Gringo oozes out of your pores, it’s in your haircut, your shoes, on your breath, your skin, your jewelry, your posture, how sweaty you are, everything.
If you go, you’ll be a haole, you have to live with it.
Nobody called me names when I went. Then again, I wasn’t throwing rocks at seals or doing other stupid shit.
Don’t act like a jackass when you’re an outsider and most people will not give you a hard time. Tends to be true most places.
Hawaii is literal paradise and a bunch of jackoffs bought most of it and pushed the natives to the margins. They have every right to not want anyone there. If you go, just remember, you are a guest in a place that you do not belong. Be respectful and be kind, but don’t be shocked when a Toyota Tacoma comes flying up past you and rips past as you’re staring off into the trees doing 24.5 MPH on the road that they use to go home.
My grandfather grew up in New Mexico and spoke the New Mexico disalect of Spanish (he learned it from his mother) but was an obvious gringo: tall, blond and light-skinned. He was truly bicultural, and handled occasional disparaging comments from the Spanish-speaking people with humor, in Spanish. Also, he was a tough bastard, out there doing the same hard manual work in harsh conditions, like any of the ranch hands. And he’d eat food with so many chili peppers in it that it’d melt your face.
So it’s possible to not be part of an in-group, but still belong somewhere. He could go anywhere in NM or Chihuahua and fit right in. He could also hang with the white folk, as long as they weren’t (in his words) “prissy.”
And one thing he taught me very early about racism still stays with me: “Unless they’ve spent a summer pickin’ lettuce in Salinas, those fools should shut the hell up about Mexicans takin’ their jobs.” He could be a difficult man, but he had a code he lived by, and that included fairness above all. Nobody’s better than any other honest person. And if you were getting too big for your britches, he’d be happy to knock you back down to size. Sometimes a bit too eager… We got on well, because I was a stubborn, ornery kid who’d never take crap, even when it got me into trouble.
This was also my secret to a happy life when I lived in Argentina. Most people thought I was European, which was a bonus. I have that “maybe not from here but I can’t tell from where” look.
So to avoid being called that as a white person, you have to have grown up with the native Hawaiians and be treated as one of them, I presume.
As someone who grew up in Brazil as a gringo,
Asking how not to be a gringo is pointless.
Gringo oozes out of your pores, it’s in your haircut, your shoes, on your breath, your skin, your jewelry, your posture, how sweaty you are, everything.
If you go, you’ll be a haole, you have to live with it.
Nobody called me names when I went. Then again, I wasn’t throwing rocks at seals or doing other stupid shit.
Don’t act like a jackass when you’re an outsider and most people will not give you a hard time. Tends to be true most places.
Hawaii is literal paradise and a bunch of jackoffs bought most of it and pushed the natives to the margins. They have every right to not want anyone there. If you go, just remember, you are a guest in a place that you do not belong. Be respectful and be kind, but don’t be shocked when a Toyota Tacoma comes flying up past you and rips past as you’re staring off into the trees doing 24.5 MPH on the road that they use to go home.
Us outsiders are tolerated, but we do not belong.
Everyone who’s not an asshole belongs.
My grandfather grew up in New Mexico and spoke the New Mexico disalect of Spanish (he learned it from his mother) but was an obvious gringo: tall, blond and light-skinned. He was truly bicultural, and handled occasional disparaging comments from the Spanish-speaking people with humor, in Spanish. Also, he was a tough bastard, out there doing the same hard manual work in harsh conditions, like any of the ranch hands. And he’d eat food with so many chili peppers in it that it’d melt your face.
So it’s possible to not be part of an in-group, but still belong somewhere. He could go anywhere in NM or Chihuahua and fit right in. He could also hang with the white folk, as long as they weren’t (in his words) “prissy.”
And one thing he taught me very early about racism still stays with me: “Unless they’ve spent a summer pickin’ lettuce in Salinas, those fools should shut the hell up about Mexicans takin’ their jobs.” He could be a difficult man, but he had a code he lived by, and that included fairness above all. Nobody’s better than any other honest person. And if you were getting too big for your britches, he’d be happy to knock you back down to size. Sometimes a bit too eager… We got on well, because I was a stubborn, ornery kid who’d never take crap, even when it got me into trouble.
This was also my secret to a happy life when I lived in Argentina. Most people thought I was European, which was a bonus. I have that “maybe not from here but I can’t tell from where” look.