People my age tend to live in the now, not thinking much about history. That would seem difficult in a place like Hawaii, somewhere so rich with history, but I’ve never felt a part of it. Maybe it’s because I wasn’t born here and I’m haole. Those two facts don’t justify my feeling of disconnection from Hawaii’s past, but I’m not necessarily surprised at feeling that way, either.
It took a series of events from the early 1930s, and a gifted person recounting them in 1996, to change my perspective. The series of events led up to the Massie trial and the storyteller was Glen Grant.
In September of 1931, a white woman, Thalia Massie, reported to police that she had been kidnapped and raped by five local men, all non-white. The case went to trial, and with a jury evenly divided between whites and non-whites, the votes were split and a mistrial was declared. Guilt was never established.
Months later, one of the accused, Joseph Kahahawai, walked outside after a meeting with his probation officer. A car pulled up, two men emerged with a summons, saying Kahahawai had to go with them. The summons was counterfeit. The car Kahahawai entered was driven by Thomas Massie – a U.S. Navy officer and Thalia’s husband.
The next time Kahahawai was seen by police, his dead body was wrapped in a white sheet in a car when Massie, one of his friends and Thalia’s mother were pulled over for speeding near Hanauma Bay. They apparently were looking for a place to dispose of the body.
At the trial, the three, along with another of Massie’s friends, were represented by legendary attorney, Clarence Darrow. The defendants, all white, were found guilty of manslaughter and each sentenced to 10 years of hard labor.
This caused an uproar, reaching as high as the U.S. Congress, which was “deeply concerned with the welfare of Hawaii,” according to their letter sent to then-Gov. Judd, urging him to pardon the Massie defendants. The “welfare of Hawaii,” in Judd’s eyes, hinted at Hawaii losing the possibility of self-government if the pardon wasn’t issued. Forced to do something he would forever regret, Judd took the four into his custody for one hour, served them tea under the watchful eyes of the police, then let them go.
Playing the role of juror in the mock murder trial, hearing Glen Grant tell of the slap on the wrist those four received, I looked over at the table where the prosecution would have been. A black-and-white photo of Joseph Kahahawai stared back at me, as it had done throughout, his haunting eyes burning into me. I doubt I’ll ever forget those eyes.
In them, I saw the pain probably felt by every Hawaiian person who thinks about the Massie trial and what it represents. And I’m sure Hawaiians aren’t the only ones. I’ve always felt fortunate to live here because of Hawaii’s mix of people, but I’ve also felt resentful at times, like people treat me differently just because I’m haole. Now I know a possible reason why, and that’s why I’m thanking Glen Grant.
He refamiliarized me with history’s effect on what happens to us on a day-to-day basis, doing so in both an entertaining and powerful way. It’s something I wish more of us could experience, because no matter who we are or where we’re from, we can’t allow history to be something that happens and is then forgotten. If we forget where we’ve come from, we’ll never get to where we need to go.