This admonition, which sounds at first glance like a Kindergarten maxim, is the imagined airport sign with which ‘Iokepa Hanalei ‘Imaikalani would greet every arriving visitor to these fragile Islands,. It conveys a singular Native Hawaiian request to the trampling hoards of tourists and settlers. it is his expectation that, “Don’t Take What’s Not Yours” just might cover it all. I am more doubtful. History speaks otherwise.
Briefly, The History
When the independent Hawaiian nation was claimed at gunpoint by American sugar cane and pineapple barons in 1893, Queen Liliu’okalani refused available weaponry, insisting, “I will not shed my people’s blood.” Ninety-nine percent of the Native Hawaiian population petitioned the U.S. government their opposition to the take-over. Essentially they demanded, “Don’t Take What’s Not Yours.” It fell on deaf ears. Against the united will of the Native population, an internationally-recognized nation became a U.S. Territory.
The “taking” didn’t stop. The land that had been held communally for thousands of years, was subdivided under imposed laws of “private ownership." Communities were shattered by foreign land-grabs. An agrarian people, who regard their aina as an indivisible part of their own person-hood were culturally shattered. In 1959, statehood - ratified by the immigrant field-labor Imported to work for the sugar cane and pineapple barons - put the nail in the coffin. Statehood failed to satisfy the rapacious greed or the utter disregard of the colonialists for the people who have traced their lineage to this homeland for thousands of uninterrupted years.
The Pandemic
Here is where the story begins - on these seven populated Hawaiian Islands - and now, in 2023. But, first, a moment of reflection on these past couple years. The years of the Covid Pandemic were, for so many of the Island’s inheritors, a reminder. A reminder of what their ancestors left them. A reminder of the ancient indigenous trust and responsibility for stewardship of the land, the ocean, and every living creature that shares these Islands.
The pandemic virtually closed these islands to tourism for a couple years - and the speed with which ka ‘aina and ke kai returned from ravaged to pristine was beyond miraculous. With the rebirth of the newly clear ocean, uncluttered beaches and accessible roadways - the whales, the dolphins, the honu, and the monk seals returned the compliment. Left in peace, they proliferated.
The Islands have, since statehood, developed an unhealthy addiction to tourism - a skewed economic dependence. The pandemic left our hotel, restaurant and tour guides jobless. But the pandemic accomplished something else. Alongside the flourishing (formerly endangered) monk seals - the community of humans miraculously returned to its ancient ways. Ubiquitous community meals, privately subsidized rents, lavish produce - all given freely. No one went hungry; no one was evicted. The community - the Lahui - returned. Across racial, economic and social divides, we lived the inseparable reality of these Islands: human, ocean, land. We simply cared.
Here and Now
Tourism returned in the summer of 2021, and it was neither gradual nor subtle. In June, the first-ever, wide-bodied, jumbo jet discharged it’s overwhelming numbers onto our tiny airport. The curbside pick-up felt more like the exodus from a big-city ball park after an important game, than the typically quiet arrivals on this rural speck in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. It was shocking. Not just for pandemic contrast. - but for the sheer numbers, the noise, the clutter of possessions, and most of all, the entitlement of the newly unchained.. Little Kaua’i had never seen the like. Hotel, restaurant and rental car workers, delighted in their return to employment, were shell-shocked by the level of demand and expectation. The tourist phrase, “I paid for aloha!,” with an insistent voice and hands glued to hips, was the post-pandemic visitor mantra.
A behavioral sampling of presumption:
*Last week a group of 36 tourists were arrested for tormenting a pod of dolphins in the near-shore ocean.
*Daily, rental jeeps joy-ride up and down our beaches, smashing sea turtle eggs under their wheels because: Driving on otherwise pristine beaches is fun? Or because people, who in other circumstances take pride in their physical prowess, refuse to walk short distances?
*Visitors, who are amply advised or warned, proudly ignore posted signs prohibiting passage to places (trail, cave, or ocean) that pose danger to self or beg protection of our essential Native forests. Ohi’a trees are rapidly disappearing under assault by the pathogens on visitors’ hiking boots. Cyclically, rescue teams are dispatched by helicopter to save their trespassing butts.
*Endangered monk seals, for a couple necessary hours each day, sleep on our warm beaches. Again, they are protected by warning signs and bright orange banners: “Stay 50 feet away”. Like clockwork,, visitors touch and torment these peaceful mammals. Why? Because an active seal is more photogenic. Social media pages foster the ubiquitous hunt for the next-best snapshot.
*Finally, in a metaphor that is almost too perfect to ignore, the pandemic encouraged a continent-wide flight to our Islands’ pandemic-safe “real estate” - and thus brought more to our shores than California license plates. In the perfect effort to wipe out any traces of the very culture they fled to, new residents aggressively uproot Native species because they are: unfamiliar and replant the flowers from “home.” The evidence is in their words, This will never be home.
In Sum
Contempt for the Native people, their culture and the sacredness of their land pours off United and Southwest Airlines unabated.. These Native Hawaiian people have been uniquely welcoming to arriving guests for thousands of years. They done their part in spades. We’ve failed at ours.
Let me - who’s only claim is 25 years married to a Native Hawaiian - presume to advise. All of us who do not share the mo’oku’auhau (genealogy) of these indigenous people are malihini - guests. My Mama (and maybe yours too) taught how to be a good one. She said, “You can put your feet on the coffee table in our home, but you won’t do that in theirs.” The Natives ask nothing more. They ask that we make sincere efforts to discover the differences - and treat those differences with respect.
You (and I) are not home. Demanding Aloha in exchange for airline and hotel fees is the equivalent of visiting your friend’s house with a potluck meal and taking home the silver.
Aloha actually means “In the presence of the Creator in every breath.” The price of an airline ticket does not purchase that sacred connection to this land and these people, but a deep inquiry and a common respect do. It can be earned.
Or, better yet, let’s fulfill ‘Iokepa ‘Imaikalani’s simple request: “Don’t take what’s not yours.”