Protest of prison conditions in 1981.
A previously untold story, Part 1

Prisoners hang a sign from Old Oahu Prison cellblock at OCCC calling attention to hunger strike protest a few months after the shakedown.

This is my most memorable story about Randy Kalahiki, including details never told publicly before.

It’s a follow-up to my recent post about the Kalahiki brothers, Randy and Mel.

Hoomana School

Back in 1981, both Meda and I were both teaching classes in the Hoomana prison school offered through Honolulu Community College.

Meda had been teaching full-time at HCC since about 1974, and by this time was a veteran at OCCC. She had done an evaluation of Ike Na Paahao, an outreach program by prisoners who visited classrooms to warn students away from crime, a version of the then-popular “Scared Straight” programs. After that evaluation, she taught several classes of at OCCC over a couple of years, earning a reputation and a following among those in custody.

Ian’s OCCC ID

Meanwhile I was a newbie, a first-time instructor teaching a single introduction to political science class as a lecturer.

The Hoomana classroom was deep within OCCC and the whole teaching experience, which included getting through the front entrance (where the security door was often not functioning and was simply left propped open), then taking a long roundabout walk to and from the classroom, proved to be quite educational for us as visiting faculty as well as for the paahao who attended class as students. Everyone in the facility routinely referred to those in custody as paahao, using the Hawaiian word for prisoner.

In mid-December, 1981, prison officials launched a large multi-day “shakedown,” a mass sweep of OCCC targeting weapons, drugs, and other contraband. It was conducted by correctional officers and police, aided by a number of the more hardened guards from the high security prison at Halawa.

Within days, we started getting phone calls from family members of inmates who passed along details of alleged beatings and violence initiated by guards during the shakedown, even while some prison administrators and other state officials reportedly stood by and watched.

After the shakedown was finished and family visits were being restored, we quickly decided to seek out additional information about the rumors of official violence.

We drove out to OCCC early in the morning on one of the first two visiting days, and approached people as they left the facility. We introduced ourselves to visitors, and solicited information they had been told about incidents involving official violence during the shakedown. Some reporting injuries they had seen, bruises, etc. The reception was very positive, and word of our presence quickly spread and brought forward other informants.

Using details learned that had been cross-checked from multiple interviews, Meda and I wrote a brief 4-page report describing alleged use of excessive force, including names and descriptions of injuries. This while officials were publicly denying any incidents like this had taken place.

I had already stepped down as program director of the small Honolulu office of the American Friends Service Committee, a Quaker organization, but was part of a small criminal justice task force formed to discusss issues in Hawaii’s prisons and plan appropriate Quaker responses.

We naively thought that when state officials saw our compilation of the more serious and better documented allegations, they would quickly order an investigation.

We were absolutely wrong.

(Next: How the report ended up on the governor’s desk—and how this led to Randy Kalahiki contacting an organized crime figure.)

This Feline Friday is a holiday in Hawaii!

Yes, it’s Feline Friday. And, yes, it’s a state holiday.

But it is also another example demonstrating correlation is not the same as causation.

Although a holiday, that has nothing to do with it being Feline Friday, whatever you might hear to the contrary.

It’s Statehood Day, marking the historic moment on August 21, 1959 when Hawaii officially became the 50th U.S. state.

The cats almost didn’t make it here in time. Yesterday was another 6-hour chemo/immunotherapy infusion session. It wasn’t bad, but it had been a bad week and I didn’t have enough photos yet. Luckily, I eventually managed to fill out the weekly gallery.

The first photo of Kiko on the counter shows a cardboard delivery box next to her. It’s my birthday present to myself from B&H Camera in New York, the best source I’ve found for camera equipment. It’s delivered a Sigma 35mm f/2.0 lens, an upgrade from a budget model I purchased a year or so ago.

I’m still tired, so I’ll just step out of the way and let you jump right in. The cats are expecting you.

Feline Friday: August 21, 2026

The Chemo Chronicles:
Another day in Chair #6

I’m in Chair #6 at the Queen’s Cancer Center on the fourth floor of the Kuakini Medical Plaza building. I’ve been here since about 8:40 this morning, and it’s now heading toward 1 p.m. It will be a solid six hours before I’m finally done around 2:30 pm.

Gemcitabine is the second chemotherapy drug I’ve gotten today, following cisplatin, alongside the immunotherapy drug durvalumab, and two anti-nausea meds—one fast-acting, one longer-lasting. Those have been punctuated by several rounds of hydration fluids to help flush the chemicals out of my system before I head home.

The extended-release anti-nausea drug should let me eat a decent dinner tonight, but it’s a double-edged sword: it also causes significant constipation. I’ll take a dose of MiraLAX tonight and another in the morning to try to keep things moving.

I’m not used to planning such things, but I’ve quickly learned to beware the gods of constipation.

Key figures in the Hawaiian movement: The Kalahiki brothers

A shoutout to two more champions of the modern Hawaiian political and social renaissance, Randy Kalahiki (left, 1932-1993) and his older brother, Mel Kalahiki (right, 1925-2020). The brothers played a foundational, ground-level role in the early years of the modern Hawaiian Renaissance and the political awakening that gathered momentum through the 1970s and 1980s. If there were an important event in the emerging Hawaiian movement, these two would almost always be there at or near the center of the action.

I was closest to Randy, who I met in about 1974 through Kawaipuna Prejean, the first director of the Hawaiian Coalition of Native Claims. Yes, the same Kawaipuna who suggested that we fly to Maui for the January 1976 protest landing on Kahoolawe. When I met Randy, he was known as one of the founders of the Prejean’s organization, and later served as a lobbyist and board member of its successor organization, the Native Hawaiian Legal Corporation.

Randy was a former meat cutter and truck driver who turned to youth work as a result of experiences with the Kahaluu Community Action Program. CAP was one of Lyndon B. Johnson’s signature 1960s anti-poverty initiatives that empowered local communities to design and manage their own programs. A number of well-known community activists emerged from CAP programs over the years.

It felt to me like Randy was everywhere there were activists pressing for change. He was there with the movements to stop the bombing of Kahoolawe and Makua Valley, to reform the policies of the Hawaiian Homes Commission, protect the rights of prisoners, and protect Hawaiian land rights. He spent several years with the KEY Project in Kahaluu, and retained his ties to that community throughout his life. With his quiet and gregarious personality, he was as comfortable in the hallways of the state capitol as on the streets in communities across Oahu. He mainly worked behind the scenes to keep collective emotions in check during confrontations over contentious issues, steering activists into constructive and effective social action.

I knew Mel as Randy’s brother. The one with the camera. a Nikon, as I recalled. Mel almost always carried his camera, as I did at that time.

I wonder whatever happened to his important collection of photos and negatives? It must be a treasure trove of photos of significant people and events in that period of Hawaii history. Where is that collection today?

Mel was the organization guy, serving for over a decade as chairman of the Council of Hawaiian Organizations, a coalition that brought together groups with different interests and political views to speak with one voice on Hawaiian issues. The position put him at the center of one of the most important organizations and the most vital policy issues during that period.

In 1982, Governor George Ariyoshi appointed Mel to the Hawaiian Homes Commission as the representative for Windward Oahu. He served for eight years and became the commission’s vice chairman.

He was elected a director of the Hawaii Canoe Racing Association in 1978, according to news clips, and served as its race director for many years. That connection hit close to home: my father, John M. Lind, was a co-founder of the HCRA, then known as the Hawaii Canoe Racing and Surfing Association, and was president in 1952, the year of the first Molokai to Oahu race.

Liko Martin, Kawaipuna Prejean, Mel Kalahiki, January 1977.

Mel was one of those who took the stage at the Iolani Palace bandstand for the first “Sovereign Sunday” in January 1977, the event where musician and songwriter Liko Martin introduced his anthem, “All Hawaii Stand Together.”

The brothers were a powerhouse duo, and I was lucky to spend several years as a young man rubbing shoulders with them.