Vacation, Liberation, and Right Relationship: Reflections from a Settler in Hawai’i

Vacation, Liberation, and Right Relationship: Reflections from a Settler in Hawai’i

I am in Hawai’i right now celebrating my 50th birthday with family and friends — a place of immense beauty, deep cultural richness, and a painful history of colonialism and ongoing resistance. It’s my first time here and what an amazing and magical place.

As a Brown-bodied person traveling to a place where I am both a visitor and a settler, I found myself holding many tensions.

Hawai’i was annexed by the United States on August 12th 1898.

Queen Liliʻuokalani, the last reigning monarch of Hawaiʻi, protested the annexation of her nation, highlighting the injustice faced by her people:

"I declare such a treaty to be an act of wrong toward the native and part-native people of Hawaiʻi, an invasion of the rights of the ruling chiefs, in violation of international rights both toward my people and toward friendly nations." 

In 1959, through a referendum the Hawaiian people voted to become the 50th state in the United States.

What does it mean to be in right relationship with the places we visit, especially those shaped by histories of occupation and exploitation? 

How do we ensure that our presence doesn’t perpetuate harm, even when our intention is to rest and celebrate?

The Complexity of Representation

Being in Hawai’i as a Brown-bodied traveler means navigating spaces where dominant culture often centers itself—white-bodied tourists taking up space, assuming access to land, culture, and people without reflection. It also meant seeing Indigenous Hawaiian people either erased from certain spaces or framed as attractions—dancers, performers, service workers—rather than the original stewards of the land. 

It’s the same dynamic that plays out across colonized lands worldwide: the local population turned into something to be consumed, often being denied access to local resources, like beaches, which are sometimes prioritized for tourist access. A backdrop for visitors’ leisure rather than people with histories, struggles, and futures of their own.

For those of us committed to liberation, these realities ask something of us. They challenge us to move beyond performative Allyship and into deep accountability, even on vacation. What does it mean to truly see and respect the people whose lands we visit? How do we ensure our presence aligns with justice rather than extraction?

Practicing Liberation While Traveling

It’s easy to assume that vacations are a pause from our values, but if our commitment to liberation is real, it must extend beyond our daily work and into how we move through the world. 

Some questions I sat with during this trip:

How can I engage with the local culture without appropriating it? It’s one thing to appreciate traditions, language, and practices, but another to take them as souvenirs without understanding their depth.

Who benefits from my travel dollars? Am I supporting Indigenous Hawaiian-owned businesses, or is my spending reinforcing structures of dispossession?

What does it mean to witness, not consume? Am I moving through this space with curiosity and respect, or am I treating it like a curated experience for my own pleasure?

How do I hold complexity? Hawai’i is stunning, yes, but it’s also a site of struggle—against tourism’s environmental impact, against the displacement of Native Hawaiians, against the erasure of their sovereignty. How do I acknowledge both beauty and injustice at the same time?

One of the most difficult aspects of this trip is being in close proximity to so many dominant-culture tourists—those who treat Hawai’i like their personal playground, speaking over locals, ignoring cultural protocols, and reducing the land and its people to a spectacle. The entitlement feels exhausting to witness.

But here’s the hard truth: while it’s easy to critique, what am I doing differently? In what ways do I, even unconsciously, take up space that’s not mine?

I brought my sacred prayer box and made an offering to each of the communities I've been visiting, my small attempt to offer gratitude to the people and the land that I get to be on in this moment.

Being in right relationship is not about having all the answers.

It’s about wrestling with discomfort, questioning my own impact, and making choices that align with justice—not just convenience.

So, I ask you:

How do you travel in a way that honors the people and places you visit?

What stories do you carry about what you are "owed" as a traveler?

How might we redefine travel not as consumption but as relationship-building?

Being a settler anywhere means grappling with responsibility—whether at home or abroad. And maybe, just maybe, the practice of right relationship doesn’t stop when we step off the plane.