SPEAK SOFTLY, AND CARRY A BIG STICK.
He was the local leader of a certain gang in Hawaii when we met. Being a grovelling journalist, the bike was my only form of transport from Waimea to Pipe, as there was no budget for hire cars. It was the morning of media registration at the main Pipe car park, hence the bike mission, while he was about to cross the path along with a crew of tattooed boys, obviously wanting to cross over and go down to the beach.
It was tough times in Hawaii back then. Fists still played a major part in regulating, and intimidation was equally as important. A slow squeezing of brakes saw the bike slow down, and he slowed down his pace as well. Sensing that he was going to let me go past, I accelerated, but he subsequently quickened his pace, stepped in front of me and turned to face me. The bike jerked to a halt, brakes jammed, right in front of him.
“What are you doing, brah?” he snarled at me.
I mumbled something under my breath and apologised without looking up. ‘Don’t engage’ was the mantra one was taught on the North Shore back then, but he didn’t budge, and just glared at me. Eventually one of his mates shoved him along, telling him to leave it, and he walked away. As I slowly rode away, his expletive-laced ‘haole’ talk filled the air. Haole is a slur reserved for foreign white people in Hawaii, and is considered racial harassment these days.
In retrospect it wasn’t actually that much of a big deal, made
