Island Waves From Indigenous Struggles and How They Ripple Across the World
Indigenous peoples — disadvantaged, marginalized, and abused — can be found disjointed and without formal government representation in every corner of the world. The Bishop Estate of the Kamehameha Schools is a unique indigenous institution that possesses both the jurisdiction and the financial means to unite their sole beneficiaries, the Native Hawaiians. The trust’s portfolio of land holdings and investments worth billions exist in the name of Native Hawaiian education, with its trustees managing the policies of the all-Hawaiian student-populated Kamehameha Schools (Associated Press). Numerous affirmative action and antitrust lawsuits, and board-member scandals that have racked the institution in the past few decades raises the concern of how to ensure proper governance and representation for its native peoples. Drawing scrutiny from both the Hawaiians and the national government, the estate’s future actions will test its legitimacy as a vanguard for indigenous groups’ advancement across the globe. While opponents may argue that vulnerability to internal corruption warrants full government oversight, I argue that government itself would not necessarily act in the best interests of a native people either. We must preserve the Bishop Estate and similar institutions representing indigenous peoples — even if it means implementing a dual government-indigenous peoples advisory board to solidify trust among native beneficiaries and solicit cooperation from standing government.
The history of the Bishop Estate dates back to its creation in 1884 by the will of Princess Bernice Pauahi Bishop “to educate the children of Hawaii” (Associated Press). Through the Princess’s will, the Bishop Estate was formed as a charitable trust that spawned the Kamehameha Schools to fulfill its founding purpose. A century later, the estate grew into a multibillion-dollar estate, fueled by a trove of investments and 337,000 acres in land holdings, intended for the advancement of Native Hawaiian education and outreach programs (Associated Press). The significance of such an institution cannot be underscored enough. Like the indigenous peoples of other nations, the Native Hawaiians are “some of the most marginalized and disenfranchised groups in the islands”, having “the lowest mean family income…of all major ethnic groups,” “the second highest rate of unemployment…behind American Indians and Alaskan natives,” and “fall behind in areas such as education” (Macfarlane). The Bishop Estate exists, not as a juggernaut to propel Hawaiians to greatness, but to serve as a remedy for the evils of colonization and ensure their identity does not fade into oblivion. Princess Pauahi-Bishop believed empowerment through education was that remedy — and thus an institution to defend that right on behalf of Hawaiians was born.
The reality is, however, that the Bishop Estate faced challenges both internal and external that betrayed their role as Hawaiians’ protector. The Estate is governed by a board of five trustees, appointed by the Hawaii State Supreme Court, who wield near-absolute power. “Though they paid themselves $1 million each, they had no job descriptions, no agreed-upon objectives, no annual reviews, no staff executive, and no oversight to speak of” (King and Roth). The old adage “absolute power corrupts absolutely” seemed to be a prophecy fulfilled when a 1997 scandal exposed the trustees’ underhanded dealings and descent into tyranny. As a 1997 article Hawaiians Clash With Trustees of Estate-Run School explains, the estate’s all-powerful trustees interfered in “day-to-day school affairs” and engaged in “self-dealing and financial mismanagement” (Purdum). The trustee scandal unleashed furious backlash from angered native Hawaiians who demanded a judicial inquiry into the estate’s dealings, which writer Todd Purdum emphasized in what he implied as a loss of faith between a trust and the very people it dedicated its existence to. Even today, Hawaiians reel from this oligarchic betrayal — the “40% of Native Hawaiians who are disabled” are not accepted into Kamehameha, which has “no special education program,” and, as a population, continues to live at significantly higher poverty levels than Whites (Fujii). How is it that the Bishop Estate, which has wide jurisdiction to address these issues, has yet failed to use its billions to resolve them? The answer, for many local residents, appears to lie within the pocketbooks of the Bishop trustees.
While much of the spotlight rests on the Bishop trustees, discovering the true origins of the controversy begs a closer look at its backstage actors. The current structure of the organization delegates sole power of trustee appointment to the Hawaii State Supreme Court, a practice that has turned the Estate into a “fiefdom” of “well-connected members of Hawaii’s tight-knit power structure” (King and Roth). In fact, the International Journal of Not-for-Profit Law notes in its 1998 article United States: Overview of the Bishop Estate Controversy that “trustees in recent years have included a Speaker of the House, President of the Senate and Chief Justice of the Supreme Court…and the most recent trustee is the best friend and political confidant of the Governor” (Roth). The trustees’ brazen connections to political elites is a glaring conflict of interest that not only jeopardizes millions in covert dealings, but also the quality of education for Hawaiian students with trustees’ lack of expertise in that arena. On top of having earned their political renown in a government system which usurped that of the Hawaiians in the 1893 Hawaiian Overthrow, there is nothing to guarantee that these trustees have the interests of their native beneficiaries at heart. The current system governing the Bishop Estate may continue to sacrifice accountability and transparency so long as its trustees are in cahoots with political elites, or vice versa.
The road to reform lies perhaps in the very reason that America, like many other countries, eschewed despotic monarchy — the need for democracy. Government by, for, and of the people, Lincoln once said — and the Bishop Estate bears significant semblance to a government as a representative institution for a marginalized people. It has a duty, therefore, to ensure that its policies and fiscal management are directed in the best interests of the Native Hawaiian people. Such a model for reform is supported by the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples, which calls for “indigenous peoples’ participation in all decisions that will affect their lives, including meaningful participation in a democratic polity” (Adoption of the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples: 13 Years Later). An obvious remedy would be selection of worthy trustee candidates by popular election amongst the Native Hawaiian population. Individuals who directly represent Hawaiians, even if they comprise a fraction of the board of trustees, would secure the people’s voice in their institution’s decision-making. Another possibility would be to constrain the State Supreme Court’s appointment power by setting requirements for trustees as defined by both the Hawaiian and local populace, such as a record of service to the Hawaiian community. After all, while opponents may advocate for continued Supreme Court selection of trustees based on merit, it appears that their “merits” lie solely on past political accomplishments. Hawaiian community leaders span a range of renowned musicians, activists, and educators — would it be absurd to appoint individuals with actual vested interest in Hawaiian cultural education? In any case, the Bishop Estate must set safeguards for the representation of their people. A charity which neglects its purpose and harms its beneficiaries is an evil that must be rectified.
In recent years, critics have attacked the institution’s core mission, raising questions as to whether the Bishop Estate’s “bias” towards the Hawaiian people warrant complete school policy reform, or even dismantling. Maile Arvin’s 2008 article Still in the Blood: Gendered Histories of Race, Law, and Science in Day v. Apoliona explains the controversy behind the school’s private school admissions process, which gives preference to those with Native Hawaiian blood. “The private Kamehameha Schools’ admissions policy of admitting Native Hawaiian students first has been repeatedly challenged by lawsuits from non-Native Hawaiian plaintiffs who charge that Kamehameha Schools’ policy is also unconstitutional and racially discriminatory” (Arvin 683). As Judy Rohrer substantiates in a 2010 study Attacking Trust: Hawaii as a Crossroads and Kamehameha Schools in the Crosshairs, the schools were intended, in preference, for the benefit of Hawaiians. Being that there are “far more Kanaka Maoli children than the schools can accomodate,” naturally, “admitting a non-Hawaiian student necessarily means taking a ‘native slot,’” which serves as justification for the current admissions policy. The lawsuits brought forth by White students who were denied admission to the Schools on account of their race seem to capitalize on the current legal climate and seize the opportunity to decry the Bishop Estate as racist, or the Hawaiians as discriminatory. If the Bishop Estate were to lose such lawsuits as a result of increased government scrutiny or lack of public support, its ability to preserve affirmative action measures to right educational inequalities experienced by Hawaiians would be jeopardized. This impediment to educational achievement would only further endanger the native Hawaiian community by obstructing their access to better living conditions.
While it may appear counterintuitive, this highlights the need for the inclusion of national or state government in indigenous institutions. Total exclusion of national government in native affairs would only prove adversarial towards Native Hawaiians, especially considering that indigenous populations, as subgroups of a larger national government, are at the mercy of their legal system. By carving out a restricted government presence in the affairs and oversight of the Bishop Estate, the government would have an explicit responsibility to care for the Hawaiian people and assume jurisdiction over legislation on behalf of the Hawaiians. Norway’s indigenous Sami people offer insight into such a solution with the restricted inclusion of both Sami and Norwegian governance. The Sami Paliament in Norway “is democratically elected by and among the Sami,” whose responsibility is to serve as a “political body…[to] improve the Sami’s political position and promote Sami interests” (Pulk). The Finnmark Estate, which manages land use and allocation in Finnmark County, is managed by a board of directors consisting of three Sami Parliament-appointed members and three county councilmembers (Hætta). This strikes close resemblance to the Bishop Estate, which also delegates Native Hawaiian land matters under five trustees, but allows for government in cooperation with natives to arbitrate over regional land matters. In education matters, such a partnership would allow for the appointment of individuals with civil expertise in educational policy-making from the government, instead of the solely financially-minded trustees governing the charity organization at present. A system of checks and balances as exemplified in Norway’s example would secure Native interests and government expertise, while mitigating corruption in indigenous institutions such as the Bishop Estate.
Even so, a closer look at Norway’s Finnmark Estate and the board which governs it, known as FeFo, reveals that even a balanced government-native polity will inevitably suffer criticism from both majority and minority-indigenous constituencies. An study mentioned in Aslak Bjørn’s 2017 dissertation Law and Order Sápmi: Realising Indigenous Land Rights Through the Finnmark Estate revealed that many Norwegians “perceived FeFo as a body protecting the rights of the Sami minority at the expense of the rights of the majority population” (26). For example, the board members are split evenly between regional Norwegian government representatives and Sami leaders, “even if they constitute a minority of the population of Finnmark” (Bjørn 18). On the flip side, there were several notable instances where FeFo would rule against the Sami people even in clear cases of conflict between regional government interests and strong native opposition, like the “Nussir-controversy…when the interests of the Sami society represented through the Sami Paliament were overruled” (Bjørn 26), even when the Finnmark Act explicitly upheld the Sami interests at stake. Indeed, equality of representation of a majority and an indigenous minority does not ensure unfettered cooperation between the two groups. I believe it is, however, a necessary prerequisite. Institutions like Finnmark and Bishop were born out of an endeavor to make “old wrongs right towards the indigenous people of the land” (qtd. in Bjørn 10), as expressed by Norwegian Parliament Leader Trond Helleland upon adoption of the Finnmark Act. While either institution could have arisen solely on the behalf of indigenous peoples as an adversarial answer to ethnic oppression, the very fact that they bear criticism from all sides adds legitimacy to their existence. Arbitrating between two opposing groups with opposing interests elicits dialogue between both parties, a privilege that less fortunate indigenous groups lack due to age-old subjugation and disenfranchisement.
The Ainu people of Japan are one such indigenous group who have not enjoyed the recognition or representation that the Hawaiians and Sami have. While the product of more favorable circumstances and a native princess’s vast royal possessions, the Bishop Estate could still serve as an applicable model for indigenous empowerment in both governance and education. Unlike the Hawaiians, the Ainu of Hokkaido were subject to intense indoctrination by their Japanese national government, who “banned the use of Ainu language…and prohibited many cultural practices,” (Ainu) even refusing to recognize them as an “indigenous people of Japan” (Jozuka) until as late as 2019. Being that there are currently “only two native Ainu speakers worldwide,” with many having “forgotten — or never known — their origins,” (Jozuka) it can be argued that what plagues oft-small-sized indigenous groups is cultural eradication. Haruzo Urakawa, a member of the indigenous Ainu community, is one of a few who practice native traditions such as Iyomante, a ceremony to send bears to the divine world in an effort to keep them from fading away (Keeping Ainu Traditions Alive 00:02:03–14). Similar examples of individuals preserving the last vestiges of their native heritage can be found in indigenous groups across the world. The problem is that these valuable portions of indigenous identity lie on the brink of eradication — and much of the blame can be attributed to the lack of institutional representation as a uniting force. When holed up in a reservation or disjointed to the brink of ethnic bleaching, indigenous groups inevitably lose part of their character without the support of external forces to propagate and preserve it.
How will native peoples across the globe achieve the empowerment and representation in a democratic polity that they strive for? Perhaps in this respect, several lessons can be gleaned from the Bishop Estate, an institution formed to advance the education of Native Hawaiians to remedy this very problem. In Hawaii today, all public schoolchildren today learn Hawaiian language and culture, indicative of the Bishop Estate’s influence in partnership with the government in perpetuating indigenous culture. “Hawaiian culture-based education at Kamehameha Schools,” a focal point of the Bishop Estate’s school policies, allows Native Hawaiian students to be “committed to the revitalization and perpetuation of Hawaiian culture” (Hawaiian Culture-Based Education at Kamehameha Schools Grounds Students in Cultural Identity). Bishop’s principles, along with a movement led by Hawaiian “musicians…scholars… navigator…and others” (Tsai) led to the Hawaiian Renaissance in the 1970s, a revival that secured “the right of Native Hawaiians to gather resources on private property and…the 1978 state constitutional convention that made ‘olelo Hawai’i an official state language and created the Office of Hawaiian Affairs” (Williams). As a result, the concept of what it means to be Hawaiian is well-understood even among non-natives in the islands, and certainly plays a role in encouraging cultural spirit. Through education and cultural revival, the Bishop Estate in partnership with the entire Hawaiian community was able to collaborate with government to enact wide-ranging changes. Likewise, it is crucial for all indigenous groups to first understand who they are and what they fight for before petitioning for the support of government to recognize their needs. Education, as embodied in the Bishop Estate and its Kamehameha Schools, is the path to preserving cultural roots — and drawing from Hawaii’s example, the burden does not lie solely on natives. The lawmakers and supporters familiar with Hawaiian culture who were crucial in the Renaissance suggest perhaps that de jure language recognition and bureaucratic training in native culture can be a beneficial partnership between an indigenous institution and local government. To acknowledge and learn about one’s identity as part of an indigenous group is essential to indigenous prosperity.
While disjointed, indigenous peoples across the world share in common painful abuses and heartfelt goals — the social acceptance and welfare of their people. Similar native populations across the world show that striking the right relationship with, and even seeking recognition from, their larger local governments is difficult, especially considering that present governments had usurped formerly native positions. The United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples defines current global aims in general terms, seeking to promote the “survival, dignity and well-being of the indigenous peoples of the world” (Adoption of the United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples: 13 Years Later). If we attempt to engrain international sentiments in union with both local governments and sub-local native groups, we may gain an understanding of how those modes of implementation must agree or differ to achieve optimal conditions for each indigenous population. Only through cooperation and diversity of representation can we ensure the uplifting of native communities.
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