Paul Theroux’s Quest to Define Hawaii

For this renowned travel writer, no place has proved harder to decipher than his home for the past 22 years

  • By Paul Theroux
  • Smithsonian magazine, May 2012, Subscribe
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Niihau Kauai Oahu Molokai Lanai Kahoolawe Maui and the Big Island
The Hawaiian islands, from left to right, Niihau, Kauai, Oahu, Molokai, Lanai, Kahoolawe, Maui and the Big Island. (Jacques Descloitres / Modis Land Rapid Response Team / NASA GSFC)

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Hawaii seems a robust archipelago, a paradise pinned like a bouquet to the middle of the Pacific, fragrant, sniffable and easy of access. But in 50 years of traveling the world, I have found the inner life of these islands to be difficult to penetrate, partly because this is not one place but many, but most of all because of the fragile and floral way in which it is structured. Yet it is my home, and home is always the impossible subject, multilayered and maddening.

Two thousand miles from any great landmass, Hawaii was once utterly unpeopled. Its insularity was its salvation; and then, in installments, the world washed ashore and its Edenic uniqueness was lost in a process of disenchantment. There was first the discovery of Hawaii by Polynesian voyagers, who brought with them their dogs, their plants, their fables, their cosmology, their hierarchies, their rivalries and their predilection for plucking the feathers of birds; the much later barging in of Europeans and their rats and diseases and junk food; the introduction of the mosquito, which brought avian flu and devastated the native birds; the paving over of Honolulu; the bombing of Pearl Harbor; and many hurricanes and tsunamis. Anything but robust, Hawaii is a stark illustration of Proust’s melancholy observation: “The true paradises are the paradises we have lost.”

I think of a simple native plant, the alula, or cabbage plant, which is found only in Hawaii. In maturity, as an eight-foot specimen, you might mistake it for a tall, pale, skinny creature with a cabbage for a head (“cabbage on a stick” is its common description, Brighamia insignis its proper name). In the 1990s an outcrop of it was found growing on a high cliff on the Na Pali Coast in Kauai by some intrepid botanists. A long-tongued moth, a species of hawk moth, its natural pollinator, had gone extinct, and because of this the plant itself was facing extinction. But some rapelling botanists, dangling from ropes, pollinated it with their dabbling fingers; in time, they collected the seeds and germinated them.

Like most of Hawaii’s plants, an early form of the alula was probably carried to the volcanic rock in the ocean in the Paleozoic era as a seed in the feathers of a migratory bird. But the eons altered it, made it milder, more precious, dependent on a single pollinator. That’s the way with flora on remote islands. Plants, so to speak, lose their sense of danger, their survival skills—their thorns and poisons. Isolated, without competition and natural enemies, they become sportive and odder and special—and far more vulnerable to anything new or introduced. Now there are many alula plants—though each one is the result of having been propagated by hand.

This is the precarious fate of much of Hawaii’s flora, and its birds—its native mammals are just two, the Hawaiian hoary bat (Lasiurus cinereus semotus), Hawaii’s only native land mammal, and the Hawaiian monk seal (Monachus schauinslandi), both severely endangered and needlessly so. I have seen the slumber of a monk seal on a Hawaii beach interrupted by a dithering dog walker with an unleashed pet, and by onlookers in bathing suits hooting gleefully. There are fewer than 1,100 monk seals in the islands and the numbers are decreasing. The poor creature is undoubtedly doomed.

Hawaii offers peculiar challenges to anyone wishing to write about the place or its people. Of course, many writers do, arriving for a week or so and gushing about the marvelous beaches, the excellent food, the heavenly weather, filling travel pages with holiday hyperbole. Hawaii has a well-deserved reputation as a special set of islands, a place apart, fragrant with blossoms, caressed by trade winds, vibrant with the plucking of ukuleles, effulgent with sunshine spanking the water—see how easy it is? None of this is wrong; but there is more, and it is difficult to find or describe.

I have spent my life on the road waking in a pleasant, or not so pleasant hotel, and setting off every morning after breakfast hoping to discover something new and repeatable, something worth writing about. I think other serious travelers do the same, looking for a story, facing the world, tramping out a book with their feet—a far cry from sitting at a desk and staring mutely at a glowing screen or a blank page. The traveler physically enacts the narrative, chases the story, often becomes part of the story. This is the way most travel narratives happen.

Because of my capacity for listening to strangers’ tales, or the details of their lives, my patience with their food and their crotchets, my curiosity that borders on nosiness, I am told that anyone traveling with me experiences an unbelievable tedium, and this is why I choose to travel alone. Where I have found a place, or its people, to be unyielding I have moved on. But this is a rare happenstance. The wider world in my experience is anything but unyielding. I seldom meet uncooperative people. In traditional societies, especially, I’ve found folks to be hospitable, helpful, talkative, grateful for my interest, and curious about me, too—who I am, where I’m from, and by the way where’s my wife? I have sometimes encountered hostility, but in each case I have found that conflict dramatic enough to write about—a rifle muzzle in my face in Malawi, a predatory shifta bandit in the northern Kenya desert, a pickpocket in Florence, a drunken policeman at a roadblock in rural Angola, a mob in India, teenaged boys jabbing spears at me in a shallow lagoon where I was paddling in Papua New Guinea. Such confrontations go with the territory.

My love for traveling to islands amounts to a pathological condition known as nesomania, an obsession with islands. This craze seems reasonable to me, because islands are small self-contained worlds that can help us understand larger ones. For example, in Easter Island, Earth Island, the authors Paul Bahn and John Flenley convincingly argue that the fate of the world has been prefigured by the eco-disaster of Easter Island, the history of this small rock standing as a parable of the earth. Literature is full of island parables too, from The Tempest through Robinson Crusoe to Lord of the Flies, and notably in each case the drama arises from people who have arrived on the island from the outside world.

One of the traits that I’ve found in many island cultures is a deep suspicion of the outsiders, palangi, as such people are called in Samoa, suggesting they’ve dropped from the sky; a haole in Hawaii, meaning “of another breath”; the “wash-ashore” as non-islanders are dismissively termed in Martha’s Vineyard and other islands. Of course it’s understandable that an islander would regard a visitor with a degree of suspicion. An island is a fixed and finite piece of geography, and usually the whole place has been carved up and claimed. It is inconceivable that a newcomer, invariably superfluous, could bring a benefit to such a place; suspicion seems justified. The very presence of the visitor, the new arrival, the settler, suggests self-interest and scheming.


Hawaii seems a robust archipelago, a paradise pinned like a bouquet to the middle of the Pacific, fragrant, sniffable and easy of access. But in 50 years of traveling the world, I have found the inner life of these islands to be difficult to penetrate, partly because this is not one place but many, but most of all because of the fragile and floral way in which it is structured. Yet it is my home, and home is always the impossible subject, multilayered and maddening.

Two thousand miles from any great landmass, Hawaii was once utterly unpeopled. Its insularity was its salvation; and then, in installments, the world washed ashore and its Edenic uniqueness was lost in a process of disenchantment. There was first the discovery of Hawaii by Polynesian voyagers, who brought with them their dogs, their plants, their fables, their cosmology, their hierarchies, their rivalries and their predilection for plucking the feathers of birds; the much later barging in of Europeans and their rats and diseases and junk food; the introduction of the mosquito, which brought avian flu and devastated the native birds; the paving over of Honolulu; the bombing of Pearl Harbor; and many hurricanes and tsunamis. Anything but robust, Hawaii is a stark illustration of Proust’s melancholy observation: “The true paradises are the paradises we have lost.”

I think of a simple native plant, the alula, or cabbage plant, which is found only in Hawaii. In maturity, as an eight-foot specimen, you might mistake it for a tall, pale, skinny creature with a cabbage for a head (“cabbage on a stick” is its common description, Brighamia insignis its proper name). In the 1990s an outcrop of it was found growing on a high cliff on the Na Pali Coast in Kauai by some intrepid botanists. A long-tongued moth, a species of hawk moth, its natural pollinator, had gone extinct, and because of this the plant itself was facing extinction. But some rapelling botanists, dangling from ropes, pollinated it with their dabbling fingers; in time, they collected the seeds and germinated them.

Like most of Hawaii’s plants, an early form of the alula was probably carried to the volcanic rock in the ocean in the Paleozoic era as a seed in the feathers of a migratory bird. But the eons altered it, made it milder, more precious, dependent on a single pollinator. That’s the way with flora on remote islands. Plants, so to speak, lose their sense of danger, their survival skills—their thorns and poisons. Isolated, without competition and natural enemies, they become sportive and odder and special—and far more vulnerable to anything new or introduced. Now there are many alula plants—though each one is the result of having been propagated by hand.

This is the precarious fate of much of Hawaii’s flora, and its birds—its native mammals are just two, the Hawaiian hoary bat (Lasiurus cinereus semotus), Hawaii’s only native land mammal, and the Hawaiian monk seal (Monachus schauinslandi), both severely endangered and needlessly so. I have seen the slumber of a monk seal on a Hawaii beach interrupted by a dithering dog walker with an unleashed pet, and by onlookers in bathing suits hooting gleefully. There are fewer than 1,100 monk seals in the islands and the numbers are decreasing. The poor creature is undoubtedly doomed.

Hawaii offers peculiar challenges to anyone wishing to write about the place or its people. Of course, many writers do, arriving for a week or so and gushing about the marvelous beaches, the excellent food, the heavenly weather, filling travel pages with holiday hyperbole. Hawaii has a well-deserved reputation as a special set of islands, a place apart, fragrant with blossoms, caressed by trade winds, vibrant with the plucking of ukuleles, effulgent with sunshine spanking the water—see how easy it is? None of this is wrong; but there is more, and it is difficult to find or describe.

I have spent my life on the road waking in a pleasant, or not so pleasant hotel, and setting off every morning after breakfast hoping to discover something new and repeatable, something worth writing about. I think other serious travelers do the same, looking for a story, facing the world, tramping out a book with their feet—a far cry from sitting at a desk and staring mutely at a glowing screen or a blank page. The traveler physically enacts the narrative, chases the story, often becomes part of the story. This is the way most travel narratives happen.

Because of my capacity for listening to strangers’ tales, or the details of their lives, my patience with their food and their crotchets, my curiosity that borders on nosiness, I am told that anyone traveling with me experiences an unbelievable tedium, and this is why I choose to travel alone. Where I have found a place, or its people, to be unyielding I have moved on. But this is a rare happenstance. The wider world in my experience is anything but unyielding. I seldom meet uncooperative people. In traditional societies, especially, I’ve found folks to be hospitable, helpful, talkative, grateful for my interest, and curious about me, too—who I am, where I’m from, and by the way where’s my wife? I have sometimes encountered hostility, but in each case I have found that conflict dramatic enough to write about—a rifle muzzle in my face in Malawi, a predatory shifta bandit in the northern Kenya desert, a pickpocket in Florence, a drunken policeman at a roadblock in rural Angola, a mob in India, teenaged boys jabbing spears at me in a shallow lagoon where I was paddling in Papua New Guinea. Such confrontations go with the territory.

My love for traveling to islands amounts to a pathological condition known as nesomania, an obsession with islands. This craze seems reasonable to me, because islands are small self-contained worlds that can help us understand larger ones. For example, in Easter Island, Earth Island, the authors Paul Bahn and John Flenley convincingly argue that the fate of the world has been prefigured by the eco-disaster of Easter Island, the history of this small rock standing as a parable of the earth. Literature is full of island parables too, from The Tempest through Robinson Crusoe to Lord of the Flies, and notably in each case the drama arises from people who have arrived on the island from the outside world.

One of the traits that I’ve found in many island cultures is a deep suspicion of the outsiders, palangi, as such people are called in Samoa, suggesting they’ve dropped from the sky; a haole in Hawaii, meaning “of another breath”; the “wash-ashore” as non-islanders are dismissively termed in Martha’s Vineyard and other islands. Of course it’s understandable that an islander would regard a visitor with a degree of suspicion. An island is a fixed and finite piece of geography, and usually the whole place has been carved up and claimed. It is inconceivable that a newcomer, invariably superfluous, could bring a benefit to such a place; suspicion seems justified. The very presence of the visitor, the new arrival, the settler, suggests self-interest and scheming.

“They will break your boat!” an islander howled at me in Samoa, when I met him on a path near the beach and told him I had paddled there. “Or the boys will steal it!”

“Why would they do that?”

“Because you’re a palangi and you’re alone. You have no family here. Let’s go—I’ll help you.”

It was true: A gang of boys was lurking near my kayak drawn up on the beach, looking eager (and the man confirmed this) to kick it to pieces. Because I didn’t belong there, because I had no connection, no friend, except this man who took pity on me and volunteered to warn me to go away.

At the time I assumed I was one against the many, and that the islanders were unified, with a common consciousness that caused them to oppose the arrival of a palangi. Perhaps this was so, though Robert Louis Stevenson, resident in Samoa, wrote a whole book about Samoan civil war, A Footnote to History: Eight Years of Trouble in Samoa. I was well aware when writing a travel book about Pacific islands that, because I had no friends or relations on shore, I was never truly welcomed in any set of islands. At best, the islanders were simply putting up with me, waiting for me to paddle away.

These were mostly islands with a single culture and language. They were not xenophobic but rather suspicious or lacking in interest. Hawaii is another story, a set of islands with a highly diverse ethnicity, ranging from the Hawaiians who refer to themselves as kanaka maoli (original people), whose ancestry goes back 1,500 years (some say 2,000), to people who arrived just the other day. But the mainland United States can be described that way, too—many Native Americans can claim a pedigree of 10,000 years.

I have lived in Hawaii for 22 years, and in this time have also traveled the world, writing books and articles about Africa, Asia, South America, the Mediterranean, India and elsewhere. Though I have written a number of fictional pieces, including a novel, Hotel Honolulu, set in Hawaii, I have struggled as though against monster surf to write nonfiction about the islands. I seldom read anything that accurately portrayed in an analytical way the place in which I have chosen to live. I have been in Hawaii longer than anywhere else in my life. I’d hate to die here, I murmured to myself in Africa, Asia and Britain. But I wouldn’t mind dying in Hawaii, which means I like living here.

Some years ago, I spent six months attempting to write an in-depth piece for a magazine describing how Hawaiian culture is passed from one generation to the other. I wrote the story, after a fashion, but the real tale was how difficult it was to get anyone to talk to me. I went to a charter school on the Big Island, in which the Hawaiian language was used exclusively, though everyone at the place was bilingual. Aware of the protocol, I gained an introduction from the headmaster of the adjoining school. After witnessing the morning assembly where a chant was offered, and a prayer, and a stirring song, I approached a teacher and asked if she would share with me a translation of the Hawaiian words I had just heard. She said she’d have to ask a higher authority. Never mind the translation, I said; couldn’t she just write down the Hawaiian versions?

“We have to go through the proper channels,” she said.

That was fine with me, but in the end permission to know the words was refused. I appealed to a Hawaiian language specialist, Hawaiian himself, who had been instrumental in the establishment of such Hawaiian language immersion schools. He did not answer my calls or messages, and in the end, when I pressed him, he left me with a testy, not to say xenophobic, reply.

I attended a hula performance. Allusive and sinuous, it cast a spell on me and on all the people watching, who were misty-eyed with admiration. When it was over I asked the kumu hula, the elder woman who had taught the dancers, if I could ask her some questions.

She said no. When I explained that I was writing about the process by which Hawaiian tradition was passed on, she merely shrugged. I persisted mildly and her last and scornful words to me were, “I don’t talk to writers.”

“You need an introduction,” I was told.

I secured an introduction from an important island figure, and I managed a few interviews. One sneeringly reminded me that she would not have bestirred herself to see me had it not been for the intervention of this prominent man. Another gave me truculent answers. Several expressed the wish to be paid for talking to me, and when I said it was out of the question they became stammeringly monosyllabic.

Observing protocol, I had turned up at each interview carrying a present—a large jar of honey from my own beehives on the North Shore of Oahu. No one expressed an interest in the origin of the honey (locally produced honey is unusually efficacious as a homeopathic remedy). No one asked where I was from or anything about me. It so happened that I had arrived from my house in Hawaii, but I might have come from Montana: No one asked or cared. They did not so much answer as endure my questions.

Much later, hearing that I had beehives, some Hawaiians about to set off on a canoe voyage asked if I would give them 60 pounds of my honey to use as presents on distant Pacific islands they planned to visit. I supplied the honey, mildly expressing a wish to board the canoe and perhaps accompany them on a day run. Silence was their stern reply: And I took this to mean that though my honey was local, I was not.

I was not dismayed: I was fascinated. I had never in my traveling or writing life come across people so unwilling to share their experiences. Here I was living in a place most people thought of as Happyland, when in fact it was an archipelago with a social structure that was more complex than any I had ever encountered—beyond Asiatic. One conclusion I reached was that in Hawaii, unlike any other place I had written about, people believed that their personal stories were their own, not to be shared, certainly not to be retold by someone else. Virtually everywhere else people were eager to share their stories, and their candor and hospitality had made it possible for me to live my life as a travel writer.

Obviously, the most circumscribed islanders are the Hawaiians, numerous because of the one-drop rule. Some people who regarded themselves before statehood, in 1959, as of Portuguese or Chinese or Filipino descent, identified themselves as Hawaiian when sovereignty became an issue in the later 1960s and ’70s and their drop of blood gave them access. But there are 40 or more contending Hawaiian sovereignty groups, from the most traditional, who worship deities such as Pele, “She-who-shapes-the-land,” goddess of volcanoes, through the Hawaiian hymn singers in the multitude of Christian churches, to the Hawaiian Mormons, who believe, contrary to all serious Pacific scholarship and the evidence of DNA testing, that mainlanders (proto-Polynesians) got to Hawaii from the coast of the Land of Joshua (now California) when Hagoth the Mormon voyager (Book of Mormon, Alma 63:5-8) sailed into the West Sea and peopled it.

But it wasn’t just native Hawaiians who denied me access or rebuffed me. I began to see that the whole of Hawaii is secretive and separated, socially, spacially, ethnically, philosophically, academically. Even the University of Hawaii is insular and uninviting, a place unto itself, with little influence in the wider community and no public voice—no commentator, explainer, nothing in the way of intellectual intervention or mediation. It is like a silent and rather forbidding island, and though it regularly puts on plays and occasionally a public lecture, it is in general an inward-looking institution, esteemed locally not for its scholarship but for its sports teams.

As a regular user of the UH library, researching my Tao of Travel I requested some essential books from the library system that happened to be located on a neighbor island.

“You are not on the faculty,” I was told by one of the desk functionaries in a philistine’s who-might-you-be-little-man? tone. “You are not a student. You are not allowed to borrow these books.”

It made no difference that I am a writer, because apart from my library card—a UH Community Card that costs me $60 a year—I had no credibility at the university, even though my own 40-odd books occupy its library shelves. Books may matter, but a writer in Hawaii is little more than a screwball or an irritant, with no status.

Pondering this odd separation, I thought how the transformative effects of island existence are illustrated in humans as well as in plants, like the alula that had become cut off and vulnerable. Island life is a continuous process of isolation and endangerment. Native plants became hypersensitive and fragile, and many alien species have a tendency to assault and overwhelm this fragility. The transformation was perhaps true of people, too—that the very fact that a person was resident on an island, with no wish to leave, he or she was isolated in the precise etymological meaning of the word: “made into an island,” alone, separated, set apart.

In an archipelago of multiethnicity the trend to apartness is not a simple maneuver. To emphasize separation, the islander created his own metaphorical island, based on race, ethnicity, social class, religion, neighborhood, net worth and many other factors; islands upon islands. Over time I have begun to notice how little these separate entities interact, how closed they are, how little they overlap, how naturally suspicious and incurious they are, how each one seems to talk only to itself.

“I haven’t been there for 30 years,” people say about a part of the island ten miles away. I have met born-and-bred residents of Oahu who have been to perhaps one neighbor island, and many who have never been to any—though they may have been to Las Vegas.

“We sent a large group of musicians and dancers from Waianae to the Edinburgh Festival,” a civic-minded and philanthropic woman told me recently. “They were a huge hit.”

We were speaking in the upscale enclave of Kahala. The obvious irony was that it was possible, as I suggested to the woman, that the Waianae students who had gone across the world to sing had probably never sung in Kahala, or perhaps even been there. Nor do the well-heeled Kahala residents travel to hard-up Waianae.

It is as though living on the limited terra firma of an island inspires groups to recreate their own island-like space, as the Elks and the other clubs were exclusive islands in the segregated past. Each church, each valley, each ethnic group, each neighborhood is insular—not only Kahala, or the equally salubrious Diamond Head neighborhood, but the more modest ones too. Leeward Oahu, the community of Waianae, is like a remote and somewhat menacing island.

Each of these notional islands has a stereotypical identity; and so do the actual islands—a person from Kauai would insist that he or she is quite unlike someone from Maui, and could recite a lengthy genealogy to prove it. The military camps at Schofield and Kaneohe and Hickam and elsewhere exist as islands, and no one looks lonelier on a Hawaii beach than a jarhead, pale, reflective, perhaps contemplating yet another deployment to Afghanistan. When the George Clooney film The Descendants was shown on the mainland, it baffled some moviegoers because it did not depict the holiday Hawaii that most people recognize—and where were Waikiki and the surfers and the mai tais at sunset? But this film was easily understood by people in Hawaii as the story of old-timers here, so-called keiki o ka aina—children of the islands, and many of them haole, white. They have their metaphorical island—indeed, one keiki o ka aina family, the Robinsons, actually owns its own island, Niihau, off the coast of Kauai, with a small resident population of Hawaiians, where off-islanders are generally forbidden to go.

Even the water is circumscribed. Surfers are among the most territorial of Hawaii residents. Some of them deny this, and say that if certain deferential rules of politeness are observed (“You take dis wave, brah,” a recently arrived surfer calls out to humble himself in the lineup), it is possible to find a measure of mutual respect and coexistence. But much of this is basic primate behavior, and most of the surfers I have met roll their eyes and tell me that the usual response to a newcomer is, “Get off my wave!”

All this was a novelty to me, and a lesson in that nebulous genre known as travel writing. As a traveler, I had become used to strolling confidently into the oddest places—approaching a village, a district, a slum, a shantytown, a neighborhood—and, observing the dress code, the niceties, the protocol, asking frank questions. I might be inquiring about a person’s job, or lack of employment, their children, their family, their income; I nearly always got a polite answer. Recently in Africa I made a tour of the townships of Cape Town, not just the bungalows, the dusty dwellings, the temporary shelters and hostels, but the shacks and squatter camps, too. My questions were answered: It is how the traveler acquires information for the narrative.

In the worst slum in India, the meanest street in Thailand or Cambodia, chances are that a smile will make you welcome; and if you have a smattering of Portuguese or Spanish, you will probably have your questions answered in a Brazilian favela or an Angolan musseque, or an Ecuadorean barrio, in each case a shantytown.

So why are islands so different, and why is a place like Hawaii—one of the 50 United States—so uncooperative, so complex in its division? This, after all, is a state in which following the attack on Pearl Harbor, more than 3,000 men from Hawaii, all of Japanese ancestry, volunteered to fight, and their unit, the 442nd Infantry, became the most decorated regiment in U.S. history, with 21 Medals of Honor. But that was the Army, and that was in Europe.

First of all, what looks in Hawaii like hostility is justifiable wariness, with an underlying intention to keep the peace. Confrontation is traumatic in any island society, because, while there is enough room for mutual coexistence, there is not enough space for all-out war. Just such a disruptive conflict got out of hand and destroyed the serenity of Easter Island, reducing its population, upending its brooding statues and leaving a legacy of blood feud among the clans. Fiji went to war with itself, so did Cyprus, with disastrous results. Hawaii, to its credit, and its survival, tends to value the obliqueness and nonconfrontation and suspension of disbelief that is embodied in the simple word “aloha,” a greeting for gently keeping people mellow. (What I am doing now, taking an unmellow look at Hawaii, is regarded locally as heresy.)

So perhaps a reason for Hawaii’s tendency to live in specific zones is a conscious survival strategy as well as a mode of pacification. Fearing disharmony, knowing how conflict would sink the islands, Hawaiians cling to the mollifying concept of aloha, a Hawaiian word that suggests the breath of love and peace.

In spite of its divisions, Hawaii is united, and perhaps more like-minded than any islander admits. Each self-regarding metaphorical island has an unselfish love for the larger island, as well as a pride in its brilliant weather, its sports, its local heroes (musicians, athletes, actors). Another unifier is the transcending style of hula—danced by kanaka maoli and haole alike; and hula is aloha in action. Just about everyone in Hawaii agrees that if the spirit of aloha remains the prevailing philosophy, it will bring harmony. “Aloha” is not a hug, it is meant to disarm. More and more I have come to see this subtle greeting, a word uttered with a floating ambiguous smile, as less a word of welcome than a means of propitiating a stranger. But perhaps all words of welcome perform that function.

As for the fanciful assertion of largeness, it is reassuring for an islander to know that the Big Island is big, as well as multidimensional, and to maintain the belief that much of Hawaii is hidden and undiscovered. It helps, if you want to cherish the idea of distance and mystery, that you do not stray far from home, your very own metaphorical island.

Further defining the zones of separation is the bumpy and jagged topography of a volcanic island, its steep valleys, its bays and cliffs and plains, its many elevations. In Hawaii there’s also a palpable difference in weather from one place to another, the existence of microclimates that underline the character of a place. I can drive 20 miles in one direction to a much drier part of the island, 20 miles in another to a place where it is probably raining, and in between it might be 12 degrees cooler. The people in those spots seem different, too, taking on the mood of their microclimate.

Nevermind that Hawaii is seven inhabited islands; even on relatively smallish Oahu—about 50 miles across—there are many places that are considered remote. This whimsy of distance enlarges the island and inspires the illusion of a vast hinterland, as well as the promise of later discovery. I am bemused by the writer from the mainland who, after five days of gallivanting and gourmandizing, is able to sum up Hawaii in a sentence or two. I was that person once. These days, I am still trying to make sense of it all, but the longer I live here the more the mystery deepens.


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Comments (61)

It's simple: some of the local people in Hawaii could have sometimes nastiness, meanness, badness towards travelers, white people, etc. Why ? Something is wrong with them. It's not enough to say "Aloha" and "Mahalo", you need to have these concepts in your heart. Just to be nice and kind to other people from other places. It's simple ! They, local people, make their life complicated and they are not happy because of that ! It's a fake smile and life !

Posted by "Goodness Concept " on October 27,2012 | 08:32 PM

having lived on the island of Molokai for 45yrs of the 69yrs that I have been alive and being 60% native hawaiian....early childhood in kalia waikiki...tourist had to be wealthy to travel by boat to oahu where only the royal hawaiian hotel and moana hotel was WAIKIKI back then...relatives on all island......no haole...translation ole..no more the haaa breath...can write about place and people that have been here for generations and understand the kanaka maoli...to call hawaii your home for a mere 22 years you are speaking the truthwhen you say you feel unable to simulate and penetrate the wisdom of these island we know and feel sorry for you,hope you made a killing on your article.....aloha

Posted by Kimo Kalaniopuu Mcpherson on September 26,2012 | 03:33 PM

I too lived in Hawaii for many years. The Hawaiian people have HUGE HEARTS. Your author is about as welcome as an archaeologist in Indian Country collecting information of special even spiritual significance to publish for self importance and money. Face it man, they just don't like you.

Posted by Mary Ann Dow on August 29,2012 | 12:19 PM

I've been on the big island for 20 years and could write my own book on the complicated social study that is life in Hawaii. I greatly appreciate Mr Theroux's writing and world-view. (Dark Star Safari was the best travel book I've ever read.) Here, he is being criticized by americans who don't always appreciate his sometimes less than cheery attitude. There was a European influence in Mr Theroux's formative years and I suspect this different view is a source of misunderstanding. I've experienced this all my life.

Posted by Robert on July 23,2012 | 07:47 PM

Collectively, the comments are pretty fascinating. Many of the angry reactions have the whiff of a tribal blame-the-messenger attitude. Emphasis on tribal. There's a casual crankiness in Theroux's writing that often comes through when he uses individual interaction, singular events, to support his grander theories. He is consistent – he always does this – fairly or unfairly.

Posted by Bostonia on July 10,2012 | 08:56 AM

It is indeed sobering to see Paul, and i am sure there are more individuals of the same conviction and experience, has the candid, courage and deep self reflection to get himself to write such a iconoclastic article about his home and his land. Yes, there is wrong among us and hiding and trying to hid it wont make it go away. As anticlimactic and myth busting as it might sounds to some of us, as some of us have actually lived on Island for many years and invariably get to see and feel what Paul wrote about, this article is perhaps merely the tip of a giant iceberg. Islands are a multiverse within another with people who say and do things not always out of the spirit of Aloha. Aloha has been usurped as a term and as an identifier by some to define others and sun categorize them to their liking. The "blood drop" is the right that sets about making many wrongs look right. Hawaiian homeland as oppose to Haoles taking over the land, as presumed and sold within sub groups and resurfaced in state debate, only to exacerbate the already unhappy relationship among the settlers.

The pervasiveness of mistrust and entitlement seem to have imbued some settlers, as i wish to call them settlers rather than citizens since some of us peoples coming earlier rather than later to this land should not inherently bestow the right to call the land more mine than yours, nor the blood line can do the favor for that matter, has caused the rifts and walls of cultural separation. In my experience the pervasiveness of the mistrust and non aloha has find its way in to written laws and institutions so much as on the surface and depth of our cultural subconsciousness.

Posted by I'o on June 28,2012 | 03:46 PM

I think it is interesting that Mr. Theroux pays $60 a year for a University Library card. I wonder is he is aware that you can get a Public Library Card for a one time price of $5 and you can borrow books from any Library in the state. You can even order them online and pick them up at your local library. It would be interesting to know if Mr. Theroux has spent any time on the Island of Lanai. His views do not seem to match our experience.

Posted by Nancy on June 7,2012 | 10:46 PM

I got a kick out of the comment here from the white 30-year resident of Hawaii who "actually welcomed" being discriminated against, because it so perfectly sums up white political correctness as a competitive altruistic status-symbol strategy and as the disease that is destroying Western civilization. Obviously Hawaii is a breathtakingly beautiful state with many fine people. I have friends and relatives there. However Paul Theroux and the Smithsonian are to be commended for trying to get to the core truth of things--and isn't that a big part of what the Smithsonian is all about?--and cast aside the myth that many have propagandized, that Hawaii represents our future warm and welcoming, merrily ever more multicultural and vibrant future. On the other hand, despite how different areas of the world might welcome wealthy Westerners, such as visiting travel writers, Hawaii is obviously much more the norm than the exception, as far as most humans preferring to be comfortably tucked within their their own economic, cultural, ethnic and racial enclaves, as readily can be demonstrated by housing patterns in mainland USA, even when it comes to those most vehemently screaming "Diversity is our greatest strength!" As we saw in the case of the Soviet Union, no system can function for all that many decades when it is based on a top-down utopian fantasy.

Posted by Thomas Michael Andres on May 26,2012 | 12:14 AM

I concur with Lena on this. In true colonial form, Theroux has completely de-historicized Hawaii's modern condition. Entitlement oozes from between his words, dressed up in feigned understanding and sympathy. Nowhere does he address the socioeconomic conditions created out of the US' illegal annexation of the islands and its accompanying capitalism that has made Hawaii an impossible place to live for people of Hawaiian heritage, whose home Hawaii truly is. It is people like Theroux himself who calls Hawaii "home" who make it so that Hawaiians comprise the largest homeless population in the islands, and many more who must leave to find a more affordable life. It doesn't take a brain surgeon to figure out that those conditions might cause resentment in the indigenous population. Theroux himself is part of the problem, certainly not part of the solution just because he thinks of himself as "culturally sensitive." This is to say nothing of his anecdotal use of the term "one-drop rule" which is actually quite incorrect in the Hawaiian context. To the contrary; the US government does not engage the one-drop rule as a way to recognize Hawaiian identity (which would mean much more land would have to have been given back under the Hawaiian Homes Act). But that's another story with not enough room here.

Posted by Dina GW on May 24,2012 | 11:24 AM

Maybe the author cannot find acceptance because he presents himself as aloof and a little better than the average cat. He appears to be trying to learn because it's of his benefit, not because of innate desire to become part of a community. I lived in Hawaii and found the local folks to be friendly and accepting. And I loved the music, history, culture, and traditions. At a one year old birthday party with 300 locals, I was the only haole, but never felt in the minority, just part of a fun-loving group of folks. Theroux might set people off with his snobishness; he did the same thing in "The Happy Peoples of Oceana" and in Australia. Maybe he should stop working at understanding too many social complexities, and just start living.

Posted by Andy Voikos on May 23,2012 | 06:09 PM

I came to Maui thirty years ago, a 52 year old haole female. I originally felt "discriminated against"(more from Japanese than Hawaiians), which I actually welcomed since I had never before experienced it, and felt it helped me understand friends on the mainland who had experienced discrimination. I also felt, like "Annie", a strong spiritual connection to the land -- for the first time, this is "home". I do live on "an island within an island", (a good phrase), but agree with other commenters that Theroux comes across as arrogant and "entitled", not wanting to share and connect to individuals, but to exploit them for commercial reasons. Theroux does not comment on the American complicity in the totally illegal overthrow of the monarchy, or the many many years of "quiet title" actions by which the Big Five picked up so many small holdings belonging to Hawaiian families. Thirty years ago there were legal notices in the papers every week for multiple "quiet title" actions. I see the hostility evident on Molokai etc as part of the Hawaiians becoming aware of how much they have been robbed by haoles. Shortly after I arrived on Maui, the splintered Hawaiian factions came together to protest the unearthing of over 1000 burials in the digging of the Ritz Carlton foundations in a sand dune. The reversal of that action, moving the Ritz Carlton to a different site, was the first time I know of that Hawaiians found an effective voice. Next the protests, over many years, of the bombing runs on Kaho'olawe, were successful and the island was returned to Hawaiian control. Every time I drive to Hana I am overwhelmingly aware that this island and its flora and fauna developed for over a million years without any human presence. I and my ancestors come from lands that were covered in glaciers hundreds of feet deep, only 18,000 years ago. To me, the Native Hawaiians are newcomers, like me, and we share a spiritual connection to this island.

Posted by Sally Raisbeck on May 21,2012 | 11:53 PM

When I first visited these islands I was overwhelmed by a spiritual connection that has endured to this day. I was standing in a pasture on Parker Ranch on the Big Island, cows all around and I knew I was home. Now that I am home, maybe like others who have come before I feel very protective of this place. I dread all the poorly planned development that trashes the islands. The misuse and abuse of the ocean and the burning cane fields irk me. When the Superferry began service between Oahu and Maui I donated funds for the court battle and wrote letters to the editor. Hated the intrusion of "others" stripping our reefs and stealing our moss rocks. Our friends here are from all over the world but not Hawiian. The discrimination is a sad useless behavior mostly grown out of ignorance. If it divides the population it sets up a wedge for bad policy decisions by our civil servants. We all get screwed. I have enjoyed Paul's writing because he rarely sugar-coats his experiences. Like many places,Hawaii has a dark side too. Remember the wars between the islands when the Iao Valley River ran red with warriors blood? This place is unique and we should continue to celebrate it, warts and all.

Posted by Annie on May 18,2012 | 02:23 AM

Regarding "Hawaiian Mormons" - We are interested in your reference for the "Land of Joshua (now California)" Hagoth and the Land of Joshua are both mentioned in the Book of Mormon. What is the reference for the land of Joshua being connected with California (or the "land northward" mentioned in Alma 63:5-8 which you cited)?

Posted by JH Todd on May 18,2012 | 05:07 PM

We lived on Oahu for three years in the early 70s. It was so beautiful in places. Waikiki and Honolulu were tourist traps, shiny and dingy all at the same time. Our Kailua house was within walking distance of what we considered the loveliest beach on the island. Emerging from the tunnel coming over the Pali each evening on my way home from work as a civilian federal employee at Pearl Harbor, I was always moved nearly to tears by the majestic panorama spread before me. Sadly, underneath this surface veneer lurked the reality of this "melting pot:" a sea of restlessness, suspicion, seething resentment and studied aloofness that bordered at times on seeming paranoia. There was no love between natives and Haoles to put it mildly, nor for that matter, between Portuguese and Samoans or the Chinese and other Asians. Presumably, this innate hostility was mostly held in check by the knowledge that the economy rose and fell with tourism so the Aloha welcomes were trundled out along with the tours, while the locals laughed behind their hands at the tourists lapping it up and spending freely. Our daughters were middle school and high school age. Our youngest, blonde and petite, didn't stand a chance in the environment of hate and physical confrontation. We placed her in a private religious school until departing for home. The oldest made cheerleader at the local high school, an almost unprecedented achievement for a haole but it did not protect her from being struck in the head by a rock throwing, intensely jealous local. There was constant tension and innumerable incidents. Paul Theroux's piece is the first I have read in all these years that actually tells it like it is. Living there without children and clustered with your own ethnic or cultural kind, it could be tolerated and would no doubt be accommodating to an easy, beach-bound existence. Hawaii is a truly beautiful place. A paradise - it is not.

Posted by Bernard Elliker on May 18,2012 | 03:42 PM

Aloha Smithsonian, Aloha is Love and Respect. This well traveled author has no "Aloha" for his home of 22 years. "I had become used to strolling CONFIDENTLY into the oddest places—approaching a village, a district, a slum, a shantytown, a neighborhood—and, observing the dress code, the niceties, the protocol, asking frank questions" This attitude is detestable.Ignorance of social graces in respect to Hawaii's people has diminished my respect for you.Your observations are clearly subjective like a child. Why won't anyone play with me?It is obvious the world revolves around thee!The keys to our Kingdom is Aloha Aina.Love and respect for the people and the land.Be ever thankful of this gift we all share.Spread Aloha!!Mahalo!!

Posted by d. lee on May 17,2012 | 11:32 PM

Unless you have been to Hawaii, not just Oahu but the other islands too, it is difficult to understand how different it is from the rest of the U.S. But amazingly there has been very little written about this - why Hawaii is different, what it means in terms of interaction with the other states, and how it affects Americans from the mainland who go there to live. In this article Mr. Theroux is making a brave attempt to start this conversation. Having lived there for 22 years he obviously loves the place, and naturally wants to understand it more. I enjoyed the article and it got me to start thinking about Hawaii as a unique society with its own history.

Posted by Doug Kelly on May 17,2012 | 01:36 PM

Mr.Theroux is romanticizing what is actually generally racist, xenophobic attitude that permeates these islands. It doesn't matter how humble you are, how long you've been there, or how hard you try to embrace the culture, local non-whites will ostracize the "haoles". Im a fifth generation Hawaiian, and I like my mother and grandmother have experienced harassment due to the color of my skin throughout public grade school.A "colonial" past does nothing to justify this sort of treatment of innocent white Hawaiians in this day and age. I'm glad Theroux at least addressed this issue vaguely, even he does sugar coat things a bit.

Posted by John on May 16,2012 | 12:18 AM

Ah, Hawaiian hackles. Best served with a bitter sauce.

Posted by John Enright on May 16,2012 | 04:49 PM

I was only ever once called a haole in Hawaii, and that was after driving to a beach we had been warned was more or less a "locals only" beach near South Point. Other than that everyone was very courteous and always friendly, especially in the smaller towns that are more off the beaten path and really appreciate getting some business. It's the same as being told Parisians are impolite, yet when we were there everyone was lovely to us except one English boy working there for the summer. Any people can be standoffish, even if you live among them, if you don't acknowledge them as people first and native, foreigner, visitor, or whatever second. And anyone who is familiar with Hawaii's history and cultures certainly understands the reluctance of natives to share what little is left that is "theirs". I often feel the same way when I go back "home" to Arizona or even in San Diego where I've lived for 28 years. You get protective of what you see disappearing before your eyes, whether it's native plants, native species, your heritage or your culture. But I did find this an interesting read.

Posted by Donna on May 16,2012 | 04:47 PM

Hawaiians do not treat strangers badly. They treat strangers who seek to understand Hawaiian culture not from a desire to connect, but rather from a desire to profit from it badly--and are sophisticated enough to know the difference. From the article it appears that the author's main attempts to integrate or understand local culture was solely in conjunction with his work as a writer, not as a neighbor, regardless of how long he's owned property there. His mistakes with the culture--assuming if he gave honey, he'd get to go--revealed to others his true motivation. If he'd given the honey freely and wished the canoers well, and offered it again and again with the same good wishes, it would have shown that he truly cared and didn't expect quid pro quo--and probably gotten him an invitation. His actions in pursuing knowledge for the expressed purpose of writing about it for money demonstrated an attitude of outsider arrogance and entitlement--enough to raise any local's (let alone Hawaiian's) hackles.

Posted by Lehua Parker on May 15,2012 | 01:49 PM

It is telling that all of the above (or is it below?) attacks upon Mr. Theroux’s musings are apologia for treating a stranger badly, rather proving his premise but not solving anything. Not that Mr. Theroux solves anything either; he is humble enough to admit that impossibility. But he does supply many experienced observations of how things are in the islands, most of which I can vouch for after a quarter of a century in American Samoa (Hawaii’s little brother U.S. colonization-wise) with many visits and stays in Hawaii. The defensiveness of the self-appointed Hawaiian culture bearers—Mr, Theroux’s theme vis-à-vis other cultures he has studied—is the give away. Why the barriers and self-censorship? The secrecy and seeming insecurity? The history is complex, but the questions are valid. The story of the United States’ subjugation—or is it absorption—of Pacific cultures is one unknown to most mainland readers. Mr. Theroux should be thanked—even by native Hawaiians—for changing the topic from mai-tais with little umbrellas and paradise tours to what happens when cultures collide.

Posted by John Enright on May 14,2012 | 01:31 AM

There is much to like about Mr. Theroux's article and it is not difficult to know where to begin. Unlike other pieces on Hawaii the author tackles a complex and somewhat mysterious issue and examines kapu (the Hawaiian term for the forbidden)as it applies to social and spacial interactions. Here we are allowed to take a peek under the covers of contemporary island society and what we see is an unvarnished and little-discussed aspect of multicultural insular protectiveness and separation. His convincing "islands within islands" thesis probes a continuing condition that gets one thinking hard about the well-used "melting pot" glad tag that is bandied about by The Hawaii Visitor's Bureau and some others. This is not an especially happy article, but what Mr. Theroux offers is one that is well-thought-out, reflective, comparative, and perhaps most importantly, it dares to be honest - and everyone on all islands everywhere can use a little bit more of that.

Posted by Joseph Kennedy on May 14,2012 | 07:10 PM

It is the height of arrogance to assume because you ask politely, people have to tell you the most personal and sacred parts of their lives, particularly when your intent is to re-interpret it, spin it, and sell it for money. How can you as a world traveler have missed this important fact? You are not inquiring because you value what Hawaiians believe, feel, or do and want to understand how they view the world in order to enrich your own life. You are inquiring as a writer in order to sell what they have told you for a profit. In the Hawaiian world view that is the basest, meanest reason of all. Of course no one would waste their breath on you! Your very arrogance confirms the worst of their suspicions about outsiders and reaffirms the correctness of their decisions not to share cultural information. Comparing your experiences in third world cultures with first world Hawaii only highlights how truly clueless you are. Hawaiians know very well what it means to be exploited and are consciously choosing not be exploited again.

Posted by Lehua Parker on May 14,2012 | 04:24 AM

I am a "one drop" Hawaiian who was born and raised in Hawaii. I live on the mainland now, but I miss my island home terribly. Paul Theroux's article struck many chords with me, but some were quite sour. People should understand that while Hawaii is part of the United States, it is not part of America, it is part of the blue continent called Oceania. Most Americans do not know the true history of the Hawaiian Islands. Native Hawaiians have lived in the islands for at least 1500 years---contrast that to 53 years as a "state." American history books have long described the illegal overthrow of the Hawaiian monarchy as "peaceful annexation." Perhaps this explains the lack of trust and openness encountered by Mr. Theroux. Despite a century of global dominance by American culture and perspectives, many people do not share a love for "The American Way." It is often accompanied by cultural exploitation for self-serving material gain. Our generation witnessed what happened when our grandparents and great grandparents welcomed "outsiders" with their sincere aloha. People should not confuse reticence with racism or privacy with prejudice.

Posted by ChuChu on May 11,2012 | 09:59 PM

Like Mr Theroux in my traveling the world I have found a simple rule: if you are open and respectful people return the favor. Not in Hawaii. My daughter and grand daughter move moved to Oahu an hour north of Honolulu. My granddaughter went to school where almost everyone was a native of Mormon (also famous for their clannishness) This is a 12 year old who has always been widely liked wherever she traveled or went to school. Here she was literally shunned. People would not sit with her at school or in the bus. They purposely gathered in small groups nearby and talked about her loudly. She was bullied. This was not just a school thing. On Halloween she went trick or treating and a number of people literally give her bags full of nothing. It is well and good to see a sociological phenomenon here or native clannishness as holding out against forces of social imperialism but this is the United States. Racism is against the law and actively rooted out anywhere else. How people can treat children in such a fashion in this day and age is beyond me. There is no excuse in any culture to purposely make a child's life a misery. It has left me with a complete disgust for the culture. The Aloha Spirit? It's there to take all the tourist money they can get. To paraphrase Phil Oakes, "Hawaii find yourself another country to be part of.

Posted by James Martin on May 10,2012 | 11:54 AM

I'm sure it's never occurred to Mr. Theroux that the reason "locals" aren't warming up to him is quite possibly that he is arrogant and offensive and it puts people off. Perhaps that is more plausible explanation for the rampant wariness/dismissiveness he seems to experience from everyone with whom he has contact. As a local, I know I would not want to talk to him either since he would inevitably twist everything and put his negative spin on it.

Posted by Sandra on May 9,2012 | 12:04 AM

The most honest, perceptive portrait of the social reality of the Hawaiian Islands. Those born here are socially awkward and feel inferior. The vast majority can't even swim. It is a result of the relatively recent decline of a feudal plantation economy and their extreme dependence on goods, services and people from elsewhere.

Posted by Manoa Kahuna on May 8,2012 | 01:30 AM

This is just another example of a Haole (Hāʻole - no breath) that expects everything to be there on the pedestal for him to take and use to make his own profit. This isnʻt America. People come to Hawaiʻi to either enjoy the beaches or buy our land. Why do you think some Hawaiians would want to share the most sacred stories about their lives or Hawaiʻiʻs history? Some things just shouldnʻt be asked at all. Itʻs called protocol! You donʻt walk into a kupunaʻs house and just ask for things and expect to get it. Thatʻs a big NO NO in Hawaiʻi. You help her clean the yard, help her with her groceries, do stuff for her that is PONO. Until you learn the meaning of pono, you will never understand Hawaiʻiʻs true history. ʻO ia wale ihola nō kuʻu manaʻo, aloha nō.

Posted by ʻŌiwi on May 8,2012 | 01:03 AM

My guess is that if Mr. Theroux had actually lived in any of the places he has traveled to, he would feel the same way. I find that one's experience of life is a reflection of who we are. I don't know you Mr. Theroux, and I have enjoyed some of your "40 plus books," but you have plied your way through life as a professional outsider, offering your opinions of the places you visit. You can write well, but you -- even you -- can't put a place -- any place -- in a nutshell. In the spirit of giving, you get what you give. If you are patient, that 60 pounds of honey will come back to you in a way that will surprise you, even though you gave it with the expectation that you should get something in return. Right now, this very minute -- like they do on the East Coast, where you came from. I know, because I came here, like you did, from a wealthy family, like yours is, more than forty years ago. With few exceptions, everyone here is an outsider. The people are not the place. And that is just the beginning.

Posted by Gloria Garvey on May 8,2012 | 11:43 PM

Why would the smithsonian publish this rubbish on their website?

Posted by Daniel on May 8,2012 | 11:26 PM

I work in the library at UH Manoa where Mr. Theroux says he frequently conducts research. I organized the Peace Corps exhibit celebrating 50 years of the organization and Hawaii's role in training of Peace Corp volunteers for posting in Asia. Mr. Theroux was a Peace Corps volunteer and the UH Librarian had invited him to present a special lecture in conjunction with the exhibit. She also corresponded very politely with Mr. Theroux trying to find a way to meet his demands for inter-library loan of books at another branch library in the UH system. Given the efforts that were made on his behalf, I am deeply disappointed that Mr. Theroux so negatively portrayed our Library in an international online publication. I have a copy of the email correspondence from that time and would be most happy to share it with the world to correct a grave error and injustice that his article does to the Librarian and the UH Manoa Library. I think retractions and apologies are in order.

Posted by Kala S-K on May 8,2012 | 02:22 PM

Right on the money Mr.Theroux. After you have lived in Hawai'i another 10-15 years you will find it even more nonsensical.

Posted by carl on May 7,2012 | 06:45 AM

Kalaha'amai's comment is spot-on. Theroux seems to be ignoring Hawaii's entire colonial history, as well, and absolutely reeks of entitlement with regards to native knowledge and cooperation. If you don't enter a society respectfully, humbly, and openly, while demanding cooperation, you really don't deserve it.

Posted by Lena on May 5,2012 | 08:31 PM

The whole library scenario Mr. Theroux is intriguing to me as a librarian. I'll second the comments above. You have to be affiliated to get certain types of access. I wonder if he's ever offered to teach a writing class. I'm fairly certain, that he offered to teach one, he would be welcomed. He would then be faculty and would have access to interlibrary loan. I've read a bit of his writing and he seems to view his point of view as his intellectual property rather than the words he writes. I haven't spent a ton of time in Hawai'i and my ancestry is super duper haole but I noticed pretty quickly that giving without expecting return seems to be a big part of life there. From this piece, it doesn't seem like Mr. Theroux has noticed that yet. Something as small as letting someone go in front of you in traffic is greatly rewarded with a smile and a shaka. Our neighbors give us there backyard fruit just to be friendly. Someone I consider wise once told me that 'aloha' is what you give not what you get.

Posted by Jay B on May 5,2012 | 12:20 PM

It seems that Hawaiians have recognized the one feature that ties together all of Mr. Theroux's writing: an astonishing level of arrogance; clearly summed up in the phrase from this article: "my patience with their food." Additionally it is truly disappointing that there is no interesting information about Hawaii in this article; it is entirely concentrated on Mr. Theroux's whining that no one will talk to him. Perhaps readers should take a look at "Unfamiliar Fishes," Sarah Vowell's recent book on Hawaii. It seems that some of the same people who shun Mr. Theroux are very willing to talk with others. I am suspecting is is all in how you approach people.

Posted by stephen field on May 5,2012 | 11:43 AM

I lived in Kaneohe from 2005-2008; I remember trying to register to vote, only to be told "We're not United States, ya". This was at the "register here" sign. Walking into work one day I was met with "Here comes our Haole boy" from the people I worked for-Japan Airlines-coming from yes, a Japanese person. Then there's the time getting pulled over on my bike & told "It's illegal to be on the Pali". I replied it wasn't, and the Hawaiian-born cop said... "you're right-now just leave". it's a beautiful place to visit. But move there & it's the closest any caucasian will ever get to understanding discrimination.

Posted by Bob on May 4,2012 | 02:42 PM

I am disappointed that the Smithsonian online magazine should print Theroux's article. The article is yet one more layer in the colonial narrative against Hawaii. Mr. Theroux, please take your shoes off and leave them at the door! It is easy for one to own a house in Hawaii for 22 years but not reside here throughout the year. Many people are not invested in our communities in the islands. There are many who are seasonal residents, like the migratory bird, the plover, they visit, eat, get fat and leave. In Hawai'i it is very important to be a contributing member of a community, to be invested in what happens to the the community, to get your elbows dirty, and help others. Mr. Theroux may like to try that before he writes with authority on Hawai'i again. I don't think he understands that being a famous writer isn't the key to unlocking the door. Investing time, giving (not taking), helping neighbors without expectation, and observing, not being the focal point, would go a long way! Given that he doesn't feel comfortable, how can he write with understanding? Who is he to speak for and about Hawaii when he clearly is still an outsider who hasn't been able to bridge the gap?

Posted by Kalaha'amai on May 3,2012 | 04:12 PM

When I spent time in Japan, members of the American press used to advise young journalists to write their observation piece within the first month. After that your early impressions start to unravel, everything is the opposite of what it first seemed, and you can no longer be sure of anything. Paul writes beautifully and perceptively about places he visits for relatively short periods of time. In this article he faces squarely the difficulty about writing about his adopted home. Chuck Tampio

Posted by charles tampio on May 3,2012 | 12:26 PM

I have to agree with much of what Paul Theroux is saying here. I lived on both Maui and the Big Island for several years. One local told me they don't like to share too much because I was going to move back to where I came from some day. He said I was one of too many people coming and going all the time. Several people told me they didn't want invest in a long conversation with someone who could be so transitory. Also, so much has been taken from the Hawaiians themselves, one man told me he just wanted to keep his life and culture to himself. I love to travel and was amazed how many people had not visited other islands in the chain. Many people in Hilo never bothered to drive to the Kona side of the Big Island. I would suggest a drive and no one seemed to care. I took Hawaiian Language classes (my classmates were wary of me), read as much history as I could about Hawaii, studied the flora and fauna, the land and culture, but most I had to read or observe myself. A couple of "native" Hawaiians at work told me I knew more than they did about their culture, but I don't think so. I may have learned some facts, but it is rare for anyone to share their story.

Posted by Andie Moen on May 2,2012 | 02:20 AM

There is a very good reason that many people in Hawaii don't want anything to do with him (aside that is from the arrogant notion that people would gladly share their traditions for a jar of honey, with someone who intends to profit from what he believes should be freely given). That he does not recognize what it is about him in particular that bothers so many people here in the Islands, and consequently causes them to rebuff his questions, should be evidenced by the fact that he would no doubt view this comment as further evidence of Hawaii's insularity rather than notice the true cause.

Posted by Janus Brauer on May 2,2012 | 01:53 AM

I have lived on Oahu for over a year now. As a tall, pale, blonde woman it has been quite an experience. Upon moving here from the "mainland", I took it upon myself to be respectful of Hawaii and the culture. I try to learn about the culture, the language, etc. and am constantly asking people at work "Am I pronouncing this properly?", "Is this a tradition?", "Can you tell me the history behind that?", etc. I was met with a lot of resistenace at first. People ignored me, would not sit next to me on the bus, called me a "Haole" to my face (during work meetings even!), etc. But, the more I asked, the more I displayed that I was genuinely interested and sincerely respectful. "I buy local", "I dry my clothes on the line to save energy", "I would like to learn Hawaiian and Japanese...anyone want to learn with me?" etc. ... These were all key in showing them that I wanted to learn about and support, not take over or change, their culture. It's been a lot of work. But, it is SO worth it. The Hawaiian people are generous, loving, and facinating especially once you gain their trust. Sadly, I am leaving my current job for another on the island. Yesterday afternoon, after I made the announcement to my team, I found a small gold foil origami crane on my desk. It was left by one of the most senior members of my team, a native Hawaiian who has always been very quiet and most judgmental of my management practices. "Wow!" I thought. Although she would never tell me in person, that crane screamed as loud as a little origami gift could... "We will miss you, awkward pale haloe that tried so hard". I agree with everything the author had to say in his piece. I did not find it offensive or outlandish. Hawaii is its own distinct culture and while it may be difficult to penetrate, it is possible if one employs an open, loving, respectful, and humble spirit.

Posted by Benney on May 2,2012 | 05:07 PM

We have been to "the Islands" many times since the 60's. I have visited five plus snorkeling on Molokini. Our visits are primarily enjoying the sun, sand, and water and this time really good organic food, too! Our most recent visit was three weeks on Maui. We were asked by a shop owner if we were considering moving there since we love it so much? Before we could answer she said, "don't! She had about 8 years ago and went through a terrible time. Locals were not nice to her.". We left somewhat perplexed since we had never considered such a possibility, afterall, how could Paradise be mean? Your essay on the Islands was very timely and informative. Thank you.

Posted by Joanne Fitzwilson on May 2,2012 | 04:38 PM

It would be helpful if Mr. Theroux would tell us where he got his definition of the word haole. I have lived in Maui for over 16 years and have not come across this "of another breath" explanation. Mary Kawena Pukui's Hawaiian Dictionary defines haole as "White person, American, Englishman, Caucasian; formerly, any foreigner..." etc. One of the meanings of the word ha is breath, and the word ole means without or lacking. A traditional, respectful Hawaiian way of greeting is to touch noses and breathe in. I've been told by several Hawaiians that, since people like Captain Cook and his men didn't do that, these strangers were considered to be "without breath".

Posted by Jan Welda on May 2,2012 | 02:22 PM

I want to echo the sentiments of an earlier commenter. As a University Librarian, I can say with confidence that academic libraries do not extend inter-library loan privileges to patrons (even those that pay for guest borrower cards) that are not faculty, staff or student at the institution. I don't think that particular piece of evidence should be used to characterize either the University or the UH library system as any less helpful or friendly. It's a usual practice and has to do with the cost and labor involved with borrowing and managing ILL, not to mention the liability of borrowing books from somewhere else and giving them to someone with whom you have a very minimal relationship. I can incur that 'risk' with my own materials but not with materials that do not belong to me, where I have little recourse to recover them or their replacement cost should the guest borrower never return them. Students, faculty and staff...well, I can fine them. :)

Posted by Carrie R on May 1,2012 | 08:31 PM

This article is a guilty pleasure for me, mostly because its not about the island I come from, but also because while I appreciate how beautifully articulated it is, I know its vastly inaccurate. My condolences. Donna K. Cundy

Posted by Donna K. Cundy on May 1,2012 | 07:28 PM

I agree with a lot that has been said previously...Mr. Theroux cannot let go a lot of his tendencies. He has been living in Hawaii for 22 years and cannot grasp the true meaning of aloha, the 'aina, the kanaka maoli or any past wrongdoings done to the Hawaiian people. Living there all my life I cannot wrap my head around how this guy loves hawaii so much but is still so dumb to what it really is about. Sounds like bruddah man was throwing is weight around like he's some infamous author and therefore has a right to information because he has earned international fame. Doesn't sound like he's tried to truly get to know the Hawaiian people, or any other ethnic group here because he's walking around all himakamaka, high and mighty like we are supposed to respect him without any respect for the information he is seeking. Clearly-he gets what he puts out. Hawaiians aren't trying to hide our culture and keep it to ourselves. Perpetuate, yes, hide-no. Just funny how he's never tried to immerse himself in the culture, more tried to push his way in and understandably never got too far!

Posted by Lils on May 1,2012 | 04:34 PM

Mr. Theroux needs to check his ego at the door. Having been born Caucasian and raised in Hawaii, I know that humility goes a long way in reaching out to a culture that has been conditioned to distrust people harkening from Western Europe and America. It is the attitude of entitlement that keeps people away from making connection in Hawaii. If you think you own more than yourself, you will not be accepted well here. It isn't native Hawaiian culture, or Asian culture, it's local culture. Take your shoes off at the door, Mr. Theroux. Instead of rattling off about your library of authorship, maybe you should sit down and listen. People talk when others are willing to listen. It sounds like your opinion about Hawaii was formed before you even opened the door.

Posted by Cade Roster on April 30,2012 | 05:29 PM

Interesting perspective from a writer who is 'on the outside peering in'. From living on the Big Island for over 10 years if you are an unknown, particularly a 'haole', you will be rebuffed politely if you ask personal questions about ancestry or 'life in the islands.' But that is no different than an outsider traveling the back roads of Kentucky, or say Nova Scotia. Riding through Kentucky with an old friend who grew up on a farm there, he pointed out various public roads that he warned me not to travel down, as "they don't like outsiders." Why should Hawai`i be any different? I would have thought Mr. Theroux would have understood that being a famous writer means nothing to a local.

Posted by charlie stanton on April 30,2012 | 01:22 PM

I am a professor at the University of Hawaii, and I completely disagree with the characterization of UH. The faculty and graduate students I know spend a great deal of time in the community. I work with local teachers every month, and several colleagues visit local schools just as regularly. Others work with the Institute for Human Services, and still others are starting businesses to employ UH graduates so they don't have to leave home to find good jobs. All of this is on top of the long hours university faculty and grad students already work. I wonder if Mr. Theroux spoke with a single faculty member during his visits to campus to take advantage of our libraries. I should also mention that I have experienced the initial coolness and wariness that Mr. Theroux describes. But working with folks in the community -- having something to offer rather than just expecting them to help you with your job (and approaching with humility as others have mentioned) -- makes all the difference. I wonder what besides honey Mr. Theroux has given back to the community? Why should they share their stories with him? What does he share with them? I'll also point out that I don't know a single university anywhere that allows non-affiliated folks to borrow books and use the interlibrary loan system. The public libraries in Hawaii will happily get books through ILL for an admittedly substantial fee. But this is one more example of Mr. Theroux expecting the community to serve him simply because he is (in his own mind) an Important Writer. Surely the fee he was paid for this article will cover the ILL costs, especially since it was out of the question to share the fee with any of his interviewees.

Posted by Michelle on April 28,2012 | 11:34 PM

I just read Paul Theroux's bio on Wikipedia. Everything becomes clear.

Posted by Philip Kessel on April 28,2012 | 10:34 PM

I don't claim to know anything about Hawaii or its people. But in my experience journalists never get the story quite right and often get it quite wrong. Perhaps the impression he made left the people he talked to with a strong desire to be left alone.

Posted by Philip Kessel on April 28,2012 | 10:11 PM

While I am a great admirer of Mr Theroux, I can't help but wonder how he can write an entire article about Hawaii without ever mentioning the word "colonisation". Hawaii is an invaded country, with a colonised indigenous population. No wonder they feel wary of outsiders! Mr Theroux might do well to reflect on his own manner of approach, which may have contributed to the reaction he describes. How naive is he in his approach? How demanding, how disrespectful? Reading the comments from other Hawaiians here, I am led to believe that Mr Theroux is experiencing a reaction based on how he behaves, how he approaches people. It would pay to reflect on that, instead of ascribing it to some "island mentality".

Posted by Sarah Newman on April 26,2012 | 10:11 PM

This is my 18th year of living on the island of Maui as a transplanted haole. I have plenty of Hawaiian friends, some of whom are separatists. My experience has been the opposite of the writer, and I find that Hawaiians have a strong desire to have their culture understood. I am surprised at Mr. Theroux's difficulty. There is a thin defensive membrane that locals have towards mainlanders, but it usually disappears completely once respect is shown. The Hawaiians are working hard to preserve a culture which is in danger of being completely absorbed. They are educating their children with Hawaiian customs and language and, as I mentioned, will tell their story to outsiders with a genuinely respectful ear. They are the kindest, most generous people I have ever known. I have seen dirt poor, unemployed Hawaiians offer the proverbial "the shirt off their backs" to strangers invariably. This article does not ring true for me......

Posted by John Absalom on April 26,2012 | 03:35 PM

My own experience is that the matrix that forms the Hawaiian language does not translate at all to the western way of thinking. This is very hard to grasp for a modern culture that thinks it can quantify and describe anything at all with mere " definitions". Thankyou for a great article.

Posted by tai on April 26,2012 | 02:20 PM

Although I agree with Paul Theroux on much of what he says, I have a different perspective. I came to the islands in 1964 to work WITH whomever might be in charge of any project. I did not come to write ABOUT them. Yes I was always a bit of an outsider. But the difference was a lack of local knowledge, not racial and any local I ever met was anxious to bring me up to speed on our common interest. I dealt with a significant portion of the 'aina', the forests. This was a contentious time with a blossoming of concern about native species. And yet, when one of the 'local' foresters visited my house, and I proudly showed him my native plants, his reply was "I don't know why anybody plants something they can't eat". I am not sue how Mr. Theroux would comment on that.

Posted by Robert Merriam on April 25,2012 | 01:49 AM

I've read the article and visited several of the islands. It seems to me Mr. Theroux can't set aside his Mainland tendencies and see the islands as they are. He tends to present his views through his lens (his right) but can't understand why anyone would view Hawaii differently and wouldn't want to talk with a writer (him). Maybe a writer with a wider view of human differences and motives would serve the Smithsonian Magazine better. I have to wonder why a person who felt so unwelcome would regard the place as his home.

Posted by Jimmie Froehlich on April 24,2012 | 01:17 AM

Maybe the natives are reluctant to speak because there is nothing to say. The natives may be afraid that the stranger will discover that they know their own culture the way the stranger knows it: second, third, or fourth hand. They speak the language, they know some of the rituals, but the deeper meaning of these things has been lost or mislaid over the decades. Many native American cultures have this problem. They learn what it means to be an Indian from movies or non-Indian scholars. It would be a shameful thing to have to admit this.

Posted by Faze on April 23,2012 | 05:54 PM

Perhaps there might be some accuracy in M Irani’s perception of Paul Theroux but not knowing the man I can comment.

I am a “local haole”, born and raised on Oahu over six decades ago (I remember the statehood celebrations) and also as an adult lived on the Big Island for many years. It was the outer island we most went to for vacations small keed time. Currently residing in Oregon due to economic circumstances but hope to get back home before too long to finish out my life tenure. And I really, really miss being in the ocean.

It was interesting being raised a caucasian minority-not a circumstance most US caucasians could ever relate to, but it was rare I ever got into a hassle because of that. An intuitive person learns how to adjust, get along, and make friends.

But there are indeed the subtile and not so subtile differences between the neighborhoods, valleys, and districts. Also between the islands there is a different “vibe” for each. The stories of Hawaii and the different ethnicities coexisting is not an easy one to tell. Mr. Theroux has done a decent primer job in the small space allowed in this magazine.

Posted by Ken Condon on April 22,2012 | 06:30 PM

I lived on both Maui and the Big Island as a teen and young adult and also read some of Mr. Theroux books during that time. The general vibe I came away with was kind of negative and whiny overall.

I would agree with him that there is a good deal of division in Hawaiian society, however, there is also a chance that like the tone of his writing, there is something off-putting about him.

Sometimes when a person is socially awkward or negative in a new culture, they are given the benefit of the doubt. When they are that way in their own culture, or a culture that recognizes the dominant culture, as is in the case in Hawaii, they are not as forgiving.

In other words, maybe people in Hawaii just don't like him that much.

Posted by M Irani on April 20,2012 | 05:35 AM

Having lived in Hawaii for 13 years, the comment "the longer I live here the more the mystery deepens" totally rings true.

Paul is very unique among local residents (and to be commended) for trying to write about the entire complex experience of living in Hawaii, as opposed to the storybook illusion presented to tourists. His novel 'Hotel Honolulu' was not taken well by the local press, both mainstream and alternative. But it was spot on in it's observations of the complexity of the place.

I lived on Oahu for 10 years and only went to the west side once.

I now live on Maui, and it's a totally different universe than Oahu. As are all of the other islands, each one is very different from the others, both physically, and culturally.

Posted by lou per on April 19,2012 | 05:57 PM

Having had the good fortune to reside on three of the Hawaiian islands for a period of ten years. I must say Mr. Theroux, in a few words, has truly well depicted what eludes many of the islands visitors - a Paradise which, if left unchecked, will be lost.

Posted by Patrick Blangy on April 18,2012 | 12:23 AM




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