Under the Sun
Local politics is a stew
of ethnic calculationsWHEN he came to Hawaii in the mid-1970s, "Joe" was amazed at the diversity of people and cultures here. As a liberal Democrat, he relished the progressive social atmosphere in which people of varied ethnic groups held sway in politics and business. He embraced the contemporary music scene that combined American influences with slack key and ukulele. He was fascinated by the tonalities and vocabulary of pidgin English. But a little more than a year later, he went back to the mainland, disappointed and bitter, after realizing that with his reddish hair, green eyes and easily sunburned white skin, he would never be accepted completely in his idealized vision of Hawaii.
I'm sure Joe's experience isn't unique. Penetrating the local orientation of life in Hawaii is difficult. Exclusion of "new people" -- a kind of code expression I often hear in place of the politically incorrect "mainland haole" -- is a force bred by an inheritance of feelings from an earlier time. For many local people, especially those of the World War II generation, haoles represent oppression. Although they were citizens, locals were not accorded the full rights of America because their parents had immigrated from China or Japan or the Philippines, and brown-skinned Hawaiians were looked upon as lesser beings. The political changes that came in the 1950s, largely through the efforts of the Democratic Party and the labor unions, brought economic and social status to the underclass.
A half-century later, it's hard to let go of that sensibility. The memory of the turnabout of power has trickled down through generations and still influences personal behavior and attitudes, as well as societal relations. It is through this prism that politics has been conducted in Hawaii.
Under his name on the signs a City Council candidate has posted around my neighborhood are printed the words "longtime resident." Clumsy as it may sound as a campaign slogan, the candidate obviously wants voters to know that he's no newcomer to the islands. Another Council candidate whose last name doesn't clearly reflect his island roots is careful to point out in his biography that he comes from a "kamaaina family" on Kauai.
Still, in this year's campaign, murmuring beneath all this talk of change, there seems to be another message, an underlying element of newcomer vs. local.
Republican Linda Lingle walks the margins between declaring her longtime-resident status and her representation of "new beginnings." Her appeal appears to be to those who feel they've been left out despite having staked a claim in Hawaii, those who have yet to make inroads into the power structure and to those disillusioned by torpor in the Democratic Party.
Against this formidable gathering, Mazie Hirono skims the status quo from her image with "responsible change" while holding fast to the partner who brought her to the dance. The public and private labor unions along with the Democratic Party form the base she's counting on to get to the governor's office.
Within these contexts, both candidates pursue voters of varied ethnic groups, a ticklish undertaking. At a forum entitled "My kine mo bettah" at the University of Hawaii Sunday, the panelists agreed that although there is a tendency for groups to vote for others like themselves, there's no guarantee that they can be courted as a bloc. While many voters don't put much thought into marking their ballots, there are enough who do. There are enough who see through the cynicism of image-makers who surround candidates with smiling brown faces or show them stepping lively at a bon dance.
In a perfect world, ethnicity would not play a role in politics. But the flaws of human nature, our fears and our discomfort with the unfamiliar and the need to feel part of a whole all fold unbounded into our perspectives. No can help.
Cynthia Oi has been on the staff of the Star-Bulletin for 25 years.
She can be reached at: coi@starbulletin.com.