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Day in the life of Joseph Kahahawai: 1&2
Post One
September 15, 1931
I’ve spent a couple days in prison now, and I’m still trying to figure out what I did. I think it might have been the one chick I knocked some sense into after she had the nerve to step up to me. I had been drinking that night, what was it? The 12th I think. Some bitch stepped up to me and the next morning me and 4 of my friends got arrested. Or at least that was the original idea, but it wouldn’t make sense why everyone else got pulled in too. My homies Horace Ida, Henry Chang, Benny Ahakuelo, and David Takai had all been out with me that night, but they didn’t do anything. And we got arrested being accused of a rape and assault. Sure assault could be a way to put it if you stretch the truth enough, but rape? I guess it’s just pigs and haoles abusing their power as usual.
Some of the coppers in here have been questioning me about raping some haole girl.. Now that just never happened y’know? Like I’d be stupid enough to mess around with one of them, let alone one who’s with the military dogs. But this blind haole claims to suddenly see my homie’s license plate even though the car didn’t even match her original description. I didn’t even know where this haole girl was when she got supposedly raped, turns out we were five miles away. Sure we were going by car, but like I mentioned before, we didn’t even have the same car as the one she described. I don’t have enough information about why I’m here, no one wants to answer anything. To be fair, even if they did listen to a word I said, they would probably find themselves in a similar situation as me, not having enough information as to why I’m here either. I knew we were getting framed, and so do some of the hawaiian cops who were also tired of haoles acting like gods among men. I’d figure they’d know something, but they keep the information in sealed lips. For the most part at least because I did overhear a conversation and from the sounds of it, we’re in fact being framed so some military bigshot doesn’t take the blame of letting us “savage hawaiians” run wild.
Don’t even get me started on the haole military. They are the most stuck up of all of them. Coming on our land and claiming it as their own by twisting our words and making unfair “deals” that slowly tear us down. Pushing me and my community to the slums of town so that their perfect little feet have enough room to frolic without having to bump into some dirty hawaiian.
My dad came to see me today. He asked to tell him if I did it or not. I’m Catholic you see, so when I picked up the Bible he had brought with him and swore on it that I didn’t do what they say I did, my dad knew the truth and didn’t feel the need to ask any further questions. At least I know my reputation within my family and community hasn’t wavered, no matter what the news is apparently saying.
I go on trial soon, I don’t think I’m going to be found innocent. I just wish I could have gone on one last drive with my friends.
Bibliography:
Zwontizer, M. (Director). (2018) American Experience: The Island Murder [Film]. PBS
Documentaries.
I’ve spent a couple days in prison now, and I’m still trying to figure out what I did. I think it might have been the one chick I knocked some sense into after she had the nerve to step up to me. I had been drinking that night, what was it? The 12th I think. Some bitch stepped up to me and the next morning me and 4 of my friends got arrested. Or at least that was the original idea, but it wouldn’t make sense why everyone else got pulled in too. My homies Horace Ida, Henry Chang, Benny Ahakuelo, and David Takai had all been out with me that night, but they didn’t do anything. And we got arrested being accused of a rape and assault. Sure assault could be a way to put it if you stretch the truth enough, but rape? I guess it’s just pigs and haoles abusing their power as usual.
Some of the coppers in here have been questioning me about raping some haole girl.. Now that just never happened y’know? Like I’d be stupid enough to mess around with one of them, let alone one who’s with the military dogs. But this blind haole claims to suddenly see my homie’s license plate even though the car didn’t even match her original description. I didn’t even know where this haole girl was when she got supposedly raped, turns out we were five miles away. Sure we were going by car, but like I mentioned before, we didn’t even have the same car as the one she described. I don’t have enough information about why I’m here, no one wants to answer anything. To be fair, even if they did listen to a word I said, they would probably find themselves in a similar situation as me, not having enough information as to why I’m here either. I knew we were getting framed, and so do some of the hawaiian cops who were also tired of haoles acting like gods among men. I’d figure they’d know something, but they keep the information in sealed lips. For the most part at least because I did overhear a conversation and from the sounds of it, we’re in fact being framed so some military bigshot doesn’t take the blame of letting us “savage hawaiians” run wild.
Don’t even get me started on the haole military. They are the most stuck up of all of them. Coming on our land and claiming it as their own by twisting our words and making unfair “deals” that slowly tear us down. Pushing me and my community to the slums of town so that their perfect little feet have enough room to frolic without having to bump into some dirty hawaiian.
My dad came to see me today. He asked to tell him if I did it or not. I’m Catholic you see, so when I picked up the Bible he had brought with him and swore on it that I didn’t do what they say I did, my dad knew the truth and didn’t feel the need to ask any further questions. At least I know my reputation within my family and community hasn’t wavered, no matter what the news is apparently saying.
I go on trial soon, I don’t think I’m going to be found innocent. I just wish I could have gone on one last drive with my friends.
Bibliography:
Zwontizer, M. (Director). (2018) American Experience: The Island Murder [Film]. PBS
Documentaries.
Post Two
Disclaimer: First person narrative, graphic descriptions of gore. (let me know if this isn’t something I’m allowed to read in class and if so I will revise and tone it down a little bit)
It is currently Friday, January 8, 1932. I stand in the courthouse, ready to leave. I step outside and walk down the stairs only to be greeted by a man claiming that he has a summons for me. It looks official, with a golden seal on it and fancy signatures. After a little bit of consideration, I shrug and pull myself into the car. In the driver’s seat there is a man who is wearing a low brim hat, tapping impatient on the wheel. The man who had shown me the summons climbs in the back and sits next to me, continually glancing at me from the corner of his eye. I try to start a conversation, “where are we going?” “what’s your name?”.... *silence*. Due to the lack of a response, I will be calling the two men Driver and Summons just to be able to keep track of who they are.
After about 20 minutes, we pull into the driveway of a suburban neighborhood. Something doesn’t feel right. I observe my surroundings, plotting possible escape routes. I can take either of these guys 1-on-1, but I don’t know if I’d be able to pull off fighting both of them at once. We step outside the car and Driver opens the door to the house and we walk through the kitchen to the dining room. I am told to sit down on the couch, the two men then grab their own chairs, facing me with menacing looks in their eyes.
Driver flips his chair backwards, aggressively sitting down and using the back of the chair as a rest for his crossed arms and chin. “Why did you do it?”, he asks calmly. “I didn’t”, I respond with just a small amount of fear in my voice. He begins asking me this question over and over again, getting angrier and angrier until he is yelling just mere inches away from my face. I’m terrified, I feel all the blood leave my face, Summons is to the side of us, quietly brandishing his gun, almost as if he is toying with me and making it well known that I can’t win this fight…. Not like this at least.
I take a deep breath, I need to calm down, just enough for one of them to leave me alone with the other. If I can do that, I can take on one of them, even if he has a gun. The color slowly returns to my face as I realize I can bluff my way out of this. I go to open my mouth but Summons immediately sees through my plan and passes the driver, lunging at me with no hesitation. I brace myself for a punch, or maybe a jab to the gut, but am met with a loud sound followed by a ringing in my ears and an intense stinging in my left ribs.
I look down, a trickle of blood seeping through a new hole in my shirt. It feels like someone is stabbing me over and over again in the exact same place with little needles. It's a very bizarre feeling. My vision starts to blur and my head gets heavy. My breathing wavers and becomes more and more difficult to keep steady. A warm feeling rises from my chest all the way to the back of my throat. I taste… metal? I cough, harder than I’ve ever coughed before, and a red liquid splatters the tile floor. Its blood… no doubt about it. He shot me…
I look up once more, the two men are casually talking, no regard with what just happened. What are they talking about?… something about a car…...
Bibliography
User, Super. “Confession of the Killer of Joe Kahahawai, Deacon Jones.” Famous Trials, www.famous-trials.com/massie/302-jonesconfession (from Peter Van Slingerland, Something Terrible Has Happened (1966), pp. 316-322.)
It is currently Friday, January 8, 1932. I stand in the courthouse, ready to leave. I step outside and walk down the stairs only to be greeted by a man claiming that he has a summons for me. It looks official, with a golden seal on it and fancy signatures. After a little bit of consideration, I shrug and pull myself into the car. In the driver’s seat there is a man who is wearing a low brim hat, tapping impatient on the wheel. The man who had shown me the summons climbs in the back and sits next to me, continually glancing at me from the corner of his eye. I try to start a conversation, “where are we going?” “what’s your name?”.... *silence*. Due to the lack of a response, I will be calling the two men Driver and Summons just to be able to keep track of who they are.
After about 20 minutes, we pull into the driveway of a suburban neighborhood. Something doesn’t feel right. I observe my surroundings, plotting possible escape routes. I can take either of these guys 1-on-1, but I don’t know if I’d be able to pull off fighting both of them at once. We step outside the car and Driver opens the door to the house and we walk through the kitchen to the dining room. I am told to sit down on the couch, the two men then grab their own chairs, facing me with menacing looks in their eyes.
Driver flips his chair backwards, aggressively sitting down and using the back of the chair as a rest for his crossed arms and chin. “Why did you do it?”, he asks calmly. “I didn’t”, I respond with just a small amount of fear in my voice. He begins asking me this question over and over again, getting angrier and angrier until he is yelling just mere inches away from my face. I’m terrified, I feel all the blood leave my face, Summons is to the side of us, quietly brandishing his gun, almost as if he is toying with me and making it well known that I can’t win this fight…. Not like this at least.
I take a deep breath, I need to calm down, just enough for one of them to leave me alone with the other. If I can do that, I can take on one of them, even if he has a gun. The color slowly returns to my face as I realize I can bluff my way out of this. I go to open my mouth but Summons immediately sees through my plan and passes the driver, lunging at me with no hesitation. I brace myself for a punch, or maybe a jab to the gut, but am met with a loud sound followed by a ringing in my ears and an intense stinging in my left ribs.
I look down, a trickle of blood seeping through a new hole in my shirt. It feels like someone is stabbing me over and over again in the exact same place with little needles. It's a very bizarre feeling. My vision starts to blur and my head gets heavy. My breathing wavers and becomes more and more difficult to keep steady. A warm feeling rises from my chest all the way to the back of my throat. I taste… metal? I cough, harder than I’ve ever coughed before, and a red liquid splatters the tile floor. Its blood… no doubt about it. He shot me…
I look up once more, the two men are casually talking, no regard with what just happened. What are they talking about?… something about a car…...
Bibliography
User, Super. “Confession of the Killer of Joe Kahahawai, Deacon Jones.” Famous Trials, www.famous-trials.com/massie/302-jonesconfession (from Peter Van Slingerland, Something Terrible Has Happened (1966), pp. 316-322.)
Photo used under Creative Commons from Martin Pettitt