‘Iokepa Hanalei ‘Imaikalani is decidedly not about money. Quite the opposite. He relinquished a fortune to immerse himself in the authentic experience of his ancestral forebears; he then lived for 17 years without a house, in tents on ka ‘aina – the land that breathes the truth of his people. He has traveled the American continent speaking to audiences about those earned experiences, and the rewards of heeding the wisdom of his ancient Grandmothers. He charges nothing – ever – for his work.
His is a simple, one-dimensional life-purpose: to awaken the inherited values and rituals of his people, primarily within his indigenous community which - under the barrage of foreign values - has too often forgotten. And secondarily, to share that culture with all peoples of this Earth. He lives his certainty that within his ancient culture lie the answers to 21st century traumas.
What foreign occupation has wreaked – and tourism has exploited – is a very distorted version of these Islands and their Native people.
For 25 years, ‘Iokepa has insisted that language is the key to our deepest understanding. He says, ‘Language is the mapping of a culture. Without language, we cannot understand the people.”
And for each of those years, he has offended some, enlightened others with his well-meant correction of their misuses of his Native language. I’ve come to understand that we genuinely diminish a people when we minimize the meaning of their words – redefine them, substitute our own version. This native language is a profoundly metaphoric one, and a measure of how an ancient people communicate with their Creator. And so, it matters.
‘Iokepa lives with his frustrations rather quietly, and he perseveres. And as I said, money never enters his equation. “Culture is not for sale.”
But in a moment of not-quite-seriousness, with an ambiguous dash of levity, he suggested a two-birds-with-one-stone sort of answer.
“How about if people pay each time that they call my Islands Hawai’i instead of Lahui (nation, tribe, people), and my people Hawaiians instead of kanaka maoli (meaning, original people) – and say taro instead of kalo (the native plant central to indigenous health and well-being).”
He laughs, “The proper word is yours for free. But it’s a donation to a Native Hawaiian cultural non-profit every time you insult with the other one. Kind of like a cuss jar – obviously self-regulating.”
Let me take this further than he did. Ohana which always meant a community in which “Everything I see that I can wrap my heart around is my responsibility to take care of.” The modern substitute shrinks that to mean “family.” A donation for every misrepresentation of a beautiful sentiment.
And “Aloha” diminished in every tourism pitch to “hello” or “goodbye,” actually means: “In the presence of our Creator in every breath.” It’s a recognition of the other person’s soul. A dollar into the jar.
You get the drift. Start with the hardcover version of the Mary Kawena Pukui’s dictionary available everywhere – and refuse to settle for less. We do this when we travel in France. We make the effort to not offend linguistically, even as we fumble through a language we do not know.
But American statehood has seemingly removed the obligation to recognize this amazingly unique nation and people. And tourism makes a sham of every single value and ritual within the culture.
It’s a simple exercise, a reason for laughter, and an opportunity to belong on these beautiful Islands among these generous and giving people in a caring and profound way.