We, the Women: Public Perceptions of Juvenile Delinquency in the 1950s

In 1957, Hawaiʻi residents hotly debated Elvis Presley’s dance moves. The Honolulu Star-Bulletin reported “receiving far more letters for and against Elvis Presley than we can possibly publish.”[1] Eunice Kiyuna, a 13 year old living on Hawaiʻi was one of the few who successfully got her letter in the paper, arguing that she “didn’t see anything wrong with his singing or his style of shaking.”[2]

The public also critiqued other aspects of Elvis. In addition to his dancing, Elvis’ “haircut that doesn’t look like a haircut" garnered public attention.[3] The length and volume all marked his unique hairstyle and brand.

Some people, however, associated Elvis’ brand, including his haircut, with juvenile delinquency. Rather, teenage boys having such an “extreme coiffure” was a “badge of delinquency” that would almost certainly signify the boy would soon be following Elvis’ footsteps towards arrests.

Despite his popularity, Elvis can’t explain all the public concern about juvenile delinquency in Hawaiʻi during 1957. Organizations such as We, the Women had brought juvenile delinquency to the forefront of public awareness since the early 1950s.

We, the Women was a conservative women’s group in Hawaiʻi born to protest an impending public utilities worker strike in 1946. They claimed to represent “thousands of other women in the Territory,” and reported 300 women showing up to their meeting that approved a letter to the governor asking him questions such as, “What do you plan to do to make it forever impossible for a minority group to put its selfish interest above the general welfare to the extreme extent of shutting off utilities?” and pushing back on the lack of prosecutions against previous strikers.[4] When August 1st came around, the day the strike was planned to begin, the Honolulu Star-Bulletin instead circulated Letters from Readers about how to prevent “the threatened and perhaps still pending strike” from happening and praising We, the Women for organizing.[5]

“‘We, the Women of Hawaii’ (God bless ‘em), have now arrived.”

— ONE OF THEM

In the early 1950s, We, the Women organized around legislative changes. They hosted luncheons to discuss issues such as fluoridating water, sales taxes, and juvenile delinquency. We, the Women, a juvenile court judge, and other officials believed that the best way to prevent juvenile delinquency was through education reform. We, the Women supported a platform that increased the number of remedial education teachers, vocational education classes, and “required courses in family living in intermediate and high school levels.”[6]

Their early efforts failed to curb juvenile delinquency and when We, the Women took up juvenile delinquency again in 1957, they prioritized community action rather than pressure on the legislature.  The agenda consisted of three main components: “Cause and treatment of youthful crime,” “Study of existing criminal code and penalties for ‘offenses against the person’ and offenses against property,” and “The rights of the citizen to protect himself and his property.” This agenda marked a stark difference from their focus on prevention in the early 1950s. Instead, We, the Women prioritized understanding the law and protecting themselves and their property. Their self-interest in juvenile delinquency rather than public or youth interest took precedence by 1957.

“Federal officials testify on juvenile delinquency. It’s a nonpartisan problem. Each party is convinced the other one proves what happens to juvenile delinquents.”

— Fletcher Knebel [7]

Juvenile delinquency was in the forefront of public concern and We, the Women wanted to expand the number of people and groups involved in tackling it. In addition to the eight women’s groups already working with them, We, the Women invited over 200 other groups on Oʻahu to join their task force.[7] Not only did We, the Women’s status and recognition on the island help bring attention to juvenile delinquency, it was already a large enough issue to garner so much public support and attention.

By late 1957, We, the Women’s campaign created the Community Crime Council. Strangely, the first 6 person board did not include a representative from We, the Women, but largely adopted their proposed agenda. Mrs. Kellerman, of We, the Women, credited as a key force in creating the council, and We, the Women was likely one organization who partnered with the council from the beginning. Council members spoke at public events and conducted community research to raise public consciousness about juvenile delinquency and what they believed were its causes, such as “smut” literature.[8]

We, the Women’s work throughout the 1950s reflected and amplified concerns about juvenile delinquency by organizing people against the perceived threat. Examining their role and public conversations around Elvis Presley help us understand how threatening the public found juvenile delinquency, and commonplace its causes.

[1] Eunice Kiyuna, “Letters from Readers,” Honolulu Star-Bulletin, February 12, 1957.

[2] Kiyuna.

[3] Elvis Presley as quoted in Wayne Harada, “Music,” Honolulu Advertiser, November 17, 1957.

[4] Mona H. Holmes et al., “Why No Action, Stainback Asked,” Honolulu Advertiser, July 25, 1946, https://www.newspapers.com/image/259267916/?terms=%22We%2C%20the%20Women%22&match=1.

[5] ONE OF THEM, “Letters from Readers,” Honolulu Star-Bulletin, August 1, 1946, https://www.newspapers.com/image/258514487/?terms=Public%20utilities%20strike&match=1.

[6] “Women Indorse Program on Juvenile Delinquency,” The Honolulu Advertiser, March 12, 1953.

[7] Fletcher Knebel, “Potomac Fever,” Honolulu Star-Bulletin, November 27, 1953, https://www.newspapers.com/image/258863501/?match=1&terms=%22Potomac%20Fever%22%20.

[8] “200 Clubs Asked to Join Juvenile Delinquency Fight,” Honolulu Star-Bulletin, September 25, 1957.

[9]“City Crime Rate Increases Among Those Under 25,” Honolulu Star-Bulletin, November 16, 1957; “Council Formed to Fight Crime Among Juveniles,” Honolulu Star-Bulletin, October 31, 1957; “Smut Literature Available to Teenagers in Hawaii,” The Honolulu Advertiser, August 30, 1959.

Moʻolelo as Resistance at Kawailoa Industrial School for Girls

A long-distance view of Kawailoa Industrial School for Girls from a 1940’s institutional scrapbook. Digitally colorized.

The teenage girls who were incarcerated at Kawailoa Industrial School were not too different from teenage girls today. They enjoyed watching action-packed movies, staying up to date on the love lives of their favorite celebrities, and talking about their crushes and “first times.” In 1939, adventure stood out as the favorite movie genre among the majority (57%) of girls living at Kawailoa Industrial School, as indicated by a survey with 65 responses. The 1939 cinematic landscape included The Wizard of Oz, which continues to enchant viewers with its timeless melody "Somewhere Over the Rainbow," Stagecoach, starring John Wayne in his breakthrough role, and The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, which was the last Sherlock Holmes film set in the Victorian period. Out of the Western, mystery, and crime subgenres, the girls preferred westerns and mysteries.

While it is difficult to know exactly how incarceration at Kawailoa Industrial School affected the girls' preferences, we can speculate that the boredom and drudgery of confinement might have fed their love for adventure films. 

Softening into fictional worlds where “troubles melt like lemon drops” likely offered some solace to girls who missed their loved ones.

The previously mentioned 1939 survey also found that romance was the favorite written genre of the largest percentage of girls (48%) living at Kawailoa Industrial School. In particular, the girls liked reading the popular magazines True Confessions and Screen Stories. These magazines probably offered not just entertainment but also a feeling of normalcy for teenage girls, many of whom were 18 or older, who were deprived of normal opportunities to explore romance and sexuality. At least some girls also viewed magazines like these as sources of sexual information. When asked about their sexual education sources, 13% of 36 respondents mentioned books and magazines. 

Another 20% of girls at Kawailoa Industrial School in 1939 stated that they had no sexual education. Determining whether social taboos surrounding sex may have influenced this response is challenging. However, it is clear that many girls at Kawailoa Industrial School were lacking substantial information regarding sex and likely held inaccurate beliefs.

While many other girls in Hawaiʻi during this era also received inadequate sexual education, they were fortunate to at least have access to guidance from their mothers and aunties. In contrast, girls at Kawailoa Industrial School had very limited opportunities to interact with their mothers and aunties. This exacerbated their sexual vulnerability. 

Girls at Kawailoa Industrial School turned to each other for sexual information, with 18% of survey respondents indicating that their female friends were their first sources of sexual knowledge.

“It is common practice for girls, who have run away and have been apprehended, to be returned to their respective cottages where they entertain the other girls with tales of their escapades and conquests while on “leave.” Their sex experiences are the choice bits of entertainment.”

— A Honolulu Star-Bulletin article from 1940

While the author of the article quoted above included these details as evidence of the supposed inadequacy of moral training at Kawailoa Industrial School, these habits can also be interpreted as a strategy employed by the teenage girls to address their lack of sexual education. The storytelling sessions following escapes allowed girls to share information with each other about their bodies and the world beyond the confines of the institution.

While escapes posed a direct challenge to the institution's control, “talking story" after recapture might be seen as an equally significant form of resistance.

Moreover, these talk story sessions likely motivated further escapes which surely led to more storytelling gatherings, thus reinforcing a unique moʻolelo-based cycle of resistance.

Mo’olelo, which is often translated into English as “story,” is composed of the words moʻo (a series of events such as the repeated shedding of a lizard’s skin) and ʻōlelo (language or spoken words).

Moʻo is a particularly helpful word for describing these post-escape (and pre-new-escapes!) talk story gatherings. Given the sheer quantity and frequency of escapes, these moʻolelo-sharing events were likely repeated on a weekly basis.

Photo by Egor Kamelev

The “tales” of their friends’ “escapades and conquests” undoubtedly brought much pleasure to the girls’ adventure-loving hearts. Unfortunately, this practice also touches on one of the darkest sides of life for girls incarcerated at Kawailoa Industrial School.

“The girls who work as prostitutes and are sent to the school tell other girls the names and addresses of solicitors who are always willing to harbor an escaped girl. It is not incidental that the girls are enlisted into the ranks of prostitution for the privilege of staying out of the hands of the police.”

— A Honolulu Star-Bulletin article from 1948

This quotation offers a small glimpse into the difficult decisions girls faced as a result of the carceral system. Freedom remained elusive regardless of what choices a girl made under these circumstances.

While the pleasure of watching, reading, sharing, and listening to stories did not negate this reality, it empowered these girls to experiment with freedom. 

A reflection on our summer 2023 visit to Oʻahu

As I stood on the beach with the waves washing over my feet, my mind became quiet and my movements slowed. When a wave recedes, the sand is dark and heavy with the impression of where the wave washed over. This shadow of the wave has a life of its own. It echoes the wave that created it by moving forward as if pulled toward the ocean. This phenomenon hugged my attention like a net. The mark is a memory, a shadow in the sand. I marveled at the way this phenomenon connected to the reason I was in Hawaiʻi. 

According to some neuroscience studies, every time you remember a past experience, your mind/body changes in ways that alter future recall (Bridges and Paller 2012). The next time you remember that event, you might not recall the original event but the most recent memory (Paul 2012). In other words, every time I recall my experience on the beach, my mind/body might create a memory of a memory of a memory of the event. This succession or moʻo occurs not just over an individual lifetime, but also over many lifetimes. Like the shore, the bodies of the descendents of institutionalized children might also be dark and heavy with the fading memories of the trauma of incarceration. 

The marks of the physical and ideological structures of the colonial institutionalization of children in Hawaiʻi are still visible and textural like the wet shadow in the sand. For example, when we walked through the trees at Waialeʻe, I recognized the concrete base of the windmill from historical photographs of the Boy’s Industrial School at Waialeʻe. Kawela Farrant also pointed out numbers carved into the concrete of a structure used by the Boy’s Industrial School at Waialeʻe. Kawela suggested that the numbers might be inmate numbers assigned to children. In particular, I was struck by a carving which read “591-Kid.” Later, in the Hawaiʻi State archives, I found a roster of children held at the Boy’s Industrial School at Waialeʻe with a column of 3-digit inmate numbers. This roster also included information about why each child was sent there. For example, a 13 year-old Native Hawaiian child was committed for “no less than 2 years” for being “an idle and dissolute child.” Another 12 year-old Native Hawaiian child was committed for “no less than a year” for stealing $1 and a book. 

In addition to this roster, two other documents I discovered in the State Archives stood out to me. The first was a record of a meeting of the Territory of Hawaiʻi’s Commision of Insanity in 1913. A young Native Hawaiian woman was diagnosed with “mania a potu” and committed to the Insane Asylum. The Insanity Commission's report says: "Her delusion has mainly been that she is related to almost every Hawaiian she sees...She maintained her delusion as to relationship with all Hawaiians in sight." The report also refers to her relatives in quotes. Such an explicit pathologization of Hawaiian kinship and relationality is notable.

The second document was an investigation into the death of a child at Boy’s Industrial School at Waialeʻe. According to children who were interviewed by the deceased child’s mother, the death was due to medical negligence and abuse from staff. According to the deceased child’s friends, he knew he was very sick and begged to be sent to the hospital but he was repeatedly threatened for asking for help with working in the kalo patch (a punishment at the institution) and being placed in solitary confinement in a dark cell. When he fell asleep while working because he was so sick, a staff member poured water on him to wake him up and punish him for not working. He died soon after. The Boy’s Industrial School at Waialeʻe disputed all the claims of the deceased child’s friends and insisted the death was unpreventable. 

The mana or power of these stories is undeniable. One of many definitions of mana in the Hawaiian Dictionary is a “hook used in catching eels.” To me, these mo’olelo are hooks that can be used to catch a much larger story. 

Hooks can be used not only to catch, but also to secure something in place. At Waiale’e, Kawela shared some of the kaʻao, or Kānaka Maoli mythology, of the place which relates to this function of fishhooks. According to the ka’ao, Waialeʻe is a part of Kahuku Lewa, a landmass once separate from north Oʻahu (Farrant 2020). Waialeʻe is the location of Kalou, one of two inland ponds which mark the location where Kahuku Lewa was attached to Oʻahu (Farrant 2020). One version of this kaʻao credits the kupua (demigod) Māui with fastening Kahuku Lewa to Oʻahu (Farrant 2020). Another version of this kaʻao credits “two old women guardians,” Lāʻieikawai and Malaekahana, with swimming out to Kahuku, fastening wooden fish hooks to either end of the islet, and reeling it back to shore (Farrant 2020). Kawela beautifully interpreted the ka’ao in the context of his work to restore/refasten a traditional fishpond and kalo lo’i to Waiale’e. 

The work our collaborators are engaged in on the ʻāina (land, that which feeds) where these institutions once operated is important for many reasons including that the ʻāina holds forgotten/repressed/suppressed memories. As Sydney Iaukea wrote, “Land, body, and memory all inform one another. The land, extending out and into the ocean, holds the practical and epistemological memories of encounters” (2011). I am deeply grateful for the opportunity to participate in this remembering work and meet so many wonderful people engaged in overlapping work. 

Kawailoa as an Americanizing Project

Maunawili Training School for Girls opened in 1929 (renamed Kawailoa in 1931), though institutions for girls’ incarceration in Hawaiʻi already existed for decades. From 1929-1950, the institution frequently housed over 100 girls deemed “delinquent,” often for pre-marital sexual activity or living in homes that did not conform to white American standards. Kawailoa, administrators and territorial officials hoped, could turn “delinquent” girls into “good” girls fit for the Hawaiian society the white elite envisioned. This settler-colonial process of “whitening”  the predominantly non-white girls committed to Kawailoa interests me as a student interested in how race and education intersect(ed).

As the Director of the Department of Institutions (the governing board over Kawailoa), Thomas Vance wrote the introduction to the 1945 Kawailoa staff manual. He says the institution’s goals are twofold: “the withdrawal of destructive juveniles from free circulation” and “the rehabilitation of those delinquents.” Removal and rehabilitation, Vance argues, complement each other and can be seen in all aspects of the institution. Contrary to public perception, Vance argues that rehabilitation, rather than removal, is Kawailoa’s central goal; the reformatoryʻs success “means one more good citizen.”

The territorial government's definition of a “bad citizen” was shockingly non-white.  In 1940, of the 133 girls at Kawailoa, the staff only labeled one girl as Caucasian. In contrast, 61 girls were listed as Hawaiian or Part Hawaiian. These girls would legally have citizenship status from the Organic Act, though the limits of that citizenship are on full display in the discriminatory incarceration practices. The legal system designated Hawaiians, in this case, Hawaiian girls, as “bad citizens” needing reform at substantially higher rates than white girls.

Aside from their supposed “crimes,” Vance viewed Hawaiians as “bad citizens” based on their labor practices. In his mind, Kawailoa took “wards who have never been taught that work is an important part of every satisfactory life” and taught them to enjoy labor. This argument implies that predominantly non-white girls at Kawailoa did not like or know how to work, which goes against everything we know about settler colonialism and the labor foundations of the US. White hands did very little work on land colonized by the US. Rather, non-white laborers performed manual work while wealthy white people oversaw them. Not only does this erroneous claim ignore the historical setting of non-white labor in Hawaiʻi that planted and harvested all the sugar and pineapple, it also paints non-white Hawaiians as others. It is also worth noting, that while Kawailoa girls performed agricultural work, domestic labor constituted the majority of their duties.

Besides manual labor, Vance is convinced reading is the next best way to rehabilitate girls. He claims that “reading is the number one hobby of the American people,” and therefore one who reads is American. This habit, he continues would “help our wards to acquire a larger vocabulary and fair reading skill,” which reeks all too much of ʻŌlelo Hawaiʻi (Hawaiian language) bans in schools. By 1945, ʻŌleleo had already been pushed out of most schools and many Kanaka children, such as those at Kawailoa, would likely have had English as their first language. Rather than a reflection on the girls’ English literacy, Vance’s argument paints Kawailoa girls as un-American for “committing crimes” rather than reading.

Beyond English literacy skills, enjoying reading was central to rehabilitation. Vance argues that “when a girl has become interested enough in books and magaizines to enjoy staying home to read them, she has made a good start on her rehabilitation.” Here I’m reminded of Vanceʻs claim that successful rehabilitation is indicated by creating a “good citizen.” In this case, a good citizen for a Kanaka girl with minimal political power was one who stayed home. There, women and girls could run white middle-class American-style households and pass down the corresponding cultural values to their children. Good Kawailoa girls produced more “good citizens” Though I often find myself thinking that release from these institutions was the end of their “withdrawal..from free circulation,” Vance indicates that successful “rehabilitation” continued keeping girls out of the public sphere.

Kawailoa’s goals of removal and rehabilitation, then, did not end when the girls completed their sentence. The curriculum was designed to stay with them throughout their lives, making them “good citizens, wives and mothers” as they passed American messages along to friends, family, and especially their children. “Successful rehabilitation” was intergenerational.

Updates from Summer 2023

Maile here, with a number of updates from this past summer!

First, you may notice some new names and faces associated with this project. See all new additions on our Team page, and stay tuned for more on this blog from our other researchers.

During the summer of 2023, I had the opportunity spend a few weeks in Hawaiʻi, conducting archival research at the Hawaiʻi State Archives, as well as visiting with community folks who have significant ties or expertise related to the history of reformatory and training schools in Hawaiʻi. Several of those folks have graciously agreed to be on a community advisory board that will assist in strengthening public engagement with this history and building a website that provides more access to historical documents about these schools. Our board members are also listed on our Team page, and we will add more information about them shortly.

Two undergraduate students researchers, Eliana Massey and Callie Avondet, from the University of Utah were able to join me for a week in Hawaiʻi to assist with this research. You will hear directly from them soon about their experiences, and we will share more about the results of our research on the blog over the next few months.

We also had the opportunity to connect with Dr. Derek Taira, in the College of Education at the University of Hawaiʻi at Mānoa, who is coming on board to help build a website about the history of the reformatory and training schools. Dr. Taira has valuable experience building websites: check out his existing website Imua, Me Ka Hopo Ole, Forward Without Fear: Understanding the Native Hawaiian experience during the territorial period (1900-1959).

One highlight from the summer for me was participating in an event at Kawailoa on June 26th, where the U.S. Secretary of the Interior, Deb Haaland, visited Hawaiʻi as part of her “Road to Healing” tour. This tour was in response to the federal report on Indian boarding schools, released in May 2022, which included several institutions in Hawaiʻi. Mark Kāwika Patterson, warden of the Kawailoa Youth and Family Wellness Center, invited me to come speak briefly about the history of Kawailoa and other similar institutions in Hawaiʻi to provide some historical context for understanding the similarities and differences with boarding schools in the Native American context. It was a great honor to present in front of Secretary Haaland, as well as many important leaders from our Native Hawaiian community. My auntie Georgie Awo (pictured with myself and Secretary Haaland below) was also there, and shared her own experiences of coming to Kawailoa as a child when her mother (my tūtū) worked there as well as visiting later when she was a social work student. Secretary Haaland seemed moved by the stories folks in the audience shared with her.

This semester, Eliana, Callie and I continue to work on organizing and analyzing archival materials we collected from the Hawaiʻi State Archives. Derek and I are beginning to draft proposals for a few grants that could support further community engagement and a digital database related to these histories. Avis (one of our community advisory board members), Eliana and I plan to attend the Association of Tribal Archives, Libraries and Museums conference next month as a way to better understand how other Indigenous communities create meaningful public and digital history projects on similar topics. In the spring, Derek and I will present some of our research at the Organization of American Historians conference.

There is much more to say about all I have learned over the past few months about this history - our team hopes to provide more regular updates and reflections on this blog over the next few months. Mahalo for reading!

At Kawailoa with Secretary Haaland and Auntie Georgie

Share your moʻolelo about Kawailoa, Koʻolau, Waialeʻe or Waimano

In addition to archival research, I am actively seeking out folks with experience of these institutions from around the 1940s-1970s to conduct interviews with. The interviews will become part of an oral history archive about these schools.

What is oral history?

Oral history supplements “official” archival materials by offering more personal insights into how people lived and experienced certain events in the past. They generally consist of written transcripts of open-ended interviews conducted by a researcher with a person who has particular experiences of some event or historical period. In general, oral history interviews are not anonymous; participants agree to have their real name used with the records of their interview. Oral history is important especially for Native Hawaiians and other communities of color because the official archives often do not reflect the experiences of regular people.

What can I expect if I agree to participate in this oral history project?

Before we record an interview, we will touch base about expectations and scheduling. Before the interview is conducted, I will share informed consent and copyright documents that explain how the transcripts will be used. Interviews can be conducted in person or online over Zoom. They usually last 1.5-3 hours. The oral history interviews for this project are wide-ranging and ask participants to share about their own backgrounds and family as well as more about whatever experience they had with Kawailoa, Koʻolau, Waialeʻe, Waimano, or other institutions. After the interview, which will be recorded, a written transcript is created and edited for clarity and errors. After the participant reviews the transcript, with their permission, the transcript and audio/video of the interview becomes part of a public archive. The Center for Oral History at the University of Hawaiʻi at Mānoa will eventually house the interviews from this project. Scholars and other community members will be able to access the transcripts online.

Your stories, your moʻolelo, are important and precious. If you are willing to share yours, please contact me: maile.arvin@utah.edu.

Undergraduate research opportunity, apply by Jan 29, 2023

If you are interested in this research, and are an undergraduate student (from any US university or college), you can apply to work with me over the summer of 2023, through the Summer Program for Undergraduate Research at the University of Utah. Read more about the opportunity through the links below.

SPUR is a nationally competitive opportunity that provides undergraduate students with an intensive 10-week summer research experience under the mentorship of a University of Utah faculty member. The program provides opportunities to gain research experience in a variety of disciplines.

SPUR applications are due Jan 29, 2023.

Details on specifically applying to work with me on Nā Lei Poina ʻOle here.

The overall goal of the project is to provide further public engagement with this history of government institutions that forcibly took in children in Hawaiʻi. Accordingly, the work involves archival research, oral history interviews, building a website with digitized resources like story maps, and community engagement. The SPUR student will work closely with Dr. Arvin to identify the areas of this work that they are particularly interested in or suited to, and Dr. Arvin will shape the specific tasks for the student accordingly. However, in general, the student will conduct research on (1) the histories of the sites where these institutions were, looking for traditional land use, moʻolelo (traditional stories/legends related to the area), and the meaning of the place names around the schools; (2) digitized newspaper accounts related to the histories of these institutions - in English and/or in Hawaiian language if the student has Hawaiian language expertise; (3) establishing similarities and differences between these institutions in Hawaiʻi and the boarding schools in the Native American contexts and (4) developing a website to share the results of this research and provide some interpretation of the sources they find for a general, public audience.

This work is important and timely…. The student will gain hands-on skills with conducting original research, analyzing primary and secondary documents, forming their own arguments based on historical evidence, and writing about this history for the public. The student will also be immersed in Hawaiian history and Indigenous Studies scholarship, and be able to connect with our growing U of U community of faculty and students in Pacific Islands Studies.

Did Hawaiʻi have Native boarding schools?

The following is an excerpt from an op-ed I wrote back in May 2022, following the release of a report by the US Federal Department of Interior about the histories and legacies of boarding schools. A number of the institutions I am researching were named in this report, much to my surprise. I continue to grapple with how to understand, and appropriately contextualize, the inclusion of Hawaiʻi in this report.

On May 11, the Department of Interior released a Federal Indian Boarding School Initiative investigative report, the first official accounting of the hundreds of federally supported institutions that, for generations, worked to culturally assimilate Indigenous children to white American norms.

The report identifies seven institutions from Hawaii as fitting the criteria to be considered boarding schools. This is surprising because neither scholars nor many Native Hawaiians have historically viewed these schools as part of the same system as Indian boarding schools.

Hawaii’s inclusion in the report is complicated in a number of ways. For one, it raises long-standing debates over federal recognition of Native Hawaiians, who have a different, less established legal and political status than federally recognized Native American tribes with tribal governments.

Many Native Hawaiians do not see the Department of Interior as having appropriate jurisdiction over Hawaiian affairs; many believe in pushing for a full restoration of independence from the United States. The report also noticeably makes some significant errors in reference to Hawaii — such as designating one school as located at “Kawailou.” There is no such place as “Kawailou.” This is likely a misrecognition of an actual place, Kawailoa. Further, it is unclear to what extent, or who, among the Hawaiian community, was consulted in the writing of the report.

Despite such issues, the report might be an occasion for Native Hawaiians and the public more broadly to learn more and grapple together with the legacies of the institutionalization of Hawaiian children in the late 19th and early to mid-20th centuries. This history in Hawaii bears both striking similarities as well as significant differences from Native American contexts.

You can read the rest of this essay here: https://truthout.org/articles/native-hawaiians-are-confronting-the-legacies-of-indian-boarding-schools/