Decolonization series: Settler Responsibility with Rebekah Garrison
by Lauren Ballesteros-Watanabe, Chapter Organizer | Reading time: 13 minutes
As the decolonization series continues to evolve, I wanted to not just uplift the pathways to liberate ourselves from colonial frameworks through text but capture the lived experience. What does decolonization look like anyway? Structurally we may have an answer. By decolonization, we mean land is given back to indigenous peoples and policies respect their self-determination. But for the majority of settlers who want to live beyond the colonial and capitalist worldview, which we are so accustomed to; it’s a personal journey to figure out how meaningful decolonization operates in our daily lives, work, and the relationships we build in an attempt to be true allies to Kanaka Maoli.
Rebekah Garrison
To discuss this journey further, I sought the expertise of an organizer friend who has taken on the phrase “haole differently*” as her mission to find a true place for herself as in the radical movement to support aloha ʻāina, Kanaka Maoli’s struggle for sovereignty, and to play an unimposing yet meaningful role in demilitarization and protecting wai in Hawaiʻi.
Rebekah Garrison is also an academic who received her Bachelor’s and Master's degrees in Spanish Literature from the University of Hawai‘i at Mānoa. Her research interests include the intersections of empire and island relationality; settler colonial studies; Indigenous studies; decolonial theory, solidarity, and action; demilitarization, and critical geography. Beyond that, Rebekah is an incredibly infectious spirit with an unwavering commitment to what she believes in and does so with a gleaming smile on her face. But I will let her tell you a little more. Enjoy the interview!
Lauren: Thank you so much for agreeing to this conversation, Rebekah. Let’s start off with you sharing a little bit about yourself.
Rebekah: Hi friend! My name is Rebekah Garrison and I am a queer white settler woman born and raised in Humboldt County, Northern California. The lands and waters that I call home are the Indigenous homelands of the Hupa, Karuk, Mattole, Wiyot, and Yurok peoples. I am a community organizer for Hawaiʻi Peace and Justice and a founding member of the Oʻahu Water Protectors and the Shut Down Red Hill Coalition. Perhaps, most importantly, like you, I am a water drinker that is very concerned about the Navy’s poisoning of Oʻahu’s sole-source aquifer at Kapūkakī , also widely known as Red Hill.
Lauren: You have quite a catalog of works around settler colonialism and demilitarization. What was your aha moment or experience that made you pursue an academic career in settler responsibility?
Rebekah: This is a great question! I will never forget my “aha” moment because it so solidly transformed the course of the rest of my life. I was a transfer student to UH Mānoa in 2003 and required to take Hawaiian Studies 107. In that class we were assigned Haunani Kay Trask’s From a Native Daughter, but since I hadn’t cracked open the book yet I took the prof’s bait of extra credit and free Hawaiian food to go hear Trask read her work. Of course, as a very haole recent arrival I had no idea who Trask was. So, I showed up early–as haoles often do–choose a seat in the back of the UHM Art Auditorium and began reading. I was engulfed from the first page. I only looked up when the roar of the crowd shook me from a trance. The space was packed! People were standing against the walls and sitting in the aisles. There was an energy, an admiration and excitement I had never felt before. I remember Trask standing behind a skinny microphone stand with her book in one hand and the pointer finger of her other hand extended out, “Go home haole, we don’t need another tourist!” I heard her say. I got chicken skin as I fell back into my seat. I leaned way back and looked side to side. I couldn’t see any other white people. I thought maybe she was talking directly to me! It was the first time I ever felt my whiteness. She catapulted me into another consciousness. It was mesmerizing. The auditorium was so full of love for Trask that it was intoxicating. I leaned into my ignorance that night and really listened to her and the community. Since that moment my life has been guided by an urgent sense of settler responsibility. I really nerded out after that and started going to all of Trask’s talks on campus and even took one of her classes. She became an important mentor of mine, serving as a member of my MA thesis committee.
Lauren: Wow, you were mentored by Haunani K. Trask. That’s nothing short of epic. Are there any specific lessons she gave you on allyship, positionality, or settler responsibility?
Rebekah: For me, it was Trask’s willingness to take a chance on a young and ignorant white settler with curiosities to learn more that taught me about the importance of allyship, positionality, and settler responsibility. This brilliant mind and shining star actually made space for me–a nobody. Her lessons on positionality were expressed through her time, care, and aloha as I continued to show up to office hours and ask questions. We talked a lot about kuleana as we discussed a group of white folks that would gather to support her and the sovereignty movement in the 90s. This group of haoles would show up to her talks and rallies with signs like “Haoles for Haunani” and that was really inspiring to me. Like those haoles, I didn’t want to perform my whiteness the way white people teach us to behave. I didn’t want to behave. I wanted to be different. I wanted to stand with her and show to the broader community that haoles can also be an important part of decolonial movements and struggle.
Lauren: I love that. Yes, let’s stop behaving! So where did the concept of settler imposition first come up for you?
Rebekah: The concept of “settler responsibility” for me grew from my “aha” moment with Trask. I had never thought so much about kuleana until then. Settlers–individuals and communities that do not have a genealogical connection to the lands they occupy–first must recognize their/our positionality as haole to that space. Once that happens, a more robust critical settler consciousness has room to grow. Within that growth we begin to recognize that settler colonial imposition has never ended–it just amalgamates to the whims of settler control. The deeper one gets inside of that situated awareness the more one can contribute to dissolving the social constructs that continually shape our lives–even when we do not recognize it happening. We all have talents and we all have skills, so let’s utilize them to stand in solidarity and build alliances between and within our racialized communities. In Hawaiʻi, and other places I have lived and visited such as Bieké (Vieques), Cuba, Guåhan (Guam), Okinawa, the Philippines, and Puerto Rico my own expression of settler responsibility is shaped by the violences of US militarization, occupation, and Empire building I have witnessed in these islands. As a person who comes from a military family and whose grandfather participated in the Battle of Okinawa, I take very seriously my own settler responsibility within these violent histories of white settler theft, militarization, and occupation.
Lauren: That’s powerful. We all have a complicated history, right? But what you do so well is commit to that responsibility to change the course in your lineage. And you have such an authentically genuine way of introducing yourself into spaces with such intentionality, acknowledging positionality as a white settler right away. When and how did you start that?
Rebekah: Thank you for noticing that, Lauren! I appreciate it very much. I first learned this way of introducing myself living here in Hawaiʻi. I find it so profoundly beautiful when Kanaka introduce themselves by relating their long family genealogies to very specific places–something that I cannot do. To be honest, I have no real concept of my own genealogy–just a muddled and distant connection to far away places in Europe. It is truly sad to come from a white settler family that just calls ourselves “‘Merican”–whatever that means. So, through the encouragement of my good friend and kiaʻi loko Loke Aloua, I began introducing myself, like I did above, at the Kaloko work days she and the Hui Kaloko-Honokōhau organize in Kona. It felt really good not just to “out” myself as a white settler within an Indigenous space, but to also honor the Native lands and peoples where I grew up. In this way, I try to normalize an openness in discussing whiteness and settler positionality that I find lacking and extremely problematic within the white settler community. With such limited examples of how to haole differently, we will have to be our own models. Of course we will make mistakes. But the idea is that we learn from these mistakes as we push forward a more robust understanding of settler responsibility.
Lauren: Yes! We’re figuring out a completely new way of being because we are living in a different consciousness than those that came before us. Empathy and compassion are critical to this work and for that, we can look to Indigenous wisdom and ancestral values. That’s why Kanaka Maoli leadership is sorely needed to rebuild our systems. So I’m curious, have you done any research on your genealogy as a result of the influence of Indigenous connections to land and genealogy?
Rebekah: To be honest, I wouldn’t even know where to begin. And that is very sad. I reflect a lot on my family’s own history of settler colonial imposition and what that might have been like for them. We’re not some 20th or 19th century settlers, we’ve been around in “America” for a while. But, these family histories are more mythical than concrete. My entire family has been taught from generation to generation–which is, of course, distinct from a genealogical connection–that our poor white family crossed the continent on the Oregon Trail and then slowly trickled down into what is now considered Northern California. I was also taught that Daniel Boone was a distant relative and that I should be proud of those pioneering “roots”--but that as an entirely sick and delusional way to herald what I’m sure are the violences of my family’s settler involvement in colonizing the continent. It is a very heavy history to be so intimately connected to. It is a history that inspires me to walk a different path. It is also a family history that begins in the continent and so my European genealogy has been airbrushed out of my family’s historical knowledge. For me, this is also an enduring violence of settler colonialism. The history of America’s settlement is a kaleidoscope of lies.
Lauren: Have you had any conversations with your family about your intentional settler work, intentional and/or commitment to haole differently?
Rebekah: This is a very difficult topic to discuss with my biological family. I’m very different from them. Even just hearing the word “settler” is jarring for them. We kind of just oscillate around one another without bringing up what is a very “controversial” topic for them. To haole differently would be an entirely foreign concept for them, mostly because for generations we’ve been so strictly taught to follow rules that govern expressions of whiteness. We are not supposed to deviate from our upbringing because to do so would be to step out of line. So, for my biological family my queerness isn’t just an “abnormal” expression of gender and sexuality but also my refusal to “follow rank” as my dad says. But with my queer family we talk about all sort of different topics, including settler responsibility. Our families come in so many forms and at so many different junctures of our lives. I am thankful for all of those who call me family, including my family here in Hawaiʻi and in Bieké and Guåhan.
Lauren: I feel you on that. It is not easy to talk to family because sometimes it feels like walking around landmines with blinders on because there are so many layers to what is being said. Ok, switching topics. Because settler colonialism, which is interwoven with capitalism, has truly impacted/infiltrated our ways of being and understanding ourselves and our relationship to the world, in what ways do you recommend someone can begin the journey to understand this impact and then relate to settler imposition and responsibility?
Rebekah: Settler colonialism, particularly in the context of a voraciously expanding US Empire into islands and oceanic space, is experienced through the many violences of militarization, capitalism, and extractive resource economies. This grotesque sense of settler entitlement often manifests itself through whiteness, but not always. There are many types of settlers. I think it is really important for settlers to immerse them/ourselves in histories and perspectives of Indigenous communities, especially those of the places we also call home. There is a huge difference between home and homeland. Maybe once settlers recognize this difference, settler consciousness and responsibilities will be robust enough to move beyond the social structures that confine settlers to the very narrow framework of personhood we now find ourselves trapped in. This is my hope. One of the most important lessons that the Red Hill crisis has taught me, for example, is that we’re all connected. The water has unified us. We need to show up for the water as much as we need to show up for one another. In this way, maybe a path towards healing can be taken together.
Lauren: 100% on point. Healing in all forms is absolutely essential to a decolonized future. Do you think if someone connects to their understanding of homeland, it would help them identify with the place they now call home?
Rebekah: Yes, definitely! I think more critical conversations around one’s home versus one’s homelands are needed within settler communities. It is a massive distinction that is hardly ever discussed within the white community. My “homeland” in Europe is so entirely distant from my lived experience, I don’t even have a desire to visit those places. That is also sad. To be inoculated as “American” from a young age includes transforming or erasing any memory or association to where we trace our ancestors' bones. This is an important process for white America’s claim on land and freedom on the continent and otherwise. We are no longer European, we are American. Being causally taught that I’m a “Heinz 57” of European ancestry made family genealogy too big and too messy to understand. Better to tell ourselves we come from pioneering “heroes” that had enough grit to withstand freezing winters in log cabins than the poor ragamuffins still lost in time and without identity or culture, yeah?
Lauren: This has truly been such a wonderful conversation, Rebekah! Thank you for sharing your journey and passion with us. But lastly, any additional resources you recommend for folks?
Rebekah: In addition to the resources mentioned above, I recommend folks read Talkin Up to the White Woman by Aileen Moreton-Robinson and Judy Rohrer’s Staking Claim: Settler Colonialism and Racialization in Hawaiʻi. Also, all work by Julian Aguon…And my pleasure to be interviewed, Lauren. Ola i ka wai!
*”Haole Differently” is a term Rebekah first learned of through the work of Hawaiʻi born scholar-activist Judy Rohrer, who has written extensively about whiteness, racial politics, and settler colonialism for both academic and popular audiences. Rohrer is currently the Director of Gender, Women’s, & Sexuality Studies at Eastern Washington University.
Rebekah also shared a transcription of an interview with Trask: Hawaiian Sovereignty and Island Knowledge as well as these short documentaries she made, check them out!
An Interview with Dr. Haunani-Kay Trask by Rebekah Garrison
Desangrándose por la 'Āina: Rewriting History in Vieques, Puerto Rico and Kaho'olawe, Hawai'i