Mokauea Island Field Trip

Saturday October 9th:

"The wheels on the bus go round and round..."
As we boarded the yellow school bus I was brought back to the days where you have to share seats with classmates. Slippery seats, hot cheeks and sweaty feet-this was a great start to my first field trip of the semester. Crossing over to Sand Island was like traveling back in time. We passed rural and industrial scenery as we reached our destination at the last fishing village in Hawaii, Mokauea island.

Paddling to the island was even more of a realization of the difference between life on this island and the life I lead on "the other side." As we were paddling to this new land, I couldn't help but be humbled by the experience. Synchronicity, a key role in paddling, was demonstrated almost effortlessly. We all had a direct purpose to provide whatever service we could and were willing to work together to get there in the first place. As we pull up to the shores I see overgrown plants, shards of glass and garbage bags galore. It feels like a no mans land. Listening to the history makes me sick to my stomach. This seems to be the running theme when I hear the ugly truth of power. These families were stripped of everything all in the name of development and profit. I was impressed at the involvement with Kai Makana, and saw the passion in the people's eyes. I couldn't wait to help in any way I could.

Instructions proceeded and the volunteers followed the guidelines to work. Gloves on, sunhat situated and water by my side, I am ready to get down and dirty. Groups of friends are carelessly chit chatting away and picking 'pickle weed' almost robotically. Slow and steady, taking breaks to fix hair and take off shirts. I observe for a bit and actually get upset. I see the reason for these massive groups of people to be here is to make change. How much change can happen if we aren't attached to the end result? If my duty was to pick that pickle weed, I was going to pull and fight as hard as I could to clear the land back to it's original state. I was over just picking the 'weed' because we weren't getting to the 'root.' So I went to the shed and grabbed a bunch of hoes and distributed them in hopes that people would take the tool and use it wisely. Then I went to the far end of the landscape all alone and began hacking away. Digging my feet in the dirt, both hands on the root and yanking with all my strength. This was how my field trip went. Exhausted, perspiring and perplexed at other work ethic...our time is up. 2 hours?

I am the last to leave. I don't want to. I see how much help this island needs, for the families and for the Hawaiian people. I am willing to stay until dark, but this was just an appetizer to activism. I must go back across the waters to the land I live. I couldn't help but draw comparisons to how our society works. The masses of people just do what they're told (pick weeds) to fix a problem. But what we neglect is the real root of the issue. In this case, the literal root of this invasive plant. We pick and pick and pick, and wonder why the problem keeps coming back. When we think we're actually contributing to a cause we aren't. How many people are willing to work to rid the root of deeper issues of politics and power? It's discouraging that inspiration to help can come and go so easily. I suppose the trappings of life trump the importance of these teachings. 

Back on the canoe, paddling away from poverty. The sweat stings my face as the wind brushes through my hair. On the water between both islands I dwell on which land is my home. I look forward and see city, lights and corruption. I look back and see simplicity, family and truth. I am divided on which of these components make up me. I conclude that each island holds some intention and it's how I balance each end of the spectrum that determines my existence.

Back on the bus, chugging away back to the life we all lead.