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103 Rocking the Boat Indigenous Geography at Home in Hawai‘i KALI FERMANTEZ The spears sailed through the air in vain because of the magical power of Kamapua‘a, the pig deity. As an enormous pig, just one of his many kinolau (body forms), the enemy had no chance of hurting him, but he needed to protect his people. With his back wedged against the sheer valley wall, his family climbed up his body, out of range of their pursuers. The rain fell freely in the lush windward valley called Kaliuwa‘a, slowing their climb, but at last they made it over the valley ridge, to safety in the uplands. As Native scholars, we often find ourselves backed against the wall. It is our ability to change shape and form with shifting fluid identities in different contexts, simultaneously Native and scholar, often with hybrid ancestry, that enables us to open up safe spaces in the mountains of the academy. This shape-shifting allows us to mitigate the damage already done and to provide a means of escape from oppression, depression, and suppression of Indigenous culture and people. I grew up in Hau‘ula on the Windward side of O‘ahu, about a mile from Kaliuwa‘a, a place named for the pig god Kamapua‘a’s outrigger canoe. To this day the indentation from his back scars the valley wall, a reminder in the landscape of his heroic feat to save his people from destruction. In my academic career, I, like Kamapua‘a, have taken many forms, and geography is like the canoe Kaliuwa‘a, the vessel that has taken me on my academic journey and which has ultimately brought me safely home. My intent here is to dive into the depths of what it means to be an Indigenous geographer who teaches and conducts research at home. It is imperative that we as Native academics make teaching and research and the academy itself safe for our people (as safe as educating restless Natives can be). As fashionable as it is to trace one’s academic trajectory, hurtling through space at terminal velocity in a linear fashion is 104 ROCKING THE BOAT not the right way to express my journey. In Hawaiian, the broad term for history and story is mo‘olelo, which literally refers to a succession of talk. In Pidgin English, the local vernacular, informal and comfortable conversation is called “talk story.” Mo‘olelo and talk story are more circular, fluid, and roundabout—more well-rounded ways of telling the real stories of Indigenous scholars working in Native communities. I talk story about the politics of being an Indigenous geographer working at home by discussing my career from the perspective of the places I have been. I also share mo‘olelo of my experiences as a Native Hawaiian working on a PhD, conducting fieldwork, and starting my career as a geographer, all at home in Hawai‘i. Rocking the Boat as Part of the Out-rigor My view of the world spun 180 degrees as the canoe flipped upside down, and the ama (outrigger float) made a circuit through the sky and plunged into the ocean, a path the sun would shortly follow. While clichés of my “world being turned upside down” and being “in over my head” come to mind, my inverted immersion was somehow refreshing , and I made my way out from under the canoe and proceeded to huli (turn) the canoe back over. It is essential to know how to flip an overturned canoe back over so you are prepared for when you huli in the open ocean. You have to be able to get the canoe back over, bail the water out, and get the canoe moving forward again if you want to return home. The canoe was a bit heavier when I finally pushed it out of the water onto the beach. I quickly undid the lashings on the ama and ‘iako (outrigger boom) and carried the pieces of the canoe to my little station wagon. I had built the canoe while conducting my dissertation research in the marginalized community of Wai‘anae on the island of O‘ahu. It was built for transportability and affordability and from traditional and modern materials. It was made of plywood and held together with screws and glue, and a coat of epoxy was applied to make it watertight. The old school parts were the hau wood from Hau‘ula (where I’m from) used for...

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