Over the past few years, I’ve encountered what all other natives in academia experience one time or another. The feeling of failure and inadequacy to be a ‘good’ indigenous/kanaka. I’ve felt this feeling hit harder more recently. Being in California, the geographic isolation from the physical landscape of my ancestors has made me feel disconnected and at times lost. The natural environment we’re brought up in, the basis of our oli and mo’olelo, is as much an influence in our upbringing as our communities and families that live on it. How am I supposed to be a good kanaka when I can’t even feel a physical connection to my identity? Being a natural introvert has compounded these feelings due to my discomfort in social interactions. In a way, I think my whole life has been spent keeping a comfortable distance from my community, both physically and mentally. Itʻs an unfortunate personality trait and itʻs something Iʻm trying to work on.
Every day I think of rejoining my lāhui but these feelings of failure exhaust me and dampen my efforts. If I dwell on them too much it truly wears me down. I feel guilty, like I’m not trying hard enough to be the kanaka I’m meant to be, and frustrated, that I feel like I have no outlet or resources to accomplish this. On top of everyday academic imposter syndrome and general homesickness, it can be extremely exhausting some days. Identity is complex and I’m having trouble navigating it alone sometimes. Difficulties often force you to confront your inner-feelings and last year was no exception. When I traveled home last winter, a place I go to re-center myself and refill my naʻau, I was felt feeling even more lost by the end of my visit. In the first week back in Poʻipū, I was told to “go home” by a car driving by, thinking I was a tourist (I get pale in the foggy Bay Area). In the meanwhile, this year I’ve chosen to marry a white Canadian (who has supported me in confronting these feelings in the first place), making me feel more of isolated as a Hawaiian, where, in my community, there is a generalized distaste towards haole. Lastly, I’m often reminded by my kupuna to not forget home when Iʻm constantly trying to do just that! And to top it all off, there is a constant reminder in my own mind of my own complicit colonialist biases that have been ingrained in me from American culture. These things hurt me and really muffle my efforts in navigating my identity. But I needed to remind myself that many of these actions and ideas imposed on me are often the product of trauma induced by colonial interactions. Regardless of our frustrations, I really believe in the need to call in our fellow indigenous brothers, sisters, and non-binary individuals who are struggling and let them know that we are here for them. Expressing my anger can often make me feel better, but to be honest Iʻm tired of being in a room of angry kanakas. It makes me tired. I want to work towards a constructed future that isnʻt just hate and anger. Yes, it is absolutely fair to express the frustration towards past and current injustices occurring in our communities. But I want to channel that in a way that is constructive and makes me feel fulfilled rather than defeated. This year I’ve chosen to become more comfortable with who I am as an individual first, and then a Hawaiian. I have gone to therapy, done lots of reading, and lots of writing, and talking things over with trusted individuals, to come to a better place with myself. I’ve finally been able to acknowledge that I am still a learner in my native practices and that many are on the same journey as myself. Iʻve only recently been able to articulate these struggles and connections but now that I’ve broken them down I feel ready to tackle them. With these realizations, the first thing I want to do is make my research a part of my native practices. Relating my work to my journey as a kanaka. In many ways, we give away our intuition when we join academic institutions. But we can still make our scientific questions indigenous. And most of all we can gather courage by seeing other kanakas succeed. Now that Iʻve become comfortable with my inadequacies I want to start looking at my work differently and pull myself away from my western trainings to look at my research differently. Iʻve begun doing that by 1) understanding what questions are important for native communities and what I’ve seen needs to be answered, 2) integrating my native identity into my work and my interactions, and 3) understanding academia as a constructed environment and how indigenous individuals should be creating stories specific to their communities, when possible. Itʻs time to dictate our own narratives. This post and general organization of thoughts on this topic have been ruminating for a while. I wish I had more time to more eloquently convey what I think is such an important topic for all native academics struggling to find or maintain their identity. For anyone that has got something out of this post, know that there will be many times, especially in the cold of winter, where home feels farther away than usual. But know that your home never forgets you. ‘Āina is and will forever be in your bones. Those nagging feeling of ʻnot being indigenous enoughʻ or ʻnot being a good kanakaʻ may always linger in the rear of your mind. And wherever you are in your journey is okay. If that part of your journey includes stepping away from your broader kūleana and taking care of yourself that’s okay. But know that when youʻre ready, your community is waiting for you. They (myself included) are excited for kanaka and any other indigenous scholar to rebuild your relationship and find the best version of yourself. P.S. Here are some resources that have helped me in the past few months re-connect with my heritage and community in some way Resources Oli & Protocol
Outreach Books
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