Māhū Resistance: Challenging Colonial Structures of Power and Gender
The term māhū is familar to anyone who grew up in Hawaiʻi. When I was in elementary school asking my older brother what a māhū was, he responded “Da kine. You know one when you see one.” A māhū could be “defined” in various ways including: a person of a “third gender”; non-binary; queer; a person that is neither heterosexual nor cisgender; a homosexual; a trangender; a person who is gender transcendent like the Bissu of Indonesia; and/or a person that feels between male and female. It also holds the same meaning and tradition in Tahiti and other places within in Polynesia. In other words, being māhū means to move between multiple spaces and does not necessarily fit into one single English language definition. It is also a category and tradition that is deeply tied to the existence of Hawaiian culture and ideas of sovereignty because māhū themselves are in many ways the living hoʻokupu (offerings) of a culture that has kept resisting. The act of calling oneself a māhū is in effect an act of decolonization. It is a refusal for our stories and our lives as māhū to be erased by the same forces that ultimately stole the Hawaiʻi.
The time of Kaomi
The moʻolelo (story) of Kaomi Moe presents a story with themes familiar with many modern māhū. Kaomi Moe was the son of a Hawaiian mother and a Tahitian father. Kaomi excelled in the ancient Hawaiian healing arts and in hula but was deeply Christian and was educated in Western ways. His English teacher was in fact Reverend Hiram Bingham, pastor of Kawaiahaʻo Church. Soon his knowledge of healing attracted the attention of members of the royal court. It also helped that he was pleasing to the eye and had a good sense of humor. King Kamehameha III took notice of him and made Kaomi his aikāne, his lover. They both were in the their 20s. This angered a great deal of people, particularly the missionaries and other churchy Hawaiians. King Kamehameha III was forced to confess the nature of his relationship to a church congregation — a practice among some Calvinists — where he was then sentenced by Kaʻahumanu to build a stone wall for the missionaries. Kaomi, who grew up in the household of Kaʻahumanu, was kicked out from the church because he refused to denounce who he was. After Kamehameha III completed the wall with his hands, he and Kaomi continued their relationship.
By this time, Kaomi began to serve as a subversive symbol to Hawaiians of the incompatibility of Hawaiian culture and the imposed Calvinist value system. Kamehameha III declared Kaomi to be his mōʻī kuʻī or joint ruler — in effect his consort and equal. Kaomi’s separation from the Calvinist church became more permanent when he tried to revive the Hawaiian religion through a group called the Hulumanu. Although the Hulumanu were a native religion revivalist movement, it was syncretic as it was panentheistic in nature and had adopted Christian elements. Kaomi’s movement seems to have also had equalitarian underpinnings in their treatment of respecting not on the basis of their gender or kūlana (class or station) but of only their character and relationship to the akua (normally translated as a “god”). This upended the ideology of not just the Calvinists — who believed in hierarchies in the form of believers and the elect — but also of the power of the converted chiefs. It should be noted that this was one of the most serious movements to revive the Hawaiian religion since the Battle of Kuamoʻo in 1819 and it was being led by a māhū.
The missionaries at first dismissed the Hulumanu as nothing more than a frat. But it was organized and threatened the missionaries in an alter-Native sphere that they could not control completely — Hawaiian culture. Missionaries, like Rev. Hiram Bingham in his work, A Residence of Twenty-One Years In the Sandwich Islands, attacked Kaomi and his movement under “law and order” (their law, their order) grounds and blamed Kaomi for a litany of offenses — uncivilized behavior, prostitution, laziness, drunkennesss — and called him an “infidel”. Kaomi’s time as mōʻī kuʻi was called a period of “hana pagana” (pagan works) and “hana Sodoma” (Sodomite behavior) by other pastors. Church members were told to shun Kaomi and pray for the King to return to being “civilized”. Civilized in their eyes.
Bingham repeatedly wrote of his disdain for his former student, Kaomi, and of Kanaka Maoli (Native Hawaiians) who practiced their culture in his diaries, sermons, published works as well as in his correspondences to the American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Mission (ABCFM) on the state of the “Sandwich Islands Mission”. ABCFM eventually recognized that Bingham directly and repeatedly interfered with Hawaiian government affairs and recalled him to New England in 1841. But Bingham’s credo that one can not be Christian while being Hawaiian or his vocal condemnation of māhū like Kaomi from the bully pulpit has had a lasting legacy.
After a year of Kaomi, Kaua’i Governor Kaikioʻewa, a devout Christian, ordered his servant to assassinate Kaomi. According to noted 19th century historian Samuel Kamakau in Ruling Chiefs of Hawaii, the plan was to kidnap and club Kaomi slowly to death. His brutal death was supposed to become a symbol of a new Christianized and “civilized” Hawaiʻi. They had already kidnapped Kaomi and was in the process of beating him when the then Prime Minister and half-sister to the King, Princess Elizabeth Kīnaʻu, found out about this and told the King. The King then rushed in during the beating to save his beloved Kaomi. King Kamehameha III took Kaomi to his home to protect him but then removed Kaomi from court. Some accounts also say that it was Kaomi who removed himself from the court because of the trauma and the hypocrisy of the court as well as to protect the King.
Nonetheless, Kaomi died within the year due his wounds. He died alone. The “time of Kaomi” (ka wā o Kaomi) as his detractors called it, was over. His rebellion became a morality tale told by missionaries on the dangers of the māhū while Kaikioʻewa was seen as morally right man. In fact, Kaikioʻewa was not tried for his involvement. Kamehameha III on the other hand was taught another lesson — that disorder and “uncivilized” behavior would jeopardize the sovereignty of the Hawaiian Kingdom and being open about his sexuality could lead to his own assassination. Kamehameha III began a dramatic transformation of the Hawaiian Kingdom through a Magna Carta in 1839 and a Constitution in 1840, albeit it through a Christian voice in order to gain the support of the powerful church. In this light, Kaomi’s passing may have been one of the catalysts of the birth of tangible civil rights and a re-centering power to the common people.
The “time of Kaomi” also helps to illustrate that māhū in 19th century and 20th century Hawaiʻi were perceived as a threat to the established order. Kaomi for example was disliked not just because of his political influence, but because of his rejection of Western patriarchy and his sexual identity. His attempted assassination could be considered the earliest documented case in Hawaiʻi of a hate crime. His Hulumanu faction was also an early attempt at reviving aspects of Hawaiian culture demonized by the missionaries who were busy not only trying to convert Hawaiians to Christianity, but to convert Hawaiians into Americans. Kaomi represented a returned to “uncivilized” Hawaiian life which posed a political threat internally (vis-a-vis the converted chiefs and the missionaries) and externally (the recognition of Hawaiian independence by Western powers).
But “civilized” life, as proposed by the missionaries, also posed a threat to people such as Kaomi as civilized basically meant colonized. Early Hawaiian scholars including Samuel Kamakau wrote about Kaomi in a negative light as they themselves were Christian converts. We will never know Kaomi’s perspective because the historical narrative of that time period was for the most part was controlled by the missionaries and their supporters as they owned the printing presses at that time. It was not until late 20th century Hawaiian māhū scholars such as Dr. Noenoe Silva did Kaomi’s legacy began to be reassessed though many Kanaka Maoli today still are not aware of the moʻolelo of Kaomi.
The demonization of māhū and aikāne relationships like Kaomi in the 1830s helped to further androcentrism, gender binary and patriarchy thus internalizing the structures of colonialism that had begun to form with the commodification of women in 1778. Any colonial and neo-colonial system is a kyriarchal system by default — which is why Kanaka Maoli should not address settler colonialism, sovereignty, militarization, sexism, transphobia, homophobia, the TMT, homelessness, incarcerations, and economic justice as separate issues but collectively as being part of the same system of oppression experienced by Kaomi and by modern Kanaka Maoli.
The dehumanization experienced by Kaomi is still felt by māhū today. “When I was growing up, the word māhū was a bad word. It was a source of hurt and a way that kids put you down or to influence others not to like you or to jump on the bandwagon,” according to Kumu Hinaleimoana Wong-Kalu, who is more popularly known as “Kumu Hina”. Kumu Hina was the subject of a ground breaking biographical film, Kumu Hina, that went to win numerous film awards and was shown on PBS. When a group of educators put together an optional Hawaiian culture based curriculum on sexually transmitted diseases and teen pregnancy called “Pono Choices”, Kumu Hina was one of the featured speakers. Republican State Representatives Sam Slom and Bob McDermott attacked “Pono Choices” for having Kumu Hina as a presenter for a video. Kumu Hina was the only māhū speaker and the only speaker so attacked. The Hawaiʻi Independent Republican Association (HIRA) also attacked her and refused to address her by the female pronoun and referred to her as a “transvestite drag queen who…wears a padded bra.” Undaunted by such personal attacks, Kumu Hina continues to fight for Hawaiian and māhū rights and has gone on to become a recipient of the National Education Association Ellison Onizuka Human and Civil Rights Award, Native Hawaiian Community Educator of the year, and was named a White House Champion of Change by then President Barack Obama. Kumu Hina also played a key role in helping to organize support for the Kiaʻi Mauna Kea movement including the Aloha ʻĀina Unity March in 2019 — which was the largest march in Hawaiian history.
To Kumu Hina, a māhū “is someone that can navigate between kāne and wāhine”. In English, Kumu Hina would be described as a transgender woman but māhū nonetheless. Since the term māhū can have multiple spaces and experiences, Kumu Hina originally coined the terms: māhū kāne (transgender man) and māhū wahine (transgender woman). However, Kumu Hina believes that those terms should be revised due to scientific advancement and so she coined four new terms. Māhū who feel internally wahine (female) — emotionally, spiritually, psychologically and culturally — could use the term haʻawahine. If they feel more internally that they are kāne (men), they are haʻakāne. When they have taken on externally what they feel internally i.e. dressing as a female, have began to or had undergone hormone therapy and other forms of medical transitioning (including cosmetic surgery), then the term hoʻowahine would be used. Likewise, for māhū who feel that they are internally male and taking that form externally, then hoʻokāne. The terms Haʻawahine, haʻakāne, hoʻowahine and hoʻokāne are all verbs that provoke cultural connections to traditional gender norms.
It also needs to be noted that the ideas of masculine and feminine gender norms and behaviors in Hawaiian culture are not the same as in the West and have a different cultural context. Affectionate comradeship in various forms and levels was common place between members of the same gender in the Pacific especially in Polynesia. According to Kumu Hina, “It used to be perfectly acceptable for men to be affectionate to each other in public, to hold hands, to hug for example in when I go to Tonga and it was not that they were māhū. Thatʻs just the way men were. Hawaiians were the same way before. Polynesians are affectionate people. There was no shame. There was room to express how you felt. Now, with Western influence, that’s changing. Western influence brings so much suspicion and so much self-hate.” This self-hate and repression then leads to toxic masculinity, self-harm, violence and more trauma which ultimately re-enforces the structures of colonialism and patriarchy.
In addition to māhū, Kanaka Maoli also recognized aikāne relationships. While māhū describes an identity and cultural role, aikāne describes more of a type of relationship. Aikāne relationships exist between two men, two women or one man and one māhū. In Hawaiian cultural norms, having an intimate relationship with a person of the same gender did not necessarily make one a māhū. A person could feel perfectly fine in their culturally assigned roles as kane or wahine. But there was a strong attraction regardless of the gender. Ranking chiefs or people with station normally had consorts and aikāne. Kamehameha I, for example, had aikāne as well as consorts. It is important to note here that Hawaiian society, both men and women could have consorts. Kaʻahumanu was among a almost two dozen consorts of Kamehameha I and Kamehameha I was among her three (or so) principal consorts of Kaʻahumanu. With the missionaries and their allies, these types of relationships were also suppressed. But in Hawaiian as well as in other Polynesian cultures, these types of relationships were celebrated and acknowledged including in the epics of Pele and Hiʻiaka. Hiʻiaka, sister to Pele, has for example a strong aikāne relationship to Hopoe. Dr. kuʻualoha hoʻomanawanui (she prefers to lowercase her name), author of Voices of Fire: Reweaving the Lei of Pele and Hiʻiaka Literature, argues that aikāne relationships provided “an avenue of mana (spiritual power) on two levels: human to human connections (individual ‘ano [disposition], attraction, and mana); and, on a political level.” Aikāne relationships, according to Dr. Hoʻomanawanui could also be an extension of the ‘ohana (family unit) “where there could be a claim to one partner’s moʻokūʻauhau [genealogy] in the way as it was for a ‘heterosexual’ relationship.” The aikāne relationship between King Kamehameha III and Kaomi could be seen in this light.
In Hawaiian culture, there was space for monogamous or polyamorous relationships. There was also a broad understanding and acceptance for a variety of sexual orientations, gender expressions as well as sexual and non-sexual relationships allowing people to avoid stigma, trauma and shame. If anything, this seems to indicate that Kanaka Maoli of the past saw that having these spaces for varieties and identities to exist and flourish helped to maintain strong relationships with each other, the ancestors and the land itself because everyone felt part of the community and loved.
This does not mean that all Kanaka Maoli today have the same level of progressiveness that our ancestors had. Kolonaio (colonization and other Western influences) and intergenerational trauma are real in the Kanaka Maoli community. When Hawai’i State Senate Bill 1 — the bill that legalized marriage equality in Hawai’i — was being passed, some of the opposition came from Kanaka Maoli themselves because of the legacy of colonization. As Kahala Johnson, a māhū political science graduate student, points out “Eh, us māhū, we nevah forget how we was treated by the lāhui during SB1 back in 2013. Gaslighting, dehumanization, being called faggots and trannies, being spit on, all kinds of terrible behavior from our own lāhui (nation)”.
When Kahala and other māhū were helping the kiaʻi (defenders) at Mauna Kea last year, he noticed that “there were choke — a lot of other — māhū so we decided to hold space for woman and hold space for māhū. That’s how Hale Mana Māhū got ea (sovereignty/breath).” While there always had been māhū in every major Hawaiian movement in the last 200 years, Hale Mana Māhū was the first positive and open recognition of Māhū involvement and importance in the larger Kanaka Maoli body politic. For a long period of time, some prominent Māhū activists had felt that their identity, relationship within the community (including within the Hawaiian sovereignty movement) and specific issues had been sidelined or ignored for short term political gains and for the sake of “unity”.
But Hale Mana Māhū reminded Kanaka Maoli that we have always been there within the community. The decolonized alter-Native narrative represented by culturally grounded women and māhū has always been there. Kaomi was a manifestation of that. Hale Mana Māhū was also a recognition of that history.
To many māhū, it was liberating and showed that once again, māhū would not be erased.