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Say what?

If you hail from New York, you are a New Yorker. In my life I've been an Oregonian, a Coloradoan and a Californian. That's because I've lived in those states. I live in Hawaii now, but I can never be Hawaiian. To be Hawaiian, you must have Hawaiian blood. A Hawaiian can be a Californian or a Nevadan, a Washingtonian or a Vermonter, but a haole mainlander of European descent can never be a Hawaiian. Here in Hawaii, I am a Hawaii resident. No less, but no more. According to my state I.D., I am kama'aina, insofar as my ability to receive an occasional local discount on stuffs l'dat. Technically, however, kama'aina means native born. Hawaiians born in the islands are both Hawaiian and kama'aina. A Hawaiian born in California is still Hawaiian, though not kama'aina. Third, fourth or fifth generation descendants of missionaries or plantation workers who were born in Hawaii are kama'aina, but not Hawaiian. I am officially a malihini, or newcomer, and will be until I've been here for a very long time. Maybe forever. Of course, some of this confusion comes from the fact that this state bears the same name as the people who first inhabited the islands. Of course, so do several other states - Iowa and the Dakotas come to mind - along with hundreds of towns, cities and counties. So, what does all this mean? I guess these are just things that make me go, "hmmmmmmm...."
One thing I notice here is the plethora of placards and other postings declaring Hawaiian-ness. It's not unlike the "native" bumper stickers that became popular in Colorado and Oregon as people began moving to those states in droves back in the 80s. Here, bumper stickers say, "Proud Hawaiian," or "Kau Inoa" which is the Hawaiian ethnic registry. I saw a guy sporting a t-shirt ala Dr. Seuss the other day that read, "Hawaiian I am." Mahalo, mahalo, Sam I am. I think it's great, this resurgence in Hawaiian ethnic identity and pride. A little pride is a good thing for a people who have been oppressed and feel disenfranchised. But it also feels a bit exclusionary. If you're not Hawaiian, you're not in the club. I suppose that excluded is just how Hawaiians have felt in their own land for more than two hundred hears now; ever since that crazy Captain Cook happened upon these islands. What goes around comes around.
I've thought about getting my own bumper sticker to announce my Heinz 57 origins. Maybe something like, "Norwegian, Scottish, Irish, German, Cherokee Pride." My heritage would make me a herring eatin', spud gummin', whiskey swillin', bratworst-gnashin' buffalo pemmican chewer. No poi, but plenty to be proud of, for sure. (Also quite a lot to be ashamed of, but we won't go there just now...) Technically, I guess you could add African to the list, since we are all descendants of the first homosapiens to walk upright on that continent. Admittedly, that would be going way back. Now, the Cherokee part is something my grandmother swore to, despite no actual, researched family tree to prove it. That said, if you ever saw my great uncle Bill or my great aunt May, you'd believe it. Of course, if I'm Native American, then I might have descendants who crossed the ice sheet spanning the Bering straight tens of thousands of years ago, which also makes me Asian. Despite the Native American blood, which admittedly is just a smidgen, I'm thinking my multi-ethnic pronouncement would not be appreciated here. This, despite the fact that Hawaii may be the most diversely populated, multi-ethnic state in the union. If, that is, you believe it to actually be a state.
And so go the musings of a strange mind.
Abner wants some petting now, so I've gotta go. Cat's rule, dogs drool and people are all just here for their comfort.
A hui hou. Aloha!

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