Hula veteran discovers new challenge in lua
By Wade Shirkey
Advertiser Staff Writer
Not even the fierce tattooed fighters that surrounded her could have dragged former Miss Hawai'i and veteran hula dancer Debbie Nakanelua-Richards to her first class in the ancient Hawaiian martial art of lua.
Deborah Booker • The Honolulu Advertiser
It was only at her brother's suggestion that she add yet another "dip of the canoe paddle" into her culture, that Nakanelua agreed to check out the resurgence in the martial art form of ancient Hawaiian warriors. In the Hawaiian dictionary, the woman known for her graceful hula style would have found mentions of secret hand-to-hand fighting, broken bones and dislocated joints. Of spears and daggers and clubs.
Debbie Nakanelua-Richards, former Miss Hawai'i, demonstrates the Hawaiian martial art, lua.
"When I came to lua, I came begrudgingly," said Nakanelua, who with her husband, Hokule'a voyager Billie Richards, is now a member of Pa Ku'i A Holo. "Hula was pretty much my life. It's how I conducted my academics, my free time, my professional life; everything was through the eyes of hula." It was, she said, "a very delicate approach" to the culture. "Lua is different — so much, it's almost scary."
Yet, on July 21, she will join a small, select cadre of elite modern-day Hawaiian warriors in the new-found art form. She will participate in a ceremony for four people, who will graduate as masters and ministers of the bone-breaking art, and receive the title 'olohe lua aiwaiwa — the first in 23 years.
The group's roster reads like a Hawaiian community Who's Who: Billie Richards; Beadie Kanahele Dawson, attorney and Hawaiian community leader; Tom Kaulukukui Jr., former state judge, now Lili'uokalani Trust trustee; Rocky Jensen, Hawaiian artist and "Hawai'i Living Treasure"; and Leighton Laakea Suganuma, son of noted kumu hula Pele Suganuma and grandson of the late Mary Kawena Pukui, scholar, composer, teacher and a foremost authority on the Hawaiian language and place names.
Among the students, said 'olohe Dr. Mitchell Eli, are community and business leaders, three generals and four colonels. The art attracts many military and business leaders, said Eli, one of the three chief instructors of Pa Ku'i A Holo. Pa is the lua equivalent to the hula term halau. "These are self-made success stories," he said. "Many have been away from their homeland for many years. This is their 'instant (cultural) immersion.' " But many members drawn to the art are simply maka'ainana, folks of the land.
The commonality among them is an interest in things Hawaiian. They range in age from the required 21 to join, to Hawaiian activist Dr. Kekuni Blaisdell, 72, who said he took up the rigorous sport to "keep up with all the 'young blood.' "
Deborah Booker • The Honolulu Advertiser
It wasn't a misstatement: you have to be "of the blood" to join: it is restricted to only those with at least a drop of Hawaiian blood, proved by genealogy.
Debbie Nakanelua-Richards performs hula. Combined teachings of lua and hula created a balance between gentleness and strength.
In fact, Suganuma said, among the four to graduate July 21 as 'olohe, his teachers "tell a wonderful story" of their original quest to find a remaining master in the ancient art with whom to train. As late as 1975, Bishop Museum had classified lua as a lost tradition.
Their instructions upon finding a master, the late Hawaiian historian Charles Kenn: Return with their genealogies, and slide them under (Kenn's) never-opened door." They had to establish intent and show by action that they were seriously interested.
"I'm kapu," Eli said, to teach only people of the (Hawaiian) blood. "It was the right thing to do, to teach only Hawaiians their cultures. Again." The last word is pivotal.
With the first 'uniki (graduation) imminent, creating the next level of teachers for the first time in decades, Eli said, "we are deciding whether to pass on this preference." He acknowledges there are many, not of the blood, but of the "right heart," with whom instruction might be pono — rightful and purposeful.
Even though public observance at practice or rituals is strictly kapu, the group is ever-mindful of surrounding neighbors: Before each academic session, "we leave a little ho'okupu (gift) inside (neighbors') mailboxes," said Eli, explaining the purpose — and restrictions — of the group.
Posted guards, with sharpened, wooden ko'oko'o staffs, obstruct each entry point, gently re-directing the curious, attracted by the feigned sounds of battle, "so training can go on undisturbed," said Bill Kilauano. He said most are supportive of attempts to revive the ancient art.
"We explain what we do," he said, "to be more inclusive, even though they cannot, because of kapu, be included."
Training commands are in Hawaiian: "Some (in the class) are fluent," Eli said. "Others like himself, only ma'a, familiar with their 'olelo makuahine, their mother tongue."
In the ancient form of personal combat practiced for hundreds of years before European explorers reached these shores, there was sometimes injury, so the related disciplines of lomilomi, massage, and la'au lapa'au — herbal medicine — were incorporated in instruction. Today, during the practice confrontations of simulated striking and spearing, the fighters have to be careful: "We (still) have that warrior instinct in us," Eli said. "And this is also competition." There is at least a perceived similarity to the samurai bushido code.
Surprisingly, injuries to participants in Pa Ku'i A Holo's almost eight years of existence have been minor. Of about 1,000 students, Suganuma said, the most serious injury was a broken finger.
Even with a blood restriction, finding sufficient numbers of students is not difficult. And, Suganuma said, weeding out those who are serious from those who are dabbling is easy as well.
"Most (quit) of their own accord" as the rigors and dedication of the sport become apparent, he said. "There is a one-year probation
period; they (usually) wean themselves out. If people were not meant to be here (spiritually), they wouldn't be."
Kaulukukui said in old times, instruction in lua and hula were paired, with hula in the daytime and lua in the evening. The term kumu hula is said to have derived from these early pairings. "Hula progressed from the 'martial dance,' which we did in heiau," Eli said.
"Hula is (mostly) 'hina' in energy" said Nakanelua, evoking the name of the goddess of things feminine and soft. "(With) lua, there's a 'Ku' energy there," a god of war
allusion that indicates a yin-yang balance often seen in both the practice of lua and hula. Things strong and soft at the same time, emphatic and suggested simultaneously.
From the first day of instruction, Nakanelua said, there was this big "ding, ding, ding" — "Hey, this is extreme. I was fearful. I didn't want to learn anything new. I didn't want to fail."
But, as she crouched in the low, bent, 'ai ha'a stance integral to some forms of hula and to lua, more than just the basics of the martial art began to fall into place: There was a commonality between the often bombastic lua, and frequently graceful hula. "I held the ko'oko'o (fighting stick), I realized, 'Hey, this is like a pu'ili,' " the split bamboo implement of hula.
The two art forms were coming together for the dancer of Halekulani Hotel stage fame: "The body form, movement, even the hina and ku energy reminded her of a life in hula. "Before long," she said, "muscle memory (of hula) took over," and lua was suddenly part of her life as well.
"There was a balance," said the dancer-cum-fighter: "That's the entire key: balance." In lua, and hula and life, she said.
Soon her hula past was being repeated: the oli, entry chant of permission to learn; the reverence for the group, the art form and the teacher; the protocol, the practice and, eventually, the expertise.
On July 21, Nakanelua, whose hula 'uniki came under famed Auntie Ma'iki Aiu Lake in 1976, will witness another such 'uniki, as four Hawaiian men step into the world as "masters" and teachers of a revived interest in lua: Kaulukukui Jr., Kapiiohookalani Lyons Naone, Billy Richards and Suganuma.
Speaking of the occasion, Suganuma drew on an 'olelo no'eau, a "wise saying" of his grandmother: "Certain things never change. Certain things must change."
"That's how we grow," he said.
