10/06/2020
The look in his eyes says a thousand words.
Sharing more mo’olelo on Mau Piailug and the meaning of pwo. What if we all adopted this mindset of a traditional navigator? The following is an excerpt from the book by Hokulea Crew member and documenter Sam Low - “Hawaiki Rising - Hōkūle’a, Nainoa Thompson and the Hawaiian Renaissance.”
MAU PIAILUG - LIVING IN THE LIGHT
When Mau was initiated into pwo on Satawal, he knew that it signaled not only a new status but also a new obligation. It is a navigator’s duty to serve his community, to help feed them, heal them (pwo are taught traditional medicine), transport them from one island to another and to always set a good example. Pwo is not just given, it must be accepted. When explaining pwo to an outsider, Carolinian navigators speak of “following the light” or “living in the light.” The rituals of pwo are not considered complete until a newly initiated navigator sails away from his island and returns with “something of value.” It is an act that symbolizes a pwo’s life mission - to sustain their island community.
Gardens on Satawal provide plenty of starch and pigs and chickens add protein. But the island is small and without canoes and skilled men to sail them to fishing grounds, the people would starve. And Satawal sits in a dangerous part of the Pacific, directly in the path of tropical storms and typhoons. When a typhoon strikes the island, the people take to the trees. This is a time when the island’s navigators earn their keep.
“When a typhoon hits the island it takes everything down,” Mau explains, “the breadfruit tree, coconut tree, the taro patch – nothing good after that typhoon. Then the navigators sail to a place where no typhoon. They bring food back. Sometime they take the people to where no typhoon and they are going to live there because on their island there is nothing.”
One of the many communal skills that Mau learned growing up was that of dividing the fish caught by members of the community. When a canoe returns from a fishing expedition, the catch is traditionally laid out on a woven mat for all to see. Everyone expects to share this food and the job of apportioning it is extremely complex. Mau must take into account the status of the recipient - chief or commoner - the number of people in each family and any special needs the family may have. He calls out the name of each family as he apportions the fish - so many reef fish, so many deep water species. Jealousy attends such an act and it is very difficult to please everyone but when it’s done right the bonds of community are drawn tight.
Among ancient Hawaiians there is a word that expresses a similar sense of obligation and duty - kuleana. Kuleana has kaona - multiple meanings - it is the name for a particular kind of land holding, for example, but its most prominent meaning is both “privilege” and “responsibility.” “Who do you sail for?” Pinky had asked the men and women of Hōkūle’a. “You don’t sail for yourselves, you sail for your children. You sail for your community.” It was no longer, as Harry had said “jump on and go.” Voyaging aboard Hōkūle’a was a privilege that had to be earned by long hours of preparation, and it was a responsibility to all those Hawaiians left behind when the lines were cast off. “I voyage for my family and all those on my islands,” as Bruce Blankenfeld once put it. Just as Maui had fished up islands with his magic hook, from deep in the Hawaiian past an ancient value of service was being retrieved. With each day, the ohana of the canoe united around the concept of kuleana and gave themselves to their mission.
