March 16th, 2005

Yo!

Hawaiian Chronicles: Homeless Hawaiians

* I finally found something positive. It's in a letter to the editor of the Honolulu StarBulletin. In it, the writer explains that Hawaiians who are homeless are living on their land which is true. Sadly because many Haole and Hawaiians have colonized minds when people like Eric Poohina speak and/or write about a different paradigm then s/he is labelled as "militant" or "an activist" when s/he is only speaking the truth.

ANYWAY Eric Poohina is right: Hawaiians who are homeless are living on their land. They "own" it yet the irony is that cops kick them out on behalf of the state of Hawai'i and threaten them with the possibility of arrest. I wish more people (including myself) would think like him. You know... outside of the box... outside of their paradigm. Anyway I like his letter:


Homeless are living on kingdom land

Regarding the March 14 article on Act 50: The attorneys for the state and the American Civil Liberties Union both quote the U.S. Constitution. None of them understand (or they refuse to understand) that the so-called public parks the homeless people are squatting on is part of the Crown and Hawaiian kingdom government national land base. If the U.S. Constitution that the attorneys both valiantly uphold as sacred doesn't address the private property rights of the Hawaiian kanaka maoli people, then the U.S. Constitution isn't worth the paper its printed on.

The only people with the inherent right to live on the land are the Hawaiian kanaka maoli people because they have the vested interest and the title to the aina. Before the illegal overthrow of 1893 by the United States, the Hawaiian kingdom had a very sophisticated land tenure system called the mahele, which the U.S. courts in Hawaii still maintain today.


Eric Poohina
Kailua

Source: http://starbulletin.com/2005/03/16/editorial/letters.html

Cross-posted to hawaiians
Yo!

Randy Rustick's Story: Part Five

Part Five

They drove me over the FPC (I think that is the acronym). I believe it is a 10 story building somewhere between the airport and Pearl City. Gary told me that he knew what I was feeling. Before he joined the FBI, he had gotten a DUI. I would have preferred to have gotten the DUI. I told him about the Mexico and Vegas trips I took while in college.

They didn’t stop to give me the lunch that I was promised. I think they just forgot. We pull up to the federal jail, and enter what looks like a very high security area. The car stops in front of these massive metal doors. Joe makes a call and then both of them remove their guns and lock it in the trunk of the car. We wait a few more minutes, until an office comes out to talk to the Joe. I stare at the big doors, wondering what is on the inside of them. I ask Gary if maybe it would be possible to just chain me to his couch or something. No luck.

The officer goes to a box, and dials a phone located on the inside. The massive doors then start to open… very slowly. As they open, I feel as if it was the gates of hell opening just for me. I was kind of in a dramatic mood, apparently. Inside was just a very large garage. Joe pulls the car in. There is a basketball hoop at the far end, a door, and not much else. A lot of empty space. We pull to a stop, and the agents have me get out of the car. The door on the side opens up, and we all go through.

We enter a processing area. This is a large area with a very long desk counter on the left hand side of the room. Behind this desk are a couple of offices. Bordering the whole room are cells. To the right is a large walk-through metal detector, and behind that looks to be a big storage room.

I am placed into one of the corner cells, my cuffs are taken off. The agents fill out some kind of paperwork. There are more officers in the processing area now. They all exchange pleasantries. Its just another day at the office for them. I don’t feel like exchanging pleasantries with
anyone.

Gary comes over to tell me that they will try to setup the lie detector test soon. I ask him what is going to happen next. He is not sure. This is one of his first busts. Great… I’ve been busted. The agents leave. When they do, I feel as if I am now completely alone. I am in a foreign world, with no support.

Once again, the order of things get hazy here. I have three interviews with three people, I just do not remember how it all went down. I will list them here, but there is no particular order.

1. I am asked to strip down of all my clothes. I am standing in front of a young Hawaiian male. I am completely naked, my hands are out to the side. My mouth is open and tongue is up. Good…no blade under the tongue. Now this part sucks. For the first of many times, I am asked to turn around, pull up my testicles, squat and cough. The term used was not “testicles”. I believe it was… “hold up your sacks”. It was pretty fricken cold in there and my “sacks” were pretty high already. However, the whole experience of being in that position in front of complete stranger was to say the least… not fun

2. I met in an office with a Japanese guy, a bit older than me. He calls out to one of the female guards about being the one to interview me. He says, too bad for her. I don’t EVEN want to know what that is about. He explains the rules. I will be allowed to have so many phone calls per month, I can order stuff from the inmate store once a week, etc. Mail is sent/received at these intervals. WAIT!!!!! Why are you talking like I am going to be here a long time? My heart rate starts to jump at that moment. Reality is starting to set in.

3. I have a meeting with an older Japanese lady. She is a doctor or nurse. She takes some readings from me and asks me allergy/drug questions. Again, she explains the medicine policy, and how to get them once a week. This will not due. I eat Tylenol like they were candy. If I got one of my headaches and had to wait a week for medicine, I would die. I have migraines that end me up in the emergency room a couple times a year. I have had them since I was a kid. I believe the lady took some blood.

4. I meet with the young Hawaiian male again. He takes my picture using one of those DMV picture taking devices. My picture appears on the computer screen, to be filed away on disk. It isn’t one of my best pictures. The thing I remember about this was that this guy could see that I was really down. He told me that everything will be ok, I just have to have faith. He said I had to be strong for my wife and kids, and for my family. He said that I could not appear weak. His words made sense. Even though I was where I wasn’t supposed to be, his words made sense. This guy reminded me of a preacher.

After all the processing, I was placed in a cell for another hour.

To be continued

Copyright by Randy Rustick
All rights reserved.