Hawai'i trip: Day 6, June 19, 2018

I am writing these journal entries after returning home and from notes that I kept during the trip. It’s given me a chance to process information, but also to look up and learn more about some of the things we saw in Hawai’i. It is also helping me to put my photos in order and select the ones that tell the story of the trip. On June 19^th I only had one phrase in my journal: “The sound of the ocean… “ I think it came to mind as I was out in the morning having my Starbucks coffee and walking along the wall that jutted out to where the bodyboarders would stand erect right on the sign that said, “no diving” and then proceed to jump in. Perhaps jumping isn’t the same as diving.

The phrase comes from a song on my CD of Hawaiian songs and I think it's in my head because it's been in the air of the restaurants and stores.

White Sandy Beach of Hawaii

I saw you in my dream
We were walking hand in hand
On a white sandy beach of Hawaii

We were playing in the sun
We were having so much fun
On a white sandy beach of Hawaii

The sound of the ocean
Soothes my restless soul
The sound of the ocean
Rocks me all night long

Those half-hound summer days
Lying there in the sun
On a white sandy beach of Hawaii

The sound of the ocean
Soothes my restless soul
The sound of the ocean
Rocks me all night long

Last night in my dream
I saw your face again
We were there in the sun
On a white sandy beach
On... oooonnnnn of Hawaii

Beyond that one phrase in my journal is an entry from the next day, June 20, 2018. It reads “cultural appropriation. Whose voice is telling the story? Whose story is being told?” That is all I wrote down as I reflected on the experience of the previous day, Day 6.

The day begins at Waimea Valley an area of the north shore that is both an area of conservation and a place to learn about Hawaiian culture. When we arrive there is a misunderstanding between our tour guides and the people at Waimea Valley that we straighten later in the morning, but not before one group is given pick axes and gloves to tackle a project. The guides at Waimea welcome us and then mention that they had heard that we had prepared a chant for protocols. They also express appreciation that we have come to do a service project to help them with their work. This was not a plan we had anticipated. 

The seniors don’t hesitate and we get in place for the chant; seniors in front, faculty, and then all the grades of students in descending order behind us. All the students are quick to do what is expected of them even though they are unsure about doing more outdoor work. We split into three groups and as we are heading down the first path our guide tells us about some of the structures that we are passing. They all belong to a collection of houses (kauhale) that were traditionally used by a high-ranking chief or priest. Most of the hale (houses) are grass-roofed. The guide points out one that is only for men, one for women and one for cooking; only the men cooked. The students are starting to notice that the area is quite buggy and we realize that we hadn’t discussed bug spray for this morning’s trip.

The tour continues and I stop with one other teacher to chat with a woman who is making feather leis. She shows us how she is tying each feather onto a core of rope strands; she says that another teacher had commented that it was very much like tying flies for fishing. She then tells us that it took 150 years to collect the 3 million feathers for the cape that we saw in the museum.

Our walk ends at a waterfall and then we turn back to return to the buses.

Haleiwa State Park provides good shade for our bento box lunches and the beach is a good place for sea turtle sightings. None of them venture onto the shore while we’re there, but we spot many lifting their heads above the water as they ride the waves.

From the park we head to The Polynesian Cultural Center. Most of what we know is that it is a big tourist attraction and that there is advertising for it splashed across the side of some of our buses. When we arrive we each get a ticket that has several stubs including one for general admission, one for a luau dinner and one for a show entitled, HA: Breath of Life, at the end of the evening. The choir will perform at a small gazebo at 6:30pm before the show. 

The Polynesian Cultural Center is a non-profit organization owned by the Mormon Church and all of the students who work there are attending Brigham Young University. The money earned through the operation of the Center is channeled back into operations or scholarships for BYU students. The design of the Center is around villages representing six Pacific Island cultures: Hawai’i, Aotearoa (New Zealand), Fiji, Samoa, Tahiti, and Tonga. The description from the Center’s web site conveys the intention behind the Center: "Visit authentic villages and mingle with natives from six Pacific cultures as they share the majesty of Polynesia through their music, dance, and traditions." I sit through two shows both of which are part stand-up comedy and part cultural trappings. The words “authentic” and “mingle” make me cringe when I think about how we want people to engage with cultural difference and understanding.

Completely out of context it is difficult to find any authenticity in the cultural experience that is shared at PCC. Its only authenticity is the version of culture that the owners choose to present to the public. Their version of Polynesian culture. Many opportunities to learn “native” crafts, play “native” games and eat “native” food define the idea of “mingling with natives.” This, too, devoid of relationships and marketed as culture contribute to the risky game of allowing stereotypes and culture altered by the eye of an outsider to get in between the people who live the culture and those who are observing or engaging with it.

Perhaps most disturbing about PCC is that the layering of religion over or the weaving of religion into the fabric of native cultures creates a new culture. That is what PCC is sharing, not the "authenic" Pacific Island cultures they promote. There is no separating the religion and the cultures and if the intention is to adhere to the religious tenets then certainly it is the cultural offerings that need to adapt. Traditions such as drumming and hula and haka become agents of the religion and entertainment. Their authentic context and purpose are lost as soon as the performers step into their roles at PCC.

So why did we take the students and teachers to this local tourist attraction that claims that it “has entertained more than 37 million visitors by preserving and portraying the spirit, culture and people of Polynesia to the rest of the world”? Aside from the question of who has the right and how one begins to “preserve and portray” a culture, the juxtaposition of authentic engagement with Hawaiian culture against tourist entertainment was jarring and intentional. The trip’s curriculum was planned to build a context of authentic engagement by volunteering at the Hei’ia Fishpond, listening to the local poets, chanting protocols and learning hula and mele from local professors. These along with opportunities to learn about daily life by touring with bus drivers and shopping and eating in local restaurants meant that the students who arrived at PCC were no longer “blank slate tourists,” but culturally sensitive and informed visitors. To the extent that the experiences leading up to the day we visited PCC had begun to transform the students’ understanding of Hawaiian culture meant that they had the opportunity to experience PCC through those eyes, not the eyes of the Day 1 student.

After several hours in the villages, we head to the luau dinner and show. We receive a traditional lei greeting at the door by a group of women dressed in Polynesian style long dresses. They are smiling and pleasant and anxious to get us seated. I am directed to a table with HM teachers that is at the edge of the seating and end up with my back to the entry path for the performers, to the right of the stage. Throughout the meal there is the pounding of feet and sounds of costumes as performers run on and off the stage. I glance to my right to see some of the show, but mostly listen to the music and enjoy the food. Two teachers have decided to take the tram ride up to tour the church and learn more about this campus that houses the church, BYU and PCC. They have only discovered the connection to the Mormon Church while in the Center and are excited to know more.

At 6:30pm the choir performs at a small gazebo near the Pacific Theater. It is a gift to anyone who stops and listens. Amidst all the fanfare of entertainment and tourism it is simple and sincere. The PCC show begins at 7:30pm and runs about an hour-and-a-half. It, too, like the stage performances in the villages, is a story told by the Mormon Church using Island people and cultural trappings to tell and enhance the story. A strange mix that neither conveys deep religious belief nor furthers an appreciation for Island cultures. The fire dancers who twirl batons lit at both ends with fire are quite spectacular, but even they reach the ridiculous when they proceed to light a mat on fire and extinguish it by sitting on the fire. There is some discussion and laughter on the bus back to the hotel about asbestos or fireproof underwear.

We arrive back at the hotel around 10:30 and do an immediate bed check to end a mentally exhausting day.