Kamehameha Day Lei Draping: Honoring Ancestral Legacy

After an entire morning of volunteering with Hui o Koʻolaupoko, our group made its way to downtown Honolulu, knowing the Lei Draping Ceremony was about to begin. Though many of us were battling what felt like the worst heat exhaustion of our lives, being present on Oʻahu to witness the Kamehameha Day celebrations was a profound honor, one we knew had to be treated with the reverence it deserves, especially as we were here to learn as much as possible about the people of these places.

It has been 132 years since the illegal overthrow of the Hawaiian Kingdom by the United States and 215 years since the unification of the Hawaiian Islands under Kamehameha I, yet the lei draping of his statue stands today as a living symbol of resilience, aloha ʻāina (love for the land), and the continued resistance of the Kānaka Maoli (Native Hawaiian people). Despite the long distances and diasporic realities that separate communities (the majority of Kanaka unfortunately now live on the continent), the lei draping ceremony brings people together, not only across the pae ʻāina (the archipelago) in places like Honolulu, Hilo, and Kohala, but also on the continent, including Washington, D.C., and virtually around the globe due to the sophisticated video cameras that towered over the crowd of people during the event.

Through these gatherings and through modern technology, people have the chance to reconnect with their moʻokūʻauhau (genealogy) and cultural identity, regardless of where they currently reside.

Growing up in Ploiești, Romania, I know firsthand how oppressive regimes are designed to systematically erase culture in order to exert control. Although communism fell in Romania 35 years ago, I often feel that our cultural spirit has yet to fully recover — and learning about our dying traditions currently held by a handful of elders in forgotten villages makes me feel like that might never happen. Witnessing that generational loss in my own homeland has given me deep and personal respect for Kānaka Maoli, who have preserved their cultural lifeways, language, and dignity despite centuries of colonization, land dispossession, and forced assimilation by the colonial powers.

It has been 132 years since the Hawaiian Kingdom was overthrown, and yet the aloha, mana (spiritual power), and intellect with which Native Hawaiians have fought to protect their culture remains a powerful example of endurance and clarity of purpose — one which I know Romanians would have a lot to learn from.

Each lei, lovingly placed on the tall bronze statue located in front of the Aliʻiōlani Hale, becomes more than just adornment, it is an offering, a hoʻokupu, reminding all who witness it of the original stewards of this ʻāina (land), and of the sacrifices King Kamehameha I made in uniting the islands to resist Western imperialism. The ceremony opened with the Royal Hawaiian Band at 2:30 p.m., setting a tone of solemnity and pride, and ensuring that the commencement of the event was announced to all.

Youth Kanaka volunteers, from Roosevelt High School football players to Pāʻū riders from Papakōlea, bore the lei to the statue's outstretched arms. Their age, energy, and reverence symbolized that Kamehameha's vision still lives on to this day. They were the living proof that the people of this land have been respecting their kuleana (responsibility) and ensuring that it gets passed to the next generations.

As a foreigner, I fell in love with the respect and dignity with which Hawaiians honor their aliʻi (chiefs) and kupuna (ancestors). Their mana stems not from dominance or material wealth, but from love, memory, and ancestral connection – values that many of us raised in Western societies have long forgotten. We are often too consumed by the forward motion of our lives: applying to college, getting a job, making money, being better than those around us, without even realizing the reason why we are stuck in this loop, that we neglect the foundational relationships and ancestral sacrifices that make our mere existence possible in the first place.

We live in a time of hyper-individualism, where success is measured by how far one stands apart from the collective. But true strength, as Hawaiians demonstrate, comes from looking back to move forward, from honoring those who came before us, and from nurturing pilina (relationships) with our elders, our communities, and with our own past selves. Only through this remembering can we begin to truly reconnect: with our brothers and sisters, with our lands, and with our own humanity.