Of Mana and Minefields

DVORAK

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Of Mana and Minefields

Reflections on a Trip to Makua

© 2003 by Greg Dvorak, PhD (originally submitted as a seminar essay for Politics of Hawai’i, University of Hawai‘i at Mānoa.

Flanked by two army officers in camouflage fatigues and berets, we arrive at the remains of an ancient stone wall, built by the original inhabitants of the Makua Valley. It is entrenched in a web of sharp-edged concertina wire and tall grass, and marked with an orange flag that reads “mines.” One officer explains, “When we do training here, the boys are just told that these places are minefields so they know not to touch ‘em. That way they steer clear and learn to stay out of danger.” “But are there really mines here?” one member of our group asks. “Nah, well we don’t really tell the guys, but they all sort of just avoid them anyway, even if there aren’t any mines,” he tells us. After repeated questions, the officer finally states, “No, ma’am, there aren’t any mines here. There’s nothing there!” Yet sitting there, as if overgrown with barbed wire, is an old wall, demarcator of sacred space and highly significant to the people of Makua. The soldier was reluctant to acknowledge that the wall was of any importance whatsoever: Although it was obvious that the barbed wire was meant to protect the wall in one way or another, he could not imagine it as significant cultural property. For our military escort, the wall was invisible— indeed “nothing” but a mock minefield in a playground meant for war game maneuvers. Makua, like many sites ab/used by the United States military, is a landscape inscribed by neocolonial discourses of defense that legitimate the invasion and violation of people and

DVORAK

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land for the sake of a “greater good.” Not unlike Kwajalein in the Marshall Islands, it is a highly restricted military installation upon which even its rightful inheritors cannot tread without permission. It was striking to realize that “cultural access” to Makua has...