Growing up in Honokaʻa, sweeping views of green cane fields and the blues of sky and ocean were indelibly imprinted. When I visit now, I lament the plantings of eucalyptus and proliferation of ironwoods on former cane lands, and how they obscure seeing. And yes, before the cane there were native forests, and they too obstructed clear views, and yes, plantations were problematic. So often it seems that hindsight is better than 20/20. That "They shouldʻve known, or seen what bad things were being done", or "Why didnʻt they understand...". This mornings Hilo paper has an article about how "Modern Hawaii was built on human trafficking". And my mind whirs, while I contemplate kuʻuhoa hkʻs comment that "An aspect of His blessing into our lives is the quieting of the whirring of our minds and the chaos of our lives".
My great-grandparents were from Madeira and the Azores. In the 1880s, they were recruited to work on sugar plantations in the Kingdom of Hawaiʻi. Seeking a better life, they ended up on the Island of Hawaiʻi, in the district of Hāmākua, and made lives for themselves and their descendants in the ahupuaʻa of Paʻauhau and Kalōpā. Iʻm pretty sure they didnʻt think of themselves as victims of Human Trafficking. Trying to untangle and decipher the Whys from the complexities of our histories seems a difficult task. Certainly one I wonʻt tackle here. Having grown up part of the plantation economy, life just was... People worked hard, and maintained dignity, sometimes in the face of undignified behavior on the part of others. Seems to me that declaring that human trafficking had a large part in our histories dismisses the sacrifices made by all. Or something.
I know that I may sound confused or perplexed, and thatʻs because I am sometimes. But then I meet and get to know other products of Hāmākua and am impressed.
Noʻeau Peralto earned his PhD and was given his diploma yesterday on Oʻahu. His dissertation is an impressive piece of work, and displays his devotion and dedication to family and to place. A book will be forthcoming.
KOKOLO MAI KA MOLE
UAUA O ʻĪ:
THE RESILIENCE
& RESURGENCE OF ALOHA ʻĀINA IN HĀMĀKUA HIKINA, HAWAIʻI
A DISSERTATION
SUBMITTED TO THE GRADUATE DIVISION OF THE UNIVERSITY OF HAWAIʻI AT MĀNOA IN
PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF
DOCTOR OF
PHILOSOPHY IN
POLITICAL SCIENCE
AUGUST 2018
By
Leon Noʻeau Peralto
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| Noʻeau wears lei hala in a spectacular assembly of three colors and styles. "Hala" signifies passing from one realm to another, in this case, graduating from school to oneʻs chosen profession. Lei are made from keys (segments) of pandanus fruit. Each fibrous key is cut, depending on the fancy of the maker, then strung, sometimes with pieces of lauaʻe, a maile-scented fern. The white lei is made of immature fruit, while the yellow and red-orange are color variants, the very rare red-orange is seen below. |
And again, to clarify, as I have in previous blogs: the Hāmākua being discussed is a district on the northeast coast of the Island of Hawaiʻi. These days "the Hāmākua Coast", according to those unfamiliar with our geography, apparently extends from the Wailuku River in Hilo to the valley of Waipiʻo. This is not so.
Driving up the coast from Hilo, one is in the Hilo district, traditionally, Hilo Palikū (Hilo of the upright cliffs). Hāmākua is not reached until past ʻŌʻōkala, a boundary being Kaʻula gulch.
And somewhat of a random note: Also in todays paper, an obituary for Mrs. Rosalia Agliam, 89, said that she worked as a "cover seed field laborer". This is another reference to our plantation history. "Cover seed" was backbreaking work. A hoe was used to cover with dirt segments of cane stalk (seed) laid in furrows during the cane planting process.
Of course the sugar industry is gone from Hawaiʻi Nei. Whether you think it was good or bad, or are indifferent, sugar was a huge influence in making Hawaiʻi what it is today. It shaped our landscapes, and created our multicultural mix of residents. Native Hawaiians were often overlooked and were outsiders to the process, but many cling tenaciously to their belief in aloha ʻāina; their love of the land they cherish.
Iʻll close on that note.
As always, with aloha,
BobbyC
maniniowali@gmail.com
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