Hilo is the center of widely popular expressions of hula—traditional Hawaiian dance, music and drumming. This culture, and the Hawaiian language itself, were passed down orally through families (‘ohana) such as the Kanaka‘ole, during the many years when it was suppressed by the missionaries who brought their gospel message to the islanders in the 19th century, making them cover their bodies and trying to teach them Christian morality. A hula troupe is known as a halau—though to call it a troupe at all is misleading, since a halau is more than an organization of dancers; it is a family, an ‘ohana of its own under the guidance of a kumu, with a spiritual philosophy and an orientation toward the living traditions of this ancient art.
Mainstream American popular culture has created its own clichéd ways of seeing Hawaii and its arts, trivializing the ukulele as an instrument and making hula almost a joke. But the kumu, teachers of hula, practice and teach in its purest form this combination of dance, chant, song, drumming and ukelele music. There are two kinds of hula, one ancient and tribal called kahiko, one more recent and familiar, called ʻauana with music rather than drumbeats and being more focused on grass skirts and feminine grace. The root of the word ʻauana means to wander or drift.
Kahiko is the branch of hula with the deepest roots in tradition. Taupouri Tangaro, kumu hula of the Unukupukupu Halau and a professor at the University of Hawaii in Hilo, is an articulate spokesman for the hula tradition, and for him and his halau, hula is a wholistic discipline. When members of the halau go into the forest to gather greenery for their costumes, they ask permission from the plants they pick. Along the way, the dancers and musicians learn something about plant ecology and sustainability. If plants start becoming rare, halau members are the first to know about it.
Hula in its purest and most traditional form is intertwined with the spiritual traditions of the native Hawaiians. I am not privy to its closely-guarded secrets, but respect for one’s ancestors plays an important role. And it goes beyond respect. The individual is seen as embodying his or her ancestors. They live in and through us. One kumu hula told me that he keeps his house filled with mirrors so that he can see in his own face the presence of the ancestors as they visit. “Oh, it’s you,” he says to one of them when they appear on his own features. “What brings you here today?”
To see hula, particularly at a down-home venue or a party, is to witness an altogether joyful experience. It is a great pleasure and privilege to be part of an audience whose members are knowledgeable and appreciative of the many nuances of the art. Often the crowd includes relatives, parents and grandparents of the dancers. The Hawaiian custom is to applaud as soon as dancers start to dance, as soon as singers start to sing. A really good hula dancer in the ʻauana style enters into the dance with all the sinuosity her body is capable of. She never stops smiling—and her smile is genuine, because she dances for joy, and she shares that joy with those who witness the dance.
Recently, at a party launching the new CD by Mark Yamanaka, a Hawaiian singer famous for his falsetto, two old aunties, relatives of one of the musicians, were invited up to dance the hula while Mark sang and played. As beautiful as it is to watch a dancer with a beautiful body, in a way I take more pleasure in watching an older woman who really knows the hula. Her body may have thickened, her perfections may be tarnished, but if she is a great hula dancer, these flaws are quickly forgotten. As well, she may be less self-conscious than a younger dancer might be about sexuality and the curves of her body.
Easter brings The Merrie Monarch festival, named after King David Kalakaua, an annual week-long showcase for traditional dance, music, and crafts. The Merrie Monarch is the high point of the social year in Hilo, eagerly anticipated and talked about. Tickets to the hula competition go on sale the day after Christmas and are snapped up before the day is over. It’s as hard to get Merrie Monarch tickets as it is to get tickets to the World Series. The performances are televised as well. Large hula troops, sometimes with more than 100 girls and women in one halau on stage at a time, dance in perfect unison, wearing long dresses with orchids in their hair and leis of maile flowers, gathered from the high forests, which reach almost to the floor of the stage.
Almost as much an attraction as the performers in terms of putting on a show are the audiences of aging kumu hulas from the old families, as they try to out-do each other with their vintage gowns and profusion of orchids in their hair and strands of ti leaves braided into their leis. It is not unusual to see three generations of women dressed to the hilt in 40’s style grandeur, all as smart as a whip, the daughter proud to be the center of attention, the mother with dark lipstick looking like a film star, and the grandmother in rhinestone glasses and a vintage silk muumuu to die for.
The festival is capped by a parade through downtown Hilo, a funky kind of Tournament of Roses spectacle with lots of bands in aloha shirts and palominos draped with flowers. Participants and sponsors go all out to produce the most beautiful and showy floats, decked with flowers grown locally. Queens from Polynesian islands and Pacific Rim countries wave to the crowds lining the streets from vintage American convertibles. If the missionaries had never come, if the United States had not expanded its reach into the Pacific and seized power from the Hawaiian royal family, if Hawaii had not become the site of a hugely profitable sugar-producing industry, one of these queens might be ruling her own independent island kingdom here. And I might still be living in Tennessee.
Richard Tillinghast is the author of twelve books of poetry and four of creative nonfiction. His Selected Poems came out in 2010, and he was awarded a 2010 Guggenheim Foundation Fellowship in poetry. His latest non-fiction book is An Armchair Traveller’s History of Istanbul, 2012. Richard lived in Ireland for five years and moved back to this country in 2011; he currently divides his time between Tennessee and the Big Island of Hawaii. His newest book of non-fiction, Journeys into the Mind of the World, will be published by University of Tennessee Press in 2017.