Native.New Yorker

There is race, there is gender, and there is the place where they intersect.  When you’re a woman of color, you’re often forced to pick a side, told that you can only fight one battle, not both.  The reality is, the intersection of these 2 identities is the real battle, and we live it every single day. Today, Nate Parker’s feature film debut “The Birth of a Nation” hits theaters. Early critics’ buzz has been very praiseworthy, but support for the film is largely mixed after the recent news coverage regarding some allegations of sexual assault in Parker’s past. Unfortunately, according to an article published in USA Today, this past has informed the film’s success in more ways than one.

In her article, Kelly Lawler goes into depth about the depiction of 2 rapes that occur during the film, and how Parker squandered the opportunity to delve into the pain these female characters experience. Instead, he makes the very odd decision to concentrate on the perspective of their male partners, favoring the story of THEIR struggle in coming to terms with the abuse.

As a woman of color who’s also an aspiring filmmaker, I’m fiercely passionate about supporting the surge of minority voices in the media, and I would like to say that I fully support a film like “The Birth of a Nation.”  I’d like the luxury of a simple choice where I can buy a ticket to see it and know that by supporting this film, I’m ensuring that there’s a future place for me at the table of Hollywood.  Unfortunately, the choice is anything but simple.

Whether you support this film or not; whether you believe Nate Parker or his accuser (a term I use for legal reasons), you should understand that supporting “The Birth of a Nation” is not a simple decision.  Its depiction of rape in the grand scope of a slave uprising is one that conforms to convention, in a film that aimed to break it.  It not only removes the women’s perspective, it snatches their voice away entirely, in favor of a story centered on the suffering their male spouses endured.  Rape may be a struggle for both people in the relationship, but I don’t think it’s controversial for me to say the struggle of the woman who survived it is the greater suffering.  

Women of color have been marginalized throughout history, and as much as we can say we’ve made progress, there is still a very long road ahead of us.  As a filmmaker, Nate Parker has a responsibility to portray his story knowing full well that he is not just framing the past, but the future as well.  How he tells this story influences its place in the cultural zeitgeist, and like it or not, the film will determine what stories will be told next.  Slavery did not exclude women from its cruelty, it engulfed them in it.  It took a gender already lacking in agency, and relished taking every liberty it could in dispensing sick and twisted ways of objectifying and destroying them.  

More than 150 years later, slavery is outlawed, and women can vote, but rape is nowhere near from being abolished.  We hear stories from countless victims on what seems like a weekly, even daily basis.  We’ve seen documentaries that depict not only the sexual abuse, but the institutions that are more concerned with protecting the perpetrators than the survivors.  

And I use this word purposely—survivors.  Because in a world where most abuse is committed against women, those numbers are disproportionately high for women of color.  They are easy prey for men who have the luxury of hiding behind systems created for the sole purpose of ensuring that these abusers can commit such an offense without consequence to their future, career, and reputation.  While these men go on to pursue successful careers in athletics, business, the media, women of color are left embattled and alone—discarded like the useless objects they are taught to believe they resemble.

This.  Can.  Not.  Stand.  As a woman of color, I do not wish to live in a world where I fear for my safety just because of the way I look.  I do not wish to be a victim of male privilege and institutional bias, in a world that teaches me I can only fight the battle of being a woman, or the battle of being a person of color—I can’t do both.  And I especially do not wish to pursue a career in an industry that can brush aside this kind of irresponsible portrayal of rape survivors under the guise of historical context.  As the writer of this article notes, if that were the case, “The Birth of a Nation” would be told from the White perspective.  

Whether Nate Parker is guilty or innocent, my guess is he failed to broach the subject because he did not want to draw further attention to the 17-year old story.  After all, that would marginalize what is still, at the end of the day, an important story in our nation’s history, told from the African American perspective, by an African American filmmaker.  In an age where the Oscars continue to be saturated in a “Whites Only” atmosphere, that’s a big deal, and I’d hate to lose the opportunity to flood Hollywood with a much needed influx of stories told by people of color.  Not to mention, I’m sure the possibility of Nate Parker being a rapist would certainly hurt box office sales.  

Whatever the reason for such a portrayal, I call it unconscionable and unacceptable.  Women of color should feel that men of color are their allies, not their enemies, and depriving them of the chance to tell their story is contributing to the institutional prejudice we endure on a daily basis.  More importantly, doing something like taking the rapes of 2 female slaves and focusing solely on the suffering of their male spouses is selfish, myopic storytelling.  It commits the same kind of prejudice that a film like “The Birth of a Nation” is seeking to unravel.  

Perhaps Nate Parker and his writing partner/co-accused, Jean Celestin, choose to hide behind the party line all female writers have heard over the years—they’re simply writing from their perspective, and their perspective is male.  Frankly, I call bullshit.  There are several male writers in Hollywood who responsibly write female characters, and these characters depict stories that all audiences can’t stop watching, regardless of race or gender.  Storytelling is all about choices, and if you choose to believe their accuser, these two men robbed this woman of hers.  Tragically, the accuser took her own life in 2012, so Parker and Celestin conveniently get to walk the red carpet, smile for the cameras and maintain their innocence without the challenge of new details or interviews with the survivor.  

14 years ago, I woke up one morning to the news that the rest of the world had known for hours. It was an event so surreal, I was convinced it was a rumor or someone’s sick idea of a joke. When I got to my homeroom and saw the now indelible image of the second plane hitting the South Tower, the magnitude of truth hit the pit of my stomach.

Before that day, I had never even heard of the Twin Towers. The World Trade Center was a vague term I had maybe heard once or twice in passing as a kid. I sat in that classroom, unable to take my eyes off the TV screen. It was this monumental catastrophe that I couldn’t have been further removed from. This was only made more true when my classmates began their wild conjectures of whether our school would be attacked next. I’d like to say this theory was 100% preposterous, but considering we lived on Oahu, where a similarly unexpected foreign attack had occurred 60 years prior, it was not entirely unthinkable.

I honestly can’t tell you what happened the rest of that day. I remember the ubiquitous news footage following me from my classrooms (every TV in every class was on) to my dorm. I remember feeling caught between shock and helplessness, words catching in my throat and never making it out of my mouth, and spending the day in compulsory silence. One thing I can say for sure is–there was no part of me that ever thought I would one day live in New York City.

I remember when I made the decision to go to college in New York, several of my family members were very concerned. They didn’t understand why I would want to live in a place that had been the epicenter of such a brutal attack. They feared for my safety because they saw no indication that this wouldn’t happen again. It had now been 3 years since 9/11. At the time, I had just returned from my college scouting trip; my first time in NYC. I couldn’t explain why I wanted, why I NEEDED, to go there other than this undeniable fact. The first day I stepped foot in that city, I knew I was meant to be there. That I was meant to be a New Yorker.

Before that day, New York was this mangled creation of ideas and pop culture imagery I had absorbed from movies and TV. It was an almost imaginary land that existed over 5,000 miles away–it might as well have been the Moon. When the idea of going to college in New York first implanted itself in my brain, it felt whimsical, even ridiculous to think that it was an actual possibility. I romanticized the notion of yellow taxi cabs and subways and skyscrapers, as it was the complete polar opposite of everything I had grown up with. As far as I knew, no one in Hawaii EVER moved away to the East Coast, let alone to the big scary city of New York. There was nothing I was surrounded by in the first 16 years of my life that ever indicated I would one day make such an astronomical leap in my life.

It has been 10 years since I first began my journey of becoming a New Yorker. There have been so many milestones that have defined my experience here, that have made me proud to call New York City my adopted home. That first day, when I was introduced to the Subway and understood the system within minutes. My maiden voyage to Katz Deli where my jaw dropped seeing a Pastrami sandwich for the first time. Learning how to properly pronounce Houston Street (“House-ton, not Hue-ston!”). Walking through Central Park and sitting at the Bethesda Fountain. Standing in the Main Concourse of Grand Central Station and gazing up at that incredible ceiling. Getting tickets to The Daily Show, and seeing Jon Stewart live! Watching movies filmed in the streets and seeing true movie stars like Tom Cruise and Rosario Dawson walk among us(hey, I grew up on Maui, the number one vacation spot for celebrities and that NEVER happened). FINALLY making the requisite trip up to the top of the Empire State Building.

Those are the flashy milestones, the ones that literally took my breath away in the moment. I think of them as the intersection of that romanticized dream with a tangible reality. Once I graduated college and entered “the real world” as an adult, I found myself re-experiencing many of those moments through fresh eyes. I had now become a contributing member of society in the unofficial center of the universe, and it has been a never-ending journey understanding what that really means. All those instances of innocent wonder and passionate admiration now had a sense of purpose behind them. I was part of this living breathing animal that is New York City; a truly unique creature that is made up of more than buildings and taxi cabs. It was made up of people. Our crowded skyscrapers, sidewalks, and subways are bursting with every cross-section of human character imaginable, each one hustling along their path to weave together the rich tapestry of New York’s burgeoning populace.

Now, you have probably heard at least one of the two following stereotypes regarding New Yorkers. One, that New York has one of the most diverse populations in the country. Two, that New Yorkers are very rude, aggressive, and angry people. Having the privilege of being born and raised in Hawaii, a land that is lauded and advertised for its friendly “aloha spirit,” I have met several people making the second accusation, as a means of trying to understand why I would choose to leave the land of aloha and live in a place of infamous disrespect. My answer has always been to adamantly attest that the exact opposite is true. From my first trip to New York over 10 years ago to my daily life as a seasoned New Yorker, I can testify to the many acts of kindness and helpfulness that we provide each other on a daily basis.

In many ways, the system of New York rests on a kind of mob mentality that could easily be mistaken for rudeness or anger. The pushing and shoving to board a subway car. The crowds of people swarming up and down Times Square. It’s an aggressive, in-your-face hustle to be sure, but a hustle towards cooperation, towards coexistence. New Yorkers know that the only way our urban mecca can continue to thrive is if we all do our part to keep the current flowing, and the only way that works is through an unquestioned, harmonious collaboration across unprecedented lines of diversity. There’s no time to stop and decide whether your specific needs are being met just exactly so. It’s about the overall good of the unit, and we will passionately fight tooth and nail to ensure that no unit member gets left behind.

Now I must make a confession. From the first day I stepped foot in New York up until about six months ago, I had not ever ventured to the site of the original World Trade Center. I had had a million different reasons over the years for putting off a visit to Ground Zero, which varied depending on who I was giving my excuse to. The truth is, I wasn’t ready to meet the reality face to face. There was no romantic dream for this landmark, only a horrific nightmare completely devoid of fantasy. I think of it as involuntary neglect on my part–I knew it was something I wanted and needed to do, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it any sooner than I was meant to. Over the years, I watched it transform from Ground Zero to blueprints of “the new tower” to the now existing Freedom Tower. I remember the day that tower construction began, I remember following the news stories as the work progressed, and I especially remember when the newly designed site was completed, including the new 9/11 Memorial and 9/11 Museum. I never read the specifics of these plans–somehow, I knew it was better left in the ether of the unknown. That way, when I saw it for the first time, there were no preconceived notions; only the barenaked truth.

When the day for my inaugural visit finally arrived, it was made upon the suggestion of my visiting Hawaii relatives. The experience of the visit is difficult to describe. I would like to say it far exceeded my expectations, but I hadn’t even dared form expectations in the first place. The raw emotional power present at this place, particularly the museum, surpasses anything you can possibly imagine. I had no idea how little I had known about the details of the events of that day…that one day, that forever changed the landscape of our country and as a result, the world. There were about a hundred different levels of narrative to this tragedy, and I felt like I barely scratched the surface of one. The amount of time, dedication and detail that had gone into this museum so bombarded my senses, it was like standing at the edge of a tidal wave 20 stories high. Whatever sadness, whatever anger, whatever pain I had prepared myself for, felt silly in comparison to what I felt that day. You can’t begin to try expressing the trauma of that morning’s loss, because you’ll never find a combination of words that comes close.

Originally, this began as a response to my friend Mokihana Aki sharing a depressing sound bite on Facebook, from Rachel McAdams in regards to Cameron Crowe’s new movie “Aloha.” I was already quite incensed about the film, for reasons I will outline soon. When I read the following quote, however, what started as an angry Facebook comment thread, turned into my very first blog post. 


The following response was in reference to some criticism the film had met in regards to its portrayal of Hawaii. Quote: “Just my experience of being there and working with Cameron [Crowe] I think he was very respectful of Hawaiian culture and really embraced it. You know we kicked off the film with a traditional Hawaiian blessing that one of the Hawaiian chiefs conducted and we spent a lot of time listening to Hawaiian music and going out and experiencing Hawaiian culture so I think that’s an unfortunate, probably not fair comment from my point of view having been there with him.“



Really…unfortunate? Not fair? In my opinion, if ALL your characters are White in a movie that takes place in Hawaii; if nobody properly pronounces Hawaiian words; and cultural references to Native Hawaiians are not 100% factual (you have Google now, so there’s no excuse for you making stuff up anymore!), then no, I’d have to say you were NOT and are NOT respectful of Hawaii’s people and culture. Oh, and if you’re not fully convinced, then here’s another great sound bite from the director himself: “I say whether you see it this weekend or later on TV or something, check it out because we really honor Hawaii in every frame of this movie.” 


Look, I love you Cameron Crowe. You’ve been one of my favorite filmmakers for years. But seriously? SERIOUSLY? Every frame? Explain to me, then, why the hell there are absolutely NO people of color in this movie’s trailer? Not. A. Single. One. Believe me, I LOOKED! I’m talking main characters, supporting characters, extras…NOTHING. Oh sure, if you’re lucky you might catch a brown blur in the background sea of extras, or see a glimpse of the requisite hula dancers that for some reason always appear on the runway of the airports in these movies set in Hawaii. Yeah, maybe back in the day of Elvis movies that happened, but no WAY does it exist today. 

Oh, and don’t forget the shot of White people making simple trite hula moves…you can’t have a movie in Hawaii without it! Sure, hula is an actual part of Native Hawaiian culture, rooted in sacred religious beliefs. Sure, hula was actually banned for over 50 years by White missionaries, effectively neutering Hawaiian culture for multiple generations. Sure, the Hawaiian language was banned for almost 70 years, reducing the amount of Native speakers to a small, SMALL handful today. But clearly, none of those things are as important as maintaining stupid, ignorant stereotypes and myths about Hawaii, in a time when there is no longer an excuse for perpetuating those images. If Cameron Crowe had set his movie on a Native American reservation, and had his all-White cast run around with feathers and painted faces, howling with their hands over their mouths, he would have been torn apart, right?



Why, then, is Hawaii and its people considered so damn expendable? Why does a place where its culture and history are ripe with factually accurate stories and characters, get reduced to a paradise backdrop mysteriously absent of the racially diverse population it is famous for? If all you want are pretty beaches and lush green valleys in the background, Hollywood, I hear green screen is a highly effective filmmaking tool! 



Lastly, I must address the title of this film: the one Hawaiian word that is synonymous in every tourist or non-Hawaii citizen’s mind with their image of Hawaii and its people. The gimmick of its double meaning (something, I might add, that is common in other languages, INCLUDING ENGLISH) has been snatched by 20th Century Fox’s crack marketing team and roped into becoming fodder for a cheesy tagline on a poster: “Sometimes you have to say goodbye before you can say hello.” Well, if these inept geniuses even bothered to do a simple Google search, they’d know that while the word “aloha” does have multiple meanings including “hello,” “goodbye,” and “love” (feel-good rom com, you guys!), the important meaning of the word is its literal translation: breath of life. 



Now, having not seen this movie yet, I will not discount the possibility that Mr. Crowe somehow managed to take a minute out of his day to learn this, and perhaps even address it at some point in the film. However, using a word that is literally connected to the life spirit of the Hawaiian people, as the title for your archetypal Hollywood romantic dramedy? The one with the all-White cast that takes place in one of the few places in the country where WHITE people are actually the minority? The film that takes such an important word in the Hawaiian culture and strips it of its identity, all for the sake of a cutesy, witty marketing campaign? Yeah, you’re right. That’s TOTALLY honoring and respecting Hawaii. 



Opening today, the film “Aloha” is already receiving mixed reviews, so it’s possible that karma has doled out some form of justice for its crimes against Hawaii. However, with big Hollywood stars and a big Hollywood director behind it, this film could still make a decent amount of money this weekend. For this reason, I beseech you all: do not allow this blatant reimagining of Hawaii to continue. The reality of Hawaii is very different from this image of paradise nirvana and tokenism culture that Hollywood won’t stop ramming down our throats, and there is no longer an excuse for this truth to be ignored or forgotten. While we watch diversity succeed in leaps and bounds on film and TV this year, and the industry scramble to reap the rewards, the people of Hawaii are forced to watch the same atrocious missteps of ‘Hollywood’s Hawaii’ trotted out to the masses without any care for the people it’s marginalizing or the culture it’s rewriting.

When the White settlers first came to Hawaii in the 1700’s, it was the diseases they brought that nearly wiped out the Native Hawaiian population. Now, it’s the warped image of Hawaii, manufactured by the tourism industry and Hollywood’s pop cultural consciousness, that reduces our people to insignificant blurs in the background. The inane hula girl on the taxi cab dashboard. My entire life, I’ve watched the buffoonery of ‘Hollywood’s Hawaii’ paraded across decades of film and television, all the while dreaming of the day when I’d see the Hawaii where I was born and raised, on the big screen. I never expected that I would reach my 28th birthday, and continue to see the same absurd stereotypes I saw in movies made 50 years ago. 



Yet here it is, 2015, with all its modern and technical advancements, and we’re still watching the same hokey nonsense play over and over again like a broken record on the silver screen. In an age where white celebrities in Blackface and Victoria Secret models in Native American headdresses are acknowledged as racist and offensive, it is somehow still perfectly acceptable not just to objectify and typecast Hawaiian culture at every turn, but to assign it an entirely new identity. Hollywood has literally been rewriting Hawaii for decades. The scary thing is, no one seems to notice or care.