ABOVE: The Republic of Palau—one of Oceania's few sovereign countries—joined twenty-four other nations at the thirteenth Festival of Pacific Arts and Culture (FestPAC) last June, the first time the quadrennial, pan-Pacific festival has been held in Hawaii. Palau's delegates performed across Oahu and spoke on panels about the Palau Pledge, a youth- driven initiative to protect Palau's culture and environment.
By the time the Fijian warriors ran onto the stage, the opening ceremony of the thirteenth Festival of Pacific Arts and Culture (FestPAC) had already exceeded five hours. The audience didn't mind; many of those packing the stands at the University of Hawaii's Stan Sheriff Center had waited eight years and traveled thousands of miles to be here.
Fiji's three young warriors brought the energy of an army. Wearing boar-tusk necklaces, hau (hibiscus fiber) skirts and black war paint, they stamped and flung their bodies against the stage. They shouted at the stadium's upper rows and lurched at the dignitaries seated around the stage. Their pulse-quickening mock war dance was like a double shot of caffeine for anyone who might've been nodding off. The crowd shrieked its approval.
The warriors' scowls melted into proud smiles as the rest of the Fiji delegation entered the arena waving powder-blue-and-red flags. Women in tapa (barkcloth) dresses joined the men in an exuberant dance. They sang, their voices rising in angelic harmony. The Jumbotron camera caught one warrior smiling so sweetly he seemed to blush beneath his paint. When his face flashed across the big screen, at least half the audience fell in love.
After Fiji came American Samoa, the Cook Islands and the Federated States of Micronesia. One delegation after the next entered the arena to perform, speak and present ceremonial gifts on behalf of their nation. The audience gasped when a train of a hundred delegates from Tonga entered carrying a voluminous woven mat and even more voluminous length of tapa. Relishing the crowd's reaction, Tonga's speaker grinned. "In an era where everything is made elsewhere," Viliami Takau said, "we bring you seventy feet of tapa and thirty feet of fine-woven mat, 100 percent made in Tonga." Pacific Islanders excel at protocol, and the FestPAC opening ceremony, which eventually stretched to over seven hours, showcased the very best.
In total, more than 2,200 delegates from 25 nations converged in Honolulu to celebrate the customs and creativity of Oceania. Over ten days last June, FestPAC invited the world to see through a Pacific lens. Traditional song and dance constitute the pulsing heart of the festival, which also features carving, tattooing, visual art, fashion, literature, religion, science and politics. For Pacific Islanders, FestPAC is as much a display of cultural excellence as a sprawling, euphoric reunion of a family scattered over a vast sea. And, for the first time in the festival's fifty-two-year history, Hawaii had the honor of hosting.
FestPAC's ten-day celebration of Pacific culture paid homage to those who made life across Oceania possible: the master navigators and voyagers. Traditional sailing canoes filled the bay at Hakipuu- Kualoa on the Windward side of Oahu.
The escalator at the Hawaii Convention Center became an impromptu stage as FestPAC delegates moved between conference rooms and the Festival Village. Delegates from Rapa Nui (Easter Island) were instantly recognizable, as much for their traditional outfits of white feathers, tapa (barkcloth) and string as for their indefatigable energy.
Hawaiian canoe carver and sailor Ernie Reyes of Na Kalai Waa introduced FestPAC attendees to Mauloa, a sailing canoe carved from a single koa tree felled with stone adzes—the first wholly traditional Polynesian waa (canoe) built in more than two hundred years.
If you spin a globe to center on the Hawaiian Islands, two things become clear: the enormity of the Pacific Ocean and Hawaii's isolation within it. The Pacific covers a third of the planet; all of the world's continents could fit within its basin. Some consider Oceania a continent itself—the Blue Pacific Continent—which includes the islands of Polynesia, Micronesia, Melanesia, Australasia and all of the waterways between them.
The opening ceremony's Parade of Nations revealed both the diversity and commonalities of these far-flung communities. Their landscapes range from deep green rainforests, glowing blue glaciers and red rock deserts to brilliant atolls as slender as eyelashes, composed entirely of coral. Many of these nations are little known outside of the Pacific, such as the tiny Republic of Nauru, which measures just 8.1 square miles, or Wallis and Futuna, a collection of small Polynesian islands punctuated by volcanic crater lakes.
Of the twenty-five nations represented at FestPAC, only eight are independent. Just one—Tonga—has remained sovereign, having never been formally colonized. In addition to English, French and Spanish, FestPAC attendees speak more than 1,200 native languages. During the opening ceremony, speakers demonstrated fluency, not only in multiple languages but in the grand oratorical tradition of the Pacific. Most spoke extemporaneously, referring to those who spoke before them and weaving humor into potent messages. Aeau Hazelman, head of Samoa's delegation, set the tone when he declared, "We are not small states. We are the caretakers of the largest ocean in the world!"
Fiji's speaker built on this idea after his delegation's impressive dance performance. "Standing here tonight, we remember our ancestors who have passed on, for they dreamt beyond our wildest imagination. Back when the world feared what was beyond the horizon—where monsters and dragons roamed—our ancestors had the courage and boldness to voyage beyond the horizon. Now in the time when our islands are getting smaller and smaller ... against global challenges ... we must tell our young children, Fiji is here to tell them: They are not descendants of small islands; they are descendants of great voyagers, navigators and mathematicians—those who dared to journey beyond where the rest of the world feared to go!"
In the grandstands the diaspora went berserk—the many Tongans, Micronesians and other Pacific Islanders who'd made Hawaii their home rejoiced in their nation's contributions. The virtual world lit up, too. For the first time, FestPAC's opening ceremony was broadcast live online, and viewers from around the world expressed how powerful it was to witness this celebration of their homelands.
Honolulu felt like a true capital of the Pacific during FestPAC; the creative energy of Oceania spilled out from the convention center and university into nearby theaters, galleries and parks. Here, a dancer from Tahiti awaits her turn to perform at the Hawaii Convention Center.
A few speakers noted the absence of New Caledonia, which hosted the eighth FestPAC in 2000. The Melanesian archipelago is home to the Indigenous Kanaks, who account for 40 percent of the country's population of 278,000. Less than three weeks before they were due in Hawaii, New Caledonia's delegates withdrew due to civil unrest. The country is a French territory, and when leaders in Paris extended voting rights to recent arrivals, protests broke out. Thousands were injured and nine died—a bleak reminder that the long reach of colonialism remains a life-or-death issue in the Pacific.
"May this festival be a testament to the beauty and resilience of our cultures," said Jess Gasper Jr., a senator from the Marshall Islands, his gentle tone rising to a triumphant roar. "You know in the Marshall Islands, they dropped sixty-seven nuclear weapons. They destroyed our way of life. They relocated our people. And yet we still have our culture! We still have our language! We're still here!" The entire stadium leapt to its feet.
"It's a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity when the Pacific comes to you," says Mapuana de Silva. The renowned kumu hula (hula teacher) from Windward Oahu attended her first FestPAC in 2000. Thereafter she led the Hawaii delegation and worked to bring the festival here.
Every four years FestPAC moves to a new location, rotating among Polynesia, Melanesia and Micronesia. Fiji hosted the first festival in 1972, and the goals articulated then remain current: "Fight against the disappearance of traditional arts in most Pacific countries. Protect them from being submerged by other cultural influences. Start a process of preservation and development of the various local arts forms."
There were dissenting murmurs about Hawaii hosting the festival. "The struggle at that time was shaking this perception that Hawaiians were Americans and that we'd lost our culture and we'd lost our language," says Hawaii festival chair Kalani Kaanaana. He accompanied de Silva to the Solomon Islands for the 2012 FestPAC. "It truly changed my life," he says. "The festival afforded me the opportunity to live authentically as a Hawaiian for the first time."
De Silva enlisted Kaanaana's help in bringing FestPAC to Hawaii. She wanted to reciprocate the generosity she'd been shown and demonstrate that Hawaii was more than a Waikiki show. "Unless you're connected to somebody in Hawaii, you don't see the deep culture, because we don't show it to everybody," she says. After two decades of persistence—bringing traditional hula halau (troupes) to every festival and demonstrating their commitment—Hawaii finally won the bid to host in 2020. Then the pandemic hit, and the committee was forced to postpone.
Pacific-kine things seen at FestPAC: flags and facial tattoos such as the moko worn by Horomona Horo from Aotearoa (New Zealand).
Casey Chikuma gave FestPAC attendees a taste of the sea aboard the coastal sailing canoe Keaolewa o Kalihi.
"It was a blessing in disguise," says Kaanaana. "It gave us time to really dive deep and expand the programming." The committee chose a new theme, "Hooulu Lahui: Regenerating Oceania," inspired by King David Kalakaua. As foreign diseases swept the Islands in the late 1800s, the Hawaiian monarch encouraged his people to "hooulu lahui," or "to increase the nation." "Quite literally, Kalakaua urged his people to have children," Kaanaana explains, "but it was also a call for the revival of cultural practices."
The committee hired Aaron Sala to serve as festival director. As president of the creative consulting team, Gravitas Pasifika, Sala brought professional and personal experience to the role. As the son of a Hawaiian mother and American Samoan father, he grew up traveling regularly among Pacific Islands and is well versed in traditional protocol. "The presentation of chiefs and ceremonial gifts happens in Samoa, Tonga and Fiji all the time. It's not a spectacle," says Sala. "What the world thinks is a performance is really a performance of us being ourselves."
Pulling off a traditional gathering in the urban core of Honolulu was a challenge. For the first time, FestPAC's main events took place indoors, at the Stan Sheriff Center and the Hawaii Convention Center. Linda Lileikis of Architects Hawaii led the team tasked with transforming the first floor of the convention center into a village. They built thatched hale (huts) for each nation out of invasive albizia trees felled in Waimanalo. They filled the cavernous space with native plants and dimmed the overhead lights, creating an unexpectedly intimate environment.
People loved it. Upon entry, children slipped off their shoes to scamper barefoot through a projection of waves lapping on a sandy shore. They stared up at Mauloa, a regal koa sailing canoe with its bow pointed toward a sweep of stars—an enormous screen showing the same constellations that guided the first Polynesians to these shores.
The hale's thatching scented the air. Music seemed to emanate from every corner: an ukulele trio playing on a side stage, a didgeridoo humming in the Australia hale, and the knock-knock-knocking of tapa beaters in the Hawaii hale. The loudest cacophony came from the main stage, where delegations performed throughout the day to shoulder-to-shoulder crowds.
The Cook Islanders were among the first up, and they set the bar high. Their percussion team included three young siblings from the remote atoll of Rakahanga. As they rattled their drums, a dozen male dancers leapt onstage to demonstrate how to husk a coconut, first with a spike and then with their teeth. Female dancers joined them, wearing ornate feather headdresses and titi (waistbands). The ensemble never stopped moving the lower half of their bodies—fluttering their bent knees and tossing their hips—while holding their upper bodies still. Their smiles radiated joy, and they glistened with sweat, despite the air-conditioning.
The Festival Village's star map oriented visitors upon entry, giving them a view of the night sky as a Pacific celestial navigator would see it.
"They really shake it off," said Bebe Thomas Wii, watching with admiration. She was in full costume herself, preparing to perform with Papua New Guinea. A small crowd had formed around her, hoping for selfies. Her headdress was fringed with enormously long black plumes, she had sewn her skirt and bra out of cuscus (tree kangaroo) fur, and the red and yellow paint across her mouth indicated that she came from the highlands of Simbu Province. "Do you mind the constant attention?" A woman asked before snapping a photo. "Not at all," Wii smiled. "I want to showcase my culture to the outside world."
Fashion found its place on the main stage as well. Several wearable art shows fixed the spotlight on Pacific Island designers and gave traditional garments the haute couture treatment. The Pacific Pau Showcase honored the significance of pau (skirts) throughout Oceania. Models strutted down the catwalk wearing hibiscus fiber skirts and tuiga, the Samoan headpiece made of hair, feathers and mother-of-pearl.
From the moment the Festival Village doors opened, the coconut wireless began buzzing: Bring cash, the shopping is off the hook. Young women flocked to the table of wrapped wire and shell earrings from the Marshall Islands while their mothers fretted over which hat to invest in: the pristine white pare (hat) woven out of young coconut leaf from Rarotonga, or the flamboyant sunhat from Rurutu? Many of the Pacific's finest hatmakers were represented here under one roof. Weavers in the Hawaii hale made hats to order while feather workers pieced together exquisite lei hulu papale (feather hatbands) and cloaks worthy of royalty. The Samoa hale overflowed with woven mats and wood carvings of turtles and manta rays.
Delegations came with shopping lists of their own. "We look for things we need on our island," said Miguel Pakariti from Rapa Nui. "Of course, the classic: Tonga tapa. We have tapa at home, but ours is small compared to Tonga's." Indeed, after the opening ceremony, everyone wanted a piece of Tongan tapa. And by midweek, nearly every woman had a Papua New Guinea bilum, or string bag, slung around her shoulder. At home, Papuans use these colorful net bags to carry precious goods—everything from yams and taro to babies. The bilum's geometric patterns and its materials (wool, tree hibiscus or plastic netting) identify who made it and where it came from.
The village's hale served primarily as shopping stalls, though some had educational components. In the Taiwan hale a map showed early Pacific migration routes. Taiwan, which lies outside of Oceania proper, is considered the cradle of the Austronesian language family and attends FestPAC as a guest.
FestPAC turned the spotlight on the traditional skirts of the Pacific, such these piupiu made of flax from Aotearoa.
The art of weaving hala (pandanus) is one of many threads that connects the people of the Pacific.
In one corner the New Caledonia hale sat dark and empty—but not for long. Mika Sela from Fiji brought his kava bowl and sat down in the center. Others soon joined. Musicians from French Polynesia gathered to sing in support of the Kanaks in absentia. Over the ensuing days, the hale filled with artwork and messages of solidarity. A Maori artist painted a portrait of a Kanak friend with whom she had planned to reunite at the festival. They lost contact during the protests. She hung his portrait in the hale, hoping someone in New Caledonia might see it on social media and send word of his well-being. She didn't hear back, though Kanaks did see the posts. They requested a haka, a dance, which the Maori delegates happily performed.
While most of the FestPAC delegates traveled by plane, hopping island to island with their precious regalia stowed in overhead bins, a few came the old way: by canoe. Just as their ancestors had for centuries, they rigged their double-hulled canoes and sailed across the vast sea, using the stars as guides. Without such bold explorers in antiquity, there would be no Pacific Island cultures to celebrate.
Antony Vaiva came from Mitiaro, a tiny island with a population of 163, where he studies subsistence-based fisheries. He had been volunteering aboard the Cook Islands canoe Marumaru Atua, and when the opportunity arose to sail to Hawaii, he asked to join. "There was a lot of pressure to leave as soon as we could to make it in time for the festival," says Vaiva. "But the wind was not in our favor." Marumaru's master navigator Peia Patia capitalized on a small pocket of wind to sail out of Rarotonga. From there the crew faced grueling conditions—dumping rain and dead winds in the doldrums—on a twenty-one-day odyssey across 3,200 miles. When Marumaru turned north, the wind finally picked up. "Suddenly, we were slicing through the water," said Vaiva. "We were moving, passing through the equator—not just reading about it but living it!"
Seafarers aboard the Tahitian canoe Faafaite had a much smoother journey. They traveled 2,400 miles to Hawaii in just sixteen days, breaking a record for speed.
The visiting canoes received a warm welcome at Hakipuu-Kualoa, the (re)birthplace of modern-day Pacific voyaging. The sheltered beach on Oahu's Windward side is where Hokulea, the Hawaiian waa kaulua (voyaging canoe) first set sail. Her successful journey to Tahiti in 1976 sparked the Pacific-wide revival of Indigenous seafaring. Nearly fifty years later she is anchored in her natal bay alongside an entire fleet: Marumaru, Faafaite and three more waa kaulua from Oahu, Maui and Hawaii Island.
Rapa Nui brought its largest FestPAC delegation ever to Hawaii—150 adults, elders and children from an island of just 7,800. Their dynamic energy, spring-loaded dance routines and kaikai (string figures used in storytelling) captivated audiences.
Several nations had shipped smaller, coastal canoes to Honolulu in advance of FestPAC. Maori master navigator Hoturoa Barclay-Kerr sat in the shade of a coconut palm watching his son work on Tatai Hono, the sleek red waka (canoe) from Waikato River in Aotearoa (New Zealand). Intricate black carvings decorated the stern and bow, along with a fierce carved statue for which the canoe is named.
Barclay-Kerr first came to Hakipuu-Kualoa in the 1980s to learn alongside the Hokulea crew. For years afterward he brought students here from Aotearoa. "Coming here to learn and teach our young people the story of our genealogy is important," he said. "This is a significant place in terms of the foundational recovery of our culture and ancestral history."
The canoe crews invited the public to Hakipuu-Kualoa on the Saturday following FestPAC's opening ceremony. People lined up on the beach for the chance to board one of the historic vessels. Navigators showed kids how to read directions on the star compass. Out in the bay, an enormous rainbow arced across the sky.
While the Festival Village was a sensory explosion, the second floor of the convention center was more cerebral, dedicated to the literary arts and symposiums. Kamehameha Schools sponsored a three-day mini-conference in the ballroom featuring Jamaica Osorio as keynote speaker. The poet, activist and associate professor at the University of Hawaii at Manoa discussed King Kamehameha on the anniversary of his birth and evoked a conception of sovereignty that bypassed flag-waving nationalism in favor of something more inclusive and native to Hawaii: puu o honua, or sanctuary.
Double-hulled canoes sailed from as far as Rarotonga, Cook Islands, to anchor at Hakipuu-Kualoa, the birthplace of modern Pacific voyaging. The visiting vessels were greeted by a fleet of smaller coastal canoes, including the eye-catching Kaihekauila, with iwa (frigate birds) on its sail.
A panel on sustainable tourism followed, with representatives from the islands of Palau, Raiatea and Niue sharing the details of successful programs they'd implemented back home. Marine biologists and conservationists met in breakout rooms to discuss deep-sea mining and the establishment of marine sanctuaries. During the NiuWow! International Coconut Summit, participants wove a twenty-foot-long piko (cord) out of coconut fronds, a tangible symbol of the values and practices that bind distant island communities together.
FestPAC attendees couldn't help but experience FOMO—fear of missing out. So many exciting things were happening all at once, not only at the convention center but at multiple venues around Oahu. Capitol Modern hosted performances on the lawn as well as outstanding exhibits of hula kii (puppets) and sacred images. Traditional tattooists and woodcarvers took up residence on the grounds of Bishop Museum. Visitors could watch as master carvers sculpted massive hoe (steering paddles) in the style of their nation.
After wrapping up their public performances each day, delegates retired to their hotels or dorms—or to the nearest after-party. For many, this was when the real festival started. Talking story with new friends over dinner, playing a mix of traditional tunes with modern riffs and jumping up to dance just for fun. A kani ka pila (jam session) hosted by the Kanewai Cultural Resource Center lasted thirteen hours. Those who fell asleep before 3 a.m. missed the shy musicians from Nauru who finally shared their heavenly songs just before dawn.
After a few days at FestPAC, a sense of familiarity took hold. Strangers became friends and friends became collaborators. A Hawaiian-language teacher seized on the opportunity to conduct a linguistic experiment: He spoke olelo Hawaii (Hawaiian language) to various delegates and asked them to respond in their native languages. Each time, they were amazed by how well they could understand one another.
For Kuuleilani Reyes, FestPAC offered the chance to set something right. The Kamehameha Schools librarian had discovered artifacts from Papua New Guinea collecting dust in the school's archive. She wanted to return them to their rightful owners and tried contacting the Papua delegation before its arrival. Failing that, she loaded the objects into a cart and delivered them to the convention center. There she met Gazellah Bruder. The celebrated Papuan painter teared up as she identified the provenance of each artifact: a mask painted with clay, a woven raincoat and several carvings. "I just visited Bishop Museum and saw so many of our objects there," Bruder said, hugging Reyes. "And here you are, returning these unasked!"
A delegate from Papua New Guinea, which hosted the third FestPAC in 1980.
As people established new relationships at FestPAC, so did their nations and cities. Honolulu became a sister city to Rarotonga on the festival's opening day. Mayor Rick Blangiardi and Cook Islands Prime Minister Mark Brown committed to fostering ties between the two communities.
A more expansive partnership was formalized at Iolani Palace. The traditional leaders of Aotearoa, Samoa, Fiji, Marshall Islands and the Federated States of Micronesia gathered in the throne room with Indigenous leaders from Hawaii: Prince David Kawananakoa, Senator Jarrett Keohokalole and Carmen "Hulu" Lindsey. They signed the Tuurama Ariki Declaration, pledging to work together on the Pacific's most pressing issues: climate change, economic sovereignty, public health and military waste remediation.
This was the blossoming of a seed that King Kalakaua had planted almost 140 years ago. The Hawaiian monarch endeavored to create a Pacific confederation and sent an emissary to the king of Samoa, who signed a treaty with Hawaii on February 17, 1887. Unfortunately, the nascent alliance was thwarted by colonial aggression: a coup detat in Hawaii and the German occupation of Samoa. "To honor King Kalakaua's vision all these years later and to have the declaration signed by these traditional leaders in the palace throne room on Kamehameha Day was really extraordinary," says Kaanaana.
Kaanaana, Sala and de Silva all hope this festival serves as a catalyst for more engagement with Oceania as a whole. "We need to nurture, maintain and challenge these relationships with our colleagues, friends and family," Sala says. "I truly believe that the Pacific is the future of the world."
