The Colony: The Harrowing True Story of the Exiles of Molokai (review)

Hawaii's leprosy settlement at Kalaupapa, Molokai, was made famous a century ago by popular writers such as Robert Louis Stevenson, Jack London, Edward Clifford, and Charles Warren Stoddard. John Tayman skillfully retells these stories, adding details from personal diaries, popular accounts, colony folklore, academic research, and his own observations. He has produced a great book for the casual reader accustomed to the descriptive "sound-bite," but one that is disappointing for the historian trying to fit the colony into Hawaiian history.

The major weaknesses of Tayman's account are its lack of historical and political perspective and his careless handling of sources. He portrays the Native Hawaiian patients as weak victims, deprived of food, shelter, and medicine, and left to degenerate into social deviants. But sending the victims of leprosy to Kalaupapa was a political issue from the beginning, especially the allegation of patient abuse. The extraction of Kalaupapa and leprosy from the Hawaiian political context precludes understanding leprosy as part of Hawaii's history. Scarcely a paragraph is given to the overthrow of the monarchy. The retelling of Jack London's account of "Ko'olau the leper" ignores its relevance as rebellion against the provisional government that deposed Queen Lili'uokalani and disenfranchised the Native Hawaiian. Tayman would have us believe that Ko'olau feared an "uncivilized community populated by ghouls with hollowed eyes and limbless frames" (p. 9), yet he later reveals that Ko'olau had volunteered to go there (p. 11). Ko'olau was not afraid of Kalaupapa; rather, he had hoped that the legislature would establish regional leprosaria—a proposition opposed by the autocratic new government.

Most disturbing is the book's portrayal of the early colony as a place of misery, imprisonment, and lawlessness, with "epic battles erupting over food, water, blankets, and women" (p. 2). This colonial image is revitalized by omitting or committing to footnotes the evidence that contradicts it. Houses, gardens, and three trails providing access to the peninsula were left by previous landowners. Although provisions did not always arrive on time, the people were never left to starve, and most patients kept gardens themselves. They were often rebellious, usually when the board failed to respond to their petitions, or when they disagreed with a superintendent. Mostly they continued to correspond with relatives and elected officials, celebrate holidays, love, quarrel, go fishing, and live as best they could. There was medicine—most notably the Goto baths, which offered tremendous relief from the festering sores of leprosy. The settlers were civilized Hawaiians who contracted a disease. They governed themselves, dealing with deviants or insisting upon their removal. What little evidence of these historical truths is provided in Tayman's account is obscured by negative images.

While Tayman extols the virtue of American heroes, he neglects the considerable talent shown by Native Hawaiian leaders at Kalaupapa. Former legislator William Humphreys served as translator and assistant to Superintendent Donald Walsh, and later held the position himself when the residents requested native leaders.¹ He is dismissed as a criminal (p. 66) because of his rebellion against Donald's wife, Caroline. While Tayman treats Caroline and her violent son sympathetically, Humphreys and other Hawaiian leaders are disregarded: Kaho'ohuli as a superstitious fanatic (p. 80); Ragsdale, a dandy (p. 100); and William Sumner II, a mere footnote. Even if there is truth in these characterizations,² these men played an important role in mediating between native patients and nonnative members of the Board of Health.

Although Tayman implies that he did extensive archival research, most of his information is taken from secondary sources, and sometimes carelessly. The opinion that inmates refusing to work should "feel the consequences...