A Movement of the Heart

By Marco Mangelsdorf, Ph.D.

THE STORY IS a familiar one: a small nation with a distinct ethnic and cultural identity, struggling against a dominant and oppressive overlord. But this is not Kosovo or Tibet. It's a favorite travel destination: Hawaii, where an aggrieved native population is demanding a change after a century of U.S. rule. While the rude cry of "Haole, go home" is seldom heard, virtually all Native Hawaiians want to repair or even reverse what they see as the unjust and illegal U.S. military-backed overthrow of the Hawaiian monarchy in 1893. And the underlying tension between many in the self-styled sovereignty movement and their government overseers threatens to be an increasingly disruptive force. The conflict is rooted in a tragic history. As with American Indians on the mainland, the Native Hawaiian population was decimated with the arrival of white settlers. When the first Europeans came ashore in 1778, the islands' population was an estimated 800,000 to 1 million. By the time Queen Lili'uokalani was forced to abdicate her throne more than a century later, the Native Hawaiian population was 40,000. Today, the population equation is complicated by contention over who is a "Native Hawaiian." In the 1990 census, 205,000 people -- about 17 percent of the state's 1.2 million residents -- identified themselves as "Hawaiian." But of this group, fewer than 9,000 were full-blooded Native Hawaiian. The rest are products of Hawaii's long history of extensive intermarriage among myriad ethnic groups, including whites and Asians. This precipitous decline in Native Hawaiian population has been accompanied by a disintegration of Native Hawaiians' heritage. Once the territory was formally annexed in 1898, the importance of maintaining cultural traditions and language faded in the lives of most Native Hawaiians. American-style success required assimilation into the dominant culture.

In the 1960s, the U.S. civil rights movement prompted a renaissance of Native Hawaiian values. Re-education in the ways of pre-colonial Hawaii began, slowly bringing a new appreciation and awareness that encouraged activism. One of the first important instances of Native Hawaiians reasserting their rights came on Kaho'olawe, a dry and barren island used by the U.S. military for bombing practice since the 1940s. Beginning in 1976, Native Hawaiians staged small, furtive demonstrations demanding its return. In 1993, they won: The federal government relinquished control of the island to the state and stopped the tests. Also that year, Congress issued a symbolic apology for the "illegal overthrow of the Kingdom of Hawai'i" 100 years before. Both acts were watershed victories for a sovereignty movement that today claims tens of thousands of supporters, united in their view that the overthrow of their beloved queen was an act of American imperialist treachery. But the movement suffers from a lack of consensus over what can or should be done about it now.

The sovereignty movement is actually a loose network of at least 40 groups, ranging from a handful of members to the 20,000-strong Ka Lahui Hawai'i, each pursuing a markedly different vision of a new Hawaii. Perhaps the most radical group is the Nation of Hawai'i, which has opened an "Office of Decolonization'' in downtown Hilo. It favors the expulsion of non-Native Hawaiians from the islands, secession from the United States and a complete ban on immigration of haoles (pronounced "HOWL-ays''), as foreigners are called. The groups diverge over several other issues, including who should control designated Hawaiian homelands. Also undecided is who should participate in any decision-making process. While many favor an inclusive approach, some groups would limit a vote to those with 50 percent or more native blood -- leaving out most who consider themselves Native Hawaiian.

But the biggest obstacles to independence remain Native Hawaiians' lack of control over land and an entrenched "external political system of wardship,'' says Mililani Trask, a law graduate of Santa Clara University. As head of Hawaii's largest pro-sovereignty group, Ka Lahui Hawai'i, Trask notes that its 1960 statehood act in effect deemed Native Hawaiians wards of the state. It also placed 1.5 million acres of land under state jurisdiction in trust for Native Hawaiians. Honolulu agencies handling Hawaiian affairs claim to be working diligently to grant homestead leases to the 24,000 people on the waiting list, but critics say many have been on the list for years. Some have died waiting. Breaking out of this relationship of dependency is the challenge. Some sovereignty advocates seek a status similar to the relative autonomy enjoyed by American Indian tribes on reservations. Others seek nothing less than a complete rupture with the mainland federal government.

Despite competing visions of what a more autonomous, self-governing Hawaiian entity might look like, the organizations share broad agreement on the need to improve the lives of Native Hawaiians. Among the state's ethnic groups, Native Hawaiians suffer the highest rates of illness, disability and premature death. A sedentary lifestyle, hypertension, smoking and acute drinking are largely responsible for the poor health statistics. Activists claim the underlying cause of these behaviors is economic: Poverty and unemployment have driven Native Hawaiians toward self-destruction. Give us direct control over our own lives and resources, their argument goes, and we will be better able to take care of ourselves.

State agencies and legislators are increasingly aware of the need for change. State Rep. Ed Case recently proposed a radical overhaul of the agencies responsible for Native Hawaiian affairs, claiming the changes would give the community greater decision-making authority. But the bill met with blistering criticism, protests and all-night vigils from sovereignty activists, who considered it presumptuous and paternalistic. Many felt it would interfere with efforts to gain greater autonomy at the federal level. Within days, in the face of obscene phone calls and death threats, Case withdrew the bill--a lesson to all in government who might think about tackling this thorny issue. Hawaii's top elected officials -- U.S. Sens. Daniel Inouye and Daniel Akaka, House members Neil Abercrombie and Patsy Takemoto Mink, and Gov. Ben Cayetano -- have gone on record saying they support sovereignty for Native Hawaiians.

But none have detailed what form this sovereignty might take, choosing, perhaps wisely, to leave it up to the Native Hawaiian community. For the casual visitor spending seven or eight days in Hawaii, the sovereignty movement is largely invisible. A third of the state's employment and a quarter of its tax revenues depend on tourism -- strong incentives for Hawaiians of all races to maintain the "Aloha" atmosphere for tourists. Still, the debate over Native Hawaiians' status is likely to grow louder and stronger as more are drawn to the campaign. Full sovereignty, though, seems highly unlikely. Most Native Hawaiians are at a loss to describe a practical, workable model of a 21st-century independent Republic of Hawaii. And there is no single charismatic leader to unify the various groups or to forge a common strategy.

For now, these rumblings of discontent represent a movement of the heart more than of the head. But Native Hawaiians are continuing to push for a greater say in their own affairs. With the backdrop of a world community more sensitive to the legitimate demands of indigenous peoples, their dream of greater autonomy may be within reach. What remains to be seen is whether the splintered sovereignty movement can gain the coherence and clout it needs to move policy makers in Honolulu and Washington. Whether and when this happens will depend on the movement's capacity to unite -- and to convince others with a stake in Hawaii's future that they will not be losing something in the process.