Ka Wai Ola - Office of Hawaiian Affairs, Volume 20, Number 7, 1 July 2003 — ʻKūʻē: People, Land and Sea' [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

ʻKūʻē: People, Land and Sea'

Photojournalist Ed Greevy traces bi rth, evolution of Hawaiian sovereignty movement By Naomi Sodetani Handbag tucked neatly in the crook of her arm, a demure old loeal woman rests her umbrella against the sidewalk. She could be waiting for the bus, but for the sign gripped in her other hand that reads: "Stop Evictions." Her gaze, weary yet hopeful, emanates from a picture taken at a 1970s demonstration by photojournalist Ed Greevy. Spanning more than three decades of political activism in Hawai'i, an exhibition of Greevy's work — "Kū'ē: People, Lanā and Sea " — runs through July 13 at the Academy of Arts Center at Linekona. "Any photojournalist ean record a scene, but what makes Ed's work stand apart is its resonance and poetry," says Academy of Arts Center Curator Carol Khewhok. In 1967, the L.A.-born Greevy moved to Hawai'i after being groomed for corporate success in a New York insurance firm and then doing a stint in advertising photography. His first foray

into photojournalism eame in 1970, when he documented Save Our Surfs efforts to save 0'ahu's surfing areas from planned developments. "I went out of curiosity, and my political understanding began to awaken," says Greevy, who majored in

political science in college. Public uprisings against development and dispossession were then occurring on every island, and Greevy was always there at rallies, protest marches, fundraisers and evictions. "Through Ed's pictures, we see the human agony that was created by the efforts of the state, the counties and developers after statehood to transform Hawai'i into nothing but a tourist spot," says Hawaiian leader, poet and scholar Haunani-Kay Trask, who wrote the eap-

tions accompanying Greevy's photographs in the "Kū'e" exhibit. Greevy and Trask jointly selected the shots for the exhibit — no easy task, given the roughly 60,000 photos he has shot since 1970. The two first met in 1978, when both were helping Sand Island fishing families resist eviction. Demeaned as "squatters" in the media, "they were asserting their right to live on the shoreline and fish," Greevy recalls. In one of Greevy's pictures from that unsuccessful struggle, a man steers a tiny skiff away from Mokauea Island. Behind him on the horizon, billowing smoke and flames engulf the wood and canvas structures that had housed his fishing eommunity, whieh the state burned down. "These are the images that historians 100 years from now will want," Trask says, "not those thousands of pictures of beautiful volcanoes that romanticize and mythologize Hawai'i. These are people in extreme conditions; they're going to be evicted, their houses are going to be smashed. But Ed was always respectful, very unobtrusive in photographing them as human beings in their resis-

tance, and in many cases, their defeat. His eommitment really needs to be acknowledged." "I felt it was important to show Ed's work now, because it resonates so mueh with current events,""gallery director Khewhok says. "It's a

reminder that you can't just sit back. If you don't like what's going on, you need to stand up for your views, as dangerous as that might be." "My camera is a tool that I use to advance political beliefs," Greevy says. His images are on the cusp of greater exposure. In December, Greevy's works will be showcased among those of photographers repre-

senting 50 states in the "OnIy Skin Deep " exhibit at the prestigious International Center for Photography in New York. A publisher at the reception also broached the possibility of a book project featuring a larger sampling of Greevy's work and Trask's writing. Meanwhile, the June 16 opening reception for the "Kū'ē" exhibit served as something of a reunion for activists who took part in the eommunity struggles depicted in the framed black-and-white photographs lining the hall. Young exhibitgoers stared at scenes of a history they never knew; some of the communities in the photos no longer even exist. But under the potent, witnessing eye of Greevy's lens, their impassioned struggles live on. When only a few friends and family remained, plastic cups filled with juice were raised, as Trask fondly toasted: "To Ed Greevy, my friend and comrade, and Hawai'i's greatest photographer." Under the justice-seeking gaze of her late mother, Tūtū Patacsil — the old woman in the "Stop Eviction" photo — Josephine Patacsil softly added: "Mahalo, Ed, for capturing our history." n

Pāhfona

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Hawaiian nationalist Kalani Ohelo speaks at a 1971 Save Our Surf - Kōkua Hawai'i demonstration against evictions in Kōlama Valley. The "Huli" sign conveys the position of Kōkua Hawai'i: to overtum the system. An upheld poi pounder symbolizes the people's determined resistance to cultural displacement. Photo: EdGreevy

Creative collaborators Trask and Greevy Photo: Naomi Sodetani

Top: Musician and Protect Kaho'olawe 'Ohana founder George Helm plays at a 1972 benefit eoncert at the Waikīkī Shell. Helm's later disappearance along with Kimo Mitchell while occupying Kaho'olawe to protest Navy bombing of the island became an emotional tuming point in the struggle for Hawaiian rights. Above: The agony of dispossession shows on the faces of a Sand lsland fishing eamp resident and his son as they join a group of residents educating tourists in Waikīkī about the plight of the Hawaiian people. Photos: Ed Greevy