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In order to understand how our literature is empowering to us, nā
Kānaka Maoli (Native Hawaiian people), one must first look to our ’ōlelo
makuahine, our Indigenous language base, and the mana’o (thoughts)
expressed within its embrace. A traditional ’ōlelo no’ eau (proverb), i ka
’ōlelo ke ola, i ka ’ōlelo ka make, “in the language is life, in the language is
death,” speaks to the power of language, as words have the ability to heal
or destroy.1 ’Ōlelo is “language, speech, word, utterance; to speak, say,
tell; oral communication.2 ’Ōlelo is the root of our word for stories oral
or written, mo’olelo. Mo’olelo is formed from two words: ’ōlelo, language,
and mo’o, a “succession [or] series”; thus mo’o ’ōlelo is “a succession of
talk, as all stories were oral, not written,” although today the term also
encompasses written literature.3
Until American Calvinist missionaries created a Hawaiian alphabet
and writing system after their arrival to the Hawaiian islands in 1819, all
Kanaka Maoli literature was oral. By inventing a Hawaiian alphabet, the
missionaries were able to teach Kanaka Maoli reading and writing; by the
early 1830s the first missionary-controlled printing press was established,
and by 1861 the first of several dozen independent Kanaka Maoli Hawai-
ian-language newspapers, which flourished from 1861 through the 1930s,
came into existence. From the beginning Kanaka Maoli enthusiastically
embraced the technology of writing as a new method of recording oral
traditions such as mo’olelo, oli, mele, mo’okū’auhau (genealogies), and
other kinds of information they wanted to preserve and share. Rather
than replace oral tradition, the technology of writing expanded the ca-
pability of recording and sharing information within the lāhui Hawai’i
(Hawaiian nation). Kanaka Maoli wrote down and published, side by
Hä, Mana, Leo (Breath, Spirit, Voice)
Kanaka Maoli Empowerment through Literature
ku’ualoha ho’omanawanui
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01a-N3246 11/9/04 7:00 AM Page 86
side, traditional Hawaiian mo’olelo (such as the epic of Pele, the Hawai-
ian goddess of the volcano), mo’olelo from other countries translated
into the Hawaiian language (such as The Tempest, Tarzan, and 20,000
Leagues Under the Sea), and also created new mo’olelo (such as the ro-
mance of Lā’ieikawai). These and other mo’olelo ranged in length from
a paragraph to over one thousand pages and comprised the bulk of the
typically eight-page long newspaper. Thus, Hawaiian literature, com-
posed in the Native language, flourished for approximately one hundred
years.
The overthrow of the Hawaiian monarchy by U.S. military – backed
American businessmen in 1893 had devastating effects on Hawaiian
mo’olelo, as the subsequent foreign-run Provisional Government banned
the Hawaiian language, replacing it with English as the official and
sole language of the islands. Thus, by the 1930s the number of Hawaiian-
language speakers began to drop dramatically, resulting in the death of the
Hawaiian-language newspaper industry. Because the Hawaiian language
was severely eroded by colonial laws and social enforcement during this
time, very little Kanaka Maoli literature was published from the 1940s un-
til the revival of Hawaiian politics and cultural practices in the 1960s, a pe-
riod generally referred to today as “the Hawaiian renaissance.” While
some cultural arts (like hula) have flourished, others, such as Indigenous-
produced literature, have grown at a much slower rate. No one knows ex-
actly why Kanaka Maoli – produced literature has not prospered as much
as our other culture arts, although some speculate there are several pos-
sible reasons, such as the banning of our ancestral language over one hun-
dred years ago, which cut us off from self expression; writing, because a
foreign introduction, is often viewed as a colonial tool of oppression
rather than an Indigenous tool of empowerment; the resistance to literacy
(reading and writing) equals resistance to colonialism. Generations of
Kanaka Maoli who have been indoctrinated by a colonial education sys-
tem to believe that anything Native is never “good enough” has led to a
lack of confidence in the ability to write anything worthwhile at all. Yet as
these views and attitudes toward the creation of new Kanaka Maoli liter-
ature have prevailed, a small but determined group of Kanaka Maoli writ-
ers have continued to struggle against overwhelming odds to perform,
write, and publish Kanaka Maoli literature.
For at least two thousand years and numerous generations before
Western contact in 1778, our mo’olelo were passed down orally from ha’i
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mo’olelo (storyteller) to ha’i mo’olelo, from kumu hula (dance master) to
kumu hula, from kanaka (person) to kanaka. Tradition tells us that while
some of our great epics took days to recount, audiences were enthusias-
tic recipients of our ancestral mo’olelo, particularly when they took the
form of hula, our traditional dance form practiced by men and women
alike.
Hula is and always has been an important storytelling vehicle for
Hawaiian mo’olelo, so much so that in the nineteenth century Ali’i Nui
(king) David La’amea Kalākaua proclaimed it “the heartbeat of the
Hawaiian people.” In fact, hula is so inextricably tied to storytelling that
it is impossible to choreograph any dance movement without ’ōlelo,
without words, as each motion is meant to illustrate the mo’olelo itself.
Branded “lewd and lascivious” by Calvinist missionaries, it was officially
banned as a cultural practice in the 1830s. Yet many hālau hula (hula
schools /dance troupes) continued to practice and perpetuate hula in se-
cret despite missionary protest. Fortunately, their efforts kept hula alive,
and today it is a flourishing art.
Together with the chanting of oli (chant) and the singing of mele
(songs), the practice of hula is empowering for many Kanaka Maoli
today in a myriad of ways —first and foremost because it continues to
link us to our ancestors, particularly through the use of ’ōlelo Hawai’i
(Hawaiian language) texts both old and new. By practicing our ’ōlelo
makuahine, we continue to value the mana’o (thoughts, expressions) of
our ancestors through our common language, allowing us a glimpse of
their worldview, which often contradicts or refutes the colonial perspec-
tives taught in schools that ignores, demeans, and /or suppresses our
pilina (connections) and kulena (responsibilities) to the ’āina (land) and
each other. For example, Western science teaches that the formation of
the earth and the evolution of humans were separate occurrences, while
the Kumulipo, a foundational Hawaiian creation epic, recounts the birth
of the universe, earth, and all living creatures, including Kanaka Maoli,
who are thus genealogically related to the land. In addition, the mo’olelo
of Papahānaumoku, our Earth Mother, and Wākea, our Sky Father, re-
minds us that the kalo plant is our elder sibling, and it is our responsi-
bility to cultivate and care for it, as it feeds and sustains us in return.
By learning, understanding, and perpetuating the mo’olelo of our
kūpuna (elders, ancestors), Kanaka Maoli are empowered with tradi-
tional ’ike (knowledge). This ’ike inspires us to continue to kū’ē, to resist
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and to stand in opposition against colonization and against foreign dom-
ination, suppression, and appropriation of who we are and what our cul-
ture is and means to us. Our great ali’i Kamehameha encouraged his
warriors with these words: I mua e nā pōki’i, a inu i ka wai ’awa’awa, “go
forth young brethren, and drink of the bitter waters,” a sentiment echoed
by many modern Kanaka Maoli writers in our mo’olelo today.
African American writer Toni Morrison has written that “the best art
is political.” 4 One of the foremost elements of politics, of course, is
power. Thus, the fact that Kanaka Maoli are performing traditional hula
as well as composing and choreographing new hula is a political act of
cultural empowerment. In a similar way, the perpetuation of traditional
mo’olelo, through hula or otherwise, inspires us to create and haku
(compose) new stories, which allows us to communicate our thoughts,
feelings, and experiences of our time with our contemporaries. Simulta-
neously, it enables us to leave a record of these experiences for future gen-
erations, as our ancestors have left a record (through their stories) of
their mana’o and experiences. One of the best examples of this is the pro-
liferation of voyaging-related mele composed from the late 1970s through
1990s, inspired by the launching of Hōkūle’a, the first modern-day long-
distance Polynesian voyaging canoe. The success of Hōkūle’a re-instilled
pride in our rich voyaging traditions across Polynesia, inspiring the cre-
ation of dozens of other voyaging canoes and voyages across the Pacific,
as well as the reestablishment of an older genre of mo’olelo, the mele
honoring the wa’a kaulua (double-hulled canoe) and the crew who
sailed them.
Beginning in the 1960s Kanaka Maoli began to once again write and
publish as our ancestors had done a hundred years prior. This time,
however, the dominant languages of choice were English and Hawai’i
Creole English (hce), popularly referred to in Hawai’i as “pidgin.” Yet
despite our ancestral language being forcibly removed from our memo-
ries and tongues, Kanaka Maoli writers have successfully manipulated
this colonial language as a tool of empowerment and cultural expression
in a way described by African writer Chinua Achebe when he pro-
claimed, “I have been given the language, and I intend to use it.” 5 Con-
temporary Kanaka Maoli writers such as Haunani-Kay Trask, ’Īmai-
kalani Kalahele, Joseph Puna Balaz, and Mahealani Kamau’u are but a
few of the more well-known poets who are recognized for their biting in-
terrogation of colonization through the word images in their works, best
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summarized by Trask’s metaphor of Kanaka Maoli writing as the “rope
of resistance” for “unborn generations.” 6
Regardless of language (Hawaiian, English, hce), time period (pre-
contact until today), and sociopolitical circumstances, Kanaka Maoli
have always been, and continue to be, empowered by our mo’olelo in two
primary ways: practice and theme, which includes kaona (metaphor). By
practice I mean the actual art of composing, performing, publishing,
and perpetuating mo’olelo. As Morrison suggests, the very act of creat-
ing Kanaka Maoli mo’olelo, as opposed to mimicking Western writing,
is political, and thus empowering, as the composer asserts a cultural-
political stance that our literature is important and worthy of being shared
and perpetuated. The composition of mo’olelo ranges from writing in
traditional genres of literature, such as pana (stories celebrating place), to
working in Western and other genres of fiction, poetry, and drama.
Thematically, Kanaka Maoli literature values the use of kaona (under-
lying meaning) and the use of traditional metaphors. Contemporary
Kanaka Maoli writers strive to keep these important features of our tra-
ditional mo’olelo prominent in our writing today regardless of the lan-
guage in which we are composing. The continued upholding of central
cultural images such as kalo (taro), the staple crop and elder sibling of
Kanaka Maoli, and ideas such as hulihia (to overturn) illustrate aspects
of our culture and traditions that continue to sustain us physically, spir-
itually, emotionally, and creatively.
Relatively new, ’Ōiwi: A Native Hawaiian Journal (established in 1998)
is the first journal in contemporary times dedicated to the expression of
Kanaka Maoli writers and artists in all genres and languages.7 As an edi-
tor for the journal, I am always humbled by the positive feedback and
kind words of appreciation from the Kanaka Maoli communities across
the pae’āina (islands) and abroad. In this capacity, I have experience
firsthand how our mo’olelo continues to empower and encourage our
lāhui. And so we go on. Kanaka Maoli writer Kau’i Goodhue states:
Hawaiians say “hāweo” to refer to a glow of light that makes things
visible. It is in the light of knowledge that the darkness and confu-
sion of the past . . . are now being destroyed and the heroic deeds of
our ancestors are being revealed. The responsibility is now ours to
carry on where they left off. From resistance to affirmation, we are
who we were.8
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In this sense, Kanaka Maoli today are sustained, fed, and empowered by
our ’ōlelo, by the mo’olelo of our ancestors, by the literary ropes of re-
sistance we weave for future generations who will, in turn, continue to
travel the path of our ancestors i ka wā pono, when the time is right.
notes
1. Mary Kawena Pukui, ’Ōlelo No’eau: Hawaiian Proverbs and Poetical Say-
ings (Honolulu: Bishop Museum Press, 1986), 129.
2. Mary Kawena Pukui and Samuel H. Elbert, Hawaiian Dictionary, rev. ed.
(Honolulu: University of Hawai’i Press, 1986), 284.
3. Pukui and Elbert, Hawaiian Dictionary, 253, 254.
4. Quoted in The Norton Anthology of African American Literature, ed. Henry
Louis Gates Jr. and Nellie Y. McKay (New York: W. W. Norton, 1997), 2094.
5. Quoted in Ngugi Wa Thiongo, Decolonizing the Mind: The Politics of Lan-
guage in African Literature (London: James Currey, 1981), 7.
6. Haunani-Kay Trask, Light in the Crevice Never Seen (Corvallis or: Calyx
Books, 1994), 56.
7. Information about the journal is available at www.hawaii.edu /oiwi.
8. Kau’i P. Goodhue, “We Are Who We Were: From Resistance to Affirma-
tion,” ’Ōiwi: A Native Hawaiian Journal 1 (1998): 39.
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