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Monday, April 15, 2024 | Back issues
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The boys of Ala Moana, and the trials that changed Hawaii

Often described as Hawaii’s version of the Emmett Till case, the Depression-era "Massie affair" highlighted racial and economic inequities on the islands that still persist today.

HONOLULU (CN) — One morning in September 1931, Thalia Massie, the white 20-year-old wife of a white Navy officer, showed up at the Honolulu police station, bruised and bloodied. 

There, she told officers a harrowing story of what she said had happened to her the night before. She was headed home from a night of dancing, she said, when she was abducted, beaten and raped. Her attackers, she said, had been a gang of local Hawaiian men.

Massie’s accusation kicked off what became known as the Massie affair, a spiraling Depression-era controversy that ultimately spawned two separate criminal trials.  

It’s sometimes remembered as Hawaii’s version of the Emmett Till saga. Like in that case, dubious allegations by a white woman led to violent reprisals against the nonwhite purported aggressors. The suspects had a solid alibi, and a Hawaii government investigation ultimately cleared them — but only after Massie’s family had killed one of the suspects.

In other ways, though, the Massie affair was messier and more complex. Till’s accuser, Carolyn Bryant, said only that Emmett Till had touched and whistled at her, and even those allegations have long raised doubts.

In the Massie affair, there was clear evidence that Thalia Massie had indeed been harmed — though the details on what really happened remain a mystery. Extensive and inflammatory coverage of the case did little to clear the air.

The Massie affair took off in the press, stoking furor among white residents. The Honolulu Advertiser and Star Bulletin newspapers, both run by white transplants from the mainland, took the side of Massie. Here was a woman of “refinement and culture,” the Advertiser wrote, attacked by so-called "fiends" and "thugs."

Other local newspapers — the working-class papers run by Native Hawaiians and nonwhite immigrants — saw the situation differently, pointing out inconsistencies in Massie’s story. Regardless, Massie’s police report should not be seen as the true start to this saga. Instead, the Massie affair was the culmination of decades of racial tensions, which in the 1930s finally boiled over into criminal trials and vigilante justice.

From the day Captain Cook first arrived in Hawaii in the late 18th century, Native Hawaiians were branded as savage and beastly, a primitive people in need of white guidance.

That treatment continued as local missionaries arrived to convert the islanders and as American settlers set up plantations. An underclass soon emerged, including not only Native Hawaiians but also Asian migrants, mostly from China and Japan, who worked alongside them on plantations.

In 1893, less than 40 years before Thalia Massie made her allegations, wealthy white settlers overthrew Queen Lili’uokalani, bringing an end to the unified Kingdom of Hawaii. Just seven years later, in 1900, Hawaii had become fully a territory of the United States. 

The U.S. wasted no time installing a heavy military presence in the islands, taking advantage of their position in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. By 1930, when Navy Lieutenant Thomas Massie was stationed in Hawaii, a racialized status quo had emerged, with wealthy white business owners and military members on top and an Asian and Pacific Islander majority below.

The plight of Native Hawaiians was likely not on Thomas and Thalia Massie’s minds on September 12, 1931 — the night of the alleged assault. Instead, the couple relaxed at the Ala Wai Inn, a Waikiki nightclub that has long since closed. (The building itself is now the Hawaii Convention Center.)

The young and reportedly unhappily married couple became separated during the night. Thomas spent the night partying at the nightclub, while Thalia left the Ala Wai Inn alone sometime before midnight.

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After leaving Ala Wai himself, Thomas continued partying at a fellow officer’s home. Then, at around 1 a.m., he called home to check on his wife.

Thalia begged him to come home. “Something terrible has happened,” she told him.

The Massie affair blew up in the press, becoming front page news even thousands of miles away. Brevities, a New York tabloid, ran this cartoon on their front page February 1, 1932, accompanied by a headline declaring that "Hawaiians must be punished!" (Image via The Clarence Darrow Digital Collection at the University of Minnesota)

What exactly happened, though, would soon become a matter of controversy. When she was first brought to the police, Thalia Massie could not explain what had happened to her or who had done it.

She had first been discovered wandering nearby roads by a couple. Reportedly, she told them she had been robbed — not raped. A subsequent rape kit showed no evidence of sexual assault.

In later accounts, Thalia Massie described a vicious gang rape by a group of Hawaiian men, who she said kidnapped her in their car and drove her to a nearby park. In a version she gave police, meanwhile, she told them vivid details, including not only the model of the car but even its license plate.

Trauma can disrupt the formation of memories, and it’s not uncommon for victims of violence to be unclear about what exactly happened to them. Still, what happened next likely had less to do with memory formation and more to do with Hawaii’s racist class system. 

Those involved in the case — from law-enforcement and the court system to Massie’s family members themselves — quickly latched onto the version in which Massie had been victimized by a nonwhite mob. Other theories — like that she may have been attacked by her own husband or another Navy man — were barely even considered.

The same night of Thalia Massie’s purported assault, Horace Ida, a young Japanese American man, had nearly been involved in a car collision in downtown Honolulu. Ida had been driving around with a group of friends, including Joseph Kahahawai, a Native Hawaiian well-known around town as a prize fighter.

The near-accident led to a brief confrontation, with Kahahawai and a person in the other car briefly exchanging blows. The couple in the other car called the police, who issued a “be on the lookout” for Ida’s vehicle.

At the same time, as bad luck would have it, Massie was telling officers about her assault. Ida and Kahahawai — along with their friends Benny Ahakuelo, David Takai and Henry Chang — were all rounded up and arrested.

At the police station, Massie would identify Ida and Kahahawai as among her assaulters. The whole group was charged in Thalia Massie’s rape, and rumors soon spread among enraged white islanders that locals had beaten and raped a white woman.

A trial began in November '31 for the men, dubbed "the Ala Moana boys" after the area in Honolulu where the alleged assault had taken place.

Before the trial even began, the incident exposed the fault lines in stratified Hawaii society. On one hand, many haole, or non-Hawaiians, called for the death penalty.

On the other hand, Native Hawaiians and Asians saw a rise in race and class consciousness throughout the scandal. They began to view the American justice system not as an impartial arbitrator, but as a tool to “put people in their place and keep people oppressed,“ Troy Andrade, a law professor at the University of Hawaii, said in an interview.

As the actual trial began, it soon became clear there were flaws in the prosecution’s case — and in Thalia Massie’s story. 

When pressed at cross-examination, Massie could no longer remember details from her police testimony. There was no physical evidence, and Kahahawai and Ida had solid alibis: The incident with the other vehicle happened only about 15 minutes before Massie was discovered on the other side of town. After three weeks, the jury deadlocked. The judge declared a mistrial.

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As the possibility of a second trial loomed, tensions on the islands ratcheted up.

The prejudices of many white military men in Hawaii soon became clear, said Andrade, the University of Hawaii professor.

”Many were from the South, and they came with their ideas about race relations,” Andrade said. He cited the example of Navy Admiral Yates Stirling Jr., who argued that “the territorial government should string [the defendants] up on trees, don’t even go through a legal process, just lynch the men.” Racial sentiments like these, Andrade added, help explain why the story caught fire on the mainland.

Territorial Governor Lawrence Judd commuted the manslaughter sentences for Edward Lord, Deacon Jones, Thomas Massie and Grace Fortescue to just one hour. From left to right: Clarence Darrow, Edward Lord, Deacon Jones, Maj. Gordon Ross, high sheriff, Grace Fortescue, Thalia Massie, Thomas Massie, and George Leisure posing on the lanai of 'Iolani Palace. (Photo via The Clarence Darrow Digital Collection at the University of Minnesota)

Many white people in Hawaii were outraged about the incident — but perhaps no one was more angry than Thalia Massie’s mother, Grace Fortescue.

Fortescue had arrived in Hawaii shortly before the trial began, and she soon began to hear nasty rumors about her daughter. Among them: that Thalia Massie had lied. That she had been meeting the Ala Moana boys for a consensual rendezvous. That Lieutenant Massie had beaten Thalia, after catching her with a fellow officer. 

Fortescue, a socialite with ties to the American elite, could not abide the injustice she believed had been done to her daughter. Nor did she trust the Honolulu legal system, David E. Stannard, a history professor at the University of Hawaii, wrote in “Honor Killing,” an account of the Massie affair. 

Fortescue decided to take matters into her own hands. She arranged for a group of Navy men to kidnap Ida. They attempted to beat a confession out of him, then left him for dead. 

Fortescue, along with Thomas Massie, then recruited two other enlisted men, Albert Jones and Edward J. Lord, to kidnap Kahahawai. Kahahawai would not be as lucky as Ida — he was shot and killed — but Fortescue’s luck was about to run out, too. She, Thomas Massie, Jones and Lord were soon arrested, after police found Kahahawai’s body wrapped in a sheet in the group’s car.

From there, the case grew to even greater notoriety. On the islands, it fostered even greater discord between the locals and military haole

On the mainland, the affair blew up in the press, egged on by William Randoph Hearst’s burgeoning publishing empire. Newspapers and radio reports painted an image of a paradise turned into a hellscape, with savage natives rising up and white women being targeted.

With a murder charge pending, Fortescue used her socialite connections to hire Clarence Darrow, a legendary defense attorney.

Famous for his role in the Scopes trial and Leopold and Loeb murder trial, Darrow had long been seen as an advocate for the oppressed. Now, he was criticized by old allies like the NAACP, who viewed his role in the case as taking the side of white supremacy.

At trial, Darrow hinged his case on who exactly had shot Kahahawai. 

Thomas Massie, he argued, had killed Kahahawai in an “honor killing.” He was so affected by his wife’s plight that he had gone insane, Darrow argued.

That defense proved ineffective. After several days of deliberation, the mostly white jury found all four guilty of manslaughter.

A manslaughter conviction carried a maximum 10-year sentence — but the pro-white power structure on the island was not yet done imposing its own racist version of justice. 

Fearing riots, Governor Lawrence Judd commuted the sentences to just one hour. The sentences were to be served in his office. On the mainland, many white politicians felt that even that punishment was too harsh. Instead, they said, the governor should have completely pardoned the four defendants.

Grace Fortescue, the Massies, and the other defendants in the Kahahawai murder case soon left the islands, having faced essentially no consequences for their actions. And yet, in a cruel twist of irony, the nonwhite defendants in the rape case had never been fully cleared.

John Kelly, who had prosecuted the Kahahawai case, called for a new investigation into the matter. The governor hired the Pinkerton National Defense Agency — and after months of investigation, the private eyes unequivocally cleared the Ala Moana boys. In a nearly 300-page report, they concluded that it was impossible for the men to have been involved at nearly the same time in both Thalia Massie’s attack and a car accident on the other side of town. The charges were dropped.

Fast forward to today, and the Massie affair has left a complex legacy in Hawaii. 

Compared to the lynching of Emmett Till, it’s a more hopeful story, argues Andrade, the University of Hawaii professor.

“The legal system did have its flaws, but at least in the Massie rape case and in the Kahahawai murder case, the legal system actually worked,” he said. “They came to the truth, that Thalia Massie was not raped and that Kahahawai was murdered.” As for what came after, he blamed not the justice system but politics.

At the same time, the trials also illustrated the deep divide between the white ruling class and working class locals. There was a new sense of solidarity, as Native Hawaiians, Japanese, Chinese, Filipinos and sympathetic haoles united against injustice, spawning a strong labor movement on the Hawaiian islands that changed the state’s political landscape dramatically.

“These cases became a very vivid example of the lengths to which those in power would go to stay in power,” Andrade explained. “It provided that rallying call for people to unite through labor — to unite, you could say, [for] more democratic principles and a more just and equitable system.”

In the following decades, the pendulum of power began to swing. More and more nonwhite Hawaii residents became political and economic leaders, helping to undo some of the injustice that had long defined the island.

Then, it began to swing back. Statehood in 1959 cleared the way for a renewed U.S. military presence, enshrining a resentment between the people and the military that still echoes today. It also opened the islands up for increased migration. As more Asians arrived, tensions also grew between those migrants and Native Hawaiians, who not long before had shared a sense of solidarity as an underclass. Today, more than 100 years after Queen Lili’uokalani was overthrown, many Native Hawaiians are still fighting for equal representation. 

Categories / Civil Rights, History, Regional

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