Big Island, Big Business

by Amanda Smiles/Race, Poverty and Media Justice Intern

Driving through the bones of Hilo, a residential town on the eastern tip of the Big Island of Hawaii, I feel as if Hilo is a fish caught on the barbed hook of development, hopeless with little chance of recovery. This is my home, where I was born and raised for 17 years, returning every few years to watch my little island town drift slowly into the mists of corporate control and big business.

As a young child, I remember the businesses in my town. From the diner we ate so often they knew I was afraid of the crack in the booth, to the video store that never needed to ask my mom´ s name, most of the businesses we frequented were local. This isn ´ t to say we didn ´ t have big mainland business in our town. Long Drugs, Sears and JC Pennys are old standbys in the mall, but these corporations were few and far between, a minority in Hilo

I remember when the second McDonalds opened in Hilo and the delight our parents shared when they no longer needed to drive downtown for a Happy Meal. Pizza Hut, Taco Bell, and Baskin and Robbins followed, the acne of Hilo. Soon Boomers, the 1940s style ice cream shop in the mall closed. I never thought to ask my dad why. It just seemed to happen.

Costco opened when I was in middle school and threw the island into a frenzy. Everyone went to " the other side " (of the island) to shop at Costco. We made special trips to the beach and then us kids would scream with joy on the way to Costco, knowing our moms would come home with a car stuffed, like a Thanksgiving turkey, with name brand foods, closing the gap between Hawai&acutei and the mainland.

Soon after Costco opened, K-Mart followed and the island went into an even bigger frenzy. Now entire days were set aside for shopping trips to the other side. Two hours driving over, for 3 hours of shopping, and 2 hours driving back. The Big Island welcomed these businesses with open arms and open wallets.

Although the Costco- K-Mart frenzy was a source of excitement for many locals, it was well known that Hilo was safe from these corporate invaders. Hilo is not a tourist town; it is rare people stay in Hilo more than a night, usually in a desperate attempt to experience the " real " Hawaii before returning to the safety of a resort and an Astroturf- like vacation.

Kona, " the other side, " is more digestible for tourists. Unlike Hilo´ s black and green sand beaches, Kona is a platter of white sand beaches like the ones admired in postcards and travel guides. Every resort has some sort of " authentic," Hawaiian experience that can purchased for twenty dollars, from luaus offering the local flavors of kalua pig and lomi lomi salmon, to Hula and Tahitian dancers swinging their hips in front of hungry mainland eyes, it is a far cry from the two dollar loco moco Hilo offers.

Perhaps the chief reason tourist flock to Kona, and not Hilo, is that Hilo is one of the rainiest towns in Hawai´ i and, although tourists like to snap photos of the ripe, emerald, forests of the Big Island, they have little patience to experience the mother of the Big Island´ s beauty: rain. These reasons have kept big business and big tourism out of Hilo, or at least it seemed, until Wal-Mart opened its doors. Now, big business was no longer after the tourist´ s dollar, it was seeking the Hawaiian’ s dollar as well.

Wal-Mart opened in Hilo while I was still in high school, across from the mall, in a grassy field that would also become home to Borders, ROSS, and Office Max. This undeveloped plot of land, centrally located in Hilo, was not only a superior location for business, but also part of Hawaiian Homelands. Hawaiian Homelands are plots of land set aside for native Hawaiians to settle and build homes and businesses. The Hawaiian Homelands Commission is the gatekeeper of Hawaiian lands, distributing the land as they see fit, and although thousands of Hawaiians are on waiting lists for land settlements, land is usually diverted to commercial interests. In this case, Wal-Mart.

Within the first 3 months of Wal-Marts opening, the store became the heart of shopping and as cars clogged the main arteries of Hilo on their way to the jumbo sized store, inside Wal-Mart pumped dollar after dollar out of local peoples and local businesses.

A year later the mega-sized Wal-Mart-ROSS-Borders-Office Max dynasty was in full effect and it seemed the entire eastern half of the island had forgotten about the jewels outside of the family fortune. Auntie Barb, a family friend who I have known my entire life, ran a small bookstore specializing in Hawaiiana books in the mall and had been there since I could remember. Within a year of Borders opening, her business dropped drastically and she was forced to move her store to the sleepier, less trafficked, but cheaper downtown location. No longer could I spontaneously drop by to talk story when I was in the mall.

After leaving Hawaii I for college, I did not return for two years. Although I heard casually of the development phenomenon devouring Hilo, I was in no way prepared for what I encountered when I returned. Macys opened two locations in the mall, my friends now wore American Eagle Outfitters and Hot Topic. Cold Stone was the new hip ice cream place, Wal-Mart never stopped thriving, and most disturbing of all, Starbucks and Jamba Juice overtook the town like a vine of angry ivy. I couldn’t bear to ask myself what happened to Bears, the only coffee shop in town, where I played as a child while my father sipped a cup of joe.

Two years later, I have returned and the development I had witnessed on my last visit has only spread more lethally than before. Half of Hilo looks like a ghost town- whole buildings have been abandoned after corporate development slowly tortured them into closure. Other parts of Hilo look like exact replicas of shopping complexes found in strip malls throughout the mainland. Thick, illustrious glass doors and vivid neon signs are in stark contrast to the squeaky screen doors and chipping signs of my childhood. I wore myself out, searching for a hint of Hawaii that is authentic, a piece that does not mimic the country that has pocketed its culture and autonomy.

On my last visit home, a family friend, who has lived on the Big Island for over 30 years, said to me, " Hawaii used to be one of the most mysterious places on earth. We’ve used up all that mystery, now. People no longer come here to find the unknown. We have to look elsewhere for that."

The last time I drove through Hilo I felt the tides of tears wash over my ocean-glazed eyes, sheltering them from a formula all too familiar to small towns in America. I drove through town with my 3-year-old niece, who will come to visit Hilo throughout her life. The Hilo she will visit will not be the Hilo I have grown up in, however. It will not be a Hilo that enchants her, that is a source of magic apart from the mainland. It will not be another way of life, a tucked away culture mystifying to outsiders. Instead, it will be a Hilo she recognizes, a Hilo that binds her memory to California, and a place where she can always get a Grande Triple Vanilla Latte.