Huliau - The Return Voyage

The Setting

The very first American Court House erected on the Island of Kaua’i was built with full awareness and intention on the top of the bulldozed ruins of what was the oldest hei’au on this Island.

Hei’au were (and those that remain, are) sacred stone enclosures for Native Hawaiian ritual and spiritual practice, prayer and cultural ceremony.  Every hei’au was built in alignment with the planets and the stars–with an ancient people’s sophisticated awareness of the night sky.  Each hei’au sat within full view of the ocean horizon.

These sacred stone walls, built without mortar,  and standing tough for thousands of years were deliberately destroyed to make way for  an American claim on another nation–Hawai’i.

That oldest of hei’au is where the first Calvinist missionaries and their offspring planted their first American Court House:  Where they enforced laws that denied Native Hawaiians the right to speak their native language, the right to name their children a Hawaiian first name, their right to use herbs and plants for healing, their right to any cultural practice attached to their way of life, Huna–for 150 years.

Since 1972, Native Hawaiians may legally speak and name, plant and heal, dance and pray.  They may do these things–but they no longer can.  Cannot, because of  colonial dishonoring and outright destruction of  hei’au,  fishing beds, forests–land and ocean.  And , of course, because of a 150 year gap in genealogically transmitted knowledge.

The imposed government outgrew their first Court House many times over.  And in August, 2005, the county of Kaua’i dedicated a new and extravagant $42 million “Judiciary Complex,” housing the United States court rooms.

When we arrive, now, by airplane to this tropical Island, and we leave the lovely, open-air, welcoming airport–we encounter first, this bulwark of the American judicial system.  Before we see the ubiquitous ocean, mountains, or banana trees, we see this way-out-of-scale “Judiciary Complex.”

‘Iokepa Hanalei ‘Imaikalani said succinctly of the huge investment of much-needed  public money:  “For some people, this building is reassuring–it makes them feel safe.   And for others, it is the death of a culture.”

Thursday, February 10, 2010. 10:00 a.m

It was to this building that ‘Iokepa drove our 1998 Subaru from the Northwest edge of the Island to its center–an hour drive–with no drivers license. It was in the doorway of this building that ‘Iokepa and I passed through security gates,  temporarily relinquishing my purse and his belt, and made our way to the District Court for  ‘Iokepa’s trial.

Thirteen years ago, on the heels of an incredible spiritual epiphany, ‘Iokepa was reminded: The time had come to fulfill his promises.  Promises made, outside of memory, when he took on life–and, perhaps, before that.  ‘Iokepa’s ancestors reminded this successful businessman that it was time to return home.  That he must surrender every scrap and morsel he’d worked for all his life–and embrace instead the original culture of his ancestors.

In two weeks, he relinquished that house on the lake, seven cars and a hot rod and $1,620,000.   He arrived at the airport and deposited the last of it:  His social security card, drivers license, and every single bit of identification that tied this aboriginal to an identity other than Native Hawaiian.

For thirteen years, he has flown on airplanes, and driven the streets of  Hawai’i and America with a flimsy, laminated, computer generated picture ID that connects him only to a specific Kaua’i hei’au that he maintains.  This particular hei’au marks the true-North for the Island.

Last November, while driving to the post office, ‘Iokepa was stopped by an police officer.  He was driving a car, he did not own, with an expired registration.  He was ticketed:  For that–and for having no  motor vehicle license.   Read the back story, on this page:  “Part I:  Free My Husbands Nation…” (November 26, 2009);  “Part II:  Free My Husband’s Nation…” (December 12, 2009); “Part III:  Much Ado About Automobiles…” (December 30, 2009).

In December, he appeared before a District Court hearing, and requested a trial.

Today was that trial.  ‘Iokepa’s argument has been consistent:  “I’m not an American;  I am a Hawaiian, in my culture, with my people, on my Island.” That is precisely what he told the judge.  Consistently, he has said:  “There is law, and there is justice.  I am asking for justice.”

Oh there were warnings aplenty, from sidewalk lawyers and real ones.  His, was an argument, they said, that, “Could not be made in an American courtroom. There could be no precedent.”

But it was an argument that innumerable friends and supporters prayed would be heard.  Dozens of phone messages filled our usually quiet cell phone in the 24 hours before the trial.  Dozens of emails filled the Return Voyage box.  They sounded much the same:  “Tell me the hour of the trial–I will be with you.”  Truly we felt that safety net of affection and faith.

For his “Crime,” ‘Iokepa faced:  Thirty days in jail, several thousand dollars in fines, and abundant court fees.

There were seven trials on the court docket this day.  Everyone–except ‘Iokepa–was represented by an attorney.  ‘Iokepa’s case was called fourth.  He followed a child mauled by a dog, and a kid who skipped out on his first court date.  I don’t remember the third.

‘Iokepa said afterward, that when his name was called:  “I felt shot out of a rocket…the adrenaline.  It was like the song you’ve never sung before, but you know the words.”

He looked it and he sounded it.

When the judge asked if he wanted to hear the maximum punishment, he answered “I’d rather hear the minimum.”  When ‘Iokepa spoke of the thirteen years of unpaid community service that he and I have lived here, and the judge said, “Yes I believe that its everybody’s duty.  I walk the beaches and pick up trash.”

‘Iokepa answered:  “That’s a good thing.  But when I speak of the community service, it is this.  My wife and I lived in tents in the public parks for ten years among the alcoholics and drug dealers, the spousal and child abuse–the results of oppression.  We did not get out of the tent and lecture people–we live so as to offer an alternative.  I don’t smoke.  I don’t drink, and I don’t use profane language.

“I have stood in the middle of two men about to fight, and I have insistently reminded them that this is not how their ancestors would have handled it.  And you know, these men no longer fight, no longer drink.

“We’ve done thirteen years of community service.  I’ve never taken a paycheck.  That is the culture I represent, taking responsibility for all people in all circumstances.  This is our walk of faith.  And, that will continue whatever happens here today.”

‘Iokepa told the judge, “I didn’t walk in  here alone.  My ancestors are here, and your ancestors are here.”

‘Iokepa did not dwell on the Hawaiians as victims of oppression. He spoke personally because, it seems, the personal touches hearts–the political closes them.  The Hawaiian culture–that which they have to teach the rest of us–is purely spiritual.

Later, ‘Iokepa told me:  “I  felt like I was holding the floor and that everything was mine.  I felt that the building needed something from the ancestors.”

He spoke his last words to the prosecuting attorney during their mandated conference:  “I know that you’ll do the right thing.”

It’s a funny thing about those words that I’ve heard ‘Iokepa speak before–even to a K-Mart manager about a defective, past-warranty beach chair.  He says:  “They make a person responsible.”

From those words spoken in a doorway, to the table 25 feet away, the Prosecuting Attorney, with shaking voice, recommended that the judge drop all charges other than the absent driver’s license–and  for that offense, he asked 21 hours of community service, plus court fees.

The judge grinned.  When ‘Iokepa said:  “I don’t think that I can do better,” the judge prodded ‘Iokepa to continue the trial, “Because the prosecutor might miss something, and I can dismiss this case.”

In sum, this courtroom was full of folks whom ‘Iokepa had won over.  He had touched each of them with his transparent sincerity, passion, and adherence to his aboriginal culture.  But ‘Iokepa saw it differently:  “It was the Grandmothers.”

In the end, the judge (Who looked a great deal like the new U.S. Supreme Court Justice Sonia Sotomayor) said:  “Thank you.  I wish there were more people who felt like you.   I appreciate your statement.  I apologize…I don’t have a way…”

And in the end, when the clerk reminded her that the mandated minimum $77 court fees could be reduced in this case for some legal reason.  The judge laughed, looked at ‘Iokepa and said:  “We just saved you $40–the court fees will be $37.”  And ‘Iokepa answered:  “Give that to me in cash, and we can all go to lunch.”

Not one soul in that courtroom suggested or implied that he should get a license…that he should discontinue driving until he had one.  Not one, not once.

Afterward

Afterward, a dear friend who warned us of the impossibility of  ‘Iokepa entering the lion’s den and exiting unscathed, expressed his awe:  “You entered their turf–a U.S. courtroom–on your terms.”

My husband and I sometimes disagree–vigorously.  For the past three months, I awaited with anxiety the results of this trial:  None of which I could foresee would be to our advantage.  My anxiety deeply annoyed and distracted my husband, whose faith in the protection of his ancestors is bullet-proof.  One week before the trial, I surrendered that anxiety, and agreed that, whatever the outcome, it would be purposeful.  It would raise the consciousness about these people and their devastated homeland.

After a full three months of  anticipation, I am struggling to let Thursday’s events sink in.  Hence, my delay in writing this–and my uncertainty, still, about which are the essential words among so many, to be reported here.

‘Iokepa, on the other hand, is nothing but excited to be used, as the court intimated, in those 21 hours–speaking,  to and for those most in need of his words.

In truth, for both ‘Iokepa, and for me, this small victory for human decency is just that–small.  The morning after, he awakened and reminded me,  “We have a prophecy to fulfill, and it speaks to freedom–and responsibility–for all people.”

I could say more, but I won’t.