Hawaii five-no: the scourge of separatism

IF you were gliding through the Honolulu airport at the beginning of your honeymoon, you might smirk upon encountering the T-shirts emblazoned with "The natives are restless." You might even buy one as a souvenir, before heading out to a resort for two weeks of surf and sun, and a generous helping of the convivial Aloha Spirit (which is actually defined by law). Two short weeks later, you'd hop on a plane and go home, with fond memories. It's unlikely you would have paid any attention to local politics. But if you had, you would have a far different impression of Hawaii than that afforded by sunset luaus and ivory beaches: The natives in Hawaii really are restless, and the Aloha Spirit--the omnipresent call to "emote good feelings to others"--has atrophied beneath a furious debate over the future of Hawaii's extensive network of race-exclusive programs.

"The perception is that Hawaii is something you win on an afternoon game show," says Sam Slom, a prominent businessman and one of only five Republicans in Hawaii's state senate. The reality, he explains, is far different: "A growing number of people here . . . have become anti-American." He is referring to the Hawaiian separatist movement, which used to be a fringe element of Hawaiian society, but has during the past few decades become so mainstream that the state's two Democratic senators and Republican governor are now pushing a bill through Congress that will establish a race-based governing entity for native Hawaiians. ("Native" in this context may be a misnomer, since the proposed government would be allowed to choose its own definition.) U.S. senator Daniel Akaka, the bill's author, has acknowledged that this native entity could eventually secede, taking some of Hawaii's land with it.

The Akaka bill is just the latest battle in a long Hawaiian war over multiculturalism, race entitlements, and the American way. When Hawaii joined the Union in 1959, statehood was very popular: An astounding 94 percent voted in favor. "We were so proud to be Americans," says Slom. "We had worked so hard for statehood because we had to prove to Congress that we weren't a bunch of savages out here." But in the years since, multiculturalism arrived, and with it, the Hawaiian-rights movement: "This is an incredible culture, but it's been taken over and radicalized." These days, the government won't even acknowledge Statehood Day, which used to be a raucous celebration, because it might prove too divisive. Slom was the sole member of the legislature to vote against a resolution supporting the Akaka bill.

"People think they're entitled to something taken from their ancestors ages ago," says Malia Zimmerman, Hawaii's most prominent conservative journalist. In reality, it's not even clear that anything was taken from ordinary native Hawaiians, since the monarchy owned and controlled most of the land. But this hasn't stopped the Akaka bill's proponents from casting the debate in stark reparation terms: Native-exclusive programs are a debt the U.S. owes to Hawaiians--though details of the alleged past transgressions are scant, or exaggerated--and without the bill, all native-only programs will be in danger. There is some validity to this last assertion. In 2000, the Supreme Court ruled that native-only voting restrictions for the board of a quasi-independent state agency, the Office of Hawaiian Affairs (OHA), were illegal. (OHA was conceived to benefit natives.) Just a few weeks ago, the Ninth Circuit Court, not exactly a bulwark of conservative thought, struck down a native-only admission policy at Kamehameha Schools. In response, over 20,000 Hawaiians took to the streets to protest, armed with hula skirts, pictures of deposed queen Liliuokalani, and the bright red T-shirts of the independence movement. They weren't the only ones who were upset. Gov. Linda Lingle said that "regardless of the legal basis of [the Kamehameha] decision, this is not a just decision."

These attitudes stoke the fires of the Akaka-bill movement. State attorney general Mark Bennett--like Lingle, a Republican--continues to argue that 40,000 natives living on lands held in trust by the federal government could lose their homes if Akaka's legislation isn't enacted. Lingle and Bennett reserve their harshest condemnation for those opposed to the bill on principle, accusing them of engaging in "baseless speculation," and making "specious claims" and "very wild arguments."

Slom and Zimmerman have weathered this storm. They're largely responsible for bringing the Akaka bill to the attention of the general Hawaiian public; until the past few weeks, it had remained a stealth issue of interest chiefly to the bill's backers. "When you're the only one standing up, you're a contrarian or a racist or a gadfly," Slom says. "Nobody likes to be called a racist, nobody wants to be called insensitive. It allows these things like separatist movements ... to expand."