Session 7 – The Ghost of Benjamin O. Wist

Today’s session was pretty intense for me. We started off with a report back of Dr. Peter’s visit to Singapore where we learned about some intriguing new VR efforts, Eon Reality, among others. When we transitioned into Second Life after our Blackboard Collaborate session, we went through a process of group survey and discussion. Dr. Peter facilitated the survey with a slideshow displaying a series of assertions (search the screenshots below) and we would answer by holding up a card of one of three colors: red for disagree, green for agree, and yellow for “I don’t know.”

2017-10-05 - LTEC 652D Session 07 - slideshow survey 12017-10-05 - LTEC 652D Session 07 - slideshow survey 22017-10-05 - LTEC 652D Session 07 - slideshow survey 32017-10-05 - LTEC 652D Session 07 - slideshow survey 4

We then had a chance to check out the materials the Dr. Peter created and setup for “How to make a book” (in Second Life) while still on the virtual rooftop of Wist Hall:

2017-10-05 - LTEC 652D Session 07 - how to make a book 12017-10-05 - LTEC 652D Session 07 - how to make a book 2

Then we took a tour of The Particle Laboratory. I was experiencing technical difficulties I think due to a slow connection speed so I didn’t get a chance for an in depth tour, but I snagged various items that I can later explore in my inventory and of course I can return later. It was exciting because we started off at a platform where we had to take a ride in a hot air balloon to get to the lab. The level of detail and artistry on the signage and the flow of the place made it very intriguing for me. Here I will share a few images, there is also a complete slideshow at the bottom of this post.

Screenshot (282)Screenshot (284)Screenshot (285)Screenshot (291)Screenshot (293)Screenshot (294)

While rendezvousing in the sandbox and the end of the Particle Laboratory’s path (see above), we encountered an avatar named LORD BEAST who was apparently playing with pentagrams there…

2017-10-05 on the way out of the particle lab...


2017-10-05 LORD BEAST playing with pentagrams in SL Particle Laboratory
Note the golden pentagram and circle LORD BEAST appears to have drawn on the ground to the left. This may be linked to a later occurrence in tonight’s class session where I encounter a ghost.

We then moved to OpenSim. Our focus in OpenSim was building survey collection boxes and later looking at book and magazine creation. While following the instructions step by step, something very strange happened to me. When I went to change the bumpiness aspect of the text of my box to “bark” the image of an unknown (to me at the time) old white man appeared on my box. I had no idea who he was or why he showed up. Below you can see my view of the box:

Screenshot (298)

When I asked instructors and everyone else what was going on with my box, they all said it looked perfectly as it should, just like everyone else’s, no strange black and white portrait image in sight. So I could prove that I really wasn’t making this up, I took a screenshot of the image and created a display screen in OpenSim to show everyone else.Screenshot (299)

This confirmed for everyone present that the display on their screens showed something completely different than what I was seeing. For me there was a ghostly image of this man’s portrait texturing my box, for everyone else my box looked just like theirs. To demonstrate this, a colleague took a screenshot of his view of me looking at my displayed screenshot and still present phantom survey box and displayed it to the right of my display. See here:

Screenshot (302)

2017-10-04 cropped closeup of ghostly survey box in OpenSim BENJAMIN O. WIST

I then became very intrigued with who this individual was. I asked without any immediate answer from anyone beyond hearing that the face appeared familiar. The lesson continued with the book and magazine creation exercise. I created a blown up image of the phantom face and displayed it on my in world billboard in the meantime while also juggling the magazine situation. Here is that display:

Screenshot (304)Screenshot (303)

Once class was officially over, I inquired again if anyone recognized the face. Dr. Peter answered by saying it was none other than Benjamin O. Wist whom Wist hall, the College of Education building whose virtual representation we hold class on the rooftop of. I have two theories on how this happened. A third theory, suggested by Dr. Peter, I have already discounted, being that maybe I somehow clicked the image of his picture from the building inside below and added that to my box instead of something else. I followed the process exactly step by step and the image did not show up when added any image but when selecting “bark” from a built in dropdown menu on the “bumpiness” aspect of the objects texture. So in my mind the only two possibilities to explain what happened are: 1) the ghost of Benjamin O. Wist decided to represent his mortal form on the surface of my object or 2) someone with sufficiently advanced hacking skills hacked my computer/OpenSim feed so that I would see the image of Wist on my screen while everyone else would see the standard object. Given that we are now in October, the month of Halloween / Samhain when “the veil is thin” and crossover between the other side and here is much easier than otherwise and also that time of year when pranks, especially of the ghostly variety, abound…I find either theory equally plausible. In any case, the occurence inspired me to research the figure if Wist. I gathered a lot of materials I will be looking over as I am able in the coming days and moons, but I will share what I have for now. This first is his bio from the UHM website:

Wist Hall

BENJAMIN O. WIST (1889-1951) Born in St. Paul, Minnesota, Wist graduated with a doctorate from Yale University. He came to Hawai’i in 1911 and taught for ten years in the public schools on the island of Hawai’i and on Maui. He served as president of the Territorial Normal and Training School from 1921 until 1930. When the Normal School was merged with the Teachers College of the University of Hawai’i in 1931, Wist was named dean of the Teachers College.

Wist’s educational mission was improvement of the quality of Hawai’i’s public school teachers. Rigid admission requirements, keyed to teacher quota figures established by the Territorial Department of Education, allowed Wist to maintain high standards for the Teachers College. He fought, against bureaucratic opposition, for a five-year program in the Teachers College, a standard now widely accepted. He established the Teachers College laboratory school and did the early planning for the University High School. His book, A Century of Public Education in Hawaii 1840-1940 published by the Hawaii Educational Review in 1940, remains a classic source on this topic.

After his retirement, Wist continued to serve the University as a regent. He was a member of the Hawai’i Statehood Commission and was on commission business in Washington, D.C. when he died on the mainland of a heart attack.

Lois Wist Wright collection via Building a Rainbow

Return to Building/Names List
UH Manoa | UH System

He is also mentioned in a rather interesting dissertation by Jared Demick (2015) titled  Alien comforts: The languages and foodways of Chinese Americans and Hawaiian locals in U.S. popular culture. Here is Demick’s abstract:

My project deals with how the grotesque and simplifying distortion of Chinese American and Hawaiian Local languages and foodways has been used to promote facile multiculturalist encounters and the ways in which contemporary writers from those ethnic groups have attempted to articulate other ethnic formulations free from what I call minstrel gestures. These writers instead valorize innovation and transformation over an adherence to past traditions already pillaged and stereotyped by hegemonic interests. This strategy—which I dub the creole relational mode—has worked to varying degrees of success in creating the possibilities for oppositional cultural formations. While these oppositional cultural formations are often liberating, they sometimes can obscure persistent interethnic tensions in U.S. culture. The project’s contribution to the existing scholarship lies in its central claim that language and food are invested with so much meaning in U.S. interethnic discourse because these two forms of difference are easily appropriated and internalized by individuals across otherwise rigidly constructed ethnic boundaries.

Benjamin Wist is mentioned in the context of the struggle for establishing high levels of proficiency in standard imperial English. I have selected the following quote at such length so an unfamiliar reader to the context of this struggle will have enough to comprehend a deeper level of significance of Wist’s educational mission:

[begin page 83:]     Upon further study, Pidgin becomes even more singular: before the advent of Hawaiian Creole English, there was Pidgin Hawaiian. Linguists such as Derek Bickerton and Sarah Roberts have pointed out that the linguistic situation in Hawaiʻi in the mid-nineteenth century was one where the Hawaiian language—which became a written language by the 1840s—was the dominant tongue in the archipelago. As Bickerton states, “Hawaiʻi was an independent kingdom and Europeans were there on sufferance. And when you enter somebody else’s country, you don’t get far if you try to make them talk your language. You have to try to speak theirs” (210). Sarah Roberts, working under Bickerton, sifted through thousands of the Hawaiian Kingdom’s court records from the nineteenth century and discovered that defendants and witnesses who were not Native Hawaiian would give testimony in a pidginized form of Hawaiian (Bickerton 214-7). Tracking the changes in the defendants’ and witnesses’ Pidgin Hawaiian, Bickerton theorizes that this pidgin was poised to become a creole when it collapsed under the weight of the massive influx of immigrant labor demanded by the sugarcane plantations (218). Since English was the language of the planters, the immigrant labor force borrowed from that language in order to communicate with each other.

However, the process might not have been as dramatic as Bickerton imagines; the base language of the archipelago’s pidgin and later, creole, could have gradually, awkwardly shifted from Hawaiian to English as the American planting elite began to exert more and more influence in the islands’ economic and political affairs. Scholars at the University of Hawaiʻi’s Charlene Sato Center posit that the workers’ Pidgin Hawaiian was heavily influenced in the 1850s by the Chinese Pidgin English already used as an interethnic communicative mode by the first wave of Chinese immigrants. At the same time, epidemics of measles and the whooping cough significantly lowered the numbers of Native Hawaiians in the 1850s; as a result, some Native [begin page 84:] Hawaiians began to be instructed in English rather than in Hawaiian (“Pidgin Timeline”). After the initial wave of Chinese immigrants, planters start recruiting Portuguese immigrants from the Azores and Madeira in the 1870s and these immigrants begin contributing heavily to Pidgin’s grammar. Kent Sakoda and Jeff Siegel theorize that the Portuguese influence is so prominent because they often held overseer positions on the plantations and had to give orders to a variety of workers (14). Furthermore, the Portuguese were the first ethnic group to drop their heritage language for Pidgin, setting a precedent that would be later followed by other ethnic groups (14). By the time the Hawaiian monarchy was overthrown in 1893, standard English completed its ascent as the language of haole power and prestige on the islands and Pidgin was fast becoming the language of choice for the emerging multiethnic underclass, the forerunners of the Hawaiian Locals.

As can be inferred from these transitions, by the start of the twentieth century, Hawaiʻi’s linguistic ecology went through a series of shocking transformations in little over a hundred years, changes that reflected the socioeconomic upheaval created by the increasing American interference in Island life. The rapidly shrinking and politically disenfranchised Native Hawaiian population watched its language’s burgeoning literary traditions go from occupying a prominent place in the islands’ social sphere to become an apparition exiled to the fringes, only allowed to emerge in place names and colorful Local terms. The Chinese, Portuguese, Japanese, Puerto Rican, Korean, and Filipino plantation laborers slowly began to lose fluency in their first languages. Confronted with making a home in a society that did not reward the maintenance of ethnic traditions, many of these laborers began to adhere to the burgeoning multiethnic label of Local. Finally, there are the haoles, who, while economically dominant, are statistically only a small part of the islands’ population and must learn to the wield their dominance with a certain [begin page 85:] amount of tact and avoid forcing their cultural and linguistic preferences too harshly.27 In such a linguistic situation, there are no surefire prestige languages, no linguistic mode that is totally immune from scorn and attack. It is exactly in such an environment that Pidgin begins its contested emergence in the cultural consciousness of Hawaiʻi.

Probably the earliest discourse about Pidgin took place in the Hawaiian school system where it was treated as a suspicious enemy that was preventing a multiethnic student body from assimilating into Mainland American society and enjoying the material benefits of haole life. These ideas about Pidgin were so pervasive among the haole elite that they caused the transformation of Hawaiʻi’s whole educational structure, precipitated by haole-run school boards (Tamura 433). By the mid-1920s, all aspiring teachers had to pass a five minute oral examination in standard English and teacher training colleges added speech courses to their curricula. However, three years after their implementation, Benjamin Wist, the president of the Territorial Normal and Training School, expressed dismay at the lack of improvement among these future teachers in speaking standard English (Tamura 435). Furthermore, in 1924, Hawaiʻi established Standard Schools, which were educational institutions that taught in standard English and required that the students be proficient in the language as well (Tamura 436; Young 408-9). The Standard Schools’ student bodies were overwhelming haole and these students received a more traditionally academic training while Local children in the other schools received vocational instruction (Young 409-10). Morris Young points out that Hawaiʻi’s educational system became de facto segregated through the Standard School model. Young narrates how a group of Japanese families started their own kindergarten which rigorously taught standard English. Their children
all passed the oral examinations required in Standard Schools, a phenomenon which dismayed [begin page 86:] haole parents who hoped that the examinations “would, by an exclusion of little Orientals, meet the demand for an ‘American school’” (Young 411). The haoles in Young’s story defined “American” as white only and positioned every other individual of a different ancestry as foreign and alien, an ideological position that foolishly ignores the fact that haoles and their culture were the minority in Hawaiʻi. Young also mentions that the exclusionary agenda of the Standard Schools came out in other ways as well, most prominently in the criteria for passing the oral entrance examination. These tests, according to Young, were judged almost exclusively on pronunciation and were designed to trip up students (417). Furthermore, the structure of the examination reveals a major bias: “Standard English seemingly is equated with a cognitive ability to formulate a clear and understandable narrative that indicates intelligence” (418). According to education administrators, Pidgin was merely broken English and an indicator of a broken brain.

In the decades that followed the Hawaiian educational system would continue its assault on Pidgin. In 1943, the University of Hawaiʻi implemented a policy in which all freshmen had to take a speech course and those students who did not adopt standard English after four semesters were expelled. These courses were not focused on the rhetoric of public speaking; instead they were focused on correcting perceived deficiencies in students’ speech habits (Tamura 446). Probably the most disconcerting initiative occurred in 1987 when Hawaiʻi’s Board for Education attempted to ban Pidgin from the classroom (Tamura 450). Even though ten of the thirteen board members were Locals, some of whom grew up speaking Pidgin, they agreed with their Mainland colleagues that Pidgin was a debased form of communication (Tamura 452). After sparking a public debate across the islands, the board’s initiative did not pass; however, it does testify to the success that the public education system had in the devaluation of Pidgin as a language.

[begin page 87:]    Fighting Pidgin’s battered public image has been indeed difficult for activists especially since many Pidgin speakers view the language with indifference at best and scorn at worst. Even those who admire Pidgin believe that it is a mutant, broken form of English. As early as 1938, John Reinecke notes, “In using it [Pidgin] many [Hawaiian Locals] know that they are losing prestige with the Americans, and they condemn themselves for using it, sometimes in strong terms. The idea that the ‘pidgin’ might have the dignity of a dialect is foreign to them” (786). This sort of self-deprecatory attitude is observable in the documentary Ha Kam Wi Tawk Pidgin Yet?, a film in which Pidgin speakers from all walks of life offer their theories about the language and its role in Hawaiian Local life. In one interview, a female high school student offers a bewildering range of attitudes about her tongue in a matter of a few minutes. First, she casts aspersion on her language, stating that she uses it out of laziness: “It [Pidgin] saves a lot of your breath. From saying the whole word.” Pidgin here is theorized as a shortcut, a modern version of the haole planters’ assertion that Native Hawaiians were lazy workers. Then the students proclaims that, “I neva learn da Pidgin, da Pidgin come to me.” For this speaker, Pidgin emerged from her very soul rather than being actively absorbed from her environment. She sees Pidgin as inseparable from her identity since it plays a major role in publicly proclaiming her personality and her place in society. These intertwined ideas of Pidgin as the essence of Local identity while also being an expression of laziness come out in a later interview with an auto mechanic: “Pidgin is part of our culture, eh. It’s like a part of your race wen you get brought up. Ev’rybody just get lazy and talk.” What can be gleaned from these theories is that speaking Pidgin is oftentimes viewed in Hawaiʻi as a pathological condition, a notion that attempts to transform Local identity itself into an abject state.

[begin page 88:]     The study of Pidgin helps us to understand that the ethnic identities of haole and Local are explicitly performative in nature. Judy Rohrer in her masterful study of the concept of the haole mentions that visitors from the U.S. Mainland assume that haole merely designates a person as white. However, in Hawaiian Local discourse, the term has a much more nuanced and loaded meaning: “Local constructions of haole also emphasize performative haoleness or acting haole, the exhibiting of attitudes and actions that run counter to local and Hawaiian social values.” (35). To be a haole, one must adopt a series of personality traits that cut one off from fully bonding and commiserating with Locals, or as Rohrer states, “haole often wish it were elsewhere (usually somewhere less ‘provincial’ and always more white), it will not or cannot adapt to the island environment and culture” (54). According to Rohrer, it is also necessary to us to understand that the terms haole and Local actually help define each other, that without the one, the other could not exist as a concept: “It is through this interplay and its symbolic and material manifestations that haole gains meaning and significance in multiple, often conflicting ways” (34). Haole in particular is contingent upon the construction of the Local as an ill-defined abomination. According to the haole, the Local is a product of failed assimilation, a monument to a failed attempt to enter modernity, a Mutant American. This construction of Local identity played a prominent role during the infamous Massie Case of 1931-2 in which a group of five nonwhite Island men—Benny Ahakuelo, Henry Chang, Horace Ida, Joseph Kahahawai, and David Takai—were falsely accused of raping Thalia Massie, a naval officer’s wife. After the jury pronounced the men innocent of the crime, Horace Ida was brutally beaten and Joseph Kahahawai was murdered by Massie’s husband, mother, and a naval officer (Chan and Freeser 46-7). The violence did not stop there; Naval Rear Admiral Yates Stirling advocated for lynching the accused men. In his public pronouncement, Stirling offers an explicitly racist construction of [begin page 89:] the Local: “What is. . .disturbing is the intermixture of races that has been going on in the Hawaiian Islands for many years. Scientists have stated that these intermixtures tend to produce types of a lower moral and mental caliber than the pure-blooded types of each race” (Chan and Freeser 48). Stirling’s blatant racism allows him to position haoles as valiantly working against the further defilement of the human race, trying to root out the Islands’ racial pathology. From this ideological position, Stirling can comfortably ignore the imperialist agenda that the very presence of the U.S. Navy in the islands represents.

The Massie Case offered Locals a chance to define themselves as well. According to John Rosa, the case allowed many people to frame their identity as immigrant descendants fighting haole oppression rather along traditional ethnic lines (94). This definition of Local as an oppressed multiethnic underclass has been sharply criticized by some Native Hawaiian intellectuals who claim that the Local label allows the descendants of plantation workers to ignore the ways in which they colluded with haole projects and helped to solidify the marginalization of Native Hawaiians. Ku’ualoha Ho’omanawanui writes that both haoles and Locals view “Hawaiʻi as a commodified resource, not as an ancestor; a picturesque setting for people-centered stories, not as a character in ma’olelo. They also share the dominant American ideology that America (including Hawaiʻi, their fiftieth state) is a land of equality, opportunity, liberty, freedom, and justice for all. Perhaps the most damaging of all is that they perpetuate the myth we are a nation made up of only immigrants” (122-3). As Ho’omanawanui’s charges indicate, the haole/Local dynamic creates a dialectic of Island identity in which there is no room for Native Hawaiians to enter. Native Hawaiians do seem to disappear in the arguments of pro-Pidgin activists that began to emerge in the late 1970s and continue to this day. For these linguistic advocates, Pidgin [begin page 90:] is all about Local identity and it reinforces the notion of Hawaiʻi as a multiethnic paradise. In 1999, in response to charges by the chairperson of Hawaiʻi’s Board of Education that Pidgin was the reason why Island children fared so poorly in national standardized writing tests, a group of linguists and educators at the University of Hawaiʻi, Manoa formed an alliance known as the Da Pidgin Coup. This group released a manifesto/game plan/primer about Pidgin that sought to define the language and its role in Hawaiian Local culture. The group declares:

Language is the carrier of culture, and Pidgin is the carrier of ‘local’ culture. It is part of what makes Hawaiʻi different from the rest of the U.S. Denigration of Pidgin is denigration of its speakers, a majority of the population of Hawaiʻi. Pidgin is inclusive, a reflection of our historical attitudes and the value placed on getting along and trying to find common group. It is non-hierarchical and puts people on an even footing.

The document goes on to describe the nature of the language, how it is a creole, how the idea of a single correct and standard English is a myth, and how speaking and writing are two different communicative channels. Yet, to my mind, this is the most striking part of the whole declaration. It takes the common foundational narrative that pidgins and creoles are created by group of people who need to communicate and do not share a language and invests it with a utopian and political meaning. I am especially intrigued by the description of Pidgin as “nonhierarchical,” which casts Pidgin in an almost anarchist glow as the communicative register of self-determining individuals who works in concert with each other. This anarcho-utopian rhetoric only exists in the minds of the members of Da Pidgin Coup, of course, since Hawaiʻi socioeconomic structure offers anything but “an even footing.” However, Da Pidgin Coup’s definition of the language does offer us a glimpse into the therapeutic significance of the label of Local; it helps Islanders [page 91:] imagine and work towards a vision where the cruel inequities of Hawaiʻi’s history may finally be resolved.

A more popular way to advocate for Pidgin has been the compilation of popular dictionaries devoted to Pidgin. There are two dictionaries in particular that have achieved almost canonical status within this genre: Douglas Simonson, Pat Sasaki, and Ken Sakata’s Pidgin to Da Max (1980) and Lee Tonouchi’s Da Kine Dictionary (2005). It is worth noting that both of these texts were published by Honolulu’s Bess Press, a publishing house that is the epicenter of Hawaiian Local humor. These two dictionaries are not extensive explorations of Pidgin as language; they do not detail its complex grammar and their lexical inventory is by no means complete. They are lavishly illustrated: Pidgin to Da Max is with large black-and-white comics of Locals humorously demonstrating how to use certain Pidgin terms while Da Kine Dictionary contains color photographs of young and attractive Locals making bizarre and humorous expressions. As closer analysis will show, these two books celebrate Hawaiian Local identity, but do so at the cost of exoticizing that identity. Pidgin dictionaries perpetuate the idea of Pidgin as a pathological English dialect by implying that one’s mastery of a few phrases will make one fluent in the language.

[Demick footnote 27, p. 85:] 27 According to Eileen Tamura, by 1920, standard English speakers only were 8% of Hawaiʻi’s population (433).

(Demick, 2015, pp. 83-91)

For further discussions of colonization and Hawaiian resistance in the realm of language and otherwise, see further sources in bibliography at the bottom of this post especially Goodyear-Kaʻōpua et al (2014), Goodyear-Kaʻōpua (2013), Silva (2004), Silva and Thiong’o (2017).

With the broader context above, I find myself struggling to understand what is meant by “progressive methods” and revolution in the following excerpt from Patricia Moser Alvarez’s (1994) dissertation Weaving a cloak of discipline : Hawaiʻi’s Catholic schools, 1840-1941:

Alvarez 1994, Weaving a cloak of discipline - Hawai'i's Catholic schools, 1840-1941 - p. 285 excerpt
Ibid, p. 285

In one context, we have Wist represented as a colonizer by way of helping force the imposition of the English language. In the next we have him cast as part of a revolution with the Democratic Party by way of being a major figure in the advancement of progressive education that enabled “the liberal goal of popular sovereignty.” I still have a lot of history to learn about all the details of life here in the years above referenced, but I know that the sort of “popular sovereignty” with the Democratic Party has not appeared congruent with Hawaiian sovereignty. Not that the plantation society with Republican rule was a good thing, but I think it is important to note that the Democratic Party has been no less complicit in settler colonial violences against Hawaii Nei. I will be interested to continue researching the figure of Benjamin O. Wist and to deepen my study of UHM College of Education historically and into the present day. There is a lot of stuff involved here and I don’t yet know how to make sense of it all. Further sources that came up in researching Wist include his (1940) book A Century of Public Education in Hawaii, October 15, 1840-October and direct or indirect references (legacy) in the following:

Please comment below or contact me directly if you have any research leads or suggestions on Benjamin O. Wist and/or anything else this post provokes in you.

I will leave you now with the remaining screenshots from tonight’s (now yesterday’s) LTEC 652D session.

This slideshow requires JavaScript.



Alvarez, P. (1994). Weaving a Cloak of Discipline : Hawaiʻi’s Catholic Schools, 1840-1941 (Doctoral dissertation). Accessed 4 October 2016 at

Chan, Gaye and Andrea Freeser. Waikiki: A History of Forgetting and Remembering. Honolulu: University of Hawaiʻi Press, 2006.

Demick, Jared. (2015). Alien comforts: The languages and foodways of Chinese Americans and Hawaiian locals in U.S. popular culture. (Doctoral dissertation). Retreived from DigitalCommons@Uconn. Accessed 4 October 2017. Direct url:

Goodyear-Kaʻōpua, N., Hussey, Ikaika, & Wright, Erin Kahunawaikaʻala. (2014). A nation rising : Hawaiian movements for life, land, and sovereignty (Narrating native histories). Honolulu: University of Hawaiʻi Press.

Goodyear-Kaʻōpua, N. (2013). The Seeds We Planted : Portraits of a Native Hawaiian Charter School.  Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press.

Ho’omanawanui, Ku’ualoha. (2008). This Land is Your Land, This Land was My Land: Kanaka Maoli vs. Settler Representations of ‘Aina in Contemporary Literature of Hawaiʻi. In Candance Fujikane and Jonathan Okamura (Eds.), Asian Settler Colonialism: From Local Governance to the Habits of Everyday Life in Hawaiʻi. (pp. 116-54). Honolulu: University of Hawaiʻi Press.

Rohrer, Judy. (2010). Haoles in Hawaiʻi. Honolulu: University of Hawaiʻi Press.

Tamura, Eileen. (1996). “Power, Status, and Hawaiʻi Creole English: An Example of Linguistic Intolerance in American History.” Pacific Historical Review 65.3 (1996): 431-54.

Silva, Noenoe., & Thiong’o, Ngugi Wa. (2017). The Power of the Steel-Tipped Pen: Reconstructing Native Hawaiian Intellectual History. Durham: Duke University Press.

Silva, N. (2004). Aloha betrayed : Native Hawaiian resistance to American colonialism (American encounters/global interactions). Durham: Duke University Press.

Trask, H., & University of Hawaii at Manoa. Center for Hawaiian Studies. (1999). From a native daughter : Colonialism and sovereignty in Hawaiʻi (Rev. ed.).

Trask, H., & Matsubara, Kōji. (2002). Daichi Ni Shigamitsuke : Hawai Senjūmin Josei No Uttae.

Young, Morris. “Standard English and Student Bodies: Institutionalizing Race and Literacy in Hawaiʻi.” College English 64.4 (2002): 405-31.

Wist, Benjamin. (1940). A Century of Public Education in Hawaii, October 15, 1840-October 15, 1940.


2 thoughts on “Session 7 – The Ghost of Benjamin O. Wist

  1. Hi Cody, thank you for this post. It was informative and I enjoyed the in depth story about Wist. I hope you are enjoying yourself in this class and if I can be of any assistance, please don’t hesitate to ask.


    1. Hi Ty,
      I’m glad to hear you got something out of it! If the appearance of Wist was a prank and not his actual ghost then it certainly was a good way to get me to learn about him by whoever may have been behind it!!! I am thoroughly enjoying the class for sure and I appreciate your solid TAship as well as Ivan’s.
      ke aloha


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