What does it mean, and why should we care? Native Hawaiians reflect on its importance in contemporary Hawaiʻi.
Written by Cris Romento, director of Dear Aloha
When I first moved to the Pacific Northwest with my family 30 years ago, I often told people I’m from Hawaiʻi and my father is Native Hawaiian. They would do an audible gasp and act surprised. “Why on earth would you ever leave?!” It was a response that haunted me my whole life. No matter where I traveled, when I explained “I’m from Hawaiʻi, but we moved away,” people were confounded.
It wasn’t until the 2020 pandemic that I fully began to understand my father's heartbreak of leaving and come to terms with the shame I carried as a child. I had finally heard the word Diaspora in a conversation. Afterward, I went down a Google rabbit hole. The word was a portal into a new beginning, and little did I know that this would begin my 4 -year journey into making a film that would change my life.
The term Hawaiian diaspora has been gaining more attention in recent years, but for many, it remains an unfamiliar concept. What does it mean, and why should we care? In 2023, a startling statistic from the U.S. Census revealed that more than half of Native Hawaiians no longer live in Hawaiʻi.
This marks a significant shift. Since the U.S. Census in 2010, there has been a 29% increase in Hawaiians moving to the United States. For many Hawaiians, this was not just a fact; it was a reality they had long feared: that Hawaiians are moving away at a faster rate now more than ever.
“Hawaiʻi is suffering from a proliferation of people without generational connections, a sense of history or place.” - Naka Nathaniel
What Does the Hawaiian Diaspora Mean?
At its core, the Hawaiian diaspora refers to the movement of Native Hawaiians away from Hawaiʻi. This isn’t a new phenomenon, but in recent decades, it has been driven by factors like sky-high housing costs, grocery bills, and job pay so low, that families cannot cover their basic needs.
It is no surprise that with these challenges, generational families are forced to make the choice to move, so that they can provide a better life for their children. The sad truth for those who stay: Hawaiʻi is now ranked as the most expensive place to live in the United States.
The average home in Hawaiʻi now sells for $1.2 million, while the median salary is around $43,000. Apartment rentals, gas, utilities, and food are shockingly high, even coming from New York City.
When I moved back to my family's hometown in Oʻahu in 2022, I soon realized that my New York lifestyle was cheaper, even though it was more extravagant. And unlike NYC, I found the salaries did not align with the cost of living. For the first time in my 8 years of freelancing in various countries and across America, work was hard to come by. As I heard more and more stories, I realized how common it is for people to work 3 jobs to make ends meet. Outwardly successful people, creatives, hotel workers, and parents trying to raise their kids: no one besides millionaires had it easy. And it wasn't hard to notice, these were not Hawaiians.
Historically, these factors are tied to the complex history Hawaiʻi has with the U.S. The illegal overthrow of the Hawaiian Kingdom and lack of ancestral land rights make the Diaspora painful to carry.
"If one looks under the microscope, the web begins to make sense: our food insecurity, housing crisis, and modern-day diaspora are all connected to colonization."
For many Hawaiians, the economic necessity of leaving comes with a loss we have only begun to identify with the word Diaspora. The deep connection between Hawaiians and our land is at the heart of our identity. When Hawaiians are pushed off-island, it’s not just a matter of relocating; it’s the loss of a community, a way of life, and a sense of belonging. It’s a blow to the very fabric of the Hawaiian identity. And while tourists flock to Hawaiʻi in the millions each year to experience its beauty, many may not realize that the very culture, the “aloha spirit” they seek to enjoy is being threatened by this displacement. I talked to Hawaiians in the Diaspora who are teaching about this growing trend, and educating as their kuleana (responsibility). I brought them to the table to give their perspective.
Who's at the table:
Ipo Alkhaldi, from Kauaʻi: Executive Director of the Hawaiian Diaspora,the leading network for the Diasporic community, and co-chair of Alaska Airlines' Pacific Islander Alliance Business Resource Group. She currently resides in Seattle, Washington.
Leialoha Kaʻula, from Hawaiʻi Island: Cultural educator, Kumu Hula, and Executive Director of Ka ʻAha Lāhui O ʻOlekona (KALO Hawaiian Civic Club of Oregon). Her work with KALO helped pass the Oregon Pacific Islander Student Success Plan, a historic bill designed to improve educational outcomes for Native Hawaiian and Pacific Islander students. She currently resides in Aloha, Oregon.
Interviews have been edited for clarity.
Let’s start at the beginning for you. How did you come to know the term “Hawaiian Diaspora?”
Ipo: The first time I heard diaspora applied to Hawaiians was in a session with my therapist in 2020. She observed that while we don’t often call Hawaiians outside of Hawai‘i “immigrants,” their sense of cultural displacement and longing for ancestral ties mirrors that of many immigrant communities. She explained that diaspora simply means living away from one’s homeland. Around that time, I started seeing the term in Hawaiian spaces, particularly those reflecting on life away from the islands.
Leialoha: It wasnʻt till 2019 that I was really introduced to this concept of living in the diaspora. I was a panelist for one of the local universities here in Oregon, and one of their questions referred to living in the diaspora. During my research to prepare for the panel, I realized that I'm not just living away from my homeland; it was that I had to make the hard decision to be displaced from the only home I had ever known. At that moment, it hit me that this realization isn't uncommon; we all know this narrative. We continue to parallel the truth with this concept of needing to move away for greater opportunities; but the reality is that greed moved our people away from our one hānau (birthplace).
How did it make you feel when you learned what Diaspora meant?
Ipo: It instantly resonated. Suddenly, I had a word that captured the complexity that other labels like “hapa-Hawaiian” or “of Hawaiian ancestry” never fully did. It spurred me to explore other diaspora experiences worldwide. While discovering that each has its own nuances, I connected deeply with their stories of cultural longing and maintaining identity.
Leialoha: Kuleana. It made me feel a sense of kuleana, my responsibility. Having had the privilege of being raised in Hawaiʻi surrounded by the culture and values, a sense of kuleana was finally made clear. It was as though my kupuna (elders) helped me realize why I'm here in Oregon, or on Moku Honu (Turtle Island). Pilina (connection) to Hawaiʻi comes from the moʻolelo and moʻomeheu that has been passed down from generation to generation. This kuleana doesn't only exist in Hawaiʻi, it exists here as well. Our lāhui’s (nation's) moʻolelo (story) have always been one of connection to place.
I've noticed when I tell people who are unfamiliar with the term, I find it hard to explain in a few sentences. In your words, what is the Hawaiian Diaspora?
Leialoha: An ideology that was made realistic by those who have forced their hand on Indigenous people and their land. Diaspora is filled with multitudes of culturally-minded people who are forced to carry those traditions beyond their homelands.
"Diaspora is a constant challenge or battle for Indigenous people to hold on to their identity and self-being."
Ipo: It's the scattering of Native Hawaiians who live outside Hawai‘i, whether due to displacement, voluntary relocation, or being born elsewhere. In other words, it’s the broader concept of “diaspora” applied specifically to Native Hawaiians.
What makes the Hawaiian Diaspora different from that say, the African or Asian Diaspora?
Leialoha: Our homelands. Our traditions. Our stories. That's what makes it different. And yet we are all fighting the same battle, to hold on to our Indigeneity.
Ipo: One key difference is language: most Hawaiians moving to the continental U.S. speak English, so they don’t face the same linguistic barriers as many first-generation immigrants from elsewhere. However, the sense of feeling “in-between”—not fully belonging in one place or another—is very similar. Like second-generation immigrants who might get teased for not speaking their ancestral language, Hawaiian “mainland cousins” can face teasing for not speaking Pidgin or for looking “less Hawaiian.” It’s a nuanced experience that parallels many other diaspora communities.
Why do you think more people are only starting to learn what the Diaspora is? I’d like people to know it’s okay if they’re just learning about this term.
Leialoha: Our kūpuna constantly reminds us that we need to stay haʻahaʻa (humble) and remember that every day we can learn something new. There is no reason to feel some way for not knowing. I didn't know. At almost 40, it was a concept I had to learn and then relearn. I'm still learning.
Ipo: I think many of us Hawaiians have long felt the effects of leaving home—searching for belonging outside of Hawaiʻi—but it wasn’t necessarily called a “diaspora” until recently. Now, with census data showing more than half of us living away, it’s become an undeniable reality. It’s okay if you’re just learning about the term—these numbers highlight how pressing the issue truly is, sparking deeper conversations about identity, culture, and our future as a people.
I've read and heard responses from people of the film, that the term should be reworded as Hawaiian Displacement instead of the Hawaiian Diaspora. How do you feel about it?
Ipo: “Displacement” is a strong word, and it absolutely resonates for those who were forced or pressured to leave Hawai‘i—it powerfully captures certain experiences. However, the diaspora itself isn’t a monolith. Beyond displacement, there are generational diasporas, career or educational diasporas, and even dual Indigeneity (Native Hawaiian and another Indigenous background). When we say “displaced,” we often picture one particular, tragic circumstance – which is valid – but doesn’t encompass all the nuanced ways Hawaiians end up living away. In my view, “displacement” is one subset of the larger Hawaiian Diaspora, and we should be cautious about using a single term to describe every path or story.
Leialoha: I'd agree. Displacement is something that I speak to more than diaspora. This goes with what I mentioned earlier. Terminologies can equate to categorizing a community, and leading them into believing that this is the path to which they belong. But the reality is that we have been displaced due to the misuse and harm that was brought upon our lands.
Why is the Diaspora so painful to discuss?
Leialoha: It's the most painful when I step into a room full of kānaka and our language isn't flowing like it is in Hawaiʻi. It's the most painful when Hawaiian artists bring mele of Hawaiʻi to the continent, and we can't get our own lāhui to those concerts.
"It's the most painful when culture and resources to understanding their culture leads our community to a place of accepting cultural appropriation because culture is out of arms reach."
Diaspora is painful because, at the end of the day, it's looking out into our 500,000 Kānaka living on Moku Honu and hearing the silent calls their hearts are making to be close to the very thing that makes them feel home: each other. Diaspora is painful for the false narrative that has been imposed upon our people.
Ipo: It touches on layers of loss—loss of land, language, cultural practices, and even a sense of belonging.
"Talking about it forces us to confront deep emotional wounds and systemic realities that led us away from home."
It’s painful, but necessary, to acknowledge and work through these feelings to find healing.
People who vacation to Hawaiʻi are shocked when I explain to them why our Diaspora is a problem. It's definitely left out of the tour guides, and how Hawaiʻi is marketed. How do we disseminate this information so people visiting Hawaiʻi know about it?
Leialoha: Education. Hula and Hālau have provided us with a pathway that helps to elevate the need for more education opportunities so that our stories are being told. With the movement of the Oregon Pacific Islander Student Success Plan, we are one step closer to being able to implement these teachings here in Oregon. We hope to be able to spread that work throughout Moku Honu. We have to be more proactive and less reactive when it comes to this invisible divide that the system has created. So many are uneducated, and it is because the system has failed them. Yes, there are so many resources today, but we have to meet them at the front lines. The work of the Council for Native Hawaiian Advancement and Kūhiō Lewis' vision to implement culture into all things that relate to tourism is definitely a great place to start. We need to keep fighting to break those barriers, and be the voices that speak to who we are as Hawaiʻi.
Ipo: One way is by hosting events where returned Diasporic Hawaiians share personal stories—perhaps during cultural festivals or at museums. We could also develop “diaspora-focused” tours or exhibits that explain why Native Hawaiians leave, what it feels like to return, and the economic challenges of coming home. In hotel lobbies or visitor centers, displaying short documentaries or photo essays featuring diaspora voices would spark conversation.
"By integrating these experiences into places visitors naturally frequent, we create real opportunities for people to see beyond the postcard image of Hawai‘i and understand how factors like cost of living, cultural loss, and limited resources push many Hawaiians away."
Historically, Kānaka are known as travelers that have moved away from Hawaiʻi for centuries. What makes the modern-day Diaspora different from this? Or does it?
Ipo: Traditional travel often involved voyaging for exploration or exchange, with most returning home. Today, many of us feel cut off due to skyrocketing costs, limited career options, and systemic barriers—so it’s less a short journey, and more an indefinite or forced separation. But remember, “diaspora” doesn’t mean a permanent state; it simply means living away from Hawaiʻi. Some are off-island for education or careers, which in many ways resembles those traditional travelers. The difference now lies in the complex challenges that make coming back—or staying connected—more difficult than in the past.
Ok, now the big question. How do we shift the tides of the Diaspora? What needs to happen?
Leialoha: One step at a time. We shift the narrative with our moʻolelo. We need to stop allowing anyone else to tell our stories. WE need to be there at every opportunity. It's not going to happen overnight, but my hope is that my moʻopuna (grandchildren) will one day be saying “A century ago there were more Hawaiians living away from Hawaiʻi and today that is no longer the narrative!”
Ipo: First, we must address systemic barriers—like affordable housing, fair wages, sustainable development, and Native rights—so Hawaiians can envision a future back home. But it’s equally crucial to heal generational trauma, mend the impact of westernization, and open honest dialogue about identity and belonging; making the lāhui (nation) accessible and inclusive to all who are part of it.
"We have to validate each person’s Diaspora experience, listen instead of judge, and collaborate on real pathways for return."
At the same time, it’s not only on Hawaiians in Hawaiʻi to fix everything. Those of us living away must also fulfill our kuleana (responsibility): advocating for the rights of our people, uplifting our communities, and actively supporting change—so we’re part of the solution, not adding to the burden. By recognizing our shared responsibility, we pave the way for a stronger, more unified lāhui, wherever we call home.
In your own life, what has been healing for you as a Hawaiian, living away from home?
Leialoha: Hula, oli (chant) , hālau, lāhui, ʻōlelo (language), and most importantly, Moʻomeheu Hawaiʻi (cultural values). In those moments of doubt I've always remembered that I am first a kama (child) of Hawaiʻi. No matter where I am in the world, Hawaiʻi is flowing through my kino (body) and that is a gift in itself.
Ipo: Honestly, it's these conversations—having a safe space to unpack what I’m going through without judgment. When I can voice my struggles, it frees up mental space to immerse myself in the joy of cultural practices and knowledge. Engaging in dialogue with others who understand our shared challenges reminds me I’m not alone, and that support helps me stay rooted in my Hawaiian identity, no matter where I am.
What I heard resonated with people in my film, Dear Aloha, is that it acknowledges this thought that Diasporic Hawaiians just left and abandoned Hawaiʻi. How can we heal this mentality?
Leialoha: Understanding their story will not always align with the kanaka next to them. We have to heal by first recognizing that everyone has their own moʻolelo and no one should ever be condemned for that. We have to lōkahi (unite) in order to holomua (progress).
Ipo: Most who leave don’t make that decision lightly; it's often heartbreaking, and that longing to return can linger for a lifetime. Sharing raw stories—like those in Dear Aloha—sheds light on the harsh reality behind these difficult choices. But remember, not all diaspora experiences are equal. “Diaspora” simply refers to Hawaiians living away—it isn't always about voluntarily leaving, nor should it become a derogatory term for those displaced. We can heal this mentality through honest storytelling and safe, open dialogue—spaces where people genuinely listen.
"By recognizing the varied journeys within our broader diaspora, we foster empathy rather than judgment."
Do you ever consider returning home?
Leialoha: I'm always home. Hawaiʻi is with me always. Now, physically? Absolutely. My hope is that all Kānaka find their way home.
Ipo: Absolutely. I moved away as a kid; I’m what you might call the 1.5 generation diaspora, where I didn't really have a choice. Returning is on my mind constantly. In fact, I did try to move back during high school, but the adjustment was overwhelming. I didn't have the words for it then, but looking back, I realize I was experiencing culture shock and feeling like an imposter in my own heritage. I ended up leaving again, and it still haunts me to this day. Now, as an adult, the biggest hurdles are the cost of living and job accessibility. Still, I’m determined to make it home someday, no matter how long it takes. That longing never really goes away.
What is a message Diasporic Hawaiians can hold onto?
Leialoha: Hawaiʻi knows who you are. Hawaiʻi knows where we are. Hawaiʻi has never forgotten us. We are of Hawaiʻiʻs kinolau (manifestation). Never forget who you are and never forget where you are from.
Ipo: : You are enough. You matter, and you belong—no matter how long you've been away or even if you’ve never set foot on the ‘āina (land). Wherever you are in your journey is exactly where you need to be. No matter where you call home, you have something valuable to offer our lāhui.
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