FEAR OF ISLANDS: MANIAS & MEDIA

Oahu

Ah, the inferiority of those of us born on islands. Donald Trump popped out in Manhattan, for God's sake, where even a sterling silver post-circumcision cocaine catheter can't keep away that isle's bad vibes if they swim in family karma and DNA.

The most astute Australian I know believes the whole lot of them born there feel doomed to a circular nether destiny. They get off, runaway from the island and dream of how Sir Rupert Murrdoch is portrayed, him with his money, media and misuses.

Then there is England itself. In analog pre-globalized circumstances, set at a latitude that defines the word cold: “a temperature that is uncomfortably low for humans,” to quote one of Britain’s favourite sons, William Shakespeare: “But this place is too cold for hell," protests the porter to begin Act Two, Scene Three of “Macbeth.” “I’ll devil-porter it no further. I had thought to have let in some of all professions, that go the primrose way to the everlasting bonfire.”

I personally have displayed and been diagnosed with many phobias. Beyond the common type that cost thousands of hours and dollars for psychoanalytic consultations and the dispensation of pills and living with agateophobia itself—fear of insanity (or small type fonts)—there remains rooted in all island bred brethren the Big One: Insulaphobia, the fear of being isolated, or fear of islands.

It is tempting to add heft to text by extrapolating concepts by simply Googling facts. Besides how does Obama and Trump being born on islands determine aspects of their psychological nature sufficient to compile a humongous list of famous and controversial figures born on islands and draw certain conclusions based on the relationship of their offshore birth to the behavioral characteristics of the persona involved? Polished sufficiently, and given the function of the Internet to swallow and retain all data like a garbage disposal or paper shredder, any conclusion can be drawn. (Or at least until the Internet itself blows up.)

Baez

A slight obsessive detour yielded this fine example, an online data base listing Famous Gay, Lesbian & Bisexual People Born in Staten Island. There are three such folks, apparently, the most celebrated of which is Joan Baez, 1941.

My only play in this makahiki is to awaken and back the true Hawaiian -- be they keiki o ka 'aina or dug-in kama'aina committed to live and die here. Yeah, to awaken all with eyes and brain — awaken all to the INSULT to those of us born in this state or who have chosen to call Hawaii home.

On April 15, 20011 in Chicago, back in full stump mode, eye on the prize, Barack Obama killed them, striding out with the gait of an NBA player who’s waited too long for the playoffs. (Cameron Crowe having met Obama in a White House walk-and-shake describes the dude’s movements, looks and use of space, “Like Reggie Miller.”) Thursday night he called Chicago his “hometown.” The crowd inhaled it all and blew back blessings to the brother in the Chicago Bulls hat (and who wouldn't wanna see them surprise some folks?) But the President stated straight out and un-fucking-equivocally in American English that he was born in Hawaii.

Miller

What if "they" claimed Duke Kahanamoku was born in Brazil?

What if "they" claimed Daniel K. Inouye was born in Japan?

What if "they" claimed Don Ho was born in China?

What would Virginians do, how would they feel, if "they" claimed

George Washington, Thomas Jefferson,

James Madison, James Monroe, William Henry Harrison, John Tyler,

Zachary Taylor and Woodrow Wilson were all born in AFRICA?

Donald Trump has chosen to become the mouthpiece for "Them." He inspired a dude who emailed me rather than post a Comment on my previous musings about Trump The Liar: http://whodaguyhawaiicom.blogspot.com/

Since I, Ron Jacobs, am the first Hawaii-born author of an Obama biography—Hawaii’s best-selling non-fiction book of the decade, which shall go unnamed lest I be accused of hustling all 145-pages of it—I have been personally perplexed by four odd omissions by and about Obama since he was elected president in 2008, twenty-nine months ago.

First, why has no one in Hawaii (not to mention the rest of the U.S.) produced a popular song about Barack Hussein Obama, be it for or against him, reggae, rap or rock? Considering the thousands of "hits" that have assailed the citizenry's ears over the years you would think so, no? I can only speculate, no time or energy for pursuing that but I'd love to hear something. Maybe all the wars, revolutions, take up all the good "name songs." And they've been songs about the Gulf of Mexico long before BP blew its lid, just the kind of thing that inspires awesome "folk songs." And Fukushima tsunami's apocalyptic radioactive residue among that pain and suffering perhaps inspires a Woody Guthrie-san anthem to raise spirits, The most heart-stopping sounds are rousers like the rampant roars of chauvinism in contrapuntal vuvuzela at the World Cup last year in South Africa, but something better has to come along since it has been fifty-one years since Frank Sinatra sang "High Hopes" for Jack Kennedy.

Vaughan

The second concern is the lack of Hawaii’s ha’aheo—PRIDE—in their most accomplished and influential native son. Brother Palani Vaughan taught me the meaning of the word ha’aheo in the 1970s, when Hawaiians died for pride, fought for their lands, preserved their culture and left many brothers, sisters, and the kapuna with slogans. Like EDDIE WILL GO. I know. The legendary Eddie Aikau sang a song called "Hokule'a" on my show the day before they sailed. We talked about the looming voyage, it’s rewards and its dangers and I hold him in my heart forever.

Hawaii people possibly “Remember Pearl Harbor” but some forget warriors of the 1970s. The most Hawaiian man I ever knew was George Helm. Never was a song more right on than Jon Osorio and Randy Borden's "Hawaiian Eyes,” composed in honor of George and all that he proved in his young life before being swallowed by the sea between Oahu and Molokai. More than a fiery-eyed activists who walked the walk, George Helm was a splendid musician. He sang and accompanied himself on guitar, full-on ki’hoalu (slack key.) He left a single soulful album behind, “George Helm (Live at the Gold Coin)”. The venue was a club where he did weekend gigs across Kapiolani Boulevard from what was then the News Building.

Yeah, back then, when Hawaii had newspapers. A one newspaper town means living in darkness, scuttlebutt, disorientation and suffocation. In fact, if Donald Trump wants to invest further in local crap, perhaps he'll buy up the flimflam thing now peddled as a daily newspaper. It comes with a website that seems to be operated at times by chimpanzees.

The Honolulu Advertiser dated back to 1856. Those of us who lived here in the twentieth century read and most times depended on the Honolulu Advertiser. The beginning of its end began when the paper was purchased by Gannett in 1992, ten years after that company launched USA Today.

As it has evolved with time and technology, USA Today represents the corporate success that the Advertiser squandered away with the arrival of “parachute editors” who didn’t know the territory and share price-dictated policies that eroded the objectivity, quality and high standards upheld at the paper by generations of dedicated journalists. It all came down on May 3, 2010, biggest thing to hit the new room since the Space Shuttle Challenger, a tragedy that hit Hawaii hard since Hilo's Capt. Ellison Onizuka perished with the rest of the crew. Then, a new company set up by Black Press--nothing to do with African American journals; it’s the name of the CEO David H. Black’s family, Canadian publishers--took over operations of Advertiser and merged it with the Star-Bulletin on June 7, 2010, shrunk the staff, dumped a printing press and formed the slim and shallow, Honolulu Star-Advertiser. Honolulu Advertiser Lite.

The third thing about Obama since he’s been president that I find perplexing: He has never used the word “aloha” much, if it all, in any of his speeches outside of Hawaii. This fact gratuitously tossed in for the TBI (Trump Bureau of Investigation) gumshoes looking for non-birther proof.

The fourth and final disappointment about Obama I personally find most egregious is the unfulfilled campaign promise he made several days before the 2008 election in which he pledged to reverse the Bush laws that made possession of medical marijuana illegal. If you spent a year researching and writing about someone, especially from your own neighborhood, such on-the-record promises being ignored as the clock ticks, well, that is something to consider of a dude who once claimed to Time magazine that he could talk anyone into anything.

Mahalo to some of my respected friends for their support and understanding of what it is I am trying to stir up beyond the totally obvious: Brother Bumpy Kealoha, the Rev. Dennis Kamakahi, Edward Ka'ahea, Rolf Nordahl, Sister Nalani Olds, the spirit of King Curtis Iaukea and the man who knows the story, David Maraniss.