Navigating Identity
Confusion as a Fair-Skinned Indigenous Woman in Psychology
Image of Haunani-Kay Trask
“What a
fascinating thing life is! I have
survived the many, many stories of how I think, what I know, and who I am—all
told by those who are well meaning, well dressed, and well ignorant of the
deeper sides of my cultural epistemology. It’s
a telling that has captured more than my imagination—it has, instead, held me
hostage to ideas and philosophies I have had no hand in forming, and thus I
have felt no real stake in its potential to inspire (Meyer, 2001, p. 1).”
It has long been taught that
America is a melting pot consisting of different cultures, backgrounds, and
histories. For the vast majority of
individuals who make up the dominant culture’s melting pot, the lesson of
multiple melding cultures is easily digestible.
If, however, an individual happens to fall outside of that collective
norm—be it due to gender, race, or what have you, questions arise: How does my background fit into this context,
when at the same time it is being muddied down? Confusion among identity development for
individuals who belong to marginalized and oppressed groups still continues to
be troubling. This can be especially so
when incorporate concepts such as gender identity. Logically, America as a melting pot is convincing—but
only after considering that the ability to blend and melt different cultures
together leaves room to mold ideals into the dominant perspective. Before acquiescing this view, several factors
must be considered: Who is stirring the
pot? What is the dominant force stirring? What cultures are being melted? To whom does the melting of cultures benefit? And how are the melted cultures and histories
being molded? Modern history and age-old
social norms cast shadows on oppressed groups, silencing their views. It is not until people look within the
shadows that they acquire the ability to analyze the questions posed.
Through colonialism, illegal annexation,
and cultural genocide, Hawaiian culture has been changed. The romanticism of what American’s believe
the culture of Hawai‘i embodies has failed to give a voice to Hawaiians. Rather, dominant perspectives have attempted
to erase Hawaiian history and leave it in the dominant perspective’s shadows.
I am no stranger to the strain of
acquiescing my own identity and trying to present myself in a favorable light
for the purpose of appeasing the cultural and social norms of our society. I have laughed at jokes about my culture that
I did not agree with. I have sat idly by
and accepted the romanticization of the archipelago I consider to be my motherland. I have been silent when people tell me how
lucky I am to be from the picturesque location that is Hawai‘i Nei. I have been embarrassed and ashamed of the
color of my skin, because who has ever seen a fair-skinned hapa haole (half foreigner), Native Hawaiian woman? I have felt like a fraud. And for what?
As I reflect on my experiences thus far, what I understand now is that
people do not know what they do not know.
I understand how powerful silence is, and how important my voice can
be. I have long feared that I would be
the lone voice chanting my song to people who would not understand the language.
What I realize now is that I am not
alone in this identity struggle, and my silence only further perpetuates what I
wish to stand against. I have never felt
so free as I do currently, now that I no longer feel restricted by the chains
of a detrimental colonized perspective.
I feel proud, and I know my kūpuna
and family who have gone before me would feel proud as well.
One thing that has brought me here
is the acceptance and realization of emotional processes and moving through
them. To be honest and to be open about
feelings is a beautiful process. And to
be honest, I experience a significant amount of hurt and pain. I feel the generational trauma that comes from
identifying as half colonizer, half colonized—a so-called “mixed pedigree” of
sorts. The “mixed pedigree” that Hawaiians
have been molded into forces us to conceptualize our culture into boxes of
“either” and “or” (Franklin & Lyons, 2004), leading Hawaiian’s to view
themselves as either separate from Americans or as one who identifies with the
colonizers (Kauanui, 2018). These
categorically defined realms push Hawaiians into a space where Hawaiian culture
has been widely defined, acculturated, and stereotyped into the American view
of what and who Westerners’ think
Hawaiian’s are. Because of the limited amount
of Kānaka Maoli existing today, an uneven amount
of responsibility and pressure is placed on individuals within academia to
continue indigenous discourse.
Trask (1999) states:
If it is truly our history Western historians desire to know,
they must put down their books, and take up our practices . . . The history of
indigenous people cannot be written from within Western culture. Such a story is merely the West’s story of
itself. Our story remains unwritten. It rests within the culture, which is
inseparable from the land. To know this
is to know our history. To write this is
to write of the land and the people who are born from her. (pp. 120-121)
If we are apart of a so-called melting pot, we must
do our due diligence to understand what story is being told, who is telling it,
and how the person who is telling its’ perspective may impact the
discourse. I urge people to constantly
question who is stirring, who is melting, and who is molding what we know.
In my story and within my melting
pot, I choose to mix the cultural context of Hawaiian psychological history
into something that can be molded to speak loudly, proudly, and humbly. My mold no longer stands within the shadow of
the dominant perspective. Much
like many movements taking place today, I will no longer be silent about my
experience as a Native Hawaiian woman and the importance of continuing
indigenous discourse. Breaking
the silence is what brings me meaning and how I share the story of my ancestors—a
culture that strives, thrives, and is resilient. For me, it is only through utilizing my mana‘o (knowledge) to break the silence
with reverence, respect, and diligence that harmony and balance will be
achieved. I am firmly planting my feet
in this process.
Truth be told, this is no original
concept, and I am not anyone special. To
many people with indigenous or colored backgrounds, it is something that has
been voiced for centuries. I just happen
to be lucky enough to have a platform where people may be willing to
listen. Even with the forced demographic
names of “Native American” or “Native Hawaiian,” we are placed in confined
boxes where the outside has named who we are.
But this is not who we are in its entirety. We, as Native Hawaiians, are Kanaka Maoli. We are Kanaka
‘Ōiwi.
We are so much more. I am a Hawaiian,
for now and forever. He Hawai‘i Au, Mau a Mau.
Written by: Melissa Leilani Devencenzi
References
Franklin, C., & Lyons, L.
(2004). Remixing hybridity: Globalization, native resistance, and cultural
production in Hawaiʻi. American Studies, 45, 49-80.
Kauanui,
J. K. (2018). Decolonization series: The urgency of decolonization. New York,
NY: Barnard College.
Meyer, M. A. (2001). Our own liberation:
Reflections on Hawaiian epistemology. The
Contemporary Pacific, 13,
124-148.
Trask, H.
K. (1999). From a native daughter: Colonialism and sovereignty in Hawaiʻi.
Honolulu, HI: University of Hawaiʻi Press.
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