Humu Mo‘olelo is a new magazine out of Hilo. Inspired and founded by Uncle George Nā‘ope in response to "the need for a voice platform" by actual practioners of hula (as opposed to journalists reporting about hula), it promises to "publish articles that will inform, entertain, and often surprise you -- stories that capture the unique character, heritage, and spiritual nature of the hula culture."  

The inaugural issue of Humu Mo‘olelo is almost completely devoted to Uncle George himself and does much to capture the unique character of this much-loved, grand master of hula. The magazine opens with text, translation, and discussion of "He‘eia," a surfing chant selected by Uncle George for reasons that reflect his training in kaona, in multi-layered thinking: "He’eia" subtly acknowledges his magazine’s debt to The Surfer’s Journal (a model of practioner’s voice and of content over advertising); it demonstrates the historical ties between surfing and hula; it honors David Kalākaua for his role in the preservation of hula; and it invites all of us to jump in and ride the Humu Mo‘olelo wave.

Other Nā‘ope-related articles in the 128-page publication include a pair of mele inoa and prose tributes composed in honor of Uncle George by Mikahala Roy and Tisa Kalili; a lengthy autobiography by Uncle George complete with a collection of over 70 photographs, many of historical value; a Hawaiian language explanation (with English translation) of his best known composition, "Ka Nani A‘o Ka‘ū"; a pair of often hilarious, often revealing, always loving accounts of life with Uncle George by Etua Lopes and Ray Fonseca; a 1983 interview with Uncle George that addresses "The Early Years of the Merrie Monarch Festival"; and an interview with the magazine’s co-publisher ‘Iwalani Kalima, a kumu hula graduate of Uncle George who has been with him for nearly 40 years. 

Only two of the magazine’s nine articles deal with subjects other than Nā‘ope. One is a lavishly photographed review of the 2005 World Conference on Hula; the other is an interview with Joseph Kalima who serves as art director of Humu Mo‘olelo and whose work will appear regularly on its covers. Because the magazine closes with these pieces, a picky reader might question the editorial decision to shift direction at so late a point in the issue -- it might have been better to end, perhaps, with a Nā‘ope-explained exit hula, something to close the lei of articles that began with "He‘eia." But this is nit-picking. It’s much better to celebrate, instead, the magazine’s timely and highly appropriate emphasis on Uncle George: in early September, he traveled to Washington D.C. to accept a $20,000 National Heritage Fellowship Award for his efforts to perpetuate Hawaiian culture through traditional hula. Hūlō. 

Although Hula Le‘a, the sumptuous Japanese magazine of "stylish hula and Hawai‘i," is never mentioned in Humu Mo‘olelo, I found it difficult to read the latter without thinking of it as Hilo’s answer to the former. And it is an answer to be proud of. Both quarterlies have high-end production values. In paper stock, design, graphics, photography, and price, they look more like coffee-table books than newsstand magazines.  A single issue of Hula Le’a costs $20; Humu Mo‘olelo costs $18.95. Each apparently thinks that it’s worth the price, but the two seem to view these dollars from opposite ends of the mea poepoe spectrum. 

Hula Le’a is both pricey and ad-filled. It is clearly a double-pronged, profit-making endeavor: money from advertising and money from magazine sales. Humu Mo‘olelo, on the other hand, is stubbornly non-commercial.  It allows only three ads: one on the inside of the front cover and one each on the inside and outside of the back cover. The high cost of the Humu Mo‘olelo, its co-publishers explain, isn’t making anybody rich. Instead, it allows for a different kind of wealth -- for between-the-cover content that is exclusively cultural. No ads for hula costumes, cds, videos, dvds, concerts, workshops, bracelets, chokers, bags, t-shirts, sandals, flowers, restaurants, and fabric outlets. Instead we are treated almost exclusively to the words and voices of our cultural practitioners. 

Where Hula Le’a, at its best, is a magazine of beautifully photographed, well-written, third-person articles about our culture (click here, for example, to read our translation of Miyuki Seto’s "The Respectable Kumu Hula") Humu Mo‘olelo is a first-person, straight-from-the-horse’s-mouth kind of publication. It speaks to us from the "I" point of view, and this "I" is Nā‘ope, Roy, Kalili, Lopes, Fonseca, and the two Kalima.  The result is an immediacy and integrity of voice that Hula Le‘a cannot hope to duplicate. Volume 1, Number 1 will go on my shelf as a valuable resource -- as something to return to, for example, when I want to point out the inappropriateness of lā‘ī underskirts:

But what disturbs me the most, in the last two years, is that they’re all dancing now with tī leaf skirts under their other skirts . . . But you see, the tī leaf is the sacred leaf of Hawai‘i.  It is used to ward away evil spirits, take away fevers -- you know, you use it to cook in, you use it for blessings, all this sort of things.  So it is an outer garment and not as an undergarment. It should never be used as this. (George Nā‘ope, 77.)

Or when I’m looking for a classic, old-school response to shoddy lei making:

About 3:00 in the morning, Ray and I were sitting at the table still wrapping, and Uncle [George] came in and said, "Give me your lei."  He picked up one end of my lei and swung it around. Woooowooooo! Pieces went flying. "It’s not tight enough. Make it all over." I wanted to cry.  We didn’t sleep at all because we stayed up until 8:00 in the morning making our lei again. Today, my lei never fall apart -- never! (Etua Lopes, 66.)

Or when I want a description of the old nānā, ho‘opili, pa’a ka waha style of teaching:

Uncle would sit there; then he would get up and do something.  That’s how he taught hula. Our eyes never left him -- the way he moved, how he made the gestures, and everything else. He only did it a few times, and then we’d better have the number down. Otherwise he would crack us with the ‘ukulele . . . Nobody really asked questions in the hālau.  If we wanted to ask a question, we always waited for just the right moment . . . Sometimes when I was driving him, I would be dying to ask him a question. I would study his moods to see if he was happy. And Etua and I would go back and forth: "You ask him." "No you ask him. He knows you better than me." We were so afraid, but that was how we learned the hula.  (Ray Fonseca, 69)

First hand, no shame, horse’s mouth accounts like these give lasting cultural import to Humu Mo‘olelo. I’m prepared to shell out $18.95 for the next issue, and if it holds true to its precedent-setting inaugural edition, I’ll be ready to sign up for a two-year subscription.  It’s all about honoring our voices and giving them their due. 

© Kīhei de Silva, 2006