insectplane - Tumblr blog

insectplane · 3 months ago

Text

Hawaiʻi: Indigenous People and Colonized Land: How Do We Portray the State?

Written with the help of the wonderful @aloha-from-angel, who contributed to the Tiki Culture aspect as well as the history behind depictions of Hawaiʻi as a child.

Hawaiʻi as a Perpetual Child

The Racist History

This isn’t just a coincidence in art or fandom—the infantilisation of Hawai‘i (and other US-occupied places) is a deliberate narrative with deep imperialist roots. From the 1800s onward, Western powers, especially the United States, have consistently infantilized Hawai‘i/Native Hawaiians in literature, political cartoons, educational materials, and yes, even in fandom interpretations today. And that infantilization has connotations—powerful ones.

Depicting Hawai‘i as a child doesn’t just imply innocence or purity. It implies incapability. It says, “You’re too young to govern yourself.” It says, “You need a father figure, a strong hand, to civilize you.” That wasn’t just subtext—it was policy.

In countless depictions from the early 20th century, Hawai‘i and other colonized nations were drawn as children—sometimes cherubic, most oftentimes unruly and disobedient—while America stood over them as the stern, masculine, white Uncle Sam. This wasn’t about affection. This was about control. To be a child in this narrative meant being permanently incomplete, forever dependent, never allowed to mature into full personhood or sovereignty.

As historian Karen M. Evered writes in Fostering Puerto Rico:

“At no time, however, was their obedience equated with a process of maturation; obedience simply merited a whitening of their young faces and would sometimes be depicted in terms of effeminate domesticity and emasculation. Apparently, by North American standards, these islands were to remain as ‘civilized’ children, at best, and the imperial and masculine Uncle Sam was to foster them in perpetuity.”

That’s it right there. Hawai‘i could obey. She could assimilate. She could be “Americanized.” But she would never be allowed to grow up. Maturity was threatening. Autonomy was threatening. So they rewrote the story: from sovereign to orphan. From an independent nation to a foster child of the United States, loving, adoring.

And our lovely fandom—intentionally or not—keeps replicating this story. When Hawai‘i is drawn or written as a wide-eyed, naive little girl in countryhumans, always in need of guidance or protection, always subordinate to the other “adult” nations or even (often depicted as white) older states, it’s not just “cute.” It’s a continuation of the same narrative used to justify colonization and occupation.

Consistency: Alaska, New Mexico, Arizona, and Oklahoma

Hawaiʻi is commonly portrayed as the youngest state, a child when all the others are teens or adults. While Hawaiʻi is the final state to join the Union, Hawaiʻi isn’t isolated in terms of the timing of her statehood.

Thus, we get into the states created in the 1900s: Oklahoma, New Mexico, Arizona, AND Alaska.

So, let's lay out some dates. Oklahoma was the first state of the 20th century to be granted statehood, on November 16, 1907. Following Oklahoma were New Mexico and Arizona, only a few weeks apart, January 6 and February 14 of 1912, respectively. Lastly, we have Alaska and Hawaiʻi, also admitted only a few months apart (so close, in fact, that Hawaiʻi’s people were under the perception that they were going to be the 49th state, not the 50th), on January 3 and August 21 of 1959, respectively.

Therefore, if Hawaiʻi was born at statehood, she and Alaska should be nearly twins—both children born months apart. However, the dynamic is that of a child and a teenager when it comes to Hawaiʻi and Alaska, which makes no sense if they are meant to be the same age. This is the inconsistency, the constant portrayal of Hawaiʻi as a child while portraying all those of a similar age as teenagers.

Therefore, the logic isn’t that Hawaiʻi is the youngest because, clearly, age isn’t a factor, making it more of a justification than a reasoning.

I know that some portray Alaska as the Alaska Territory, which was purchased by the USA on October 18, 1867, thus providing a reason for their age gap. But if you are going to portray Alaska as the territory because he was purchased by the USA, then you should portray Hawaiʻi as the territory because Hawaiʻi was something prior to its annexation by the United States: The Kingdom of Hawaiʻi (and the Republic of Hawaiʻi, being the government in place after the overthrow). Therefore, portraying Alaska as the territory to make him older, but not making Hawaiʻi the territory, despite the fact that it would still provide an age gap that makes Alaska older for those who want it, is yet another inconsistency that seems centered around always having Hawaiʻi as the youngest.

Let’s say you have Hawaiʻi being born when the Territory of Hawaiʻi was created. Then, the portrayal of Hawaiʻi makes even less sense, as she would have been born on April 30, 1900. However, that does not make her the youngest territory, as the Territory of Alaska was technically created on August 24, 1912, having previously been a district. Additionally, the United States Virgin Islands (formerly the Danish West Indies) would have been born on March 31, 1917, if that were the USVI’s birthdate, which is when they were purchased by the Americans.

Therefore, many portrayals of Hawaiʻi as the youngest are flawed, as they appear to prioritize making Hawaiʻi the youngest rather than ensuring the ages of the other states align with the aging scale used for Hawaiʻi. In effect, Hawaiʻi is not a part of the United States’ consistency but, instead, an outlier, so she can be portrayed as people want to portray her, not in an accurate sense.

It does not mean that you cannot have Hawaiʻi as a child, but that you should at least be consistent about the methods that you are using. You need to hold all the states to the same standards. Whether that is birth at statehood, birth when the territory was created, or birth when they existed as something else first outside of the United States, you need to be consistent. Not just for sensical reasons, but because when you aren’t, it’s confusing to the reader and runs the risk of falling into the racist stereotypes discussed before.

Tiki Culture as Hawaiʻi’s Personality

To fully understand what exactly is wrong with many depictions of Hawai‘i’s personality in the fandom, there has to be just a little bit of history laid down first. For instance, what exactly is Tiki Culture, and where did it originate?

To sum it up, Tiki Culture is capitalism’s version of what Hawaiian culture is. It mixes elements of multiple island cultures, often with little regard for where they came from. (See: Grass skirts. They are not Hawaiian! They’re Tahitian!) But after all, the Tiki Boom was in the 1950s, so we can’t have that without just a smidgen of racism!

The fascination with Hawaiian culture started off when the first “discoverers” landed all the way back in the 1700s. It was a scientific curiosity, but no one had figured out how to make money on it yet. By the annexation of Hawai‘i in 1898, the curiosity within the United States had dulled to welcome ideals of assimilation and cultural genocide.

But alas, by that time, someone had figured out how to make money. The hula, which was shunned and even banned under Puritan missionaries in the 19th century, was used as a circus act and was part of living museums in the United States as early as the 1880s. These were gross approximations of what the hula really was and were played up for the sexual factor.

Remember the sensual side of this; it’s unfortunately very important to where Tiki culture comes from, and why it rose to the prominence it is today, and why it affects portrayals of Hawai‘i now in fandom.

When the turn of the century rolled around, and thousands upon thousands of Navy men infested Hawai‘i’s harbors, many of them were drawn in by the allure of brown-skinned women, especially ones they deemed “exotic.” As with all things, when someone is told it is wrong to want something, they desire it more. This was especially true for the often (though period typical) racist population of the US Navy, who would show repulsion to the very idea of having a majority non-white territory and yet would often have illicit relations and even settle down to marry Hawaiian women.

In the 1940s, when WW2 made Hawai‘i a near-mandatory stop for any young private in the Navy, the allure and escapism of Hawai‘i took root in young men’s minds. They bought pinups of dark-skinned women, fooled around with native girls, and, most of all, took these ideals home with them and spread the very inherently sexual idea of paradise home. By the time the war was over, Hawai‘i had been firmly cemented as a sexy, wonderful paradise perfect for young white men.

The 50s and especially the 60s brought need for escapism once again, with the Cold War and McCarthy Era looming over the United States. Nuclear apocalypse seemed imminent, and many American men worked 9-5 jobs and were expected to neither complain nor try to ditch this conformity. Many men desired the allure of a peaceful, tropical paradise that was exotic enough to be exciting but whitewashed to fit the standards of the time. In comes Hollywood’s Hawaiian obsession.

Now, the Hawai‘i tourism industry not only encouraged the Tiki fantasy but also played into it. Exotic fantasies of Hawai‘i sold it to white tourists who could leave home without leaving “America”. Many would end up buying large chunks of land in a place where Native Hawaiians were unable to even survive.

At the heart of the Tiki Fantasy is an idealized, highly sanitized version of Hawai‘i. This version is where Hawai‘i is reduced to scenery—something tropical, exotic, and filled with the promise of relaxation, palm trees, and endless sunshine. But this is where the harm lies. Pop culture, in borrowing from Tiki Culture, often oversimplifies Hawai‘i’s history and culture, erasing the richness and complexity of her identity, while simultaneously perpetuating a narrative that strips away her autonomy and voice.

Tiki Culture, in its origin, was about selling a fantasy—a concept so divorced from the reality of Hawai‘i’s history, struggles, and ongoing fight for sovereignty. When you see Hawai‘i depicted as a carefree, laid-back, "exotic" personality in the fandom, you're seeing a direct product of that escapist fantasy, one that distances the modern understanding of Hawai‘i from the pain, political turmoil, and cultural erasure her people have endured for centuries.

Lilo & Stitch and Moana, though both beloved childhood movies of mine, are unfortunately prime examples of how Tiki Culture gets rebranded and repackaged for a modern audience. These films do borrow elements from Indigenous cultures and, in many ways, make meaningful strides toward respectful representation—Lilo & Stitch especially hits close to home with its portrayal of ʻohana, grief, and social instability. But the problem isn’t in the storytelling. It’s in the marketing. It’s in the way these films are consumed and commodified.

Take Lilo & Stitch, for instance. Despite being a titular character, Lilo is constantly pushed to the background in favor of cuter, more “marketable” characters like Stitch—and worse, characters like Angel, a literal seductress Stitch-genderbend from the spin-off series. Angel is everywhere in merchandise: sparkly, pink, flirtatious, a perfect hetrosexual partner for the freaking alien that shouldn’t have the biological need to reproduce.

Meanwhile, Lilo—a complex, grieving Native Hawaiian girl navigating trauma of losing her parents, loneliness, and social services—is erased. Nani, who works multiple jobs just to keep her family together, is also ignored. This isn’t accidental. This is capitalism choosing fantasy over reality. It’s the Tiki aesthetic rearing its head again—turning real, brown-skinned island girls into accessories or background noise while promoting sanitized, sexualized, and easily consumable versions of “Hawaiian” identity.

Even Moana, which was developed with extensive cultural consultation, is not free from this. Though the film represents a blend of Polynesian cultures rather than just Hawaiian, the way it’s marketed leans into that same tired escapist fantasy—it’s all curated for a Western gaze that wants just enough “authenticity” to feel cultured, but not so much that it becomes uncomfortable. Moana’s story, while empowering, is still framed within the limits of what’s palatable to Disney’s global audience.

It all adds up to a pattern: even when the media tries to do better, the system it operates in still recycles the core of Tiki Culture. It waters down identity. It romanticizes trauma. It erases Native girls in favor of mascots and mascots of mascots. And in fandom spaces like countryhumans, this distortion continues—characters based on Hawai‘i are too often shaped by this commodified lens, not the real legacy of survival, resistance, and culture that defines her people.

Only an American: The Lack of the Hawaiian Kingdom

One concerning trait found in most of these portrayals of Hawaiʻi is that she is consistently portrayed as American, with no mention of the Kingdom of Hawaiʻi or the events in which the Hawaiian Kingdom was involved.

While a personification of the State of Hawaiʻi can be born at statehood, the neglect of the Hawaiian Kingdom is a concerning aspect of the portrayal of Hawaiʻi, as it overlooks a significant aspect of Hawaiian history, and also reinforces the narrative that Hawaiʻi was always American. That, along with historical revisionism aimed at making the overthrow of the Hawaiian kingdom and the illegal annexation appear legitimate and legal, renders this removal of the Hawaiian kingdom from the narrative concerning it.

Now, this is not to accuse anyone lacking this element of history of historical revisionism or racist beliefs, but rather to point out that everyone exists in the context in which they were born, and the context of Hawaiʻi, the kingdom, is incredibly important. The territory and the state are not born as just Americans, they are not born into an isolated environment, they are born out of the repercussions of what happened to the Hawaiian Kingdom and even if they aren’t the kingdom, what happened to the kingdom is incredibly important to how they came to be and how their early life would be like.

You cannot ignore the kingdom because Hawaiian history, from the overthrow to the present, is haunted by what happened to the kingdom. It would be as if you wrote America being born in 1776 but never acknowledged his colonial history and acted like it never existed. It doesn’t make sense to do that because you neglect so much of American history and the buildup to how the country came to be. When you neglect the Hawaiian Kingdom, you neglect the history that shaped the state's identity.

To have American Hawaiʻi, you need the Kingdom of Hawaiʻi. One cannot exist without the other, and even the beginning has a history.

Pearl Harbor and Statehood: Why Does Hawaiʻi Remember It?

One of the most puzzling things about Hawaiʻi’s common fanon depiction is the fact that she is always portrayed as a personal victim of Pearl Harbor. While not untrue, the puzzling element is the fact that the people who write these portrayals tend to have their Hawaiʻi be born as an American state.

But Hawaiʻi’s statehood was in 1959, and the attack on Pearl Harbor was in 1941. So, how on Earth is Hawaiʻi a victim of Pearl Harbor when she wouldn’t have existed then? There is nothing wrong with having Hawaiʻi being born as the state, nor with making her a victim of Pearl Harbor—it was an attack on a territory that held very pro-Japanese sentiments on the eve of the attack. But you cannot have both of these portrayals—it is completely impossible because the State of Hawaiʻi didn’t exist during the attack on Pearl Harbor.

If you plan to use either of these portrayals, you should be aware of the timeline. Ultimately, the reason I believe this happens even when Hawaiʻi is born as the state is that most people know nothing of Hawaiian history outside of the attack on Pearl Harbor, and instead of researching Hawaiian history post-statehood, they assume that the attack on Pearl Harbor is good enough to be the only historical event they mention, and didn't realize that the times did not line up at all.

I do not think it is malicious in its entirety. I merely think it is a long-held misconception by people who did not put enough research into their Hawaiʻi depiction. But if you are going to mention historical events and make them A MASSIVE PART OF THAT PERSON’S PERSONALITY, you need to check and make sure that the timelines line up.

Conclusion

All in all, the most common portrayal of Hawaiʻi in statehumans books is half-hearted at best and a continuation of a long-standing racist stereotype at worst. The reasons behind these are rooted in the long-standing beliefs held about Hawaiʻi, but are ultimately harmful in how they have damaged the portrayal, and in turn, people’s perception.

The lack of consistency in when Hawaiʻi was born and how old that would make her physically is strange and often makes the personification feel less like that—a personification and a character—and more like a one-note prop only there to act as a device to another character’s personality and arc, mainly to Alaska or America.

Hawaiʻi is a beautiful nation with a very interesting history (see: Hawaiʻi pisses off the German Empire by trying to become an empire of their own, literally ANYTHING to do with the Empire of Japan and Hawai‘i, and the time the King of Niʻihau a me Kauai manipulated a bunch of Russians) and there is so much fun and life you can embed into these characters.

It’s disheartening to see that so few people put in the effort to create a character that's both fun and compelling. It only weakens the writing and the story as a whole.

There are many ways to portray a personification of Hawaiʻi. As long as you avoid falling into these racist stereotypes and maintain consistency in age and timeline, I encourage you to explore Hawaiian history and build a character you can be proud of.

34 notes · View notes