, Lokelani Kenolio, and Kinohi256 who were ready to

move. They were ready to go and they did it all with this enthusiasm and love for everything.

They weren’t haters. So that was the trigger; it was having that cultural life mix with that

253 Vicky Holt-Takamine, Hokulani Holt-Padilla, and Dr. Pualanai Kanaka‘ole Kanahele are kumu hula who were all founding and organizing members of ‘Īlio‘ulaokalani. 254 Ulalia Woodside and Kekuhi Kanaka‘ole are both Hawaiian cultural practitioners and community leaders. 255 Akamai: “Smart, clever, expert” (Pukui & Elbert, 1986, p. 13). 256 Lani Waiau, Kahi Brooks, Loke Kenolio, and Kinohi Gomes are all peers of her generation who have been active in making change in the Hawaiian community, especially through education.

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political life mix with my academic life. Then that became my life. That became who I am today.

People try to break that apart and I don’t even know how. That’s just my life and it involves

academics, politics, and culture. And the way I learned it, you cannot take it apart, it’s

inseparable. They don’t function, in my way of life, separately anymore. I cannot just go to a

place and say that this is just cultural. Every chant that I do is a political statement. Every

political statement that I make is a reflection of my culture. And all of that is a reflection of the

intelligence that I grew from books, from people, and from interactions that I had at the

university and it just all molded this person that I am in that really kind of short amount of time. I

am so shaped by everybody who shaped me; who purposefully shaped me. It wasn’t an accident.

I wasn’t just around. No. They were conscious about it. I was lucky.

KA HAUMĀNA:

Wow! I never knew those stories! So how did what you just talked about affect your work in

student services?

KE KUMU:

Those women that I just mentioned and those experiences shaped me out of being shy and

conservative or afraid to being confident in front of people, to say anything in front of people.

Those women really transformed that person. But my advising philosophy actually came from

two men who are not Hawaiian; two Japanese men that worked with Hawaiians who didn’t let go

of my hand.

Mr. Sakuma was my high school counselor. He was Japanese but he had done some work

with Kamehameha Schools (KS) in one of the programs. I cannot remember which program it

was but he had done some work at KS and so he got introduced to working with populations of

Hawaiians.

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When I was a junior and senior in high school, my parents were getting a divorce. The

last thing I thought I was going to do was go to college. I’d already met my son’s father. I was

spending my days in school and my nights in Waikīkī, just hanging out all night. I was kind of

running away from my home life. It wasn’t tearing me down but the break up wasn’t fast. It was

slow. They took a long time to break up. I was fifteen, sixteen, seventeen years old, going

through that process so I didn’t want to go to college. Previously to that I wanted to go to college

and then I didn’t see it as a reality. I thought, “Nah, my parents are getting a divorce. I can’t see

how this is going to happen. I’m cool. I’m just going to marry my boyfriend and we’ll just live

like how I was raised.”

But my counselor would write passes for me to get out of class to go and do the college

visits to the colleges, and I wouldn’t go. He’d send a pass with his helper and I’d stay in class. I

wouldn’t go. But finally the helper came back and said, “Mr. Sakuma said you have to come.”

And I said, “I’m in class. I don’t have to come. I’m sure my teacher would rather have me in

here.” And he said, “No, Mr. Sakuma said you have to come.” And he was making a scene. So

the only reason I went was because he was making a scene. Again I was shy and I didn’t want

any attention drawn to me. So I went to the college counselor.

Another time Kamehameha Schools was coming with their scholarships. This time when

the helper came to get me I sent him back. Then Mr. Sakuma came walking down the hallway,

talked to my teacher and he came and said, “You gotta come with me right now.” So I go with

him. The applications are right there, I start filling out the applications right in front of him. Then

he says, “Okay you gotta do your FAFSA now. Here’s the form. Go take it home and have your

mother sign it.” I bring it back, my mom didn’t sign it. He said, “I’m going to come and I’m

going to harass you every day if you don’t do this FASFA.” And I was just like, “Ah man!” So I

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go home and my mom, back at that time, as soon as she found out on the FAFSA that you have

to show your tax information, she didn’t like that. So I had to sneak into her taxes and actually

copy the numbers to get it done because I just didn’t want Mr. Sakuma to make another scene.

Mr. Sakuma introduced me to Guy Nishimura. Again, Japanese married to a Hawaiian.

He has Hawaiian kids but he himself is not Hawaiian. He has worked at KS forever. So one

counselor handed me off to another. I didn’t make it into UH because my GPA was too low. My

SATs were too low. But I made it into HPU.257 But HPU was expensive. Guy really helped me

understand what the financial packages were like and then right before I graduated, Mr. Sakuma

made sure that I was enrolled and registered at HPU. He just wouldn’t stop. He wasn’t crazy

relentless and I wasn’t his only test case but it seemed like every point when I wanted to just

stop, he wouldn’t let me. And if I did stop? My life would be totally different today.

As a freshman at HPU I got straight As. I realized college was so much easier than high

school. I got my financial aid package for the next year and I was awarded less money. It was the

beginning of August and Guy calls me and says, “I’m checking and I don’t see you registered at

HPU.” And I thought, “How do you know I’m not registered? Who gives you that kind of

information? How do you know that?” And he says, “I’m getting a report here that’s showing me

you’re not registered for classes at HPU. What’s wrong? You got good grades, what happened?”

I told him, “I can’t afford it.” Guy says, “What about the CCs?258 You can go to the CCs and

then you can always jump back in later when you figure your stuff out.” And I said, “Isn’t it too

late? School starts in two weeks.” He said, “Nope, you can.” He met me down at HCC, got me

registered, got all my financial aid stuff switched over with KS and that was enough to be able to

keep me going.

257 HPU: Hawai‘i Pacific University. 258 CC: Community college.

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Then I graduated from HCC and transferred into Mānoa and such is life. But those two

men are the reason why I don’t let students go. I let them go if they are dying, literally, health-

wise, falling apart. I’ll let them go but knowing that I’m not forgetting about you and I’m going

to harass you every time and make sure that you get better and back in. Those two Japanese men,

gotta love them.

Kupu a Mohala: Coming Into Full Bloom

KE KUMU:

The only reason I could do what I do is because of all those women who gave me the tools by

which to do it. They gave me a sense of fearlessness. Your mom taught me, “It’s not that it can’t

happen, it’s that you don’t know how to make it happen. So go find out how to make it happen.”

For example, we didn’t know how to do budgets but we’re going to figure it out. Aunty Pua,

Aunty Hoku, and my kumu taught me every time someone tells you “No,” but you know that it’s

right and you know you’re supposed to do it, then you got to do it. There’s nothing but you that’s

stopping you from doing it, so if you just do it, then it will happen. And that’s how they are.

They get something in their mind; they get crazy ideas in their mind and they make it happen. So

the combination of those Hawaiian women and those two Japanese men who I know, if they had

let me go at any point, nothing I ever am today would be. I’d be totally different.

I get accused of holding my students’ hands through everything. But for me I see my

students who want to accomplish something, have the potential to or the opportunities, just over

this hump – like just right there. If we can just get them over that hump then they’ll be good.

Because I know that once Mr. Sakuma got me over that hump, I was in. And once Guy got me

over that hump, I am who I am. Those humps can be financial aid, personal image, family who is

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holding them back, boyfriends or heartbreaks that seemingly ruin your life. But it’s just a hump.

I’m not going to have to hand-hold them forever.

Take Kealaka‘i259 for example. Who the hell ever thought he’d turn out so awesome?

One day we just sat down and just typed out his graduate school application. He had no clue

what to put in for his statement of objectives. He just didn’t. He was either too caught up in

whatever he was doing at that time or confused; maybe not mature enough to handle this stuff.

But I said, “No. I’m going to work on this with you word for word. Let’s break it down. I

remember plenty people in the office saying, “Oh my god, he’s such an idiot.” And I said, “Yes

maybe he is right now but I have faith in him that he’s going to do great things in his life.” I have

faith in all my students. The only reason why they cross my path is because they are going to do

great things in their life. If they don’t come across my path then it could go either way for them

but if they come across my path it is a sign that I have to do something with them because I came

across the people that came into my life and it has never failed. Their influence has never failed.

I succeed because of them; because of the things that they did. I know if I put my work into my

students, they’re going to come out okay.

Kealaka‘i wanted to become a lawyer. So I asked him, “Why do you want to be a lawyer?

And he said, “Because I want to help my community, and it seems like that’s what we need.”

And I said, “Break it down for me. What do you want to do?” And he said, “Our land is just

being totally misused and there’s so much homeless.” So I said, “So you want to litigate? You

want to come in once an issue has arrived and you want to litigate that in a court-room?” And he

said, “No, that’s not really what I want to do.” So I said, “Okay, because that’s what most

lawyers do. So maybe what you want to do is you want to come in on the front end.” He said,

259 This is a pseudonym to honor his work and to protect his privacy.

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“Yes!” So I said, “Maybe you want to try planning.” Though he had worked with planners before

he just never thought of himself as a planner.

When he graduated he said, “I truly owe this all to you. I would never have made it out

and made it in. I would never have taken this path if it wasn’t for you.” And I said, “No, you just

needed a path so I was just doing my job. That’s why we get paid the big dollars. We get paid to

help you find a path.” And he replied, “You did more than that.” And I said, “Hold on, you did

more. I just wish you knew during that time because you could’ve made my job a lot easier if

you knew how awesome you’ve become. Because I think if you knew that then you wouldn’t

have had so much fear. If you just embrace the greatness that you are, it would’ve been a lot

easier for me. But it’s okay because that’s what I’m there for.”

KA HAUMĀNA:

That’s a great story! I remember Kealaka‘i at that time and he is so amazing now! That mo‘olelo

is such an important one because it marks the intergenerational feeding and giving. So as you

were doing this student services work, were there any moments that marked a change in the

campus culture that made your work harder or easier?

KE KUMU:

Systemic change actually started to happen when your mom handed Dobelle260 that budget of

one point five million and started a whole circus and crazy world of the campus councils and

eventually the Pūko‘a council. When your mom handed him that budget we now started to

participate at another level. It was the first time Hawaiians, as an organized group, were at the

executive meetings; I call them the money meetings. To me, that move allowed all the things that

everyone was doing over the years from the Hawaiian language movement in the 1970s, to the

260 President Evan Dobelle was president of the UH system from 2001-2004.

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Ka‘ū Report in 1986, to Hawaiian Studies becoming its own department, to the Hawaiian Studies

building in1996; it allowed all of those things to be materialized, fully implemented.

People had thought about it. People at the community colleges were really good with

their Hawaiian presence because they had been receiving Title III monies for many years. But

still, they weren’t major players at the table. They weren’t making overall, ten-campus wide,

systemic changes. But when your mom handed Dobelle that budget, it forced people to organize.

It was like, okay, if you folks want positions we can get them for you, but you need to be ready

for them. It held all of us accountable to each other.

I remember when Kūali‘i Council first gathered in May 2001. That was the first time I

remember the term ʻHawaiian sense of place’ coming into existence. And we asked, “How do we

make this?” One of the things that everybody agreed on was that we need to increase our

Hawaiian faculty and our staff; we need to make them permanent so that we can make some

systemic changes. We need to put bodies in, feed the departments, feed the programs with

Hawaiians; then we can attract Hawaiian students to the campus.

We discussed, what is truly a Hawaiian place of learning? Is it the décor? The

environment? Do we plant more Native trees? Do we just increase students? Do we just increase

faculty and hope Hawaiian students come? Do we start to force curriculum changes within

departments and stuff like that? Those are things I don’t think many people thought were

possible until we had those discussions as our organized campus councils and at Pūko‘a. To me,

that’s the most significant thing that’s happened since I entered onto campus in 1995 until today.

I don’t know anything else that has happened in that time that you can point to and say, “Wow,

that’s systemic.” The councils secured eighty-something positions since they formed. I don’t

think up until 2001, there were ever that many positions going to Native Hawaiians or Native

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Hawaiian programs, ever. And that was because your mom took us, forced us to enter into this

game. People still resist that kind of movement. But I think anybody who has a sense of

institutional history cannot look back at this time period and not see that, overall across the ten

campuses, there was a huge shift.

I cannot say that nobody else was involved in pushing for the council and for positions,

but if she didn’t have the courage to do what she did at that time a lot of people’s jobs would not

be today and a lot of influence that they had on our Native Hawaiian communities would not be

at all; plain and simple. Nobody else chose to do what she did. There were people who were very

radical in the university who weren’t concerned about building coalitions, because to give them

the benefit of the doubt, they were trying to survive as departments. Your mom was the only one

who stepped outside of that; even though her house was the one being attacked. Hawaiian

Studies is always going to be the first house to be attacked – openly, viciously by people. Even

though her own house was being attacked she made sure that this was coalition building, not to

build a castle but to build a nation. Sometimes when I hear myself saying that I’m just like,

“Wow, that’s a lot of rhetoric.” But it’s true. I have no personal reason to paipai261 or anything. I

don’t owe my job to the Kūali‘i Council. I came in right before that. But I do owe how my job

has been made easier in getting Native Hawaiians to access the university to the Kūali‘i Council.

That movement, organizing the councils and presenting the budgets, was to me the most

significant. I’ve been able to hear all the kinds of negative things that people say about it and all

the positive things and then I just look at my students; not just my students, but all Hawaiian

students on campus and the ones at the community colleges and the ones across the state. There

are other things, too. I saw more Hawaiian faculty on campus. I saw more of it262 being stated

261 Paipai: “To promote, cheer, lobby” (Pukui & Elbert, 1986, p. 303). 262 She is referring to Hawaiian issues and especially the topic of a Hawaiian place of learning.

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either by the president or the chancellors at the school. That didn’t happened before. It was more

token before. It was, “Give me a Hawaiian-something to say” or “That’s cute. Can they come

bless our office and then leave?” But at the executive level, it was never articulated as, “How do

we make this a Hawaiian place of learning?” That was all new.

KA HAUMĀNA:

That’s such an awesome story because it really speaks to not only what the change was but also

how you folks made it happen. What about in Student Services? How did you approach your

work there? Did you see it as a non-Hawaiian place?

KE KUMU:

The Student Services environment was definitely Hawaiian, non-Hawaiian. It was definitely

trying to fit into this world where the Japanese actually ran everything. There were some haole in

there, but it was mostly the local Japanese and the local Japanese mentality about how you

approach students. I’m glad I came in to Student Services through Nā Pua No‘eau263 because

they were physically housed in Student Services. They were under SEED,264 so they weren’t

under any protected Hawaiian programs. For example, at Hawaiian Studies, at least within the

department, you could express some kind of kuleana between the department faculty and the

students. But up at Student Services there were none of those same kind of mechanisms or tools

or anything that would work.

What I learned at Nā Pua No‘eau from Loke Kenolio and Uncle David Sing is to be the

ultimate team player. The first thing we did was find out who the Hawaiians were in Student

Services. We made sure we knew who they were and we would call on them all the time,

263 Nā Pua No‘eau is a center that facilitates a pathway for Native Hawaiian students to access higher education. For more, visit http://npn.uhh.hawaii.edu. 264 SEED: Student Equity, Excellence and Diversity office at UH Mānoa is housed under Vice Chancellor for Students.

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whether it be in Financial Aid or Records or where ever. And if there weren’t any Hawaiians in

different places, we were just always available. We participated in everything. The mentality

was, “Oh that office is having a financial aid fair, let’s go down. We have the tables, so we can

lend you guys our tables. You need supplies? We have supplies.” Beyond just building

partnerships with any of the Hawaiians, whether they liked it or not, we were always around

because we’re not going to just keep asking you for help, we’re going to be there to offer it.

UH is a monster of a bureaucracy so it was hard busting down those walls. There were

many there who just did not want to deal with another sub-group of students. Their mentality

was, “Everyone’s the same and they just run through the same processes.” But we were like,

“No. That’s not true.” We realized the more foreign the environment was the more we had to

make things happen for us by finding collaborators. We maintained a constant presence and we

had to do everything better than everyone else and happier than everyone else. That was how we

convinced people whatever their stereotypes were about Hawaiians, to change it. We needed

people who weren’t Hawaiian to be on our side so we formed relationships. Uncle David would

say, “You wanna carry this off, then form your partners; then your one dollar goes way further;

then your one person running that program will go way further, because when you need them

they’ll come and help you. So every time you can go and help them, help them. Just do it. Don’t

complain about it. It’s just the way we do things around here.” Those relationships were key for

me because when I began advising in an academic unit, I still had to be with those people in

Student Services at different times in order to get my students’ needs and potential heard

throughout the rest of the university. So that presence was really good and really helped us to

make change for our students.

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But, I remember one of the most heartbreaking conversations I had to have was at the

Council for Academic Advisors when they told me, “You know, there’s a fine line between an

advocate for students and you being an employee of the university.” It broke my heart to hear

that. Isn’t that my job as an employee of the university to be an advocate for my students? When

I got told that by this group of people I felt, at that instant, so powerless. That was one of the

very few times I could feel the difference shoved in my face. It wasn’t even racism because it

didn’t have to do with Hawaiian students; it just had to do with students. That’s when I thought,

“Wow, I’m really different!”

The situation was that we had students coming over from one of our community colleges

in the system. At this particular CC, they began offering courses to meet certain UH Mānoa

requirements and students took those classes because they were looking ahead at what they could

do before transferring to Mānoa. But UH Mānoa had already decided they would not accept

those classes from the community colleges. The problem was students at the CCs didn’t know

those credits wouldn’t be accepted at Mānoa.

Our conversation at this meeting was about those students who had now transferred to us

at Mānoa and whether or not their credits would be accepted. The council did not want to give

them those credits. But I said, “That’s our mistake. That’s us as a system. Go back to that memo

we have that tells the student that we are now one system. Go back to that and now justify what

you just said.” And they said, “We can’t let it happen. This is a Mānoa rule and that’s a CC

thing.”

We were only talking about like six students. We had already dealt with the community

college. They stopped offering those courses so it was never going to happen again. I said,

“Grandfather those students, because now there’s tuition to think about. Are you going to pay?

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Does your pay get deducted twelve hundred dollars a semester? Or is it coming out of my pay?

No it’s not! Not at all! It’s coming out of the student’s pocket. How is that not elitest? How is

that not just teaching poor values? I can understand if we weren’t a system; if we were still

fractured like how it was before.” I felt like a crazy woman trying to get this point across.

I didn’t even know who the students were. And you know what they said to me? “Well, I

don’t think any of them are students from your department.” And I said, “And if they were?

Then you would expect me to be like this? And if they’re not then it doesn’t apply? What now

are you saying about me? My values only apply to my people?” I said, “We’re talking about an

institution here. Yes I’m charged with my students but my student could easily become your

student with one slip of paper that changes their academic major. So then what do we do? Do we

juggle our values around? Does that paper now release me from valuing that student’s

experiences?” It was a trip. That was like one of my worst experiences. But I thought I came

from a very Hawai‘i perspective into that situation but not for the protection of Hawai‘i. It was

just the basic underlying aloha.

KA HAUMĀNA:

I love that you point to aloha because it is such a powerful kuleana that is often misused and

understood. Mahalo for that! So then my question is, if UH Mānoa was a Hawaiian place of

learning, what would Student Services look like to you?

KE KUMU:

Ooh! I think it would encase, throughout the campus, those values: the necessity for

collaboration. The departments within student services or even within the school would see the

necessity of having to work with each other. They wouldn’t operate in silos and they would train

their people to do that, to behave that way. Not the poster values; instead genuinely caring about

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the student experience beyond the benefit to your own success. That would be aloha to the tenth

degree in Student Services.

I want students to feel like they were chosen to be here and now it is our duty as

employees of the university to take care of them and to take care of them as if they were our own

children. That’s the foundation of my job. My evaluation depends on your success. You

graduating is how I’m successful at my job. If not, how successful are we as a community? And I

think those values are very Hawai‘i but can cross boundaries. What’s good for Hawaiians is good

for everybody. I think if it was a Hawaiian place of learning, those kinds of values would be

precedence. And they’re not hard, they’re really not hard. It doesn’t cost money to implement.

It’s just people’s behaviors; just the way of behaving needs to change. You don’t have to add that

in the budget.

Ke Kumu ‘Aono – The Sixth Teacher Ma ka hana ka ‘ike

Through engaged practice one learns and demonstrates knowledge

My first memory of the kumu central to this mo‘olelo is from the summer after my fifth

grade year. She was one of my teachers at Explorations, a week-long Hawaiian culture-based

program at Kamehameha Schools. I remember being so drawn to her and wanting her to come

home to be my big sister. At that time she was about eighteen years old, just about to embark on

many of the journeys she describes below. But even then, before she ventured out to transform

her world, there was something unmistakably special about her. Even I, an eleven year-old girl,

could sense it.

Since the first time I met this kumu, she has become a great friend and mentor. She has

been a kaikua‘ana to me in many ways. During my undergraduate years she was the instructor of

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one of my Hawaiian Studies courses and taught me much about mālama ‘āina and wahi pana265

on O‘ahu. She is also an elder sister to me in my hālau hula, where I have studied hula alongside

her for the past twelve years. In this relationship we have grown together, teaching each other

and learning together from our kumu. We have danced, chanted, prayed and sung together. On

many occasions, for hula related activities, she has led trips into the mountains to gather ferns

and flowers for lei making. On each trip she shares knowledge about the wahi pana we are

visiting and particular information regarding the plants, animals, and birds of the area. Those

trips are always such great gifts.

I have also witnessed her growth as a community leader in various capacities.

Although I was not directly involved, I watched her from a close distance as she founded a

community-based non-profit that has transformed the Hawaiian community through its holistic

approach to mālama ‘āina, mālama ahupua‘a,266 and mālama ‘ohana267 and has become a model

for many other organizations that have since been born. I have also seen her take on the huge

kuleana of leading a Hawaiian charter school, helping to prepare a new generation of leaders for

our community.

While I will always remain her kaikaina and respect that very important distinction in our

relationship, I think we began to connect in a new way when we became mothers. Our first-born

children are a year apart. Therefore, in many ways we have spent the last seven years not only

focusing on our work in our particular areas to build the capacities of our communities, but also

thinking and discussing together how we raise our children in this world today. As my

kaikua‘ana, I have often looked to her for guidance in this area, dreaming and re-imagining how

265 Wahi pana: “Celebrated and significant places” (Pukui & Elbert, 1986, p. 313). 266 Mālama ahupua‘a: Management and care for the ahupua‘a, which is generally a land division extending from mountain to sea (my translation). 267 Mālama ‘ohana: Caring for family (my translation).

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we can collectively expand the possibilities for our children by shaping their environments in a

variety of ways. It is because of these particular conversations focused on our keiki, in which we

are carving out a path together, that I felt it acceptable for me to ask her to be one of the sources

of mo‘olelo for this study. I felt I had a reached a stage in which she trusted me enough to begin

to plan the future together.

Moreover, her important work with the non-profit organization she started as well as her

charter school are critical components of the larger picture for UH Mānoa to consider. The non-

profit often partners with the university and can become a model to support UHM’s

transformation into a Hawaiian place of learning. The charter school is feeding UHM with a new

generation of students, with a vastly different set of skills and knowledge systems, which the

academy must consider when planning ahead. Therefore, for all these reasons, her stories

critically inform this study.

I met with her on two occasions to record the mo‘olelo presented below. The first of our

meetings was in her office at her charter school. The school day had just finished and I watched

as some students hugged each other as they went their separate ways. Others spoke to teachers

about studying after school, and others gathered in corners under the trees to do homework. I was

greeted with “Aloha” by all those who walked by me and I went into her office and waited until

she finished a conversation with a student who had a question to ask her. As I sat in her office, I

read the various titles of books and binders shelved neatly along the walls. Binder topics

included Fiscal Year, Budgets, Grants, and Strategic Planning, just to name a few. On another

wall there was a collection of books on organizational leadership and change. Another wall of

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books focused on Hawaiian knowledge. I brought her some poke268 and poi269 to snack on,

because my guess was that she rarely stopped working to eat lunch. I was right.

Our second meeting took place at Paepae o He‘eia fishpond, where her students spend a

portion of their time learning to be land stewards, marine biologists, engineers, and ecologists

through the Hawaiian practice of mālama loko i‘a.270 While she proudly watched as students and

teachers engaged in their work down by the water, we discussed the skills and approaches she

has used to work as the leader of their school.

During both meetings, I was inspired and awe-struck by her brilliance, her motivation,

and her ability to put her dreams into action at such a young age. I was also excited because we

engaged in some really great conversations, sharing stories and thinking out loud together about

the future of our keiki.

He Hua: A Beginning

KA HAUMĀNA:

So all the time I have known you, I’ve never really been clear about where you started off in

college.

KE KUMU:

I started off at UH Hilo and Hawai‘i Community College.271 I was taking courses concurrently

my first year because I received a music scholarship and I had to attend UH Hilo and take

courses at HCC, with Aunty Pua folks. But my my tutu got sick, on my mom’s side, and so I

took a pause and then I transferred. It was that and I also took a sabbatical because I was sailing

Hōkūle‘a and Makali‘i around Tahiti, and so I took a break after my first year. I took one

268 Poke: Raw fish. A Hawaiian delicacy. 269 Poi: A Hawaiian staple made from kalo and water. 270 Fishpond management. 271 This community college is located on the island of Hawai‘i, a separate island from that which UHM is situated.

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semester break and actually I re-entered at Honolulu Community College because I went to get

my pre-requisites done there and then I entered at UH Mānoa and got my undergraduate there.

But for whatever reasons, I was hesitant and I got tentative about transferring over to UH Mānoa.

I was really nervous. I actually wanted to go back to UH Hilo because I was comfortable there;

because it was a lot about studying different disciplines and practices outside of college.

At the time, it was 1995, 1996. There were things that I had heard, my learned

experiences. I got the sense that it was very politically driven, at the Hawaiian Studies

Department272 and maybe not so much focused on the hands-on aspect of trying to refine

practices and uncovering kūpuna knowledge and the application of ancestral knowledge. That’s

kind of the sense I got and so that’s why I felt, at the time, my sophomore year, that I definitely

wanted to go back to UH Hilo. But because of family circumstances and also because my

financial circumstances at the time, I ended up at Honolulu Community College and liked it, and

because I was also hanging out with my best friend a lot, who is a graduate of UH Mānoa, and

she had just a lot of great things to say.

I was still apprehensive a bit, because I really wanted to get stronger in my Hawaiian

identity and learn more about our traditions and mythologies and all of that, from a practitioner

perspective. And I just had a sense that UH Hilo was the place you had to go if you wanted to

apply knowledge. UH Mānoa was where you go if you want to theorize, if you want to develop

theories, taking more of a third person perspective. And at the time, I wanted to delve deep from

a practitioner’s perspective.

I think I became more comfortable with the idea of possibly transferring over to UH

Mānoa because of my peers, because of my friends who were active in the UH Mānoa

community, at Hawaiian Studies. I actually visited a couple classes with my best friend to get a 272 She is referring to the Hawaiian Studies depart at UH Mānoa.

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feel of it. I enjoyed it and then I was slowly introduced into her community of friends that were

all UH Mānoa students and got to work side-by-side at the lo‘i. So because of all those

experiences, it caused me to re-think my earlier perceptions and biases about Mānoa.

Some of my earlier notions, perceptions, were validated. I saw a lot of students who were

really passionate in their discourse. I saw professors that were passionate, even about the

environment and practical applications. At the time, Hawaiian Studies wasn’t completed yet.273 It

was just in transition. But a lot of my perceptions were validated there. But spending a little bit

more time with students that were currently enrolled, I saw that there were other opportunities to

kind of round out my experience and that’s what I was looking for. I think at that time, too, in

1996, two years after I graduated from high school, I was more open to learning, to opening

myself to other ways of thinking and so I think that the timing of it all also had an impact on my

ultimate decision to transfer over to UH Mānoa and then finish my undergraduate degree there.

Hao Mai, Iho Mai, Pā Mai: The Elemental Influences

KA HAUMĀNA:

Interesting! I’ve been hearing this perception of Hawaiian Studies as a politically-driven

environment a lot from folks who don’t work at UH Mānoa and who didn’t go there. I’m just

curious, what made you have that perception to begin with?

KE KUMU:

I think it was a couple things. One significant thing that stands out was the 1993 march.274 It was

my junior year in high school and I was very active in our various clubs and student associations

and I did know that a lot of those who were actually leading and organizing that march were

273 She is referring to the Hawaiian Studies building construction not being completed at that time. 274 She is referring to the 1993 Hawaiian sovereignty march.

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from UH Mānoa, UH Mānoa professors. So that’s kind of my earliest impressions of UH Mānoa:

politically active.

Second, all my Hawaiian language teachers were are all UH Hilo graduates. So there’s

that. I was looking at either Mānoa or Hilo and I think that had something to do with it; it’s a

memory that’s coming up, coming to the surface right now. Then, I think a major reason why I

selected UH Hilo over Mānoa at the time was because of my friends; the majority of my friends

all went there. I only had one friend who attended Mānoa. So we all were going to Hawaiian

Studies at UH Hilo. So perceptions: the 1993 march and then the Hawaiian language teachers

who I interacted with.

KA HAUMĀNA:

And you liked your Hawaiian language teachers?

KE KUMU:

Yes. I had a strong rapport with them, a strong relationship with them. I trusted their opinion,

and they were UH Hilo graduates.

KA HAUMĀNA:

What was it like for you once you went to UH Mānoa?

KE KUMU:

I took a lot of courses in Hawaiian Studies over and beyond what was required. I spent a lot of

time there, the year that I entered as an enrolled declared major. Your mom, Lilikalā, took over

the directorship and so, I was really, really happy with the direction because that’s when she

started to implement all the Mālama ‘Āina courses. I was in the first Lo‘i class,275 the first

275 Lo‘i class: Learning to manage lo‘i kalo (Hawaiian taro gardens).

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Ma‘awe No‘eau276 class. I helped to design the first Mālama Loko I‘a class.277 I felt really, really

full because I was getting the best of both worlds.

I think what also made my experience really rich – and we know we, as Hawaiians, have

issues with college completion and retention – I think having a place to actually apply

knowledge at He‘eia fishpond, and the canoe, and hula, was vital. I don’t think for me,

personally, in the way that I learn, if I didn’t have those places where I could actually apply what

I was learning in academia, I don’t know if I would’ve finished. I probably would’ve changed

majors, I don’t know.

Part of the reason why it worked is because, I think the professors at UH Mānoa at that

time, worked with me and others and they gave me opportunities. I could go take a semester off

and look for opportunities, directed learning opportunities where I could still earn credit, still

deepen my knowledge as a practitioner and was welcomed back into a full-fledged enrollment

program. I mahalo that. I can’t imagine myself now without those experiences.

KA HAUMĀNA:

Where did you spend most of your time on campus?

KE KUMU:

I hung out a lot on campus at Hawaiian Studies, at the lo‘i, but I spent a lot of time outside as

well. During that time it was myself, Ka‘iulani Murphy, and Keola Nakanishi.278 We were really

engaged in doing things outside and so instead of spending all of our time, our downtime at least,

at the Center for Hawaiian Studies, we found ourselves engaging one another and supporting

each other in our various initiatives where somebody started a charter school, or became the next

276 Ma‘awe No‘eau class: Hawaiian fiber arts class. 277 Mālama Loko Iʻa class: Learning to manage Hawaiian fishponds class. 278 Ka‘iulani Murphy became one of the first female Hawaiian navigators. Keola Nakanishi helped to begin a Hawaiian-focused charter school.

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in line training to become a navigator, or fish pond practitioner, or whatever it was. We found

ourselves, supporting one another in the community.

KA HAUMĀNA:

That’s awesome! It sounds like your perceptions of UH Mānoa really changed over time.

KE KUMU:

Definitely. I think there are a couple things that were really, really important in helping me to be

successful at the undergraduate level at UH. It was again having the outside learning

opportunities, the community-based learning opportunities. Just having those two situations

inform one another. Important. Key.

I think the transition of directorship was also important for me.279 One of the reasons I

was very apprehensive to attend UH Mānoa was because I didn’t embrace the political rhetoric

of the outgoing adminstration because I felt like anger and hurt was being stirred up without any

guidance as to how to affect positive change. But when Dr. Kame‘elehiwa280 became the

director, the whole Mālama ‘Āina focus that she put forward as an agenda, as a priority, the

central priority; I strongly aligned to that and I wanted to support that as much as possible

because I felt that we were being equipped with relevant skills to rebuild the lāhui.

When Lilikalā spoke and addressed us, or even our classes, it was always the central

theme: mālama ‘āina, mālama ‘āina, mālama ‘āina. “Here are some new classes, make sure you

enroll, this is how we’re going to be ourselves, this is how we’re going to invigorate our

practices, this is how we’re going to perpetuate ancestral knowledge.” So I felt like that was a

consistent message. I felt like it was a consistent message throughout, not just with Lilikalā, with

my other professors as well and I felt like they were putting action to their words because they

279 She is referring to the transition of directorship at the Center for Hawaiian Studies. 280 Dr. Lilikalā Kame‘eleihiwa became director after Dr. Haunani-Kay Trask.

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were opening up new courses almost every semester when I was there: Mele Au Hou, Land

Tenureship, and all these other courses.281

Having Kanalu, Jon, and Lilikalā,282 those three figures in particular, was really, really

important. I felt like I connected to them because I knew that they weren’t in it just for the sake

of an intellectual exercise, for the stature of being a professor; that they were truly committed

and I held them in high regard and esteem and see them as role models, definitely. And I think

hearing a consistent, constant voice, you know, just being cheerleaders, was very important. I

wanted to say that because that’s an example that I have taken and tried to apply in education

administration, especially in my role: to uphold yourself in a certain way, in a certain manner, so

that students can see certain characteristics, habits of mind, habits of work, to give them a clear,

concrete image of a kanaka283 that is willing and skilled to help preserve community. So I think

that was also very key. Those were exciting times. I mean finally the Center284 opened!

KA HAUMĀNA:

What was that like?

KE KUMU:

Awesome. One, it’s beautiful. It was designed appropriately. It’s good space for us to think, to

collaborate, to exchange, to share, to hō‘ike, to discover.

KA HAUMĀNA:

281 For a full list of Hawaiian Studies course offerings, visit http://manoa.hawaii.edu/hshk/kamakakuokalani/courses-op/ 282 Dr. Kanalu Young, Dr. Jon Osorio, and Dr. Lilikalā Kame‘eleihiwa were all professors in Hawaiian Studies during her time as a student there. 283 Kanaka: She is referring to a Hawaiian person. 284 She is referring to the opening of the new Center for Hawaiian Studies building.

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So did you take classes first at Moore Hall285 and then at Kamakakūokalani?286 What was that

transition like?

KE KUMU:

Yes. It was really apparent. It moved from a grain of sand to we are the kahakai,287 we are the

‘aione.288

KA HAUMĀNA:

Did people act differently when they moved?

KE KUMU:

Yes, I think we did act different. I felt like we were more confident because we had our own

space. I feel like people were more interested in what we were. We were just more interested in

one another because we had the space; it facilitated more conversation. I think stronger

relationships, too. I felt like, ‘Yeah, this is my school!’ I felt really proud to be part of the Center

for Hawaiian Studies, because it’s beautiful, and also, I felt like it was welcoming to other

majors as well, because of 107289 and because of Kānewai.290 I felt like we had a place where we

could be proud of, that we could share with the rest of the University system.

I think the facility that they set up at Kamakakūokalani was key as well because it felt

safe. It naturally invited so many of my friends that were Native Hawaiian but not declared

Hawaiian Studies majors, but majors in other areas. We would all gather and assemble there.

285 Moore Hall is located on the upper campus of UH Mānoa. The “Center for Hawaiian Studies” in Moore Hall was comprised of four offices on one side of the hall on the fourth floor in the makai wing within the larger School of Hawaiian Asia and Pacific Studies (SHAPS). The rest of SHAPS was housed throughout the five floors and two wings of Moore Hall. 286 Kamakūokalani is the name of the building that now houses the Center for Hawaiian Studies. It is comprised of two floors of offices, classrooms, a student services wing, a kitchen, several courtyards, and an auditorium for performances and gatherings. 287 Kahakai: “The seashore” (Pukui & Elbert, 1986, p. 110). 288 ‘Aione: The expanse of sand (my translation). 289 Hawaiian Studies 107 is an introductory course that attracted students from across the campus. 290 Ka Papa Lo‘i ‘o Kānewai is the lo‘i (taro garden) that is located right next to the building.

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Critical. We built strong relationships, community relationships that are outlasting my time at

UH and continuing on. Critical. And I think that’s important because growing those bonds and

those relationships, people within the community, are so important on so many levels:

professional levels, professional networks, expanding the whole kauhale concept291 and giving

shape and life to this sense of lāhui.

Another area where I spent a lot of time on campus was at the Nā Pua No‘eau office. I

spent a lot of time there because I was a teacher’s aide. I was an educational assistant several

years and then I became a kumu after I graduated. But it felt like a Hawaiian place at the time

where it292 still wasn’t widespread. There wasn’t the whole Pūko‘a293 thing, Kūali‘i,294 all the

other initiatives that have happened since. So I found myself kind of hanging out there a lot and I

liked the people there. I felt that they were very positive and encouraging.

KA HAUMĀNA:

What was your level of awareness of the other parts of the University?

KE KUMU:

I wish I had kind of a base understanding of how the university system worked. I had an

awareness of where the colleges were: the College of Humanities, Architecture, Law,

Engineering, and so forth, but that was the extent of it. A lot of times I felt intimidated. I think at

the time I wasn’t sure, as a Hawaiian Studies major, how competitive I would be in seeking

graduate admission. I’d gotten that perception from people who were above me and seeking

admission, and hearing that they were having a hard time being really competitive. It was hard

because a lot of their credits weren’t transferable or accepted.

291 Kauhale: Refers to the traditional Hawaiian grouping of houses (Pukui & Elbert, 1986, p. 135) and is used today to refer to the many houses/people that are located near one another and support each other in various capacities. 292 “It” is referring to the feeling of being in a Hawaiian place. 293 Pūkoʻa is the UH system-wide Native Hawaiian advisory body to the UH president. 294 Kūali‘i is the UH Mānoa Native Hawaiian advisory body to the UH Mānoa chancellor.

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What I did know was I would try and seek out individual professors that I knew valued,

at least, Hawaiian perspectives, like Will295 from Botany. People like him and definitely

professors like Auntie Izzy.296 But I didn’t have strong relationships with other professors from

other colleges outside of those who were of Hawaiian descent or were clearly strong advocates

about Hawaiian knowledge.

KA HAUMĀNA:

Why did you feel intimidated?

KE KUMU:

Well, one it was because of my work with He‘eia Fishpond and with aquaculture and with

natural resource management. Naturally I wanted to learn more about the Western science aspect

of management, whether it be hydrology or water chemistry. I wanted to become adept at those

areas. It was that contextual groundwork that really opened my door to learning about all kinds

of knowledge systems. Previously, I really wanted to just focus on a certain kind of silo of

knowledge and information.

KA HAUMĀNA:

Hawaiian knowledge?

KE KUMU:

Yes. I think a good higher education institution should do that: it should broaden and deepen at

the same time and expand. So it was doing that for me and the experience in totality was doing

that for me. It was opening myself up to new possibilities and new perspectives but then I was

intimidated because I didn’t have the prior experience as a graduate from Hawaiian Studies. I

295 Dr. Will McClatchey, at the time, was a professor in the Botany Department. He is non-Hawaiian but worked closely with Hawaiians and other Indigenous populations and included Indigenous knowledge in his courses. 296 Affectionately known as “Aunty Izzy,” Dr. Isabella Abbot was the first Native Hawaiian female to earn a PhD in science. She was an ethnobotanist and spent her life researching limu (Hawaiian algae).

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didn’t have any relationships there. I didn’t have good role models to follow, and just the

unknown, not knowing where to start, how to be successful. If I wanted to enter into Zoology or

into Botany, how would I do that? How do you do that if I followed the Hawaiian Studies course

requirements at the time? So that’s mostly why I felt intimidated. I was scared plus I didn’t take

the undergrad coursework so of course I wouldn’t be prepared.

KA HAUMĀNA:

Or they’re not prepared for you.

KE KUMU:

Or they’re not prepared for me or I didn’t have enough counseling or something to kind of figure

it out, map it out. So that was one thing. I left on kind of a lower note. I didn’t feel like I was best

prepared for graduate school. I had a desire and your mom did really great in motivating us but

either I didn’t know where or how to seek out the resources at the time to set myself up. I

graduated with a decent GPA and could’ve gone to grad school. My GREs:297 English was great,

writing was fine and all of that, but the math, the quantitative analysis part, not the best. So I

would’ve liked to have more support. That’s what I wonder about.

KA HAUMĀNA:

So what did you do after you graduated with your BA?

KE KUMU:

I went to UH Hilo to Kahuawaiola.298 I was also at Paepae still yet and then life change: got

married, had a baby, and then left Paepae. Before I got hāpai, I was seeking graduate admission

297 GRE: The Graduate Record Examination (GRE) is a standardized test. The scores of the test are often used to help determine graduate school readiness. 298 Kahuawaiola is a Hawaiian language/culture-based teacher preparation program. For more information visit http://www.olelo.hawaii.edu/kwo/kaalauna.php

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to several schools on the continent. Got hāpai, retracted all my applications and then eventually

started my graduate program and finished it at HPU.299

KA HAUMĀNA:

Why did you choose HPU over Mānoa?

KE KUMU:

Faster. Sixteen months as opposed to 24, 26 months at UH Mānoa

KA HAUMĀNA:

That makes sense to want to graduate quicker since you had a family. That sounds like such a

busy time for you! I know you spoke a lot about your work at Paepae o He‘eia. At which point

did you start all of that?

KE KUMU:

While we were students. We were all undergrads. I started when I was nineteen.

KA HAUMĀNA:

That’s amazing! So you’re in school and you’re starting a non-profit?

KE KUMU:

Starting a non-profit, starting a new charter school and working in the new charter school.

KA HAUMĀNA:

Wow! I didn’t realize you were doing all those things at the same time. That’s just so amazing.

Why did you start Paepae?

KE KUMU:

We started Paepae as a small group mostly because I felt called. When I went there for the very

first time, at least below, we went on the wall with the previous caretaker, and when we turned

back, I got a very, very clear strong vision and I knew that I was supposed to be there and, that 299 HPU: Hawai‘i Pacific University.

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there was a responsibility laid out. So it was just a guttural thing, strong connection, I think.

From a selfish, self-motive, individual motive, it was the best way for me to connect to my

academics. To me, learning at the pond was intricately connected. I didn’t feel like I could be

successful without having a place of learning and study, a practice. I was not interested at

acquiring an undergraduate degree for the sake of it. I wasn’t motivated by stature. I wasn’t

motivated by the potential dollars earned. I was interested in serving our people and our

community and I knew that both had to co-exist, that I needed to equip myself with various

knowledge and skills and perspectives, and UH Mānoa provided that for me. If I didn’t have this

practical application, UH Mānoa would be incomplete for me and I wouldn’t have the motivation

and the drive; it wouldn’t be grounded by intention and purpose. I felt it would almost be being

nīele,300 just going because. For what? For me, I needed kind of an end goal and a purpose.

KA HAUMĀNA:

Where do you think that kuleana, that purpose, came from?

KE KUMU:

I think I really started to internalize it and then try to express it with my experiences on

Makali‘i,301 which were also, of course, invaluable, and I was able to be a part of that when I was

at UH Hilo. It was just a framework for understanding your role and function in a particular

community in a particular context, and understanding how I could participate actively as a team-

member, a crew-member; how to set very explicit goals, understanding what the consequences

are if you don’t hit the target. And then the sense of process: a sense of continually equipping

myself to be observant, to learn quickly and to learn it well until the end goal is reached. I think I

300 Nīele: Often translates to curious, inquisitive. She is using the term to explain an approach to learning and being inquisitive in which the learner has no right or responsibility in the given area. Pukui and Elbert (1986) describe it as “a busybody asking things that do not concern him” (p. 265). 301 Makali‘i is a double-hulled voyaging canoe built by communities on Hawai‘i Island.

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was able to apply that same frame of thought and work ethic. I superimposed canoe thinking

upon my work at the fishpond. And then with those two experiences, the light went on. I can do

this in a formal academic, Western academic setting as well.

Prior, I had this feeling like to be successful, in a Western academic institution, it felt

like, at the time, I had to separate myself from my Hawaiian identity. I don’t know if that’s

because it was kind of that time, that era. I don’t know if it’s because of my experience with

Kamehameha Schools. I don’t know. I’m trying to figure that out.

KA HAUMĀNA:

Who were your kumu on Makali‘i? Your kua‘ana?

KE KUMU:

My mentors, my kua‘ana contemporaries? Uncle Clay Bertleman, who is the co-founder of

Makali‘i and my Uncle Chad, who was his right-hand person, still is, and then my Aunty Pomai.

Interesting, all three of them didn’t graduate from college. Actually, on my biological father’s

side, I’m the first college attendee, first college graduate. On my mom’s side, I’m not.

So major role models in my life, and then again, it was also all the people who are my

best friends today who were also crew members. We helped to birth Makali‘i, we helped to

create the education programs, implement it, pilot it, refine it, and now we’re applying those core

lessons in our respective work places and homes. Trying our best, at least, to do that.

Kupu a Mohala: Coming Into Full Bloom

KA HAUMĀNA:

How have you been able to do what you do in your current work at the charter school over the

years? What are the skills that you’ve used to really do what you wanted to do there?

KE KUMU:

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There are a number of reasons why I think I have been able to do, perform, and carry out my

kuleana. The first reason is because the organization, the school was set up well and what I mean

by that is that the intention behind the founding of the school, its purpose, its mission, and the

rationale, the logic behind why that kind of educational model was important and for whom, was

clearly articulated. Because the school was established upon clear intent and purpose, for me, it’s

easier to come in, into a particular place and then get a feel and sense of what my role is in

helping to steer our school to the school mission.

When I got on board, I think it’s important for any organizational leader to kind of enter

into that space, to have a clear understanding in terms of what is the actual purpose, intention,

vision and mission of that particular organization. And then to make sure there are multiple

perspectives, depending on how old the organization is, from the founding perspective to those

who have taken it on, getting a clear understanding of that genealogy. And then having a clear

understanding of what the current needs are and the long term projected needs are. And then for

me as a leader coming to terms with where the organization should go now. Then, should it

continue to align to its founding purpose? Is it still a good match and good purpose? Is it still

relevant? And then carving out a path or a strategy to get there.

I think what’s important, too, that really distinguishes us as a uniquely Hawaiian

organization, is that, it’s oftentimes, not just one person or the traditional or conventional leader

person at the helm, to organize and direct everyone. I think it is important to provide

opportunities for people to step up to the plate and to assume different levels of leadership and to

understand the consequences of what happens when you don’t carry out your kuleana. I think

that’s the same thing that we hope for when we’re in a wa‘a experience. A lot of people get into

wa‘a culture because they like to feel a sense of purpose, that they’re working together

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cooperatively with other people that have very clearly delineated roles, that they understand the

moving parts. That is a model that I’ve tried to replicate in any organization that I’ve been with

because it’s ancient, and it’s contemporary, and it works. It makes sense. It’s very practical.

I think ultimately, too, is when we say, “Yes, we affirm we are a Hawaiian organization,”

or a Hawaiian company, or Hawaiian group, I think we’re at that point now, where we have to

re-articulate and re-affirm because Hawaiians’ sense of place can be very broad and general and

laulā.302 So we have to get to what does that mean? How do we behave? What does kuleana

mean? How are we going to carry out our kuleana? Because if not then what we’re doing is

we’re gathering as kanaka, gathering our identity, gathering all of our experiences and

perspectives, whether it be from Wai‘anae or from Kāne‘ohe or from Maui, and then whatever

other experiences that you have to kind of shape your mauli Hawai‘i303 and your current

reflection of what that is. Then we bring it and then we assemble it together. So I think some of

the greatest challenges that we have as contemporary leaders in whatever field that we’re in is

having those important conversations, and not just affirming that we’re a Hawaiian organization

or a Hawaiian place, but we have to get to the details of what that means. And then we have to

put in policies or procedures, systems, frameworks or opportunities for us to continually shape

what that means, as we go forward.

So at our school we have strategic planning sessions. We have marker meetings. We look

at our progress. We determine our progress based on strategic goals and objectives that are

student result oriented. So we focus a lot on how our students are doing. Are they achieving in

these areas? Are they under-achieving in certain areas? I think we’re making a lot of progress in

that way in terms of being in a formal education institution. I think what we now need to do is,

302 Laulā: “Broad” (Pukui & Elbert, 1986, p. 196). 303 Mauli Hawaiʻi: “Hawaiian life and spirit” (Pukui & Elbert, 1986, p. 242).

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for me, I need to build in additional processes to assure that our teachers and our admin staff, are

provided opportunities to cultivate their own practices. For us, we’re a project-based school,

which means not only do we have to be good at teaching and learning, you have to be good at

your own content area and you have to be practitioners. If we believe in this model and we want

to continue on with it we’re asking them to be masters in all three and it’s really difficult to do

that if we don’t provide the time and the space for people to hone their craft and their knowledge.

So, for me, the next step to defining a 21st century Hawaiian school would be to provide more

purposeful space and time for teachers to practice their practices.

KA HAUMĀNA:

What does that require? More resources, more money?

KE KUMU:

It does. I think those are grant opportunities. They’re opportunities to leverage their resources

with other organizations. It’s also about, for me, having our teachers and staff identify and

articulate what we’re good at, what we must do, and then the things that we can let go. If we’re

going to add anything in addition to our agenda, we have to be willing and look seriously at the

things that we can let go. That’s a challenge because for a lot of us, working at our school, we’re

all in the same kind of age group so we come from a certain age perspective and sometimes it’s

hard to remember to take out the ego in it. It’s really easy for us to say, “Ah, we get ’em!” But if

we were to pause and see this as a continual process of change, generational, on-going, then we

know that we must always evaluate our progress and effectiveness, and most importantly, resist

the status quo.

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KA HAUMĀNA:

I know this work requires many networks. What has it been like for you to approach and

leverage different resources and partnerships?

KE KUMU:

What I aspire to do is first to ask, “What are the core needs? What are the gaps that we must fill?

What are the aspirations or initiatives or efforts that we currently don’t have the resources for?”

First, we need to get really clear, prioritize, and then we build consensus. I think it’s important,

especially for Hawaiian organizations, to make sure that not only is input coming from those

who are working on the ground, but we build consensus before we actually plan the attack.

KA HAUMĀNA:

Do you have specific strategies that you use to do that?

KE KUMU:

Yes, I think it’s all about annual evaluation, like what we did well and then planned targets for

the following year, and then not only having the one year horizon but looking three years, five

years down the line, so you’re not always in the reactive state. Another strategy that I have

employed is that I actively seek out community advocates and champions. Community leaders

and practitioners are very good at helping one identify their blind spots. Understanding public

perceptions and criticism in honest ways only strengthens an organization.

Once we identify that area that we’re going to tackle together, build consensus around

that, then for me, from a particular Hawaiian perspective, ho‘opili.304 That’s one of the highest

compliments that you can give to a person.305 So I try to look at who’s doing an awesome job in

that particular area and then I try to find opportunities to meet that person or get involved in that

304 Ho‘opili: “To mimic, imitate” (Pukui & Elbert, 1986, p. 329). 305 From a Hawaiian framework, to mimic or imitate a skill of another is a great compliment to that person.

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organization, whether it be volunteer work or whatever. And the way we do it, we don’t often

just go in for the ask but we go in with a purpose, intention to help and kōkua and to learn.

Another strategy that is widely used that I have found to be successful is if I feel I don’t

have enough influence over the people that need to come to the table, I’ll find a champion within

the group. I understand my limitations. I only know X amount of people but I try to determine

that the people I want to meet are the key stakeholders to those particular resources. I try to

understand what influences them. What do they see as successful? What motivates them? And

then I try to find champion people who can speak their language. And once the champion person

says hiki nō,306 then it starts to roll and then I try to position myself as the follow-up person to be

kind of the glue between all the parts. But that’s really time-consuming, really time-consuming.

And then comes the piece of political relationships. But the way that I navigate the

political relationships, there’s potentially some person that doesn’t like the other person. I stay

true to the purpose at hand, which is transformational education. If there are people who don’t

really agree, I ask people to stay focused on the priorities and why we came to the table and if

cannot then I don’t get hung up. It’s okay, I just thank them for participating.

KA HAUMĀNA:

Who do you invite to your annual review?

KE KUMU:

It’s all internal first. Then I’ll bring our school board members. And then if there’s a particular

area where we’ve been struggling with or really excited about, for example, we’re going to start

work with the fourth and fifth grade, elementary, we’re going to extend downward to the lower

grades, and we’re interested in an international baccalaureate accreditation process, and we’re

interested in implementing a one-to-one electronic device program, so every student having an 306 Hiki nō: Yes, I can; Yes, it can be done (my translation).

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ipad. But we haven’t done it before so we’ll reach out because I think we’re getting better at

saying, “We’re not good at this but we want to learn.” It just opens doors when you kind of

approach a challenge openly and then we invite people to come in and join us for our annual

review sessions. Sometimes we’ll contract a consultant to actually do the strategic planning, or to

do an in-depth review, so we do voluntary audits and then we have other teachers from other

schools to come in, other administrators to come in to perform teacher evaluations.

KA HAUMĀNA:

I know you folks have worked really hard at making your school a kīpuka, but you have to exist

within the larger D.O.E. context. What has that been like for you?

KE KUMU:

It’s really difficult and at the same time, it’s not. We have this ongoing conversation because, as

you know, charter schools or any public school in Hawai‘i and in the United States, because of

the No Child Left Behind Act, are mandated to assess all of our students based on a State

designed test. The reason why our school believes that the test is not an appropriate test, it’s not

the best test to measure growth over time and it just really gives us a snapshot of how that

particular child is doing. So we are all graded every year and there’s no comparative value. The

U.S. wants to look at that. The State wants to look at failing schools and successful schools based

on this one particular test. They’re not triangulating data. They’re not looking at other nationally

normed tests. So we have qualms with that because it really puts certain schools at disadvantages

with smaller populations, with a higher special education population, and so forth. But we don’t

teach our kids to feel sorry for themselves. We’re trying to arm them with information and to

have them understand that there are such things as quality and validity of tests.

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At the same time, I think what’s been key for us as we transition out of re-structuring

from a “D” to an “F” graded school to an “A” graded school is we, as a faculty, had to come to

grips with the idea that doing well on Western tests doesn’t preclude us, doesn’t take away, or

doesn’t diminish our identity as Hawaiian people. As a collective people, and as individuals we

have to ask ourselves, “Does it put us at any disadvantage, does it diminish our ability to

practice? To enter into Hawaiian spaces?” Generally speaking, no. We didn’t feel it was

changing the mindset.

It’s a dance. It’s getting our kids to believe that academic excellence and cultural

excellence can be cohesive and that there are so many ways to define intelligence and to have

them really believe in that. But then also have them be able to know that it’s not walking two

worlds. It’s one Hawai‘i paradigm, kanaka paradigm. At the same time, because you’re rooted in

this core being and thinking, this is a Hawaiian space, a Hawaiian place. I’m a Hawaiian

individual. Then from that base that we’re able to learn about other knowledges and other

spheres of thought from first a maoli perspective as opposed to looking at things from a

dichotomous perspective, from a third person perspective. That’s been a recent shift for us.

We had to grapple with that as a staff and faculty because we’re one generation removed.

We’re bringing up the generation that that’s common knowledge. That is our base reality. We’re

all kanaka. We have this kanaka world, and we are challenging you to be proficient and

masterful learners and in various ways, and that when you enter into other spaces, you bring that

along with you. Of course you have to apply your Hawaiian perspective but it’s okay to look at

the world from other lenses as well, just as long as you don’t forget your core identity.

It’s interesting for us because we, as a young faculty, don’t have it all figured out. I don’t

know if people at the university, at the highest echelons of academia, have it all figured out.

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We’re figuring it out together and I think that is the gift of being a part of this particular era, as

long as we continue to dialogue about it.

KA HAUMĀNA:

What I hear is that you be kūpa‘a307 in your ‘ike Hawai‘i308 and that once you do that you take

that with you no matter where you go. I haven’t heard anybody say it as clearly as you have. And

it sounds like for you, you’ve been able to do all the transformational things you’ve done

because of your foundations and experiences in ‘ike Hawai‘i, like being on the wa‘a. I actually

hear that from all the women I’m talking story with.

KE KUMU:

Yes, because that is the compass. When there are policy conflicts or even if there’s Western

imposed policies that are not jiving with us, we will relate back to the foundation of it. It doesn’t

always work out that way, sometimes we have to make compromises. But as long as it comes

from the generational perspective, we’re not going to allow this one thing to change us. And then

sometimes it’s being flexible and combating it from another way or taking a stand and assessing,

is this the battle we want to fight? It’s choosing our battles and winning the war.

Ke Kumu ‘Ahiku – The Seventh Teacher Uwē ka lani, ola ka honua

When we heal, we shall thrive again

Cherished Hawaiian practitioner and scholar, Mary Kawena Pukui (1983), translates

“Uwē ka lani, ola ka honua” as “When the sky weeps, the earth lives” and goes on to further

explain “When it rains the earth revives” (p. 315). When spending time thinking and reflecting

on the mo‘olelo of the woman central to this story, the ‘ōlelo no‘eau, “Uwē ka lani, ola ka

honua” quickly came to mind. In one sense, this wise saying of our kūpuna does speak to one 307 Kūpa‘a: “Steadfast” (Pukui & Elbert, 1986, p. 184). 308 ‘Ike Hawai‘i: Hawaiian knowledge (my translation).

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type of kuleana between the sky and earth: the sky’s water, tears, or rain giving life to the earth

and all the things that live upon it. After learning with this kumu and feeling the spirit that she

brings to the world, I found additional meaning in this ‘ōlelo no‘eau.

Beginning to see the world through her eyes, I now recognize the power of healing and

the place that healing has in making the university a Hawaiian place of learning (as will be

explained in the story below). In a moment of solitude as I reflected on this lesson, “‘Uwē ka

lani, ola ka honua” meant to me that our honua, as not only our earth but also as the core of who

we are, will thrive again when we engage in the nurturing processes of healing, such as is one of

the many qualities and kuleana of water – Kāneikawaiola – the female akua Kāne of the life

giving water.309

As soon as I settled on the topic of this dissertation, I knew I wanted to include the

mo‘olelo of the kumu central to this story. I don’t remember the first time I met her, though I

know it was many, many years ago because our families have known each other for quite some

time. I first became familiar with her work when I was an undergraduate student because my best

friend was a student in her program. Though I only knew her from a distance at this point, I

knew she was impacting the lives of Native Hawaiian students, as my best friend credits much of

her success and future employment to the support this kumu gave her.

In 2005 when I began working as an academic advisor at UH Mānoa and joined several

committees and councils with this kumu, I began to get to know her much better. I was

immediately captivated by her personality. She was calm, yet strong. She sought peace and

healing. She was eloquent and clear. She was a gentle fresh rain that brought much needed

coolness and nourishment into any given conversation. And she seemed to be this way all the

309 Kāneikawaiaola is listed as a Hawaiian goddess in a prayer for Hawaiian female akua (Kamakau, 1964, p. 30).

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time – she was consistent and grounded in her values. I thought that she was amost amazing

person because of her spiritual demeanor in all aspects of her work.

Over the past nine years in which I have worked with her on a number of initiatives, she

has shared stories of the difficulties she has experienced within her unit to promote social justice

for Hawaiians. I will not recount the stories now, but just to say that she described in detail the

opposition and racism she has faced. And yet, she continues to do great things for her

constituency. Two hundred and fifty of her students have successfully graduated from college

and are now serving communities across the state with over 100 per semester continuously

enrolled. They are also more grounded in their Hawaiian identity and engage Hawaiian culture

and values in their career because of their involvement in her programs.

Not only have her students learned from her, but I have as well. Sitting next to her in

many meetings, I started to hear key points she repeated consistently. I started writing her quotes

down, hoping that I could memorize them and quote her on different occasions. While I was

learning and soaking in so much from this kumu, she began to invite me into different

conversations. She would ask my opinion on matters and even refer to things I had said in other

conversations. On one hand I knew this was part of her refined listening and facilitation skills. I

also saw it as her mentoring and aloha for me. She began to invite me into conversations she did

not have to invite me into, writing to me personally to get my feedback, and even calling me on

the telephone to discuss important matters. These invitations were signs to me that it may be

acceptable for me to inquire a little more, ask additional questions.

Though confident in our relationship and our mutual aloha for one another, I was a little

nervous the first time I met with her to discuss my research project. My nervousness stemmed

from my deep respect for her and my excited hope that she would approve of the project and my

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research approach. My first meeting with her was in her office. During this first meeting I just sat

to talk story with her. I introduced my project and wanted to feel out (and hopefully hear

explicitly) her interest. I was taken aback by some of the stories and mana‘o she shared with me.

As usual, she was gentle yet direct in her explanations. There are several points that really stood

out from our meeting that day.

First, she shared with me some disappointing experiences she encountered with regards

to researchers who have interviewed her. She told me a story of someone interviewing her and

never sharing the recording and being very dishonest with her about the use of the recording. As

a result, she became very wary of future people who wanted to interview and record her. My

immediate response to her was that I would be sharing everything with her, including audio files,

transcripts, and any other material that included her story and voice. My unspoken response,

what was running through my mind, was that I hoped she believed me based on the relationship

we already had established. I wanted her to trust me, not for the mere reason of wanting to record

her, but because her trust meant a great deal to me personally.

Regardless of whether she did trust me or not, I was very grateful that she brought up her

concerns. It was an opportunity for me to be reminded and document the contemporary examples

of the way “research” still exploits and mistreats people and the large responsibility we, as

researchers, have to those we are privileged to learn from. To my delight, she wrapped up this

part of the conversation by saying that she fully trusted me, but that she just wanted to be clear

about her previous experiences.

Moving from her concern of being recorded she went right into another matter. She asked

me, “Which levels of stories do you want to hear?” She explained that there were the stories of

having to listen to the Hawaiian stereotypes her colleagues maintain and also the stories of the

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deep institutional racism she has faced. Her question struck me as a heavy one, one to be dealt

with with care. My simple response to her was that she could share any story she wanted with me

and it could be on or off the record, whichever she preferred. I was reminded in this moment of a

comment one of my doctoral mentors made to me, assuring me that the time these women gave

to share their stories with me would also be valuable to them. My counseling background told

me that this was such a time, in which my attentive ear and open heart to her stories would be a

gift to her. I was so happy to have discovered something that I could give to her in return for all

she had already given me.

After describing some of the struggles she has had, she seamlessly began to share with

me some of the strategies she has used to transform the environment she engages in, to make it a

safer space for her and other Native Hawaiians as well as all people in her unit. She said to me

that one of the things she has worked hard to do is to help non-Hawaiians in her department work

through their own issues of racism. One approach she has used is to always leave her office door

open. Doing so has been an open invitation to students and colleagues to ‘talk story.’ Because of

her degree in clinical psychology, and healing background in helping people work through their

problems, these talk story sessions have been opportunities for healing not only for her students

but also for colleagues who need to work through their historical trauma. This was the first time I

heard someone describe this approach and it was fascinating!

We spoke about other things that day, including her own future doctoral work and how

my work and her work might be similar or different. She was also curious what would happen to

the stories she shared with me, asking if she needed to cite me when referring to her own stories

printed in my dissertation. I assured her that all of her stories belonged to her, never to me. But

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as she raised this issue, it brought up a lot for me about how we teach researchers ethics, values,

and proper care of people’s stories; their gems.

Finally, she shared with me her enthusiasm to meet with the other women who would

inform this research and how important she thought those group conversations would be. She

was upbeat and optimistic about my research, acknowledging the amount of work she knew it

would require of me. Lastly, she suggested I read some of her tenure dossier, thinking that there

would be much in there I could draw from to understand her work and processes. I thanked her

for the time she shared with me, and expressed to her how much I have always admired her

approach, her energy, and her gentle but strong power.

After I left this initial meeting, I was filled with so many emotions. I became nervous

during the meeting, thinking that she perhaps did not want to engage in conversations with me

because of past negative experiences with researchers. Then I was relieved as it became clear

that she was interested. I was also filled with ‘eha310 for her as she described many of the

struggles she endured. Then I felt an overwhelming respect for her as she continually discovered

a positive route with which to overcome barriers. This conversation was key to better

understanding her and the stories she would be sharing with me in the future.

After that initial meeting, we met on several occasions. We met both on campus and off-

campus, per her convenience. Often she would call me to meet, ready to share a new story.

Because I did not always know what she wanted to talk to me about, I prepared questions based

on our previous conversation. However, when we met, I would always allow her to begin the

conversation, as she usually had something pressing on her mind. In the end, often, I did not ask

the questions I prepared. In the back of my mind, however, I always carried with me my

overarching research and interview questions, thinking about how her stories answered those 310 ‘Eha: “Hurt, in pain, painful, aching” (Pukui & Elbert, 1986, p. 37).

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points without me having to ask. This is a skill I have learned as a hula dancer and a canoe

paddler: before asking the question, see if through various observations it can be answered. If

paying close enough attention and using both your mind and your na‘au, the answers will be

revealed.

With that said, below is a crafting of her mo‘olelo. It is informed by the many

conversations we had together, her tenure dossier that she shared with me, and also a film she

produced that she invited me to watch. Excerpts from her tenure dossier are presented in

italics.311 Much of her mo‘olelo is in my own words because I decided to never record her audio

in our individual conversations.312 I reflected in my journal one day about my decision not to

record her:

I didn’t write anything down for most of our conversations because I really wanted to be

fully present with her as her stories are so powerful and require full attention, not just

mind, but also na‘au. That has been a really important reminder and lesson of my time

with her. Every time I meet with her I feel like it is such a gift to be with her because I

feel like she shares her entire self with me. She shared many things with me that I did not

feel that she would be comfortable having recorded, so I didn’t take out my recorder. I

just let her talk and I just listened. This is a good lesson as we313 didn’t have recorders in

traditional times and that taught us to really pay attention. In the future I might ask to

record one session with her as more of a check-session to make sure I’ve heard things

correctly from her.

After each meeting, instead of recording her, I wrote down or self-recorded as much as I could

remember and also wrote and talked through my own reflections of the conversation. I

eventually shared those notes with her as a check to make sure I was understanding and learning

from her stories appropriately.

311 In presenting exerpts from her tenure dossier, I do so exactly as she wrote it. If she bolded sections, I bold those same sections to show pieces she was emphasizing. 312 She did, however, agree to be filmed during the ‘aha wahine group conversation presented in Chapter Five. 313 “We” refers to Native Hawaiians.

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He Hua: A Beginning

I use the Hawaiian word ʻhua’ to suggest a beginning of a cycle. The term also translates

to a “fruit, yield, produce, and result” (Pukui & Elbert, 1986, p. 83). Therefore, I begin her story

with a description of the beginning days of her current work and also a telling of the fruits of her

work.

In 2001 she was hired into her UH Mānoa unit to create and implement a program to

address the underrepresentation of Native Hawaiians and other Pacific Islanders in a particular

field. Entering into the unit, she was the only Native Hawaiian faculty member. Moreover, she

entered into a non-tenure track, temporary, grant funded position. Therefore, not only was her

long-term employment within the unit uncertain, but she also had to seek external resources to

institutionalize her own position and her program. In her tenure dossier, she summarizes her

duties and responsibilities after becoming the director of her program in 2004:

…[The program] requires my management of daily operations: communication with and

support for students; program development and implementation; supervision of the program

assistant and tutors; teaching and counseling responsibilities; attending daily, weekly, and

monthly meetings; [Unit] committee work; coordinating with over 20 related programs;

developing UH and community partnerships; reporting to the legislature, UH affiliates, and

community partners; administering and participating in three grants in [area of her work];

helping to secure funding for grants, student scholarships, and program needs. I also serve as

the Chair of the Social Justice sub-committee” (Tenure dossier, p. 2).

In 2004, she also created and became the director of a system-wide Native Hawaiian

health initiative to further the mission of her work across the state. After several years, through

her work along with the work of Pūko‘a and Kūali‘i Councils, advocating and networking within

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the UH Mānoa campus and across the UH system, she was able to secure a permanent, tenure-

track position for herself and became the first Native Hawaiian ever tenured in the 80 year

history of her unit. To make her situation more challenging, only within the last year has she

been able to secure a second tenure-track position for an additional faculty member to support

her two programs.314 Therefore, for much of the past 10 years, she has been the only full-time

employee managing two programs.

Despite lack of staff, her work and leadership over the past 10 years has resulted in

unprecedented accomplishments. According to her tenure dossier, she helped to graduate more

Native students within six years than in the entire history of her unit.315 Furthermore, she helped

to graduate the first Native Hawaiian and Samoan doctorates in her unit. The students who have

graduated from her program now serve in communities across the state of Hawai‘i, often in their

home communities or in at-risk and underserved communities.

Hao Mai, Iho Mai, Pā Mai: The Elemental Influences

Anyone who knows her knows that what she has accomplished is no small feat. There

have been many elements to influence her and her work. Some influences have been nourishing

and supportive. Others have tested her strength and resilience. Like the ‘a‘ali‘i, however, she has

used all these elements to grow.

Being the only Native and/or Hawaiian in a unit can be an overwhelming experience.

More often than not, when a unit is predominantly non-Hawaiian, Hawaiian values, customs, and

culture are absent. Moreover, there are often anti-Hawaiian sentiments that are obvious and

314 To obtain a permanent position is no small feat within the UH system. Often it is only done through budget request from the dean of the unit. However, if the dean of the unit is not supportive of the person, it is not likely that he/she will advocate for a permanent position. This kumu’s work to secure her own position through her advocacy and networks speaks volumes to the amount of work she put in and the partnerships she was able to form. 315 To date, she has graduated 250 Native Hawaiian and Pacific Island students in her program with 134 currently enrolled in undergraduate and graduate programs within her unit.

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explicit. She shared with me many examples of the racism she has faced as the only Native

Hawaiian in her unit. Three examples of questions and comments she constantly has to respond

to include:

“How does the Native Hawaiian mind really work?”

“How do Native Hawaiians really learn?”

“This academic degree is too rigorous for Native Hawaiians.”

“Wouldn’t Native Hawaiians be more successful in community college curriculums?”

As she recited these prejudiced questions and comments to me, I could not help but think, “How

do people consicously think these things outloud?” And I could not help but wonder what my

response would have been. I think I would have been at a loss for words and even brought to

tears.

In addition to the doubts and misconceptions others in her unit have about Native

Hawaiians and especially Native Hawaiian students, her colleagues also challenge her. She

shared with me that because her academic specialty is in a related area but not exactly the same

field as the other faculty in her unit, they do not alwas value her perspective. Instead, they

sometimes question and disrespect her to her face and create political factions to block her

progress. For example, they sometimes tell her that if she continues to chant in her own language

she will be identified as the enemy and treated as such. This type of harrassment continued

through her tenure process, adding additional stress to an already intense experience.

As the first Native Hawaiian to achieve tenure in her unit, she was met by many

obstacles. First, because of both the cultural and Western scholarly work she brought to her unit,

some colleagues did not fully appreciate and acknowledge her work. They simply did not

understand or value her cultural strengths. Standing solid against such strong winds, however,

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she persevered in her pursuit of tenure. She recounted her tenure process to me, describing it as a

racist process in which people on her committee were very cruel to her. For example, there was

no information given to her on how to prepare her dossier. She had to seek external support

because of the internal racism and in the end she was able to ask one person to recuse himself

from her committee and replace that person with an external member. I remember the time

period when she was enduring this process as she shared stories with a group of us who often

met to do work together. She was exhausted, both physically and emotionally, from the hoops

she was made to jump through, the misinformation she was given, and the lack of respect she

endured.

She is an ‘a‘ali‘i, however. Though the ‘a‘ali‘i can withstand rough conditions, it also

gains its strength from the more nurturing elements such as the sun, rain, and gentle winds. She

has been able to bear the racism and disrespect in her unit because she draws on the many

positive, healthy, and healing elements of her life; and there are many.

Her foundation is undoubtedly her spiritual and cultural connections to being Hawaiian.

She often blesses numerous types of gatherings and also lives with a spiritual awareness in all

she does. This cultural connectedness begins with her own ‘ohana: her parents, grandparents,

uncles and aunties, siblings, husband, children, and grandchildren. Growing up in the style in

which all these relationships are fundamental to a person’s being, she always places ‘ohana in the

center of her world. She often speaks of her parents, husband, daughters, granddaughters and

grandson, siblings, and uncle in many of the stories she tells to help people understand her and

her work.

She has also been strongly influenced by the time she has spent living and working with

kūpuna. With these kūpuna she has learned many things, such as listening, observing, loving,

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and healing. She shared with me some stories of one particular kūpuna. Though this kūpuna has

since passed on, I was able to witness his stories first-hand in one of the films she produced. In

the film the kūpuna described a specific trait of our Hawaiian ancestors, specifically their keen

sense of intuition, which can be used to see the truth in each individual by perceiving both

tangibly and also intangibly, using the deepest part of the soul. The kūpuna went on in another

story to say that in the Hawaiian worldview, everything has life, spirit, and intelligence. He also

described a very ancient Hawaiian governing method called the ‘Aha Councils, in which each

moku on each island had a council comprised of practitioners from each family who came

together to use their expertise to preserve and manage the natural resources for the life of the

people. I highlight just a few of the kūpuna’s important points here because those who know the

kumu central to this story can see the influence this kūpuna and others have had on her ability to

listen and heal, intuitively understand a situation, and gather key individuals for the betterment of

all.

In the many stories that she shared with me, she also emphasized the 12 years she spent

as a crewmember on one of Hawai‘i’s double-hulled voyaging canoes. Her engagement in the

cultural practice of canoe voyaging has shaped her significantly. Not only was she one of the

first female crew members on her particular canoe, but it was also during a time in which much

of the Western world was still doubting the ability of Native Hawaiians to engage in such a

daunting journey across the Pacific Ocean using only Indigenous instruments and navigational

knowledge. She, therefore, learned from these years a confidence in herself and also in the

wisdom of her ancestors. Further, this time allowed her to practice that wisdom with other

crewmembers, thus creating lifelong relationships and connections with practitioners. I often

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hear her refer to her time as a crewmember, drawing on the many experiences and lessons

learned.

She has also been nourished by Indigenous influences that pass the shores of Hawai‘i.

She spent many years working with and in Indigenous communities throughout the United States

and across the world. For example, she told me many stories about working with Native

Americans and engaging in healing ceremonies with them. In such ceremonies Native Americans

and Euro-American settlers were brought together to heal what had happened before, release that

historical trauma, and engage in the question: what relationship can Natives and settlers have

now? Together, the Native Americans and settlers came up with plans, such as creating shared

gardens in which both sides could collaborate by taking care of the land and harvesting it. These

types of experiences further influenced her perceptions and approaches to conflict and healing,

expanding her imagination to the possibilities of how to heal our own people. As a therapist her

emphasis is on recovery from intergenerational trauma.

In addition to many Hawaiian and Indigenous elements that have shaped her ability to

succeed despite some hostile conditions, she also acknowledges her Western academic training

and background as key. In this respect, she does not shy away from Western theory and science

as tools to strengthen her work. Instead, she draws upon it, using her grounding in Hawaiian

culture and values as the foundation from which to engage in Western science. Moreover, her

experiences presenting and teaching on the subject of her Western academic background further

connected her to an international community of support, who also seek to promote health and

peace for their people.

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Kupu a Mohala: Coming Into Full Bloom

She once told me that her work is often challenging because she has to build the road

she’s driving on. Often the politics are so rough and mean which is not her way of being. It can

be exhausting work, she confided, but she has advocated for hiring more Native Hawaiians and

received the support of her dean and administration so that now she is not the only Native

Hawaiian doing the necessary work. She said that she keeps focused on her students and does not

give into barriers. She looks at a situation and finds the positive path, doing daily ceremonies,

prayer and meditation to maintain inner peace, light and strength.

Not surprisingly, she has used the lessons, knowledge sets, and skills gathered throughout

her life and applied them in the non-Hawaiian environment she entered into. By doing so, she

has transformed spaces within her unit that now foster growth and success for Native Hawaiian

and other Pacific Island students. She describes this process in her tenure dossier:

For more than 20 years, I have held leadership roles in education, health, social justice,

sustainability, and cultural self-determination. These experiences have deeply influenced me and

have helped shape my personal and educational philosophy and my professional life. They have

instilled in me a profound commitment to improving health, healthcare, education and the lives

of disadvantaged, underrepresented and underserved people through increasing access to

education, health and better life opportunities for those at risk. My commitment to social

transformation and human actualization can be described in six main concepts (Tenure

dossier, p. 10).

First, that knowledge is power. Therefore, there must be equal access to education,

information, resources, and the support needed to develop confidence, increase options, and

enable intelligent choices by sharing the power of knowledge. It is essential for people to have

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open access to opportunities in order to grow, survive, be nourished, and thrive in life so that

they can contribute their best to their own lives and to society as a whole (Tenure dossier, p. 10).

This first concept summarizes much of the work she set out to do in her unit: namely to

increase the access and opportunities Native Hawaiians and Pacific Islanders have within that

particular field. But how can a single person do this in a predominantly non-Hawaiian

environment in which there are many anti-Native, racist underlying values and sentiments? As I

listened carefully to her stories, one tool she has used is to always speak the truth. She once told

me that it can be difficult for her, a truthful person, to work with folks who are not used to

hearing and speaking the truth. Therefore, in order to help people deal with the truth, she draws

on ha‘i mo‘olelo, storytelling, and the power of the spoken word. She shared that she has to be

very creative with the ways she facilitates the process for her colleagues to recognize the

strengths and assets of Native Hawaiian and Pacific Island students.

One way she has helped her colleagues to better acknowledge her students is by telling

stories about students rather than just bold facts. She recognizes that stories impact people in a

different way. A second approach is using different language. One example is to call her students

ʻNative Hawaiian and Pacific Islander’ students rather than ‘disadvantaged’ or ʻminority’

students. She told me that changing the language changes perceptions, values, and mindsets. A

third approach to changing mindsets has been her repeated use of key terms to describe the scope

of her work, including the terms ʻsocial justice,’ ‘socioeconomic recovery,’ and ʻrecovery from

intergenerational trauma.’ She told me, “It takes anywhere from seven to thirty times of the

person hearing a term before the meaning is fully integrated.”

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Second, that knowledge is a continuum of diverse information and wisdom, learned

and imparted in multiple ways of knowing. Education is enriched through the diversity of

different cultural and individual learning and teaching styles (Tenure dossier, p. 10).

Her students’ art outside her office, the pictures of kūpuna down the hall, and the oli

which she blesses all with, speak to her commitment to multiple ways of knowing and learning.

She emphasizes that multisensory experiences help to integrate information between the left and

right hemispheres. She stressed this to me as a critical factor not only for students who engage in

these multiple ways of learning and doing at home, but also for colleagues who need to ʻfeel’ and

not just ʻthink.’ For example, when she facilitates experiences for both faculty and students, she

provides opportunities for them to express themselves and be heard through art, chant, song, and

storytelling. In addition, she takes people out of their buildings and into communities and across

to other islands to experience the land and the people first-hand. In these experiences, every

sense of their being becomes engaged.

Third, that learning takes place on the deepest level when we are in the most relaxed

and coherent state, when mind, body, and spirit and emotions are connected to the same focus.

Even the intensity of competitive academic learning can be enhanced by being grounded in one’s

own inner commitment, life purpose, goals, and positive intentions to learn, do the best one can,

and support others to achieve their best as avid learners (Tenure dossier, p. 10).

Fourth, that excellence in education and in life can be achieved as a shared experience

nurtured by the acceptance of people helping each other to learn in an exciting, synergistic

process of sharing knowledge and encouragement that results in positive outcomes for all.

Culturally, as ‘ohana, people who care about and bring out the best in themselves and each

other excel and are highly respected. Academic education is expanded and grounded by cultural

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and community experiences that provide the integration of knowledge in practical applications

(Tenure dossier, pp. 10-11).

Another strength she has drawn upon is the power of the collective. In order to obtain a

permanent position to secure her tenure, to be awarded large grants, and to make needed changes

across the state for the success of her students, she has formed supportive relationships. A key

relationship that she has built over the last several years is with her unit leader. After enduring

several leaders who constantly fought against her and did not value her work, a leader was hired

whom she was able to connect with. She credits the leader’s similar island-nation background

and her value of family. Through shared values and commitments, this kumu has been able to

partner with this leader and rise above much of the resistance within the unit.

Throughout her tenure dossier, she highlights the different entities she has partnered with

including university departments, schools, and colleges, as well as community organizations

across the state. This type of partnering has allowed her to form consortiums and statewide

initiatives that have brought people with varied skill sets together to discuss and make change in

their particular area of the community. She once said to me that when many similar-focused

minds join in conversation, new innovative strategies can emerge. This is much like the work of

the ‘Aha Councils taught to her by her kumu.

In addition to the work of creating partnerships with colleagues, she has also focused

much attention on supporting the organic process of Native students seeking each other to create

an extended ‘ohana. This is important work given the predominantly non-Hawaiian environment

in her unit, as it can be very difficult for students to create such an ‘ohana when the environment

does not naturally lend itself to such. Therefore, part of her work over the years has been

securing a space for her students to gather, study, and eat together. She also organizes cultural

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experiences for students to foster connection both interpersonally as well as intrapersonally. The

fruit of her work, both the success of the students as well as the partnerships she has created, is

rooted in her commitment to ‘ohana, in which people feel connected interdependently and care

for one another.

Fifth, self-determination depends upon developing the inner discipline of self-mastery

and the ability to self-correct. This requires an open mind and heart, tolerance, acceptance,

reciprocal respect and goodwill, compassion, kindness, patience, cooperation, and embracing

diversity as an expansion of intelligence. Cultural integrity expresses the accumulated

knowledge of intelligent responses for the greatest good over time, that benefits everyone

(Tenure dossier, p. 11).

Both the third concept (“learning takes place on the deepest level when we are

relaxed…”) as well as the fifth concept speak to the power of healing. Anyone who knows her

will often hear her point out that we are all recovering from intergenerational trauma, both

Native as well as non-Native peoples. Natives are recovering from the oppression and

colonization they have experienced by settlers/non-Natives and non-Natives have to deal with

the trauma of what their people have done. With this always in her consciousness, she seeks out

ways to help people heal. She believes that mindful awareness is necessary. This is evident by

the invitation of her open door.

Another approach to healing that she is very committed to is engaging in ceremonies. She

explained ceremony to me as releasing past pilikia,316 holding light for the present, and looking

into the future. She emphasized that ceremony is a gift of reflective time in which we can

individually recognize what we need to let go of and what we need to strengthen so that we can

move forward. That is the beauty of ceremony: it is not somebody else telling us what we need to 316 Pilikia: “Trouble, problem, adversity” (Pukui & Elbert, 1986, p. 330).

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fix but instead us being honest with ourselves so we can recognize what it is we need to do. As

she spoke to me earnestly and deeply about ceremony, she also reminded me that part of

ceremony is creating unforgettable moments that we can return to in the future which will

remind us of the commitments we made to ourselves and to our communities. I was moved in

that moment as she described ceremony and urged that we together find ways to establish more

ceremonies to help heal our people.

Sixth, that social justice initiatives present the opportunities to collectively respond to

those most in need to correlatively improve life and the conditions of life. Social justice helps to

evolve cooperative coexistence in society to protect the diversity of life and the mutual respect

for different ways of life that promotes peaceful coexistence. It is a collective advantage for

society to be informed by diverse cultures, peoples and ideas that are necessary for survival and

innovation. Further, diversity is an antidote to prejudice and a positive force for good. In terms

of access to health and education for underrepresented peoples and underserved communities,

social justice initiatives help create the advocacy necessary to support the needs and recovery of

disadvantaged people to help them contribute to their own survival and their ability to thrive.

This humanitarian approach is universal as a preventative and corrective measure of society

that understands that by improving life for those who suffer most, more people advance and

society benefits as a whole. I live these concepts as an indigenous educator, counselor,

therapist and cultural practitioner and implement these principles in the two social justice

programs that I direct.

When I read this sixth grounding concept, I am deeply moved by her life spirit of

positivity. I am not surprised at her words, however. She lives this energy everyday. I am

reminded of a story she told me once related to a stream of consciousness: She went and gave a

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guest lecture in a class about research and the importance of having a present awareness. She

told the class, “When we do things we need to be aware that it is not just us who are physically in

the room. It is also about the generations before us.” She said, “When we engage in work it is not

just our work but the work of the generations before us. All the past energy is present and is

connected to the different energies that combine to make things happen. It is important to be

aware and acknowledge the kūpuna and life forces that are present with us so that we can

understand all the genealogies and mo‘olelo that give life to the consciousness of the moment.”

When she shared this mana‘o with me, it made sense to me why she can be so positive

when seemingly alone in her unit. She is aware that she is not alone. Instead, her kūpuna are with

her and her consciousness of this allows them to guide her. Further, she acknowledges that each

person carries with them several genealogies, kuleana, mana, and traumas. By inviting a person

to tell their stories she can learn about all those critical energies that brings a person to their

current state. Her critical consciousness teaches us to be aware of those energies so that we may

be informed when we speak, listen, learn, and change together. She says it best in her own words

from her film:

Cultural self-determination is not only about rights; it is the full realization of our

relationships and responsibilities as human beings; that we are related as family to all the

families of the natural world and must regain a response to the consciously

communicating spirit of all living beings. Then we will have regained our common

sensitivity to life and live again in enlightened ways as our ancestors have in profoundly

personal and yet collective relationships with the cosmos. In a real way we are the stars

regenerated on earth and remain with the potential of extraordinary outcomes in our time.

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CHAPTER 5

KA ‘AHA WAHINE

In Chapter Four, seven Native Hawaiian female educational leaders shared their personal

mo‘olelo with regards to some of their cycles of influence, approaches, and strategies in

transforming spaces into educational kīpuka (Goodyear-Ka‘ōpua, 2013) or Hawaiian places of

learning within predominantly non-Hawaiian environments and systems. These occasions for

mo‘olelo aku, mo‘olelo mai between each kumu and I were opportunities for teaching and

learning between a kumu and a haumāna through conversation (Wheatley, 2009) and dialogue

(Freire, 1993). As the haumāna, I was privileged to glean so many lessons from their mo‘olelo

on transforming predominantly non-Hawaiian spaces into Hawaiian places of learning at UHM

and elsewhere. One of the main lessons I gleaned from their individual mo‘olelo is captured in

the ‘a‘ali‘i kū makani framework described in Chapters One, Two, and Four.

In this chapter, Chapter Five, I present a collective conversation shared between Native

Hawaiian women. I present the engagement within the framework of an ‘aha wahine, described

as, “A gathering of women to inspire, inquire, invest, and invigorate each other with ‘ike, aloha,

and kuleana” (“‘Aha Wahine Kuhinapapa,” 2012, p. 1). Therefore, the opportunity for these

wahine to gather collectively was a time of renewal for all of us and also a time to strengthen our

collective stories and bonds with one another in order to continue our transformational work.

For me as the learner, it was an opportunity to further delve into the ʻHao mai, iho mai,

pā mai’ phase of their leadership cycle and growth. As I listened, studied, and reflected on this

collective conversation, I realized that there are many elements involved in the shaping of these

women. My original frame, however, assumed that those influences only occurred in the past. I

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was not paying attention to the ‘a‘ali‘i framework that reminds us that the elements constantly

influence and shape us, as the wind, rain, and sun constantly feed, nourish, and challenge the

‘a‘ali‘i throughout its lifecycle. What I now realize in terms of my kumu – these female

educational leaders – is that their past work and their current work and their future work all

shape them. It also became apparent to me that these women cannot talk about themselves

without also speaking about the people they serve. It is naturally connected for them as the

interdependent relationship of kaikua‘ana and kaikaina is (Handy & Pukui, 1998). One cannot

exist without the other. In this way, my understanding of their leadership development does not

end with their own stories but needs to also be understood in the context of whom they serve.

Therefore, some of the elemental influences I identified from this conversation include

challenging and sometimes overwhelming experiences that test their core, nourishing practices

and people that feed their soul, knowledge that informs their intellect, and hope in the next

generation that continues to ignite their fires. Above all, what became clear to me though this

‘aha wahine process is that what makes all of these elemental influences relevant to each

individual kumu, and thus to the collective group, is an underlying aloha and commitment to

their lāhui Hawai‘i. This is a major finding to be further discussed in Chapter Six.

The Gathering

I was really nervous and anxious before and during this ‘aha wahine. I was fully aware of

the power and the energy that I was fortunate to gather. I was overwhelmed with honor and

privilege for being afforded the special time with these women. Therefore, I really wanted to

make sure that I was as prepared as I could be so that I did not waste their time. I wanted to show

them that I had been a good listener of their individual stories and that I was thinking and

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reflecting in meaningful ways. I wanted to honor all that they had fed me by demonstrating that I

was a good student, that I was a good product of their work and time.

The way I honored my kumu and their time was by creating a safe, generative, Hawaiian

place and space for them to gather in. I wanted to hold the space for them in such a manner that

they felt genuinely safe to share deeply held beliefs and values through their stories. I also

wanted to create a generative space in which they felt confident to re-imagine and push beyond

their own boundaries.

The first way I created this space was by sharing my own love, empathy, and kindness

with them. Specifically, I came prepared. I was prepared with key reflections from their

individual stories to be illuminated in the group conversation. I spent much time listening and

studying their individual stories to gain an understanding of their uniqueness while

simultaneously identifying the similarities of their experiences. Therefore, as presented in the

dialogue below, I was careful to point out key emerging themes. In doing so, I provided the

women both private, personal time to reflect in writing and also time to share in conversation. In

this way, I wanted to honor their time by providing them a variety of opportunities reflect and

grow.

I was also very purposeful about the space in which we came together. We gathered in a

classroom at a school each of the women consider a Hawaiian place of learning. For example, we

were surrounded by Hawaiian artifacts (Schein, 2010) such as Hawaiian plants that represent our

ancestors, a flowing stream that reminds us of the female akua Kāneikawaiaola who is the life-

giving water (Kamakau, 1991), and a lele317 representing an acknowledgement and honoring of

Hawaiian kupuna and elements. We also know the school’s faculty and students as committed

pracitioners of living Hawaiian values. As such, the school itself is an educational kīpuka 317 Lele: “Sacrificial altar or stand” (Pukui & Elbert, 1986, p. 201). This is non-human sacrifical altar.

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(Goodyear-Ka‘ōpua, 2013) and has been an inspiration for each woman within the group.

Therefore, gathering the women in this inspirational space was key to setting the tone and adding

to the mana of the night.

The time of day was also significant. We met in the early evening. The full māhealani

moon,318 a representation of Hina,319 gleamed down upon us, reminding us of the immense mana

wahine320 that we collectively gathered as Native Hawaiian female kumu, haumāna, and

videographers. As each woman arrived, they were tired from their day yet immedieately

reinvigorated by the physical space and the aniticpation of special time to share with long-time

friends, colleagues, mentors, and mentees. When they entered the room, they hugged each other

in joy and spent time catching up on family, friends, work, and time passed. It was beautiful to

see people so genuinely loving towards each other.

To begin the evening, we all gathered in circle to ask our kūpuna to be with us to bless

our food and our time together. We shared healthy food and began a deeply reflective, honest,

loving conversation. In the end, what revealed itself to all of us was that our time together,

shaped by intentional thought, shared genealogies, and a deep love for Hawai‘i, created a kīpuka:

a generative place where we did not have to point out how we were being Hawaiian or explain it;

we just were. This time togther, engaged in mo‘olelo and simply being Hawaiian with one

another, became the place of Hawaiian knowledge creation. Below is a glimpse into that

collective conversation.

[Five of the seven women whom I interviewed individually were present. Their names as ‘Ke

Kumu ‘Akahi,’ ‘Ke Kumu ‘Akolu,’ and so forth in this chapter correspond with their names in

Chapter Four. For example, the woman introduced as Ke Kumu ‘Akahi in this chapter is the

318 Māhealani moon: This is third night of the full moon. 319 Hina: Hina is the female goddess of the moon (Kame‘eleihiwa, 1996). 320 Mana wahine: Female power, essence, and strength.

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same woman introduced as Ke Kumu ‘Akahi in Chapter Four. In this chapter we are introduced

to an eighth kumu, Ke Kumu ‘Awalu, who was unable to meet with me individually. For

consistency, I remain as ʻKa Haumāna,’ the learner and student in this conversation. NOTE: On

occasion, the women refer to me as ʻPunihei.’ This is the name they have all called me since I

was a little girl.]