"Da Kine":Writing for Children in Hawaii—and Elsewhere Stephen Canham (bio) Hawaii has about 800,000 people scattered over its various islands, of whom a goodly proportion are children. Yet it has no major writer for children, no author whose name we would instantly recognize and say "Oh yes, I've heard of . . ." Nor does it have a major illustrator. Why not? Do artists need cold winters? Interstate freeways? Squirrels, snakes, or other fauna that Hawaii lacks? I doubt it; the problem is more complex than that, and its various issues touch not only Hawaii, but any community with a distinct regional identity. Let's take the most obvious things first. Where is Hawaii, anyway? All most people know is that it's a long way away. When mainlanders visit Hawaii they don't even consider it part of the United States—"Back in the States," they say, and their mistake tacitly acknowledges the isolation and sense of difference which inform life in the Islands. But while Hawaii is the most geographically isolated inhabited land area in the world, the artist cannot really "get away" in Hawaii—after all, we have our traffic jams, our pollution, our crime, just like every other place in the U.S. And it's only a five hour flight back to the mainland, and a microsecond by satellite. Wall Street Journal? New York Times? You can get them the same day in Honolulu. So, if one is going to claim remoteness as a reason for the lack of a major writer for children resident in Hawaii, one cannot do so strictly on the basis of geography. Besides geographic isolation, there are more complex and delicate aspects of the issue. Take language. I have lived in Hawaii for six years, and throughout that time, I have observed and participated in what I call the Great On-Going Pidgin Debate. The lingua franca in Hawaii is not standard English, but a creole inaccurately called "pidgin." Actually, there are many different pidgins, spoken by different ethnic groups in different parts of the Islands. But together they form a powerful, colorful, and useful blend of English, Hawaiian, Japanese, Chinese, and other Pacific languages, with its origins in the speech of immigrant laborers of the sugar and pineapple plantations. Pidgin is the oral language of the "local," the person who is decidedly from Hawaii without necessarily being of full Hawaiian ancestry; the precise meaning of "local" depends entirely on the speaker. To call someone "local" can carry everything from commendatory to pejorative implications, a typical example of pidgin's flexibility. A "local boy"—or girl—takes "da kine" (pidgin), would like to drive "da kine" (a lowered Volkswagen or Toyota with dark-tinted windows and a three-hundred dollar sound system), "grinds da kine" (eats plate lunches "wit two scoop rice"), likes to "go beach" or cruise, and outwardly seems perfectly content doing so. Novice locals, those in the pre-driving years, imitate their elders scrupulously, studying the moves and intonations, the patterns of culture and language, that their local heroes display in shopping malls, parking lots, and on the beach. Here's the rub: the local doesn't read. Not that he can't—he just doesn't. The written word, the word as art, doesn't matter much to the local. He has not been trained, has not been initiated into the mystery of the word, into its beauty, its probing, expressive and evocative capabilities, and so its aesthetic dimension remains unknown. For the local, words are often only mechanical instruments, minimal tools to be used to obtain something at a rudimentary level of exchange-a driver's license, position in the peck order, a fight. There are, of course, crude generalizations, but they hold—not only in Hawaii. The predominant use of pidgin by the local youth reveals their intense ethnocentricity, their profound need for a group identity in the midst of the numerous ethnic and economic enclaves of the Islands. This ethnocentricity seems to stem first and foremost from a desire to clearly establish a sense of boundary, a sense of familiarity and shared interest—a safe harbor in the midst of cultural and...
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