So tired. So angry. So tired of being angry. This program exhausts me. The only thing I can say against it is that itʻs too much sometimes. When you preach to the choir, theyʻre listening already. Who is this for? Everyone in this class chose to be here. The way they say “white;” the anger is palpable. We needed a radical in 1993. It was so brave to say, ʻWe are not American. We will never be American. I am not an American.” I have hoahānau that served in the U.S. military. What do I do about that? I went home to Oʻahu last month and I bristled constantly. “Thatʻs not how you say that. Thereʻs a kahakō. That place is not Yokes. Itʻs Keawaʻula.” No oneʻs going to call it that. Part of me, when I watch this, makes the argument, “Sanskrit is dead. Latin is dead. Hawaiian is alive.” And if it is alive then Yokes gets to be a part of the conversation. Then I go to the palace. Iʻve walked those hallowed grounds so many times. Iʻve looked out the window of that empty room where they kept her. Promulgate a new constitution. Her intent before she was betrayed. I didnʻt even know that word. Promulgate. Iʻm getting angry again. Why didnʻt she listen to Charles Wilson? Arrest three traitors and take a gamble that America wonʻt send the calvary to save these descendants of missionaries and suger barons.
I went to a gathering on Lā Kūʻokoʻa. What is ea? What does it men today? Ua huhū au nō. Kaumaha. So heavy. Sadness is correctly described in ʻōlelo Hawaiʻi as heavy. I could write about this until you say, “Stop!” But it all comes ʻround again and again. Venezuela. Greenland. Ukraine. It’s all the same fucking day, man.