Ka Mana Unuhi: an Examination Of
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KA MANA UNUHI: AN EXAMINATION OF HAWAIIAN TRANSLATION A DISSERTATION SUBMITTED TO THE GRADUATE DIVISION OF THE UNIVERSITY OF HAWAI‘I AT MĀNOA IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY IN ENGLISH December 2018 By Bryan Kamaoli Kuwada Dissertation Committee: Craig Howes, Chairperson Cristina Bacchilega kuʻualoha hoʻomanawanui Jonathan Kay Kamakawiwoʻole Osorio S. Shankar Noenoe K. Silva Keywords: Translation, ʻŌlelo Hawaiʻi, Hawaiian newspapers, ea, mana ABSTRACT Translation has had a huge impact on Hawaiian history, both as it unfolded and how it came to be understood, yet it remains mostly invisible and understudied in contemporary Hawaiian scholarship. The study of translation is uniquely suited for examining the power dynamics of languages, and how these differential forces play out on ideological and political battlefields, particularly in colonial situations. By providing a historical overview of the material practices of translation from the kingdom era until today, this dissertation makes legible some of the unseen operations of translation and points to its importance as an analytical frame for Hawaiian history. Individual chapters focus on major moments of translation from the advent of Hawaiian literacy to contemporary struggles over language and land: the translation of the Bible into Hawaiian, the establishment and modification of the kingdom’s bi-lingual legal system, Hawaiians’ powerful deployment of translation in the nūpepa, the twentieth century production of extractive scholarly translations, and contemporary refusals to translate. ii ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS He lau, he mano, he kini, he lehu hoʻi. There are multitudes to whom I am grateful, from all of my ancestors, to those who laid the foundation for me in this lifetime, to those who will come after. There have been so many pilina that have carried me through this process, old seeds and new growth, that I can only hope to name some of them. I never liked school very much until I got to college and truly began to connect with my kumu, so for this genealogy of ʻike, I would like to start with them. The generosity with which they made space for haumāna like me has been breathtaking. I have learned so much from my kumu ʻōlelo Hawaiʻi, my kumu ʻike Hawaiʻi, and my kumu ma ke keʻena ʻo English. Each of them has fought for me in different ways and showed me different ways to move through the world, sometimes in more Hawaiian ways, but also just in more engaged and thoughtful ways. Even when I have stepped out of their malu, e laʻa me kahi pua ʻaʻala e mohala mau ana ma ka haka ʻolu o uka, I am grateful for the foundations that they laid for me. My committee has been both inspirational and scary throughout this entire process. They are all academic meʻe that I have looked up to ever since I knew what was what, and to have them engage so closely with my work was a humbling and exhilarating experience. Jon, you have been my role model in so many ways since I first took your classes as an undergrad. I blame you for teaching me how to think critically and question everything. I think that some of my subsequent teachers are upset at you for that as well. Noenoe, for the span of years that we have known each other, you have always been generous with me, but also never shied away from holding me accountable and letting me know if you thought I was messing up. I am so grateful for the ʻike and manaʻo that you share with me and others through your powerful academic work, but also for the in-person paʻi when I need them. iii kuʻualoha, you’ve been there since the early days of my academic journey, and it has always been a comfort to me that someone like you has already trod this path, paving the way and making room for those of us who come after. Even with all of the work that you have done, it is exciting to think of where you might take things in the future. Shankar, I still remember dying in your South Asian Novel class because I was so out of my depth, but also how much your translation class brought life to my work and came to inform my scholarship at a cellular level. Your insistence on precision of thought and syntax continues to challenge me to hone my writing and my thinking. And Cristina, my school mom, how I love you so! You were involved in almost all of my academic publications, from gentle prodding to outright badgering, not to mention the actual and deep influence your scholarship has had on my work. I would not be here without you. Craig, I once wrote a mele for you that referred to you as a kumu kukui, and that is still an image that I hold of you. You have been a beacon for me, in terms of your archival research ma nā ʻōlelo ʻelua, but also just in the generosity that you give your students. I always tell people about the time you sat with me for eight hours straight one evening going over the translation that I did with Beau Bassett and ʻEmalani Case of Ka Moʻolelo o Kamehameha I. I also tell people about how you made us walk for two hours to get to the National Portrait Gallery in Canberra because you thought the map that had the directions on it was to-scale (it wasn’t). But those two examples really are emblematic of the lengths and literal distances you will go with your haumāna to ensure that they get what they need. I can never thank you enough for what you have done for me, and I know you will just shrug it off, but mahalo. He aloha nui koʻu nou. Another pilina that has gotten me through so much of this process is the one between me and my ʻohana. Though it is an oft-repeated cliché, they are a strength that is always there when I need it. I would often miss family events because I was writing, and they were always understanding because they felt that what I was doing was important. They never made me feel iv like I wasn’t putting enough into our pilina; I just always knew that they were there if I needed them. My mother Gaylien taught me to read at home before she sent me off to school, and if she wasn’t taking me bowling, she was taking me to the library, where according to her the librarians let me take out way more than the allowed number of books each time. I don’t know if that is true, but I do know that I was always able to check out stacks of books that were up to my waist, and I know that my mother fostered my life-long love of reading, which has been the engine for all of my academic development. My dad Ken wasn’t much of a reader, but his humble and quietly confident demeanor really set the example for how I would approach not just my work, but my life in general. When I was taking a million years to finish my undergraduate degree, he pulled me on the side one day and said, “Eh, boy, no listen to the people telling you to give up and get a real job. You know what you’re doing, so just do it.” He also told me not to join the military like he did because I don’t like to have to listen to people if I don’t think they know what they are talking about. I already wasn’t planning on joining the military, but I didn’t realize how well that quality would serve me in academia. I probably shouldn’t mention my brother Garrett because if he’s reading this, he’ll have fallen asleep with the dissertation on his face by this point. But even though he and I often joke about how different we are in our relationship to school, he has always been someone whose strength, intelligence, and perseverance I have looked up to since I was young and he would beat up the people who picked on me. We’ve been so lucky to spend so much time together with you and Joey and the boys (I don’t have a favorite nephew...okay, I might), and those are the kinds of times that helped me get through this process. And the last of my ʻohana that I want to mention are my kūpuna. I never got to meet my grandfather on my mom’s side, but my grandma Lillian Wainani Ortega is a strong presence in my self identity, as a mānaleo and as someone whose sense of justice involved spanking each v and every child who was in the area of a wrongdoing, because if they weren’t the ones doing it, they should have been stopping it. I didn’t get to spend as much time with her as I would have wanted, but I hold my memories of her dear. My grandma and grandpa on my father’s side were the ones that I got to spend the most time with, and they shaped this dissertation in unexpected ways. Stories fell from my grandpa Takeo Kuwada’s lips almost as if he had a nervous tic that expressed itself as narrative. He would tap at the cover to a jar that he would use as a lid for his water glass (though I never knew what he thought would fall inside), and tell hilarious stories about being punished for not bowing towards the Emperor’s picture or how he got into a car accident with the only other car on the island when he was on Kiritimati.