On my first visit to Hilo some time ago, I couldn’t help but notice something wholly unexpected on this “old Hawaii” side of the Big Island, the large number of queer, transgender and transvestite people who make their homes here.
Arriving from liberal California, I had always been an active, avid supporter of the LGBTQ civil rights movement and social justice struggles. On the Big Island, however, where churches and bible study groups appear nearly as ubiquitous as tropical rainbows and lava, I was surprised at what I was seeing, and not a little bit curious.
At the time, this haole from the mainland was unaware of the fact that native Hawaiians had historically embraced bisexual and same-sex relationships, until missionaries arrived from Britain and forcibly ended these “shameful” customs.
For centuries, Hawaiians had believed that people possess both female and male gender traits, or virtues, and it was commonplace for a man to openly lead his life as a female, or Mahu. In fact, some sons were encouraged by their parents from a young age to express their feminine side, including taking on the outward appearance of a female and performing domestic tasks such as cooking and cleaning.
That all changed after Captain Cook’s crew arrived in the late 18th Century. They were shocked to learn that Hawaiian concubines – often males – were assigned to commit the “Sin of Onan upon the old King” — meaning oral sex. Missionaries followed in Cook’s footsteps, intent, or hell-bent, on “saving souls” and eradicating “heathen” behaviors. They drove indigenous Hawaiians’ once-proud social traditions underground until the modern day.
Notably, Hawaii today still has among the highest number of transgender residents per capita in the nation, according to a recent study by the Williams Institute, a think tank at the UCLA School of Law.
But as the annual Gay Pride events in June are coming to a close in Hilo and gay hotspots around the nation, it’s incumbent on us to recognize how difficult life can be in so many ways for the LGBTQ community, who are particularly vulnerable to everything from alienation in their families to gender-based violence to workplace discrimination and, despite a “Gender Affirming Treatment Act” bill just signed into law by the Governor, systemic obstacles to medical services – and to remember that colonization is the underlying reason why.
Notwithstanding these problems, Keiva Lei Cadena, a well-spoken and striking 40-something trans woman who counsels youth at Hilo’s Hawaii Health and Harm Reduction Center, has a nuanced, but generally favorable view of gay life in Hilo. She has found a well of acceptance and support here, after many difficult years facing judgment and rejection by certain family members. Reflecting on the past, she says, “having that duality of a feminine and masculine perspective on life, relationships and responsibilities really gave us a lot of healing powers.”
Not that queer life today is easy. According to a 2018 report focused on the health of transgender youth in the state, half of Hawaii’s transgender youth “regularly sleep in a motel, emergency housing, a friend’s place, car, park or campground. A quarter of transgender kids in public high school have tried injecting illegal drugs at least once, compared to just 1 percent of their non-transgender peers. And half had attempted suicide in the past year.” Others resort to prostitution.
A tragic irony is that many native Hawaiian families, despite holding their cultural heritage dear, have a dim view of same-sex relationships – thus perpetuating social barriers to gender equality. Such is the legacy of the missionaries here, who left in their wake untold numbers of broken lives and lost souls.
For now, Cadena looks to a brighter future while doing what she can to mitigate the impacts of the enduring stigmas and hardships of being openly queer. “Acceptance is pertinent if we want to perpetuate our history as native Hawaiians,” she says, “and to be inclusive and put our foot forward with aloha first.”
Erica Zeitlin is a resident of Hamakua.