THE TOP OF LIST

Before I moved to Hilo last summer, I lived in a densely populated area of Honolulu called Pauoa Valley near Punchbowl National Cemetery.  I would rise daily between 4 and 4:30 a.m. and go for a morning walk that would take me on a three-mile loop through Pauoa, down Nuuanu, through downtown and back up through Lusitana street.

At 4:30 a.m. the prostitutes are still cruising on North Kukui Street near Zippy's.  Hawai'i is a early rising state because of our proximity to the mainland.  Stockbrokers typically start work at 3 a.m. to coincide with the opening of Wall Street at 9 a.m. in New York.  Many people are sitting at their desks by 6 a.m. and "lunch" usually starts about 10:00 a.m. when the first lunch wagons start to appear throughout the Honolulu area.

Lusitana Street is a strange mix of long-time local residents, low-income renters and an array of Polynesians that include Hawaiians, Samoans, Tongans and Micronesians. Anyone who has lived in Hawai'i knows that this is a recipe for violence and crime.  But on the flip side, there are three elderly Japanese women who walk together every morning armed with their flashlights and umbrellas.  They've been walking together since 1970 and no one has ever bothered them.   Further down the street, I sometimes hear a young couple getting their version of morning "exercise."  I've never seen them but I do know that she loves God and his name is Tony.

One Saturday morning as I came up the little rise from School Street, I saw a group of young men at the bus stop.  There were four of them, large Hawaiians (maybe Samoans), taking up the entire sidewalk.  I caught the wafting smell of marijuana and two of them had large bottles of beer.  They were heavily tatooed and looked like MMA fighters or worse, street thugs.  There was no sidewalk on the other side of the street so I had no option but to keep walking toward them.  I started going through scenarios that would keep me from being attacked and beaten.  At my age, I couldn't out run them and if they were drunk and stoned, trying to reason with them would be out of the question.  I could avoid eye contact with them and try to slip quietly by but I knew better than to take my eyes off them.

I decided to "cry Uncle."  Uncle Benny, that is.

"You boys OK?" I asked as I approached.  They turned around and looked at me and instinctively stepped back off the sidewalk.

"We OK, Uncle, just waiting for the bus," they answered.

"It's fricken 4 a.m., you need to get your ass home before you get in trouble," I shot back.

"We missed our ride, Uncle, but we heading home now. Thank you, Uncle" said the one holding the beer.

"Ok boys, be careful," I said going away.

I never missed a step as I strode right past them.  Further down the street, I started to analyze what just happened.  If I was in New York or East Los Angeles, I'd be dead.  That scenario could not have happened anywhere but Hawai'i. It's because every indigenous people have "respect" as the base of their cultural beliefs.  The Native Indians, Alaskan Eskimos and Australian Aborigines start with respect for the Mother Earth, Father Sun and each human life.

As their elder, those boys paid me the respect that I was due (which also allowed me to scold them without fear of retaliation) and they allowed me to safely pass.  Of course, that doesn't work in every case, but as soon as they addressed me as "Uncle", I knew they had the benefit of the proper cultural upbringing.

Statistically, Hawaiians as a group, are at the top of list for chronic diseases (diabetes, heart disease and cancer), they are most incarcerated, most likely to be on public assistance, most unemployed, most educationally challenged and most likely to suffer premature death despite having one of the top educational institutions in the world (Kamehameha Schools) and an organization (Office of Hawaiian Affairs) that manages their vast land trust worth hundreds of millions of dollars.

If there is any hope for our people to improve those statistics, it has to start with respect (ho'ihi) for themselves and each other.  What I experienced that morning on Lusitana Street affirmed my belief that the cornerstone of our culture was alive and well, and with it, the future hope of our people.

Too bad they don't keep statistics on respect.  We'd be at the top of the list.