You may know that I’m an Anthropologist. One of the key things that I learned in that study is how utterly futile it is trying to “objectively” understand another culture. The same is even more true of trying to “become” a “member” of a different culture.

So when I was asked if I had a Hawaiian name I had to think very carefully how to answer.

I was at an international gathering of youth workers and rites of passage specialists. The irony of it was that I was just there as a cameraman even though I knew more than enough about the subject to add to the discussion. That being the case I participated much more in the off-time activities than most cameramen would.

One of the things I “missed out” on, though, was a session where a Native American teacher spoke of the power of naming, becoming a truer version of yourself by changing what you are called. In the process several “Native American names” were given out to the participants.

Now I have to be very clear here: for those participants it was a moving experience. That can’t be denied and I’m not intending to diminish that fact.

But from my point of view as an anthropologist… yeah… I would have had a hard time keeping a straight face had I been at those sessions. Creating for someone a perceived connection to a culture that isn’t theirs and they can’t readily understand may be doing a disservice to both the participant and to the culture. In the bag of intercultural dialog tools this falls into the category of “cheap trick.”

It wound up being a big deal at the conference, though. Lots of people got “Indian Names” and they were the topic of much discussion. Again, I have to be honest in that a lot of those conversations were deep, meaningful and fruitful. Its a wonderful teaching exercise… as long as it not confused with anything real. But these folks were treating it as real.

I’m just a cameraman, I thought to myself. These are good people wrestling with important issues and a bit of confusion along the way is to be expected.

At one point someone came up to me, took a moment to register that I was a person and not just a hired help camera guy, smiled and said

“Say, you live here in Hawaii, right? Do you have a Hawaiian Name?”

The answer to that is “no” but I knew that saying so would probably lead to a longer conversation where I’d be tempted to spill my opinion of how ridiculous the naming thing was. So I said “yes”

“Wonderful! What is it?”

I thought back to a gathering I had attended several months previous. It was a celebration of the passing of a Hawaiian woman and many people in the extended community were invited. My roommate is one of those community members and I’ve been around enough that I was a known quantity, a musician… sure bring the haole boy along.

At one point I had been talking with one of my friend’s cousins and we’d been enjoying the conversation. We drifted apart to get more food and drink but he had some more things he wanted to talk about. He couldn’t recall my name right away and so called out across the music and bustle of conversation

“Hey! Haole boy!”

I heard “Haole boy!” float across the yard and knew that I was the only person present that it could possibly refer to. Haole is a word commonly used to refer to white people. In itself it is not a nice term but, as with almost everything Hawaiian, the context that it is used in shapes the meaning. I turned to see who had called and saw the cousin looking back at me with a half tense, half inquisitive look on his face. He wasn’t quite sure how I was going to take it. He didn’t mean any offense by using the word haole… but that’s the problem with haoles: they never seem to understand what you mean.

I smiled, nodded and started making my way back across the yard. He and the people standing around him got a good laugh out of that, but not at my expense. They were laughing at the moment because it was funny and paradoxical. If you can calmly accept being called a haole without being offended… it means you’re probably not a haole.

I knew the person who had asked about my “Hawaiian Name” would understand none this and being from the mainland probably didn’t even know what the word haole meant, so…

“My name is Haole Boy!” I proclaimed proudly for his benefit.

He clapped me on the back, said “Good for you!” as if this somehow improved the quality of my life and went on his way.

I’ve have been chuckling about my “Hawaiian Name” ever since.