Pick on Someone Your Own Size
Ethnocentrism, term attributed to Professor William Graham Sumner of Yale, describes the tendency of individuals to place a disproportionate value on the beliefs and customs of their own culture or nation. This isolated perspective is found in all aspects of interaction with the world, including trade, war, religion and virtually every social and political engagement. When a large ethnocentric group encounters a smaller ethnocentric group, the interests of the larger group often prevail. Typically, larger, more industrialized nations intervene in the affairs of the less developed nations, or islands in the case of Hawaii. Larger nations, who possess the means, tend to aggressively push their beliefs and ways of living on the smaller nations. When a larger nation intervenes in the affairs of a smaller nation, often defended as being and motivated by self-interest. However, ethnocentric views held by those from the intervening nation often dictate what is considered ‘good’ for the smaller nation and its people. In the history of our world, many occasions are noted in which a large imperialistic nation invades a smaller nation in an order to gain control and spread the ethnocentric views and institutions of the conquering imperialists. Many times, this includes the imperial powers pledge to ‘protect’ the nation from the rest of the world on one condition: that permanent military bases be established within the borders of the ‘helpless’ nation. An example of this occurrence is when the white European culture and religion was carried overseas to the islands of Hawaii.
The first recorded occasion in which an outside influence negatively impacted the islands of Hawaii was in 1776 when whaler Captain Cook and his crew sailed from the shores of England. Captain Cook and the sailors who accompanied him have been referred to by the Hawaiian people as “adventurers to steal their lands, petulance's to ravage their countryside” and devils in the shape of whalers to take advantage of their women, per Keoki. Keoki, who is native to the islands of Hawaii, also spoke about a disease with an unpronounceable name, which the Europeans brought with them. It was promised to the Hawaiian people by Captain Cook that they would again send missionaries to teach them to read and write. Captain Cook died in Hawaii during his third voyage there. His death in a conflict with the native Hawaiians underscores a central danger of ethnocentrism, which is that the inability to understand the values of a foreign culture can lead to conflict.
It wasn't until 1819 that Christian missionaries set sail from Massachusetts Bay for the islands of Hawaii. For an entire generation, the men, women and children of Hawaii had anxiously awaited the sight again of the weapons, the tall ships and the systems of numbers, books and religion the Christian mad had maintained. During this anxious wait the Hawaiian people had even torn down their pagan temples and stood curiously waiting for the white Europeans and the word of God to come. The intention of the Brother Hale and his fellow preacher men was to bring the Lord's word to the people of Hawaii. Systematic persistence prevailed as Brother Hale had insisted that the islands original inhabitants, “savages and filth” adopt the Christian values by covering their nakedness, renouncing their gods and abandoning the practice of filial marriage. Even after Queen Malama led her people to adapt to the changing times due to the haoli (white people), the people of Hawaii were still looked down upon as heathens, filth and savages and still stood inferior to the missionaries.
This was not the only occasion in which the smaller islands of Hawaii were negatively affected by the larger and more industrialized European influences. The Americans had brought with them disease, rats and a force of religion and culture. They also brought with them the widely accepted alcoholic beverages of the more 'developed' nations. Along with al the tools and knowledge to produce more, the beverage was willingly consumed by the native men of Hawaii, devouring them whole as Keoki had mentioned in the beginning of the movie, Hawaii. The culture and ancestral traditions of the Hawaiian people were not only devastated and in some cases, destroyed, by drastic changes in religion, clothing and moral values but also by the alcoholic beverage the white man had knowingly brought with them to the islands, addicting the Hawaiian people to and encouraging mental devastation.
It was in fact the invasion of the white man and Christian missionaries that ultimately resulted in the islands of Hawaii becoming a U.S. territory and later the fiftieth state of the United States. It was the invasion of the white imperialists and Christian missionaries that arguably had a long term, positive influence on the culture of the Hawaiian people by teaching them the necessary skills such as reading and writing and arithmetic. It was also this invasion that taught the Hawaiian people one of the most widely spoken language in the world today, English. Unfortunately, it was also this ethnocentric invasion that set up a nation for sickness, both mentally and physically through a complete transformation of faith and the spread of alcoholism and other diseases throughout the islands. It was the larger nation, the United States of America that invaded the much smaller, nonthreatening and isolated Hawaiian Islands. In essence, some intentions of the American imperialists were arguably good, in that they were trying to spread the Lord's word and teach a small nation to speak a common language. However, a sort of egotism and pride, spawned by their assumed sense of superiority, interfered with this intention and left the American invaders without concern for the traditions, feelings or reactions of the Hawaiian people. As long as the Americans were successful, it did not matter.
Monday, September 28, 2009
Friday, September 18, 2009
The Rest of the Story...
Radical Traditions
Strictly speaking, he was a radical. From the protest he led against the state of intellectualism at Harvard to the day he refused to administer the Lord's supper, which led to his resignation from the ministry in 1832. He was born into the ministry. His father was the pastor of the Second Church in Boston Massachusetts until the day of his death in 1811. He began to exhibit a radical demeanor when his mother was left with a growing family and desperate financial circumstances. He and his three brothers went through college, each helping the next when ready. This fourteen year old boy entered Harvard College in 1817 and graduated in 1821. He taught at a finishing school for young ladies in Boston and was ordained as assistant pastor of the Second Church, where his father had preached. He traveled extensively throughout Europe acquiring wisdom and knowledge by studying the great works of Landor, Coleridge, Wordsworth and Carlyle.
After retirement, he began to write essays on every subject imaginable. He then went on to address the social issues concerning religion and the ministry to large crowds of people who listened receptively to what he had to say. He spent the rest of his life lecturing chiefly on spiritual and philosophical subjects all over the country. His fame came largely from his work “Nature” which contemplated the fundamental influence of nature on the life of mankind. Second was his address on “The American Scholar” which was eagerly listened to by the Harvard Phi Beta Kappa Society in 1837. His criticism of the ministry and religion was announced as heresy by the clergy at the time, though considered harmless by today's standards. Not only will the reader find pronouncements of the American past but dicta which are as valid in our century as they were in his. The man to win the cultural independence for America, the first philosopher of the American spirit, the rebel of the 1800's is known today as Ralph Waldo Emerson.
Not only were literature, philosophy and poetry affected by Ralph Waldo Emerson, but religion, individuality and the relation between the two. We can see the effects of Emerson on individuals and groups trying to come out and be understood. Be it African Americans in the Civil Rights movement or homosexuals and lesbians in the gay rights movement. It is trying to stand out as an individual, contrary to the belief of the rightly perceived society. It was a rebellion against the European doctrines and philosophies, and is no less so today. It still speaks out against formalism and tradition in our culture. It is finding a center in not only God, but yourself. In Emersons words, it is “Self-Reliance- to believe your own thought,” to seek and love freedom, truth and knowledge. THIS IS THE REST OF THE STORY.
Strictly speaking, he was a radical. From the protest he led against the state of intellectualism at Harvard to the day he refused to administer the Lord's supper, which led to his resignation from the ministry in 1832. He was born into the ministry. His father was the pastor of the Second Church in Boston Massachusetts until the day of his death in 1811. He began to exhibit a radical demeanor when his mother was left with a growing family and desperate financial circumstances. He and his three brothers went through college, each helping the next when ready. This fourteen year old boy entered Harvard College in 1817 and graduated in 1821. He taught at a finishing school for young ladies in Boston and was ordained as assistant pastor of the Second Church, where his father had preached. He traveled extensively throughout Europe acquiring wisdom and knowledge by studying the great works of Landor, Coleridge, Wordsworth and Carlyle.
After retirement, he began to write essays on every subject imaginable. He then went on to address the social issues concerning religion and the ministry to large crowds of people who listened receptively to what he had to say. He spent the rest of his life lecturing chiefly on spiritual and philosophical subjects all over the country. His fame came largely from his work “Nature” which contemplated the fundamental influence of nature on the life of mankind. Second was his address on “The American Scholar” which was eagerly listened to by the Harvard Phi Beta Kappa Society in 1837. His criticism of the ministry and religion was announced as heresy by the clergy at the time, though considered harmless by today's standards. Not only will the reader find pronouncements of the American past but dicta which are as valid in our century as they were in his. The man to win the cultural independence for America, the first philosopher of the American spirit, the rebel of the 1800's is known today as Ralph Waldo Emerson.
Not only were literature, philosophy and poetry affected by Ralph Waldo Emerson, but religion, individuality and the relation between the two. We can see the effects of Emerson on individuals and groups trying to come out and be understood. Be it African Americans in the Civil Rights movement or homosexuals and lesbians in the gay rights movement. It is trying to stand out as an individual, contrary to the belief of the rightly perceived society. It was a rebellion against the European doctrines and philosophies, and is no less so today. It still speaks out against formalism and tradition in our culture. It is finding a center in not only God, but yourself. In Emersons words, it is “Self-Reliance- to believe your own thought,” to seek and love freedom, truth and knowledge. THIS IS THE REST OF THE STORY.
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Favorite Place
Finding Peace on an Inert Sailboat
In the chaotic household I grew up in, was a young girl, on a quest for solitude, peace, and silence. My bedroom was far from peaceful as it was strewn with clothing articles fit for a six-year-old girl's body. Toys were not organized in a neat fashion, nor were they common for other girls my age: crayons were melted from the heating vent on the floor and plastered on the wall, the walk in closet was decorated like Christmas with colored lights hanging from the ceiling, a miniature tree dolled up with colored bulbs and an angel-like Barbie doll stood on top. The most obnoxious object in my bed room was the television. It was always on with a basketball series passing unnecessary sound and light waves through the small room. This peaceful butterfly was not the culprit for this technical device though; it was my older brother lounging on the top bunk with an expression that showed no concern for my needs.
After convincing myself that my brother would not leave me be to journal in peace, I began to seek another refuge, which was not found in the kitchen with my mother. She always took up the most qualified space, equipped with the best lighting and the sturdiest table in the whole home. I walked through with the intent to stick around but instead continued on my quest. I traveled through the downstairs without the slightest possibility for relaxing there since it was a mimicry of Marilyn Manson's room: painted gothic black with silver spray paint, torn couches, candles and wicked posters with the man himself peering into your eyes like a demon. The only person I knew daring enough to occupy this space was Elena- my oldest, most beloved sister. This is where she found her serenity and while I admire her for that, I on the other hand was not about to settle for less than what I wanted.
I was determined and decided that if our home was not going to provide me with the necessary space, perhaps the outdoors would. I slid open the sliding glass doors and stepped into a breath of fresh air. I was quite close to setting up next to the pool with the cool, crisp water shimmering next to me. The neighbor family changed my mind after running across the yard and cannon balling into our irresistible pool. This was not my idea of peace or serenity. So, I carried on my journey through the acreage that took me past our rusted garage and the rusted cars it protected, past the make shift tree house my older siblings had built as a hideout, past the weeds that grew without avail and past the abundant forest of grapevines, mulberry, pear and apple trees. Passing the forest led me into the fields of gold; golden corn that it. This may be considered serenity to some, like Farmer Shamp down the road, but it was not going to suit my needs. I turned around.
When walking north, passers-by are unable to notice the two abandoned sail boats that found comfort in the swarming bushes. When walking south, however, it is quite evident that they are at a peaceful stand still. I approached these monstrous entities, journal in hand and pen in ear. Bliss had consumed me, peace was no longer a question and serenity swallowed me whole. This quest was not over though as another dilemma faced me: which boat do I choose to rest on? There was an age difference between the two boats and was noticeable at first sight. The closest was a newer sail boat and its white paint was rimmed with silver trim, the seats were vinyl and the tarp was still in tact. The second boat was much older, its white paint now dingy and peeling off. There was one seat reserved for whomever the captain was. There was not a tarp, just a slight overhead roof for the captain and the glass window, which was littered with spiderwebs and helpless insects. The boat was as ancient as trees and wood themselves, but I find an interest in antique things. The flaws on this boat have made it unworthy to most, but to me, it was the most magnificent, majestic and intriguing space contemplated for me that day. I stuck with it.
I needed to find a way onto this blissful boat, which led me to circling it a few times before finding a crevice on the back end between the motor and the boat itself. I stuck my petite foot into the crevice and used my elbows to prop myself onto the motor. I could then jump over the back wall and onto the wood floor. The floor creaked and made me second guess my logic but as soon as I began to question myself, it stopped. I crept forward and climbed onto the captains seat, over the glass window and then slid down. I was on the boats front end by now and found it a suitable place to lie down. I had to arrange a comfortable spot for myself by brushing off leaves and rotting pears, but this was no problem. After doing so, I lay down on my front side and opened my journal. I then began my entry that read about my obnoxious brother, my patient mother and my very loveable, gothic sister. I wrote about the annoying neighbors (though at times good company). I discussed the very 'real' love I had for my boyfriend in Kindergarten. Along with these entries came me soaking up the sun and praising the trees for keeping me company. I sat in awe at the mysterious sailboat and I made it clear to myself that this, in fact, was my favorite place on Earth.
In the chaotic household I grew up in, was a young girl, on a quest for solitude, peace, and silence. My bedroom was far from peaceful as it was strewn with clothing articles fit for a six-year-old girl's body. Toys were not organized in a neat fashion, nor were they common for other girls my age: crayons were melted from the heating vent on the floor and plastered on the wall, the walk in closet was decorated like Christmas with colored lights hanging from the ceiling, a miniature tree dolled up with colored bulbs and an angel-like Barbie doll stood on top. The most obnoxious object in my bed room was the television. It was always on with a basketball series passing unnecessary sound and light waves through the small room. This peaceful butterfly was not the culprit for this technical device though; it was my older brother lounging on the top bunk with an expression that showed no concern for my needs.
After convincing myself that my brother would not leave me be to journal in peace, I began to seek another refuge, which was not found in the kitchen with my mother. She always took up the most qualified space, equipped with the best lighting and the sturdiest table in the whole home. I walked through with the intent to stick around but instead continued on my quest. I traveled through the downstairs without the slightest possibility for relaxing there since it was a mimicry of Marilyn Manson's room: painted gothic black with silver spray paint, torn couches, candles and wicked posters with the man himself peering into your eyes like a demon. The only person I knew daring enough to occupy this space was Elena- my oldest, most beloved sister. This is where she found her serenity and while I admire her for that, I on the other hand was not about to settle for less than what I wanted.
I was determined and decided that if our home was not going to provide me with the necessary space, perhaps the outdoors would. I slid open the sliding glass doors and stepped into a breath of fresh air. I was quite close to setting up next to the pool with the cool, crisp water shimmering next to me. The neighbor family changed my mind after running across the yard and cannon balling into our irresistible pool. This was not my idea of peace or serenity. So, I carried on my journey through the acreage that took me past our rusted garage and the rusted cars it protected, past the make shift tree house my older siblings had built as a hideout, past the weeds that grew without avail and past the abundant forest of grapevines, mulberry, pear and apple trees. Passing the forest led me into the fields of gold; golden corn that it. This may be considered serenity to some, like Farmer Shamp down the road, but it was not going to suit my needs. I turned around.
When walking north, passers-by are unable to notice the two abandoned sail boats that found comfort in the swarming bushes. When walking south, however, it is quite evident that they are at a peaceful stand still. I approached these monstrous entities, journal in hand and pen in ear. Bliss had consumed me, peace was no longer a question and serenity swallowed me whole. This quest was not over though as another dilemma faced me: which boat do I choose to rest on? There was an age difference between the two boats and was noticeable at first sight. The closest was a newer sail boat and its white paint was rimmed with silver trim, the seats were vinyl and the tarp was still in tact. The second boat was much older, its white paint now dingy and peeling off. There was one seat reserved for whomever the captain was. There was not a tarp, just a slight overhead roof for the captain and the glass window, which was littered with spiderwebs and helpless insects. The boat was as ancient as trees and wood themselves, but I find an interest in antique things. The flaws on this boat have made it unworthy to most, but to me, it was the most magnificent, majestic and intriguing space contemplated for me that day. I stuck with it.
I needed to find a way onto this blissful boat, which led me to circling it a few times before finding a crevice on the back end between the motor and the boat itself. I stuck my petite foot into the crevice and used my elbows to prop myself onto the motor. I could then jump over the back wall and onto the wood floor. The floor creaked and made me second guess my logic but as soon as I began to question myself, it stopped. I crept forward and climbed onto the captains seat, over the glass window and then slid down. I was on the boats front end by now and found it a suitable place to lie down. I had to arrange a comfortable spot for myself by brushing off leaves and rotting pears, but this was no problem. After doing so, I lay down on my front side and opened my journal. I then began my entry that read about my obnoxious brother, my patient mother and my very loveable, gothic sister. I wrote about the annoying neighbors (though at times good company). I discussed the very 'real' love I had for my boyfriend in Kindergarten. Along with these entries came me soaking up the sun and praising the trees for keeping me company. I sat in awe at the mysterious sailboat and I made it clear to myself that this, in fact, was my favorite place on Earth.
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