technological change and the archaeology of emergent colonialism in the kingdom of hawai‘i

Technological Change and the Archaeology of EmergentColonialism in the Kingdom of Hawai‘i

James M. Bayman

Published online: 3 March 2009# Springer Science + Business Media, LLC 2009

Abstract Archaeologically informed history is vital for examining the consequencesof emergent colonialism in the nineteenth century and earlier, since documentarysources are silent on many facets of everyday life. Interpretations of contact andcolonialism in Oceania often highlight rapid changes in the technologies andpractices of its traditional island societies. In Hawai‘i, the top-down imposition ofindigenous elite power greatly influenced the rate and character of technologicalchange, as commoner access to European and American goods was initially curtailedin this highly stratified society. Although indigenous elites purposively usedimported goods and technologies to materialize their hybrid identity—and to expandtheir political and economic power—this phenomenon presaged the development ofunrestrained colonialism by Euro-Americans in the late nineteenth century. Thisstudy illustrates the need to examine a range of cultural and historical contingenciesin studies of technological change during periods of emergent colonialism.

Keywords Hawai‘i . Contact . Colonialism . Technological change

Introduction and Background

Scholarship on European and American colonialism during the nineteenth centuryand earlier has been profoundly strengthened by the contributions of archaeologyduring the past few decades (e.g., Deagan 1988; Lightfoot et al. 1998; Rogers 1990;Silliman 2005; Thomas 1991; Wilson 1993). Archaeology has illuminatedsignificant dimensions of culture contact and colonial life that are not fullydescribed, or even considered, in many documentary accounts (Deetz 1977; Godsen2004, p. 21; Lyons and Papadopoulos 2002, p. 11). Although archaeologicalscholarship on contact and colonialism has been heavily focused on the Americas

Int J Histor Archaeol (2009) 13:127–157DOI 10.1007/s10761-009-0076-z

J. M. Bayman (*)Department of Anthropology, University of Hawai‘i, 2424 Maile Way, Saunders 346, Honolulu,HI 96822, USAe-mail: [email protected]

(e.g., Bamforth 1993; Deagan 1998; Spielmann et al. 2006), other locales, such asthe African continent and Oceania, are witnessing an increasing amount of attention(e.g., Chatan 2003; Decorse 1992; Fitzpatrick et al. 2006; Jordan 2000; Kelly 2002;Stahl 2004).

In the case of Oceania, interpreting the consequences of European contact with itstraditional societies is a perennial theme of historical anthropology (e.g., Gosden andKnowles 2001; Kirch and Sahlins 1992; Linnekin 1990; Mills 1996, 2002; Sahlins1985, 1995) and the Hawaiian Islands (Fig. 1) offer one of the most accessibleinstances of this phenomenon. Contact with Hawai‘i in the late eighteenth centurycame relatively late (compared to contact with the Americas in the late fifteenthcentury) and so documentary records and photographic imagery of the post-contactperiod constitute a particularly rich data source. Following an initial visit in 1778 byBritish naval officer Captain James Cook, indigenous Hawaiians witnesseddevastating changes in their health, technology, and society through the nineteenthcentury, and documentary accounts of this period are abundant. The arrival offoreign disease pathogens, western materials and technologies, and Christianideologies irrevocably altered traditional ways of life and an overwhelming majorityof Hawaiians perished (Kuykendall 1938; Stannard 1989). Archaeological researchpromises unique insights on this historic transformation, but until recently (e.g.,Carter 1990; Garland 1996; Kirch and Sahlins 1992; Mills 2007; Six 2005; Sweeney1992) most research in Hawai‘i has focused on the pre-contact period. Fortunately,burgeoning interest in the effects of European and American colonialism throughoutthe world, including Hawai‘i, have heightened the relevance of archaeology tohistorical anthropology (e.g., Cobb 2005; Deagan 1988, 1998; Kirch and Sahlins1992; Orser 1996).

Fig. 1 The location of the Hawaiian archipelago in the Pacific Basin (produced by Mānoa Mapworks,Inc., with permission from the Center for Pacific Island Studies, University of Hawai‘i)

128 Int J Histor Archaeol (2009) 13:127–157

Despite the inherent value of studying culture contact and technological change inthe Hawaiian Islands, a number of challenges confound the practice of historicalarchaeology in the archipelago. Many of the earliest contact-period sites have beendestroyed or disturbed by modern construction and economic development.Establishing the age of early post-contact sites is also problematic since one of thepreviously used chronometric techniques, volcanic glass rind-hydration has seriousmethodological limitations (Olson 1983). Because radiocarbon dating is only reliablefor estimating ages of materials that are at least 400 years old, it is insufficient forstudying the early contact (1778) and post-contact periods of this study.

The recovery of European artifacts from contact-period sites offers an alternativemeans of chronometric dating, particularly for sites located near major seaports likeLahaina (island of Maui) and Honolulu (island of O‘ahu), since such localesexperienced the most direct and intensive contact with Europeans and Americans.The fact that indigenous Hawaiian settlement continued in rural areas away fromseaports after contact, however, limits the utility of using European artifacts to datemany contact-period sites. As a consequence, prehistoric archaeological models forexplaining technological change in post-contact Hawai‘i are difficult to apply, andthey require bolstering through the use of documentary sources and photographicarchives, when such materials are available.

I begin this paper by reviewing and updating archaeological and documentaryevidence that traditional stone adze technology persisted long after European contactand the introduction of metal in 1778 (Bayman 2003). I explore the ideological,political, and economic factors that underlay this dynamic process in the context ofemergent colonialism. To put this particular instance of technological change into abroader perspective, I also investigate differential rates of adoption of westernclothing by indigenous Hawaiian women, and changes in the design andconstruction of vernacular (“traditional”) architecture. Although Hawaiians adoptedwestern clothing styles quite quickly, stone adzes and buildings made withtraditional materials persisted much longer. This finding confirms that archaeologicalmodels of technological change in both colonial and ancient contexts must considera variety of factors.

In post-contact Hawai‘i, technological change materialized an emergent politicaleconomy that indigenous elites, Europeans, and Euro-Americans actively promul-gated to enhance their respective power in the islands. At contact, the agency ofHawaiian commoners was severely restricted by traditional sumptuary rules (i.e.,kapu) that prevented them from consuming certain foods, and also from owning landand property. Women of all ranks, however, were restricted from eating bananas andpork. More severely, a commoner who cast a shadow on chiefly elites could beexecuted (Malo 1951). Long after contact in 1778, commoners’ agency was stillcurtailed; indeed, in some respects it was even amplified by the introduction ofChristianity, the termination of the kapu system, and the development of emergentcolonialism in the nineteenth century. Although commoners (particularly women)exercised some increased freedom of choice (e.g., consumption of particular foods)after contact, their access to new technologies and materials was still controlled byHawaiian kings, queens, and chiefly elites (ali‘i).

This Hawaiian example does not clearly parallel previous studies that havehighlighted indigenous resistance to colonial powers (e.g., contributors in Miller et

Int J Histor Archaeol (2009) 13:127–157 129

al. 1989; Spielmann et al. 2006). In the Hawaiian Islands, it seems, commonerresistance was largely ineffective as Hawaiian royalty and chiefly elites sought toally themselves with agents of the emergent colonial powers (see Mullins andPaynter 2000 for a relevant discussion). Hawaiian elites’ social construction ofhybrid identities exemplifies a process that has been considered by scholars ofcolonialism elsewhere in the world (e.g., Benton and Muth 2000; Bhabha 1994;Young 1995). In many regions of the colonial world strategies of resistance by thecolonized were occasionally rewarded with some measure of success (e.g.,contributors in Preucel 2002). In post-contact Hawai‘i, however, the top-downimposition of indigenous elite power strongly influenced the character oftechnological change and the construction of social identity.

Before I consider the broader implications of these findings for the archaeology ofemergent colonialism, I briefly outline some of the major theoretical paradigms thathave guided archaeological research on culture contact and technological change. Indoing so, I set the stage for considering technological change and colonialism in theHawaiian Islands.

Archaeological Perspectives on Culture Contact, Technological Change,and Emergent Colonialism

Through the first half of twentieth century, contact-period technological change wastypically viewed in anthropology as symptomatic of acculturation (sensu Redfield etal. 1936). The concept of “acculturation” was used interchangeably with “assimi-lation” or syncretism, which referred to the social and economic consequences ofmulti-ethnic interaction, and is a dynamic process which changes both interactingsocieties after immediate and continuous contact. Anthropologists assumed thatacculturation is a relative phenomenon that could be measured by tabulating thenumber of “culture traits” that one group adopted from another (e.g., Quimby andSpoehr 1951).

Scholars commonly viewed indigenous populations as passive recipients ofEuropean technologies and ways of living, and it was typically argued that suchpopulations witnessed the greatest degree of acculturation, especially in situations of“first contact” and (later) colonialism (Rogers 1993, p. 73). Most such models didnot state the precise mechanisms through which less powerful societies adjusted todominant western societies, because scholars assumed that indigenous societieswould naturally assimilate to more technologically developed European societies.With notable exceptions, the role of individual agency and collective action weremarginalized in many early and mid-twentieth-century accounts of technologicalchange in pre- and post-contact indigenous societies (Cusick 1998).

In the latter part of the twentieth century, a “revisionist” approach to technologicalchange developed in tandem with the New Archaeology (Ehrhardt 2005, pp. 18–22),and its various progeny, including processual archaeology, behavioral archaeology,and neo-Darwinian archaeology. Practitioners of these approaches did not explicitlyuse the concept of acculturation, since most of them focused on pre-contact settings.Also, many of them explicitly eschewed historical approaches in favor ofcomparative developmental frameworks. They did, however, offer a theoretical


explanation for the process of technological change that viewed technology asculture’s “extrasomatic means of adaptation” (Binford 1964) or “the hard part of thehuman behavioral phenotype” (Dunnell 1989, p.45). Technological change wasoften viewed as an emergent “problem-solving” process (Nelson 1991, p. 58) thatgenerated artifacts to fulfill an array of perceived and unperceived benefits, includingeconomy, efficiency, and adaptability (e.g., Bamforth 1986; Bleed 1986; Frink et al.2003, p. 117; Kuhn 2004; Leonard 1993; Ramenofsky 1998; Schiffer and Skibo1987).

In most respects, the revisionist paradigm arguably viewed technological changeas directional and progressive (Loney 2000; cf. Neff 2001; Schiffer et al. 2001).Revisionists reasoned that technological change was prompted by a desire for greaterefficiency and operational improvement. Such improvement was construed as aphenomenon that could be measured in terms ultimately derived from standards ofindustrialization (Loney 2000, p. 646). This revisionist view of technological changethus complemented certain strands of late twentieth-century culture contact theory.Although many anthropologists (e.g., contributors in Mead 1955; Sharp 1952; andSpicer 1952) and historical archaeologists (e.g., Hammell 1983) recognized thecomplex nature of indigenous technological change, processual archaeologists’emphasis on ecological and economic factors provided a ready-made rationale forthe adoption of western technologies by traditional, non-industrial societies:mechanical efficiency and productivity.

In the past two decades, a loud and diverse chorus of scholars has increasinglychallenged the mainstream processualist perspective; they consider—and in manycases privilege—the role of underlying social and ideological dimensions of pre-industrial technologies (e.g., contributors in Chilton 1999; Dobres and Hoffman1994; Frink et al. 2003; Kingery 1993; Lemonnier 1986; Loney 2000; Schiffer et al.2001; Torrence 1989). Social constructionists begin by considering the broadercultural contexts within which technologies arise and develop (or are resisted) andby problematizing technology within its social and cultural milieu (Ehrhardt 2005, p.5; Loney 2000, pp. 659–660).

Assuming that technology is “a phenomenon that marries the material, social andsymbolic in a complex web of associations” (Pfaffenberger 1988, p. 249), I examinea variety of historically contingent factors that governed the design, use, andadoption of artifacts by indigenous Hawaiians to create a symbolically meaningfulenvironment. This approach to interpreting technological change does not excludeeconomic and ecological factors from consideration, but instead places them withinthe broader cultural contexts of emergent colonialism in nineteenth-century Hawai‘i.

Interdisciplinary scholars of colonialism have noted that Western powers globallysought to represent cultural identity (e.g., ethnicity) as fixed and unchanging, so theycould distinguish themselves from those (the “Others”) they ruled (Cooper 2005,p. 9). By controlling the representation of their own identity—as well as the identityof those whom they colonized—colonial rulers naturalized their right to dominateothers (Rowlands 1989). Doing so weakened resistance by colonized indigenouspeoples (“subalterns”). Post-colonial theorists (e.g., Benton and Muth 2000) alsoargue, however, that indigenous people sometimes manipulated social identity toresist their colonial oppressors. The construction of “hybrid” (or “creole”) identities,for example, confounds efforts of colonizers to distinguish themselves and legitimize


their rule over inferior “others” (Bhabha 1994; see also Kraidy 2005; van Dommelen2005; Young 1995).

In some instances of colonialism, members of two different societies mayintegrate into a “third” society which is neither purely native nor purely non-native(e.g., Malkin 2004; White 1991). Such societies achieve a “Middle Ground” (White1991) which is mutually comprehensible and is often mediated through symbiotictrade relations. To cite only one example, Algonquian natives and French fur tradersin the Great Lakes region of present-day Canada and the United States constructedan alliance that was based on mutual dependency (White 1991). In the nineteenthcentury, however, as the Indians lost their ability to compel American society into amediated alliance, they were construed as the “Others” and thus became truecolonial subjects (Gosden 2004, p. 172). Once the delicate balance of such a“Middle Ground” scenario is altered, either intentionally or otherwise, the processof colonialism accelerated, as it did in Hawai‘i several decades after Europeancontact.

In this study, I integrate social constructionist views of technological change withpost-colonial concepts of “hybridity.” Because actors materialize social identitiesthrough technology, historical archaeology offers anthropology a vital opportunity todocument economic and political dimensions of hybridity in colonial contexts(Lawrence and Shepherd 2006, pp. 71–75). Despite debate over Bhabha’s (1994)particular conception of hybridity (e.g., Gosden and Knowles 2001, pp. 5–6;Kamehiro 2007; Young Leslie and Addo 2007), the process is a widelyacknowledged consequence of colonial engagement between western and non-western cultures (e.g., Chatan 2003; Gosden 2001; Young 1995), and also betweentwo or more non-western cultures (Rogers 2005; Stein 2005; van Dommelen 2005).

Scholars who apply the hybridity concept in Oceania have generally focused onsingle categories of material culture, such as civic architecture in colonial Fiji (e.g.,Chatan 2003) or textiles across the Pacific island (e.g., contributors in Young Leslieand Abbo 2007). By focusing on three categories of material culture (i.e., stoneadzes, women’s clothing, and vernacular architecture) this study suggests variousfactors that underlie both intentional and non-intentional expressions of hybrididentity among members of indigenous societies. Before I consider the varioussources and expressions of technological change in the Hawaiian Islands afterEuropean contact, I provide a brief historical review of the archipelago in theeighteenth and nineteenth centuries.

Situating Technological Change, Identity, and Hybridity in Post-ContactHawai‘i

At European contact in the late eighteenth century, Hawai‘i had the most complexhierarchical organization and largest scale of economic production among traditionalPolynesian societies (Hommon 1986; Kirch 1984, pp. 2–7; 2000, p. 300). Theislands’ subsistence economy focused on agricultural production, arboriculture,aquaculture, fishing, and animal husbandry (pig, dog, and chicken). Hawaiianagriculture included both irrigated and non-irrigated systems, and major root andtuber crops included varieties of taro, sweet potato, bananas, and sugar cane (Allen


1991; Kirch 1994; Ladefoged et al. 2003). Arboriculture emphasized coconut andbreadfruit.

The eight major islands of the Hawaiian archipelago were divided into four majorpolities at European contact; these polities have since have been described as“complex chiefdoms” (e.g., Cordy 1981; Earle 1977) and “archaic” states (e.g.,Hommon 1986, p. 55; Kirch 2000, p. 300). The organization of early contact-periodHawaiian polities was highly stratified and pyramidal: they centered on high chiefs(kaukau ali‘i) and administrators (konohiki) of local territorial communities(ahupua‘a), and included commoner subjects (maka‘āinana). In many (but not all)cases ahupua‘a cross-cut multiple ecological zones ranging from fringing reefsalong the coastal lowlands, to the interior uplands and mountains (Earle 1977;Hommon 1986, p. 57; Ladefoged and Graves 2006, pp. 259–262).

Throughout the late 1700s and the subsequent nineteenth century, the pace oftechnological change accelerated in the Hawaiian islands, beginning with theintroduction of metal adzes from Europe at first-contact in 1778. With the aid ofwestern military technology and tactical strategies, an emergent Hawaiianparamount, King Kamehameha I, united the archipelago by 1812 (Kuykendall1938, pp. 44–51). From that moment forward, a succession of indigenous kings andother elites (ali‘i) and their commoner subjects (maka‘āinana) were drawn into therapidly expanding world system of economic interaction that included the export ofsandalwood to China (Daws 2006, p. 37).

In 1819, the near-instantaneous dissolution of the traditional Hawaiian religionhad far-reaching consequences, including the abolition of sumptuary restrictions(kapu) that once constrained Hawaiian women from eating pork, bananas, and otherfoods (Kuykendall 1938, p. 61). Shortly after the traditional kapu system wasterminated by Hawaiian royalty, Christian missionaries from the United Statesbrought western clothing styles while the island economy continued to change. After1830, the sandalwood trade was superseded by an economy that centered on theproduction of food provisions (e.g., pork and yams) for the American whalingindustry from 1830–60 (Daws 2006, pp. 119–120).

Although ruling Hawaiians initially reaped tangible rewards from this interna-tional economy, their power quickly waned through the Māhele (land reform) of1848–50, which legally sanctioned the alienation of land through fee simple sale(Kuykendall 1938, pp. 269–298). As an imbalance in international trade escalatedand chiefly debts mounted, ruling Hawaiians lost their land and political power andcolonialism greatly intensified. In 1893, the constitutional monarchy of the HawaiianKingdom was overthrown, and in 1900, the archipelago was annexed as a territoryof the United States (Daws 1968, pp. 207–292). These historical events and theirtechnological consequences are documented to varying degrees of resolution in thearchaeological and documentary records of the post-contact period.

Stone adzes are a particularly intriguing instance of technological persistence aftercontact with Europeans, given their great importance in Oceanic societies. Althoughsome writers have concluded that stone adzes were less desirable than their metalcounterparts (e.g., McCoy 1990, pp. 92–93; Oliver 2002, p. 56), recent archaeolog-ical research beyond Oceania suggests that this view is an oversimplification of acomplex and gradual process (Cobb 2003, p. 12). This study concerns the impact ofEuropean metal on the traditional stone adze economy in the Hawaiian islands.


Stone Adzes (Ko‘i)

Stone adzes were used in precontact Hawai‘i for a variety of purposes, including thefelling of trees, building canoes and houses, carving religious idols (Kamakau 1976),and perhaps also to display mana or rank, as they were in other areas of Polynesia(see Leach 1993, p. 39) (Fig. 2).

Use-wear analyses of Hawaiian adzes indicate that they were probably also usedto till agricultural fields (Dockall 2000). Because of their versatility and durability, itis not surprising that stone adzes are commonly found on precontact archaeologicalsites throughout the islands. Consequently, archaeologists have used stone adzes toconstruct culture-historical sequences (e.g., Emory 1968; Kirch 1972; cf. Cleghorn1992), to examine technology and craft specialization (e.g., Bayman et al. 2004;Bayman and Moniz-Nakamura 2001; Cleghorn 1986; Lass 1994), and to identifypatterns of interaction and exchange (e.g., Cleghorn et al. 1985; Weisler and Sinton1997) in pre-contact Hawai‘i.

Although archaeologists have long acknowledged the value of stone adzes to pre-contact Polynesian societies (e.g., Buck et al. 1930; Cleghorn 1986; Duff 1959;Emory 1968), they rarely study the use of stone tools in post-contact Hawai‘i (see

Fig. 2 Hafted adzes fromHawai‘i: left, a stone swiveladze, used for working the inte-rior of canoes; right, a regularstone adze. Both adzes wereacquired by J. S. Emerson in the1880s (photo courtesy of theBernice P. Bishop Museum)


Kirch and Sahlins 1992 for an exception). This trend is a notable contrast with otherareas in the Pacific region, like New Guinea and Australia, where studies of theconsequences of European metal on indigenous stone tools have revealed the richcultural meanings of traditional technologies (e.g. Salisbury 1962; Sharp 1952). Thislack of attention to post-contact stone adze economies in the Hawaiian islandsclearly contributes to the “rapid replacement” view of some archaeologists (e.g.,McCoy 1990, pp. 92–93) and historians (e.g., Daws 1968; Kuykendall 1938). Likethe processual archaeologists described previously, this “rapid replacement” viewreflects assumptions of economic efficiency. Indeed, the greater efficiency of metaladzes for cutting trees and carving wood has been repeatedly documented in avariety of ethnographic and experimental contexts (e.g., Coutts 1977, pp. 80–82;Mathieu and Meyer 1997; Townsend 1969).

A significant number of post-contact archaeological sites (n=19) with stone adzeshave been reported in the Hawaiian islands (Table 1) (Bayman 2003, pp. 103–104). Ofcourse, it is possible that some sites dated with chronometric techniques actuallyreflect precontact occupations. This problem notwithstanding, the recovery of stoneadzes from sites with European artifacts confirms that some facets of traditionalHawaiian technology persisted long after contact with Europeans and Americans, andthe introduction of western tools and practices. In fact, a couple of rural sites (i.e., D6-27 and D6-34) on the island of O‘ahu yielded traditional stone adzes in occupations asrecently as 1880/1885 (see Table 1). Other post-contact sites with stone adzes areprobably present in rural settings, but such occupations are difficult to date since theyoften lack historic-period artifacts.

Some ancient stone adzes may have been kept as heirlooms by post-contactHawaiians, or recycled for purposes other than felling trees, carving wood, or tilling soil.However, documentary accounts attest to continued stone adze use among commonersuntil the mid-nineteenth century (Cheever 1851). Even more intriguing is anobservation by William Brigham (1902, pp. 409–410) in the late nineteenth century:

In watching the shaping of a canoe I have seen the old canoe-maker use for therough shaping and excavating an ordinary foreign steel adze, but for the finishingtouches he dropped the foreign tool and returned to the adze of his ancestors, andthe blunt looking stone cut off a delicate shaving from the very hard koa woodand never seemed to take too much as the foreign adze was apt to do.

Brigham (1902, pp. 408, 415) claimed also that while the production of stoneadzes terminated shortly after the introduction of metal, their use continued at leastas late as 1864, and probably a century after contact (see Fig. 2). Brigham’sstatements also confirm that certain “performance characteristics” (sensu Schiffer2004) of stone adzes (i.e., their use for intricate carving) illustrate a concern withaesthetics by canoe artisans. In this respect, the eventual demise of canoe-makingaesthetics in the late 19th century was noted by John Cobb in 1900:

the older ones [canoes] are very handsome in design and workmanship, the old-time native boat builders having been especially expert in their manufacture.The present generation has sadly deteriorated, however, and the canoes madenow (late 1880s) by natives rarely show very much skill in design andworkmanship (quoted in Holmes 1981, p. 42).


Tab

le1

Archaeologicalsitesin

theHaw

aiianarchipelagowith

reported

post-contact

occupatio

nsandstoneadzes

ISLAND

SITENO.SITETYPE

ADZEARTIFACTS

FOREIG

NARTIFACTS

OCCUPA

TIO

NSPA

NREFERENCES

O‘ahu

C4-26

5Hou

seAdzeflakes

(num

erou

s),grinding

ston

efragment

China,metal,glass

Pre-185

0to

late

19th

century

Ricon

da19

72,pp

.14–20

D6-36

Rockshelter

1adzfrag.,15

adzflakes

Glass,metal,gu

nflints

AD

1650

toaftercontact

Kirch

andSahlin

s19

92,pp

.36

,39–4

0;p.

47,Fig.2.11

D6-52

Rockshelter

1adzand29

adzflakes

Glass,metal,gu

nflints

AD

1500

toaftercontact

Kirch

andSahlin

s19

92,pp

.33–35,

36;

page

47,Fig.2.11

D6-58

Rockshelter

1adzand39

adzflakes

Glass,metal,ceramics

AD

1325

toaftercontact

Kirch

andSahlin

s19

92,pp

.37–39,

36;

page

47,Fig.2.11

D6-60

Rockshelter

1adzpreform,1adzfrag.,29

adzflakes

Glass,metal,ceramics,

gunflints

AD

1450

toaftercontact

Kirch

andSahlin

s19

92,pp

.35–37,

36;

page

47,Fig.2.11

D6-27

Hou

se6po

lishedflakes

(adz

flakes)

Iron,glass,flintflake

AD

1804

-1815andAD

1845

-1880

Kirch

andSahlin

s19

92,pp

.86

;page

166,

Fig.5.1

D6-33

Hou

seAdz

frag.,2adzflakes

Glass,metal,ceramic,

flint,slate

AD

1804

-1825

Kirch

andSahlin

s19

92,pp

.76

;page

166,

Fig.5.1

D6-34

House

Adz,adzflakes,hammerstone

Glass

andflint

AD

1804-1885

Kirch

andSahlin

s19

92,pp

.71–72;

page

166,

Fig.5.1

D6-40

Hou

seAdz,3adzflakes

Non

eAD

1804

-1815

Kirch

andSahlin

s19

92,pp

.64

;page

166,

Fig.5.1

50-80-14

-24

56Habitatio

n3adze

frags3adze

preforms

Glass,ceramics,metal,

flint

Early

post-contact

tomid-19thcentury

Riford19

97,p.

64;Table5.2;

Lebo19

97,p.177,

Table11.1

Moloka‘i

M-17

House

Adz,basaltflakes

Glass

andceramics

Late19th

centuryto

early

20th

century

McE

lroy

2006,p.

116

Haw

ai‘i

7702

Not

repo

rted

Adze

Not

repo

rted

Post-AD

1800

(portio

ns)

Lass19

94,p.

72;Hay

etal.19

86T1

Not

repo

rted

Adze

Not

repo

rted

Post-AD

1800

BathandRosendahl

1984;Lass19

94,

p.72

H2

Not

repo

rted

Adze

Not

repo

rted

Post-AD

1800

EmoryandSinoto19

69;Lass19

94,

p.72

2732

House

2adzes,8adze

flakes,4hammerstones,

24basaltflakes

Metal,chertflake,plaster

Post-AD

1800

Clark

andKirch

1983;Lass19

94,p.

72

2776

House

165adze

flakes,317basaltflakes

None

Post-AD

1800

Clark

andKirch

1983;Lass19

94,p.

728824

House

1adze,5adze

flakes,2hammerstones,

24basaltflakes

None

Post-AD

1800

Clark

andKirch

1983;Lass19

94,p.

72

303

Not

repo

rted

Adze

Not

repo

rted

Post-AD

1800

Barrera

1972;Lass19

94,p.

7273

Not

repo

rted

Adze

Not

repo

rted

Post-AD

1800

Spear

1987


Although the eventual adoption of metal adzes by virtually all Hawaiianscontributed to a decline in the aesthetic quality of canoe artisanship, some islands,and certain areas of islands, acquired them more quickly than others in the first halfof the nineteenth century. The observation that stone adzes were “becoming rare” inHonolulu by 1825 (Byron 1826, p. 137) is not especially surprising, since Honoluluwas already a major port in the archipelago. More rural districts, however, remainedisolated from the market economy until the middle of the nineteenth century(Linnekin 1990, p. 173), about twenty-five years after adzes had almost disappearedin Honolulu. In the settlement of Waimea, located in the interior of the island ofHawai‘i, stone adze use was witnessed as late as 1847 (Doyle 1953, p. 145).Archaeological evidence (see Table 1) demonstrates that stone adzes were still usedin other remote districts and islands without major seaports, such as Moloka‘i(McElroy 2006, p. 116).

There are also clear indications that iron was differentially distributed betweenchiefly elites (ali‘i) and commoners (maka‘āinana), since elites monopolized tradewith Europeans. Chiefs used their traditional prerogatives to confiscate commoners’possessions and practiced the right to apply a sumptuary taboo (kapu) on the use offoreign goods by commoners (Linnekin 1990, p. 161). In the late 1700s, NathanielPortlock witnessed a chief as he demanded bits of iron from a commoner who hadbartered for them from foreigners (Linnekin 1990, p. 162; Portlock 1789). Notsurprisingly, although chiefs had “more iron than they knew what to do with” by 1793(Bell 1929, p. 63), commoners still sought the material, especially nails and scissors.The eagerness of commoners to acquire such materials in the late 18th century impliesthat iron was a scarce commodity because it was controlled by chiefly elites.

In short, a variety of economic and social factors contributed to the persistence ofstone adze technology after contact with Europeans and Americans. Stone adzeswere valued by canoe artisans who operated, in some cases, under the purview ofchiefly elites. Even if stone adzes had not been valued by canoe artisans, commonerswere often compelled to use them, especially in rural areas where metal adzes weredifficult to acquire. In all cases, the persistence of stone adze technology was tied toa political economy that centered on elite prestige and power. Whether or not chieflyelites controlled metal adzes consciously to link their identity with Europeans, theirsuccess in doing so underscores their power over commoner Hawaiians who alsosought western goods and materials. Unlike metal, access to western clothing styleswas quickly available to commoners who were eventually compelled to wear themby Christian missionaries in the early nineteenth century.

Bark Cloth (Kapa) Garments

The use of clothing for asserting ethnicity, gender, class, and other dimensions ofidentity and social control is widely acknowledged (e.g., Arthur 1999; Barber 1994;Costin 1998; Murra 1962; Weiner and Schneider 1989; Wobst 1977), and theproduction of some forms of non-western clothing (i.e., feather garments) reachedtheir zenith in post-contact Hawai‘i. Throughout the world, materials for makingclothing are often locally available, they are relatively light and easy to transport,and are highly amenable to stylistic elaboration. For these reasons, clothing is aneffective medium of non-verbal communication. Such visual means of communica-


tion were essential in all colonial societies (Pels 1997, p. 169); nineteenth-centuryHawai‘i was no exception.

Prior to the arrival of American Congregationalist missionaries in 1820, mostindigenous Hawaiians wore kapa (“barkcloth”) garments, except for Hawaiianroyalty (ali‘i) who had acquired western fabrics and Chinese silk as early as 1810.Chiefly elites also adorned themselves with brightly-colored feather clothing andparaphernalia including cloaks, helmets, and standards (kāhili); such itemsfunctioned as symbolically and politically-charged insignia of their rank and status(Earle 1987, pp. 69–72; Malo 1951, pp. 76–77). Function-specific articles offeathered clothing were worn by chiefly elites during battle, diplomatic encounters,and other state-sponsored ceremonies. The exceptional value of red and yellowfeather clothing was due, in part, to the vast labor and resources that was required forits manufacture; some kāhili, for example, could have required as many as 80,000feathers and more than 13,000 birds (Rose et al. 1993, p. 300).

Although kapa was a more mundane form of clothing, it too, was highly valued inearly contact-period Hawaiian society. Kapa was traditionally manufactured with theinner bark of the paper mulberry tree (wauke) or other plant fibers, such as ma‘aloa(Neraudia species) (Abbott 1992, pp. 50–51). The production of kapa mats andgarments was a time-consuming activity and such goods were often embossed withelaborate geometric patterns (e.g., chevrons with triangles) using various plant-basedpigments (Abbott 1992, pp. 51–58; Malo 1951, pp. 48–50). The meaning andexceptional value of kapa in traditional Hawaiian society is evidenced by the factthat there was a deity of kapa makers (i.e., Maikoha) (Krauss 1993, p. 60); kapa wasalso used for the payment of chiefly tribute (Malo 1951, pp. 29–30, 78).

The most commonly worn kapa garments in traditional Hawaiian society includedthe malo loincloth for males, the pa‘u skirt for females, and the kihei shawl formembers of both genders (Krauss 1993, pp. 70–71). The pa‘u was crafted with kapathat was a few meters in length and a meter or more in width; it was wrapped arounda woman’s torso (between her bust and knees) if she was royalty. Among commonerwomen, kapa pa‘u only covered the area between her waist and her knees (Fig. 3).Generally speaking, the higher a women’s status, the greater the number of kapalayers that covered her midriff and thighs (Arthur 1998, p. 272). In the late 1880s,the indigenous Hawaiian historian, David Malo (1951, p. 78), noted that the malowas used by men “as a covering for the immodest parts” and that the pa‘u that was“wrapped about the loins…shielded the modesty of the women.” Thus, it is possiblethat Hawaiians valued some degree of sexual “modesty” even before Christianmissionaries arrived in 1820.

Given the sub-tropical climate of the islands, protection against low temperatures wasunnecessary formost Hawaiians who resided in the coastal lowlands, although kapamatswere used for warmth on cool evenings (Malo 1951, p. 78). Thus, only bird huntersand stone adze artisans who undertook expeditions near the harsh, cold summits ofMauna Kea on Hawai‘i island, and Haleakalā on Maui island, would have requiredwarm clothing (Bayman and Moniz-Nakamura 2001, p. 249; Bayman et al. 2004,pp. 99–100). Therefore, from a practical standpoint, clothing was not an obviousimperative in Hawaiian society before (or after) contact with Europeans and Americans.

In keeping with their religious ideology, however, American missionaries urgedHawaiian women to adopt western clothing styles, such as the holokū (Fig. 4), since


such garments shielded women’s bodies and sexuality from public view (Arthur1998, pp. 274–275). Missionaries also tried to conceal women’s sexuality elsewherein Oceania (Brock 2007; Thomas 2002, p. 183). Sometimes called the “MotherHubbard” the holokū that was brought to Hawai‘i was eagerly adopted by femaleHawaiian royalty (ali‘i) to advertise their social connections with Americans andmembers of European royalty (Arthur 1998, pp. 272–274; Arthur 1997; Kamehiro2007) (Fig. 5). Indeed, Hawaiian queens and chiefesses commissioned missionarywives as seamstresses, to satisfy their strong desire for western clothing (McClellan1950; Thurston 1882). In short, female Hawaiian royalty authorized the localproduction of western-style clothing (and quilts) to visibly convey a non-traditional(i.e., western) dimension of their hoped-for affinity with Euro-American society.

This study focuses on the use of the holokū by elite Hawaiian women since its usein contact-period Hawai‘i is well documented, and many studies of indigenousHawaiian society emphasize the power of elite men. While the introduction ofwestern clothing by American missionaries might be viewed as symptomatic ofcolonial oppression, elite women used it as a symbol of their power and prestige,since commoner women were initially unable to acquire western fabric. In thisregard, it is notable that Hawaiian queens compelled the wives of missionaries to

Fig. 3 Commercial hula per-former in a pa‘u (skirt) circa1885, several decades afterHawaiian women adoptedholokū for everyday domesticpurposes (photo courtesy of theBernice P. Bishop Museum)


provide them with holokū, in exchange for permission to extend their stay in theislands (Thurston 1882). According to an American, Lucy Thurston, one queen alsodemanded that specific alterations be made of her personal holokū to accommodatethe humid tropical climate of the islands (Thurston 1882, p. 31).

In the 1830s, missionary women taught sewing to Hawaiian women, andcommoners began to make holokū with traditional kapa, rather than expensive fabricthat was imported from Europe (Bishop 1887). This adoption of a western clothingstyle that was crafted with traditional Hawaiian materials (i.e., kapa) offers anintriguing instance of technological hybridity. Soon thereafter, women of all classes(both commoner and elite) wore the newly-introduced fashion. By 1837, the westernholokū had largely replaced the traditional pa‘u and became standard dress forHawaiian women who wore it for most occasions, including work and leisure(Arthur 1998, p. 276).

Although pa‘u were apparently still worn by a few Hawaiian women in 1851,they were exceedingly rare (Anderson 1854, p. 1), except when they were worn byperformers of commercialized (rather than traditional) hula dance (see Fig. 3). Thisdocumentary observation was corroborated through a content analysis of photo-graphic archives in the Bishop Museum (Arthur 1998). In photographic images thatpost-dated 1859, women were only depicted wearing the missionary-introducedholokū (Arthur 1998, p. 276), unless they were commercial performers of hula.Although it is possible that some women still wore traditional Hawaiian kapa after1859, the absence of photographic images of such women strongly suggests thatholokū and other styles of western clothing were overwhelmingly favored by thistime. Of course, Hawaiian women may have still worn kapa clothing in remote areas

Fig. 4 Hawaiians wearing western clothing beside a traditional thatched hale. Note the women andfemale children wearing holokū (photo courtesy of the Bernice P. Bishop Museum)


of the islands that photographers did not regularly visit. The persistence of traditionalclothing in the interior of central Australia (Brock 2007) offers a parallel example ofsuch behavior in post-contact societies.

In either case, traditional kapa garments (i.e., pa‘u) that were worn by indigenousHawaiian women were largely replaced with western garments (i.e., holokū) in nomore than 40 years, and perhaps less than 20 years. Among commoners, however,the western-derived holokū was often made with traditional kapa textiles, at leastuntil the middle of the nineteenth century. One observer noted that by 1851,traditional kapa pa‘u were “getting rare, like most other things of by-gone days”(Anderson 1854, p. 10). This particular instance of rapid technological change wasclearly connected with the impact and power of a new ideology in the Hawaiiansislands—Christianity. The effort of female royalty to acquire western fabrics andclothing, as a hallmark of their prestige and high social class, is a striking example ofthe political machinations that drove technological change and the construction ofdual identities (i.e., traditional and western) by Hawaiians (cf. Kamehiro 2007).Hawaiian women’s rapid adoption of western clothing styles contrasts sharply withthe persistence of some characteristics of traditional architecture.

Vernacular Architecture: Pole-and-Thatch Hale (Buildings)

Vernacular (“traditional”) architecture is distinguished by a variety of characteristicsthat mirror the societies in which it is constructed and used. Generally speaking,

Fig. 5 Queen Lili‘uokalani,seated in a stylized holokūsometime after she was deposedin the late 19th century (photocourtesy of the BerniceP. Bishop Museum)


vernacular architecture reflects an attachment to traditional places and sources ofinspiration, it is used on a daily basis by ordinary people, it is constructed with localbuilding materials, and it has both utilitarian and affective functions (Brunskill 1981,p. 24; Rapaport 1969, pp. 4–5; Rensel 1997, p. 10). Following Coiffier (1988, p. ix),architecture “is said to be traditional when its design reflects knowledge exclusive toa local culture and when the economic relationships formed by the need for materialsremain within one area.” Vernacular architecture physically structures daily life bypartitioning domestic activities (Hillier and Hanson 1984). In determining “patternsof encounter and avoidance,” architecture both activates and reflects social relations(Cameron 1998, p. 187). Architecture is non-portable, it is rarely observed by non-local populations, it often entails a high degree of capital investment, and it reflectsrelatively long-term social and economic arrangements. For these reasons,vernacular architecture it is often quite resistant to rapid change.

In light of these qualities, vernacular architecture in the Hawaiian islands is highlyamenable to study: it was constructed by a demonstrably indigenous society, it wasevidently suited to local environmental conditions, and its design sustained culturalvalues and practices (Rensel 1997, p. 12). Although traditional architecture iscommonly conceptualized as timeless and unchanging, it is, in fact, characterized bycontinuous change (Upton and Vlach 1986, p. xx). While change in vernacularHawaiian architecture before Europeans arrived in 1778 could be considered, thisstudy examines the century and a half that followed this moment of contact, with thegoal of inferring the ideological and sociopolitical dimensions that underlay itspersistence and transformation.

Examining this transformation requires at least a modicum of information onarchitecture before contact with Europeans and Americans. Unfortunately, perishableelements of traditional Hawaiian pole-and-thatch hale are rarely preserved in thearchaeological record. Thus, information on precontact techniques of construction isrelatively sparse, excepting archaeological evidence of terraced platforms, stoneplatforms, enclosures, and postmolds (e.g., Hommon 1980; Tuggle and Griffin 1973;Weisler and Kirch 1985). In contrast, reviews of ethnohistoric accounts andphotographs from the late eighteenth century and early nineteenth century offermore detailed insights on the appearance, functions, and development of pole-and-thatch hale after contact (e.g., Brigham 1908; Hiroa 1957; Judd 1975; Peterson1964; Schmitt 1981). This summary refers to Russell Apple’s (1971) exhaustiveanalysis of Hawaiian vernacular architecture.

At European contact and for several decades afterward, pole-and-thatch hale weregenerally rectangular and comprised of a single room structure atop a terracedplatform, paved stone platform, and/or a set of enclosing stone walls (Figs. 6 and 7).Wooden posts, rafters, and purlins were lashed together with braided plant fibercordage to form a hipped or gabled-roof. Before contact, doorways were apparentlyoften nothing more than a relatively small opening that could be easily covered witha mat. Once it was lashed together, the pole frame was covered with thatching thatwas made with fibers from pili grass, palm fronds, or other varieties of plants.

Traditionally, pole-and-thatch hale were used in Hawai‘i for storage, shelter, andsecurity (Apple 1971, p. 3). The kinds of property that were stored in a haledepended on its particular use, but it could be used for warehousing craftedmaterials, canoes and fishing gear, and ritual paraphernalia. The use of pole-and-


thatch hale was also influenced by differences in the availability of buildingresources in various geographic locations (e.g., coast versus uplands). Similarly,climate offered another incentive for using pole-and-thatch hale, since temperatureextremes in coastal settings (where Hawaiian habitation settlements were mostconcentrated) range in degrees Fahrenheit between the mid-50s and upper 90s. Onevisitor to Hawai‘i in 1837 noted that pole-and-thatch hale were cool during warmdays, and warm on cool evenings (Hinds 1968, pp. 116, 117). Experimentation witha reconstructed hale in the 1960s confirmed this early historic-period observation(Apple 1971, p. 215). Similarly, ethnographic and archaeological studies confirmthat thermal efficiency is a cross-cultural regularity of vernacular architecturethroughout the world (Gilman 1987).

In acknowledging the imperative for “security,” Apple (1971) notes that pole-and-thatch hale offered protection for commoners (maka‘āinana) and lesser chiefs (e.g.,konohiki) during times of taboo (kapu). This kapu system was practiced in traditionalHawaiian society to ensure that the purity of chiefly mana (divinity) was notpolluted by contact with profane objects and/or non-elite (hence non-divine)commoners (Valeri 1985, pp. 90–105). During kapu periods, commoners and low-ranking individuals sought to avoid being seen or heard by chiefly elites (Apple1971, pp. 8–10), since acts as simple as casting ones shadow on the back of a king

Fig. 6 Adult male and child outside of a Hawaiian hale before 1900. Note the small entry (photo courtesyof the Bernice P. Bishop Museum)


was punishable by death (Malo 1951, p. 56; Valeri 1985, p. 91). Periods of kapuincluded burial processions, sacred temple ceremonies, and other religious events.

To accommodate the need for security and other socially-constructed imperatives,hale were often grouped together into kauhale (household compound) (Fig. 8).Typically, a kauhale might include a hale mua or men’s house, a hale noa orsleeping house (both males and females), and a hale pe‘a or menstruation house. Insome kauhale, there were hale ‘aina or eating houses for women, as well as otherhale for storage, cooking, and other activities (Handy and Pukui 1958; Malo 1951;Van Gilder, 2001). Unlike European houses, the interiors of traditional Hawaiianhouses were not normally partitioned into multiple rooms (Campbell 1967, p. 130;Ellis 1979, p. 225; Ledyard and Munford 1963, p. 128).

Pole-and-thatch hale were constructed by Hawaiians with materials (e.g., piligrass, pandanus leaves, loulu palm leaves, sugarcane leaves) that were readilyavailable in the islands. After the traditional Hawaiian religion was terminated byindigenous elites in 1819 (Kuykendall 1938, p. 102), the construction and spatialconfiguration of hale underwent marked changes. To note only a couple ofexamples, doorways into pole-and-thatch hale were enlarged so that crawling was nolonger necessary to enter them, and window openings were cut into walls to admitair and light (Apple 1971, pp. 200–201) (see Fig. 7). This was a striking departurefrom the early nineteenth century enactment of “birth-of-house” ceremonies whenthe cutting of small doorways symbolically represented the severing of haleumbilical cords (Malo 1951, pp. 121–125).

Fig. 7 Hawaiian hale and encompassing stone wall before 1900. Note the enlarged rectangular doorways(J.A. Gonsalves photo courtesy of the Bernice P. Bishop Museum)


Moreover, multi-building kauhale were increasingly nucleated into contiguousarrangements after the traditional religion and kapu system were overthrown(Ladefoged 1991, p. 57) (Fig. 9). In other words, hale that would have once beenseparate buildings were integrated as rooms of larger structures. The strictures of thetraditional Hawaiian religion were no longer a hindrance to those who wished toorganize their households in this European style, and the original arrangement oftraditional pole-and-thatch hale waned. It was no longer necessary, for example, toensure that sleeping and cooking were practiced in separate spatial spheres.Although the adoption of European and American housing arrangements reflectschanges in the gendered organization of Hawaiian households, a detailedconsideration of these events is beyond the scope of this broad comparative study.

Architectural innovations that followed the demise of the traditional religion in1819 were intensified by the arrival of missionaries, who introduced New England-style architecture in 1821 (Sandler 1993, p. 11) (Fig. 10). Initially, frames formissionary houses were fabricated by carpenters in Boston before they were broughtto Hawai‘i. Shortly thereafter, local building materials including coral blocks andwhitewashed adobe bricks were often used (Judd 1975, p. 61; Sandler 1993, pp. 11–

Fig. 8 Archaeological map of a single pre-contact Hawaiian kauhale (household) on the island ofMoloka‘i (Adapted from Weisler and Kirch 1985:145, Fig. 9). Note the inferred functions of thearchitectural features


12), especially for royal palaces, churches, and other civic buildings (see Mills 1996,pp. 205–262). As a consequence of these and other changes, most vestiges of“traditional” domestic hale were altogether abandoned in urban settings by the mid-to-late nineteenth century. Photographs and artistic renditions of Honolulu indicatethat pole-and-thatch hale were no longer present in downtown Honolulu after 1890and that they were increasingly rare in rural O‘ahu (Apple 1971, p. 216).

Although pole-and-thatch hale had largely disappeared on O‘ahu by the beginningof the twentieth century, some were still present as late as 1920 in isolated coastalsettlements on islands such as Moloka‘i (Fig. 11). Still, such houses typically reflecteda hybrid blend of Hawaiian and Western architectural styles and materials. By thistime, Hawaiian hale frequently included thatched walls and corrugated metal roofs(Apple 1971, p. 201). According to one historical account, the last “grass thatcher”died in 1879 (Doyle 1953, p. 206). Another source states that the craftsmen who builttraditional hale at Ki‘ilae Village, on Hawai‘i island, died in the early 1900s (Jackson1966, pp. 51–56). In either case, the use of pole-and-thatch hale persisted in isolatedareas, albeit in a modified form, until the early twentieth century.

Fig. 9 Archaeological map of three post-contact Hawaiian household sites on the island of Hawai‘i(Adapted from Ladefoged 1991:63, Fig. 5). Note the tightly clustered arrangement of the variousarchitectural features


Implications for the Archaeology of Emergent Colonialism

The foregoing review illustrates that the sources and speed of technological changevaried among media (i.e., adzes, clothing styles, and vernacular buildings) in post-contact Hawai‘i. These materials also played different roles in the technologicalconstruction of social identity by indigenous elites and commoners in the wake of

Fig. 11 Hawaiian hale circa 1912 in Halawa Valley on the island of Moloka‘i. Note the rectangular entry(R.J. Baker photo courtesy of the Bernice P. Bishop Museum)

Fig. 10 Hawaiian hale and a non-traditional house circa 1889 (P.L. Lord photo courtesy of the Bernice P.Bishop Museum)


emergent colonialism, and also are characterized by varying degrees of preservationin the archaeological record. Unlike stone adzes, which are well-documented in thearchaeological record of post-contact Hawai‘i, residential houses are only marginallypreserved and clothing is almost never preserved. Thus, historic documents andphotographs must be consulted to examine and compare building and clothing stylesand technologies. Together, these lines of evidence reveal the following trends:

1. Western holokū dresses were adopted by Hawaiian women and replacedtraditional pa‘u (skirts) that were made with kapa (barkcloth) less than 40 yearsafter their introduction by Christian missionaries.

2. Metal adzes did not completely replace stone adzes until almost 100 years aftertheir introduction by Europeans.

3. Pole-and-thatch hale persisted in some locations for 140 years after Europeancontact, although their configuration and layout changed.

What factors might account for striking differences in the rate with whichdifferent traditional Hawaiian technologies were modified and eventually replacedwith European and American alternatives as colonialism intensified? Thisarchaeological study documents that a variety of ideological, political, and economicfactors influenced the rate with which various non-traditional technologies wereadopted by Hawaiians in the post-contact period. Hawaiian royalty and chiefly eliteswere an important influence in all three instances of technological change, alongwith the introduction of Christian ideologies and a capitalist economy thatemphasized international trade relations with China, Europe, and North America.Moreover, in each case indigenous elite Hawaiians exercised their power to controlaccess to non-local materials and to influence the character of technological change.In so doing, they constructed a hybrid identity for themselves that integratedelements of both “traditional” and non-traditional (i.e., Western) culture. The degreeto which particular changes in technology were intentional or incidental variedacross categories of material culture.

The Hawaiian case exemplifies the way in which “cultural entanglement” (sensuAlexander 1998, pp. 485–86) may instigate rapid social and technological change,even before colonialism has fully developed. For example, the relatively rapidadoption of certain styles of western clothing (i.e., holokū) by Hawaiian women is atestament to the oppressive power of Christian missionaries who sought to control thesexuality of native women (see Silva 2000 for a relevant discussion). It is noteworthy,however, that female Hawaiian royalty eagerly commissioned the production ofholokū since such garments visibly materialized their relationships with prestigiousAmerican missionaries who immigrated to Hawai‘i. This intentional effort by femaleroyalty to tangibly convey their connection with American missionary society, offersone example of how hybrid identities were technologically and socially constructed inemergent colonial settings. Notably, commoner women, who had less access toexpensive European fabric, initially made their holokū out of barkcloth (kapa), atraditional medium for clothing. Kapa production was an exceptionally labor-intensiveundertaking, but its manufacture relied exclusively on locally available materials (incontrast with fabric from the United States, Europe, and China).

The adoption of metal adzes (in lieu of stone adzes) was significantly slower thanthe adoption of the holokū. Although many Hawaiians eagerly sought metal after


contact with Europeans (and then Americans), their access to it was—at leastinitially—constrained by chiefly prerogative. While chiefly control of metal adzes inthe early post-contact period did not necessarily materialize their hybrid identity(sensu Bhabha 1994), as strongly as did Western clothing, it did reflect the impact ofindigenous social stratification on technological change (sensu Pfaffenberger 1992).As chiefs developed an insatiable desire for sandalwood, some 50 years aftercontact, their interest in mobilizing large amounts of it, through tribute, underlaytheir willingness to loosen the situational sumptuary rules that once restrictedcommoner access to metal adzes. In other words, commoners with metal adzes couldgather sandalwood much more quickly than commoners with stone adzes, so it wasin the best interests of the chiefs to cease restricting public access to metal, if theywere to participate successfully in the capitalist economy that was engulfing thearchipelago.

In contrast, the persistence of pole-and-thatch hale for more than a century aftercontact can be partially explained by their desirable “performance characteristics” in atropical climate. Pole-and-thatch vernacular buildings offered a cost-effective sourceof shelter and storage and they were easily constructed with locally availablematerials. Temperature control, through heating and cooling, was one of their greatestassets in tropical Hawai‘i. Although pole-and-thatch hale persisted far longer thanmany other traditional technologies, certain facets of vernacular architecture didchange in the face of European and American contact. As I noted earlier, the scatteredarrangement of hale was no longer desirable or necessary, following the termination ofthe traditional Hawaiian religion, which emphasized the separation of sacred andprofane activities. Hawaiian conversion to Christianity nullified a major designimperative of their houses: the strict spatial separation of various activities (e.g.,cooking, sleeping, menstruation, etc.) was no longer necessary or desirable.

Change in architecture, like change in adzes and clothing, was initially driven bypowerful chiefly elites and royalty, who were among the first converts toChristianity. The simultaneous use of both traditional houses and western-stylebuildings by some chiefs (see Mills 1996, pp. 205–262), offers another example ofhow technology embodied their dual identities (i.e., indigenous and Western).Together, the above findings offer a stunning example of Gosden’s (2004, p. 153)dictum that the archaeology of colonialism should seek to understand how power isexercised through material culture.

Summary and Conclusions

Archaeologically informed histories are essential for the interpretation of Europeanand American colonialism during the nineteenth century. Events in nineteenth-century Hawai‘i exemplify the idea that “culture contact is structured, but itsoutcomes are not determined” (Alexander 1998, p. 477). In this respect, thearchaeological record offers a superb opportunity to study the complex sources andconsequences of technological change before and after contact and colonialism. Inparticular, this study confirms that technological change was due to a rich variety ofinfluences and that it varied across different materials in post-contact Hawai‘i,including adzes, clothing, and vernacular architecture.


In the Hawaiian case of emergent colonialism, material culture played animportant role in the creation and maintenance of hybrid identities, especially amongindigenous elites. Of course, Europeans and Euro-Americans who resided in Hawai‘ialso constructed hybrid identities, but this behavior is beyond the scope of this studyand its focus on indigenous responses to colonialism. Elite machinations, theintroduction of Christianity, the expansion of international capitalism, and manyother factors instigated rapid change in female textile fashions. In contrast, theprotracted persistence of traditional stone adzes and pole-and-thatch hale for morethan a century illustrates the impact of other economic and political factors indelaying the seemingly inevitable onset of technological change after contact. Thisstudy confirms that the rate of technological change in Hawai‘i was influenced to asignificant extent by indigenous kings, queens, and chiefly elites, who ruled thecommoner subjects in their kingdom. However, the above findings should not betaken to imply that a top-down imposition of elite power characterized technologicalchange in all instances of contact and emergent colonialism (Gosden and Knowles2001, p. 24), as it did in Hawai‘i.

This study also has methodological implications for the study of technologicalchange in pre- and post-contact settings. Many archaeologists privilege the study ofstone artifacts in their analyses of post-contact technological persistence (e.g.,contributors in Cobb 2003). This focus is understandable, given the durability ofstone artifacts and their high degree of preservation in the archaeological record.Nonetheless, non-stone artifacts must also be examined to fully assess theconsequences of European contact and emergent colonialism in the Pacific andelsewhere. Because photography was not well developed until the mid-nineteenthcentury, only a few decades after contact with Hawai‘i, the Pacific islands offer anopportunity to gain a comparative perspective on the technological consequences ofcontact and colonialism.

Of course, this study reveals the daunting challenges faced by archaeologists whoseek to study technological change before contact, when documentary accounts andphotographic images were not recorded. Unfortunately, it is nonetheless certain thatdifferent categories of material culture changed at different rates—and for differentreasons—in the ancient past. Understandably, the practice of prehistory has becomehighly specialized and archaeologists often develop an expertise in the analysis of asingle artifact category. Such specialization is often compelled in many areas of theworld where materials (e.g., textiles) are not preserved in the archaeological record,or where societies did not practice particular technologies. In such cases,archaeologists must work toward developing new and innovative research strategies.In the meantime, the Hawaiian case study confirms that technological change andsocial identity was multi-dimensional and that more nuanced analyses must beundertaken to fully understand this phenomenon in emergent colonial settings in thePacific islands and elsewhere in the world.

Acknowledgments I extend my sincere thanks to Spencer Leineweber and Peter Mills for alertingme to bibliographic sources that are particularly relevant to this research. A special thanks is alsodue to James Delle, Charles Orser, and an anonymous reviewer, for their advice on ways tostrengthen this study. Nonetheless, I am solely responsible for any flaws in the data and/or myinterpretations.


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