I'D LIKE TO INTRODUCE MY WORK BY INTRODUCING MYSELF and my relationship to it. (1) I was born on Oahu halts century ago into a Hawaiian family who, like most other Hawaiian families, longer spoke Hawaiian. My mother grew up knowing some words and some songs in Hawaiian, along with a little hula and a lot of fishing practices. Her mother grew up mostly understanding but not speaking her mother's native tongue. And her mother's (my great-grandmother's) native tongue was olelo Hawai'i, which she supplemented with Chinese and English. Between my great-grandmother's time and my mother's time, knowledge of our language along with its stories, poetry, children s word games, and beautiful figures of speech was almost entirely lost. I was raised in California and when I returned to Hawai'i as an adult, I began to study language. After receiving a degree in olelo Hawaii, I pursued graduate degrees in order to study wisdom of our ancestors further. As I began to contest historiography of Hawaii by reading nineteenth-century material in Hawaiian, I was often frustrated by my inability to understand what I was reading. Not only was our language gone, but so many of commonly shared cultural references were gone--not even recorded in contemporary reference books. One day, while walking along puzzling over some mysterious passage, I finally became enraged. Why couldn't I understand what was written in a newspaper by someone of my great-grandmother's generation? Why didn't I grow up speaking and understanding this? It is my heritage; it should be my birthright. The violence of loss of language became real to me that day, and added to my resolve to keep learning, to teach, and to tell stories of people who wrote them down, knowing language was waning, but having a glimmer of hope that one day, a new generation would be reading their words again. One result of language loss has been perpetuation of certain myths about Hawai'i and its native people. One of most persistent and pernicious myths of Hawaiian history is that Kanaka Oiwi (the Native people of Hawai'i) passively accepted erosion of their culture and loss of their nation. In 1984, in an article in Journal of Pacific History, for example, Caroline Ralston claimed that maka'ainana (ordinary people) made no outspoken protest or resistance against series of events which appear to have been highly detrimental to [their] well-being (Ralston 21). Haunani-Kay Trask relates a story of sharing a panel with a historian from U.S. who, like Ralston, claimed that was real evidence for [resistance by Kanaka Maoli] (Trask 154-55) Popular historian of Hawai'i, Gavan Daws, dismissed Kanaka resistance in a single paragraph, even though, in same book, he continued to document it (291). Ralph Kuykendall interpreted King Kalakauas and Queen Emmas resistance to takeover by U.S. as anti-haole racism (187). But as Amy Ku'uleialoha Stillman has observed, Hawaiian-language sources suggest remarkable history of cultural resilience and resistance to assimilation (85) My work seeks to refute myth of passivity through documentation and study of many forms of resistance by Kanaka Mach to political, economic, linguistic, and cultural oppression. The main basis for this study is large archive of Kanaka writing contained in microfilmed copies of over 75 newspapers in Hawaiian language produced between 1834 and 1948. As Nancy Morris carefully detailed, historians have studiously avoided wealth of material written in Hawaiian and, as a result, it has appeared that Kanaka Maoli hardly appeared in history at all (Morris). For this reason, Trask has characterized Hawaiian historiography as the West's view of itself through degradation of my own past (153). It is easier not to see a struggle if one reads accounts written by only one side, and, since arrival of Captain James Cook in 1778, there have always been (at least) two sides of a struggle going on. …
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