On a warm June Friday night, the gym of a local meeting house of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is decked out for a party: red, gold and silver balloons, the colors repeated in the round tablecloths, a pop of brightness against the hardwood floor’s expanse.
Hundreds of photographs are scattered on tables, carefully shuffled to feature different faces, many of them echoes of 11 large portraits pinned to corkboard on a crepe paper-festooned wall.
It looks like a community heritage event, with dozens and dozens of people who are Polynesian. What isn’t clear — is surprising once you learn it — is all are related by marriage or blood.
The photos on the wall are of Vida Tu’itama’alelagi Hafoka and her siblings. Her mother and father, Taaviliafi and Faaiuina Savea Aupiu Moe Tu’itama’alelagi, had 13 children. Those gathered are their children, grandchildren, greats and even great-greats. Some in the portraits are gone now but also near. In Pacific Island cultures the spirits of those who die “walk beside us.”
“We are thanking our Heavenly Father for bringing all of our travelers here safely,” said Vida Hafoka. “So many things can happen along the way. Eat what we have. Welcome.” She speaks of growth, the kids, the struggles. “So much love in this family.”
Welcome to the Tu’itama’alelagi family reunion, with 200 relatives from across the country and the Pacific Islands.
About 1.8 million Native Hawaiians/Pacific Islanders live in the U.S., according to 2022 Census Bureau estimates. Most Pacific Islanders in Utah are from Polynesia, a geographic region that includes Hawaii, Samoa, American Samoa, Tokelau, Tahiti and Tonga. Fiji is in Melanesia, along with Papua New Guinea, Solomon Islands and Vanuatu. Micronesia includes the Federated States of Micronesia, Guam, Mariana Islands, Saipan, Palau, Yap, Chuuk, Pohnpei, Kosrae, Marshall Islands and Kiribati.
Pacific Islanders nationally are about 0.5% of the population. In Utah, they are closer to 2% of the population. Tongans and Samoans are the largest Polynesian groups in Utah, at 39% and 30%, respectively, although even when combined they are fewer than a quarter of Pacific Islanders in the U.S. In Utah, 10% of Pacific Islanders are Micronesian, 8% Native Hawaiian and 2% Fijian. The 2020 U.S. Census found Utah had the third-highest percentage population of Native Hawaiian/Pacific Islanders in the nation, behind Hawaii and Alaska.
Adventurous, inquisitive people
They are also often a mix of island identities: You can be born in Tonga of Fijian and Samoan descent, for example. People travel widely through Oceania.
Jake Fitisemanu was born in New Zealand, but his dad is from Samoa, his mom from Hawaii, where he grew up. The family came to Utah for his father’s job and he finished high school, then college and earned a master’s degree in public health here. The West Valley City councilman has local and national bonafides, including serving on the White House Initiative on Asian Americans and Pacific Islanders until 2017. He’s a program manager with Intermountain Health and associate instructor of ethnic studies at the University of Utah.
Father of two girls, 10 and 14, Fitisemanu is passionate about his heritage. “Our culture is dynamic and it’s always evolving and adapting,” he said. “Our history as Pacific Islanders is unique in the whole world. Our ancestors were the only people who traversed the entire breadth and length of the Pacific Ocean and discovered 10,000 islands before Christopher Columbus was born.”
He calls Pacific Islanders inquisitive, wanting to know what’s beyond the horizon. And adaptable: New Zealand can be cold and plants that grow in Hawaii may not flourish there, but he notes the people have always thrived in both places.
Their history in Utah is also very old, “the longest continuous habitation of Pacific Islanders in the U.S. outside of Hawaii,” Fitisemanu said. Iosepa, now a ghost town southwest of Salt Lake City, is a fairly renowned settlement. Before that, Native Hawaiians settled in the capitol city’s Rose Park neighborhood near Warm Springs as early as 1873. In the 1880s, the first Samoans were in Castle Dale in central Utah and Heber Valley, east of Salt Lake City. There were Maori immigrants from New Zealand in 1884, and in 1894 another group arrived in Kanab, near the Utah-Arizona border.
Many of them came to Utah to live among other members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
“Our ancestors’ remains are buried in Utah soil, out on the Goshute Nation and here in places like the Salt Lake cemetery,” Fitisemanu said. “We have a really interesting spectrum of families that have been Utahns for maybe five generations and we have immigrant families like mine that arrived in the 1990s. We have this broad spectrum of culture, of folks very integrated into mainstream Utah-American society and folks who just arrived and are learning English.”
Other people tend to lump Pacific Islanders and their traditions together, though some are shared and others distinct. Samoans, for instance, have an unbroken history of traditional tattoos called tatau, while other Pacific cultures don’t. Samoan men embracing that rite of passage may be decorated from their knees to their torso with elaborate designs reflecting their family’s history, their connection to nature, even attributes they hope to embrace or that others see in them. The male tattooing, called pe’a, can take days. Some Samoan women get a malu, tattooing on the front and back of their thighs, often including protection symbols and their ancestral and geographic or desired attributes. The designs are unique to those getting them.
Vida Hafoka’s grandmother Talalupelele Tuitogamaatoe completed her malu at age 12. Her father was the High Chief-Sao of the village who later gave that title to his daughter, Vida’s grandmother. It signified, among other things, her courage, humility and strength, that she could take care of the village. Her ceremonial malu signified coming from a line of chiefs, Hafoka said. But rather than ensuring others serve you, it ensures you serve the community. “There is a lot of responsibility when you have your malu or pe’a,” she said, calling it a sacred decision.
For some, the ancestral tradition conflicts with religion now, while others of the same faith or background see no conflict. Tatau is peculiar in that it is both a personal choice and a family decision, a personal obligation and a collective, shared identity, Fitisemanu said.
The Apo
Luana Vernetta Philipoom’s family left New Zealand when she was 14, the oldest of six children. They moved to Salt Lake City to be near the headquarters of their faith. She later became a dancer at the Polynesian Cultural Center in Hawaii, celebrating her own Samoan ancestry while also sharing Tongan, Maori and other Pacific Island dances. After her third child, she wanted more time with family, so she moved back to Utah and settled into a job she’d have for more than three decades as an administrative assistant at O.C. Tanner.
She never stopped dancing.
Evidence that she was very loved was spread out on the patio at her sister’s home, where a crowd gathered for her “apo,” the Polynesia equivalent of a vigil, with some variations by island, including in the name. “Apo” is a Tongan word meaning ”night” and refers to the night before burial. It’s universally practiced in some form by most Polynesians, who typically in the U.S. have a traditional funeral, as well.
This became part of the Tu’itama’alelagi reunion. Philipoom died shortly before the gathering and her vigil was a family event among other activities: breakfasts, a family hike, a dance, church and visiting some of Utah’s beautiful scenery.
On a scorching afternoon, Philipoom’s friends and family lugged in cases of bottled water and juice, trays of food and treats. Gifts, including money, are a tradition among Pacific Island families, who are raised to help each other with life’s milestones, including death. Gift giving is called “fa’aaloaloga.” The first part of the word means respect. A young woman carried three brightly colored handmade quilts. “I don’t have money,” she said, “so I give my best quilts.”
Philipoom’s children sat at a long table under a canopy, flanked by their mother’s brothers. Her grandchildren were on one side, partially sheltered by another canopy. A changing cast of dozens sat on a cloth-covered concrete patio, many of the men wearing a ta’ovala, a mat tied around the waist. It’s a sign of respect, somewhat akin to wearing a tie in Western culture, someone explained. Over the hours, they shared memories and songs, food and traditional dances. The ceremonial aspect is not especially sad or happy, but rather rich in tradition, shared bonds and memories. It honors Philipoom, but also God, family and community.
Those, I was told repeatedly in different settings by unrelated people, are the heart of Pacific Island culture.
Sense of identity
Haviar Hafoka, Vida Hafoka’s son, believes young people get lost in school and elsewhere when they don’t know who they are and their family’s histories or the beauty of their culture and traditions.
He knows his own backstory well: born in Kansas City to a mom from Samoa who was raised in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and a dad from Tonga whose faith is Wesleyan. His mom was born in Hawaii, and named after the compassionate midwife who delivered her.
“Havi,” as he’s called, embraces both Samoan and Tongan traditions and history, dances and songs. Among Pacific Islanders, regardless of their island, he has never met a stranger.
The family has a dance studio that’s one of the hubs for local Polynesian happenings and he also teaches dance at Northwest Middle School. The center, Malialole Polynesian Cultural Arts, is a music, dance and arts school that also does ensemble and other entertainment. The center is named after one of Vida’s granddaughters. In a YouTube video, the family calls dance a language, an expression of “alofa,” meaning love, which connects their spirits. That’s also in the name of an organization where Vida Hafoka is vice president: Alofa Faasamoa Organization provides resources for depression, bullying and mental health in teens and young adults.
Susi Feltch-Malohifo’ou came late to learning her culture, though she’s now very active within Utah’s Pacific Islander community. In 2021, Forbes featured her in its 50 over 50 list for work with a group she, her husband and a friend co-founded called Pacific Island Knowledge 2 Action Resources, or PIK2AR. It’s a nonprofit dedicated to the preservation and economic success of Pacific Islanders. She also received the FBI Director’s Community Leadership Award for Utah, among other honors.
A Tongan woman who married a Tongan/Fijian man, she was raised in a financially privileged white family and was not introduced to her ethnic community until she was college-age. Lack of identity, she said, contributed to bad decisions as a teen and young adult, though she learned from them. She said something was missing until she became involved with Pacific Islanders and learned about her culture. It is among them that she has learned to rely on others, to give and get in a different way that creates its own kind of community.
Life’s not all sunny. Feltch-Malohifo’ou’s husband, Simi “Poteki” Malohifo’ou, is about to take what he calls KAVA Talks (Knowledge About Violence Always) into the Utah prison system, where Pacific Islanders are over-represented. Feltch-Malohifo’ou thinks young people lack communication skills, which can cause problems. Elders have complete authority, creating other issues.
“When I moved here, the reputation of Polynesians was either you’re a gangster or a football player. I looked in the mirror and said, ‘I’m neither.’ But I think because we don’t always know how to communicate, we may go straight to the fists because that’s what we’ve seen.”
Feltch-Malohifo’ou believes some behavior problems could be addressed if officials understood Pacific Island culture better. “I’ve told judges that if you put a mother on the stand, a church leader, an elder and they would have to do community service for the offender, you would never have anybody else go back to jail. Because they are not going to let their mother paint graffiti off a wall. I’ve told judges they’ve got to use the cultural things that matter,” she said.
Overland Aimiti Afo thinks young people who get in legal trouble or join gangs are missing a sense of belonging. She also believes most eventually come back to their families with remorse and change their focus back to God, family and community.
Unique relationships
Afo calls Philipoom her aunt, but one must ask: Your parent’s sibling? Relationships are fluid and also different in Pacific Island culture.
There is no word for a first cousin in Samoan. They are your siblings. A brother and sister share responsibility for each other’s children. So to Haviar Hafoka’s sister’s kids, he is a “mother man,” he said.
“Auntie” can embrace a number of relationships. Philipoom and Afo are “close enough” blood relatives.
Afo was born to Loi Afo and Florence Suapaia in American Samoa, which she describes as more Americanized.
Asked about the differences between the islands, she speaks instead of similarities: The heart they share centers on God. God first, even if people have different religions.
It centers on song and dance traditions, too.
Her family moved to California in the mid 1980s and her folks were known for traveling shows. They went to New York, Canada, Alaska, dancing, singing and sharing their heritage. By the time she was 7, she was dancing or helping with costumes, “which all kids hated. One amazing cousin, probably 5, knew how to iron, how to fold things.”
Different cultures, combined
On the islands, there are some significant differences. Away from them, Pacific Islanders find themselves drawn to each other for the traditions and histories they share and try to preserve. They feel strong blood and ancestry connection; being from one of the islands, no matter how many miles apart they are, creates a bond that makes you family.
“The oceans are very small; we pretty much are all related to everybody else. In New Zealand, Australia, this voyage of how we moved into other countries has created relationships that even extends to other cultures,” Feltch-Malohifo’ou said.
Her Tongan family, she said, is close knit precisely because they depend on each other.
Fitisemanu is teaching his children traditional songs and some of the language, but doesn’t expect them to speak it as he did, raised in it. “I expect them to be comfortable and not feel like outsiders in their own culture,” he said. “I feel the obligation to at least teach them so when they get older, they can choose what they think is worthy of preserving and they can let go of what doesn’t fit their lives at that time, because I don’t know what the future holds for this community, either.”
The Fitisemanus sing traditional songs and pray in Samoan. They have basic conversations.
Vida Hafoka’s mother was Samoan, her father Samoan, Tongan and German. They moved to California when her dad was stationed there in the military.
At home, they spoke Samoan. And they learned native culture, including unbending respect for elders. As a child, she was shocked when a teacher told one of her pals to throw him a whistle — and she did. She would never throw something at an adult, even if asked. That’s disrespectful. They wear a lava lava when serving food to a family guest as a sign of respect. Vida has five children and raised nieces and nephews. At one point, 15 people lived in their home, and all are now successful adults. All are musical and know Samoa’s and Tonga’s traditional dances and songs. “They know the culture back and forth,” she said. “They know protocol for either side for funerals, weddings. It’s important to teach them and let them see the differences, but know where they stand and what their part is.”
Fitisemanu agreed; when they visit Samoa, his children know the customs and what to do.
Music, heritage and worship overlap. At a skating party at Millcreek Commons, members of the First Tongan Christian Band wore white shirts with the legend “Spreading God’s Love Through Music.”
Pacific Islanders are most apt to be Christian, though not everyone belongs to the same church. Many in Utah are here because it’s the headquarters of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. There are a number of Tongan wards in Utah. But Wesleyan, Methodist and other Protestant religions, as well as Catholicism are among common faiths for Pacific Islanders.
While Vida Hafoka and her husband have different faiths, there’s no conflict, she said. “We have daily morning prayers, evening family prayers, weekly fasting for family and others in trouble, as well as daily scripture reading.”
Telling stories
Those not raised among Pacific Islanders can be forgiven for associating the culture heavily with joyful celebrations, tasty food and storytelling songs and dances.
Fitisemanu wants his neighbors and friends to know there’s so much more than that to their cultures. ”I think those are beautiful parts of our culture and maybe the most recognizable facets,” he said. “But I want folks to understand that our culture is what has propelled us, against all odds, to not just survive on these tiny remote islands but to thrive. And that inquisitiveness, that scientific inquiry, that adventurism, allows us to continue that journey here in the United States.
“We’re present in every sector today. Our culture empowers us to do so many more things.”
But the food and dance and music have certainly been prominent in Utah this month at events marking August as Pacific Islander Heritage Month. Pacific Islanders love to celebrate and bring their families, their ancestral histories and traditions — like elaborate leis at high school graduations or storytelling hulas — and their love of bold flavors and colors to any excuse for a party.
The love of community is so strong that recently in Lodestone Park in Kearns/West Valley, when a wild storm kicked up during the Pacific Island heritage festival, folks ducked under vendor canopies to escape the pounding rain, hanging on tight to keep the fragile shelters from flying away.
But they didn’t leave. On stage, dancers kept telling ancestral stories with swaying hips and graceful hand motions. On that night, the history of many islands and people were laid out. Later, Kahealani Blackmon, of the Halau Ku Pono I Kamalani dance group, explained the meaning of the different hulas the group performed. Young girls called “keiki” danced to “Hula Lima Nani,” a song about earth that mentions the celestial bodies, winds, rain and ocean. The keiki may not speak the language, but they learn each Hawaiian word so they understand what they are dancing and learn to respect all of it and care for it, Blackmon said.
In another dance, women held hard-shelled gourds. The song “Ka Ipu Pala’ole” talks about pretty-looking packages that are empty and asks what they’re worth. People can be like that. It’s what’s inside that matters, Blackmon said.
Booths provided health and promotional information, sold traditional food and offered art, jewelry and flowers to adorn one’s hair. There was royalty of sorts celebrating heritage, too. At the skate party in Millcreek, Miss Tausala America, Anastasia Pagostar Maiai, held court. Tausala, she said, means “strong Samoan woman.”
Tonga, by the way, has actual royalty. It’s the only island nation that has never been colonized; it’s ruled by a king and queen.
Many of those escaping the pounding rain crowded under the canopy where Nia Sapoi sold handicrafts, her speciality a lei that in Fiji is called the salusalu garland. She mixes Tonga and Fiji lei styles together and also creates jewelry.
She arrived from Tonga via Hawaii, where she met her husband at BYU-Hawaii. His company downsized during COVID and they moved to Utah, where she has brothers. She teaches in West Valley City and sells handicrafts as L&R Island Handicrafts, named after two daughters who died shortly after they were born. Her 9-year-old child Lusetania’s name honors their memory; the Sapois combined their names to make hers.
Preserving and releasing the past
What do you keep and what do you let go when you settle somewhere with a very different culture? It’s a question Pacific Islanders have wrestled with. For Vida Hafoka, the keepers are the love, respect, compassion and community service of island life. Education, too. Those adapt and enhance a new life very well.
But she notes that Polynesian parents are very strict and want to ensure their children understand life is hard work. On the islands, everyone had to help just to eat. Then fast food and other “improvements” like cable TV arrived. Many lament such innovations. She said they are losing a healthier way of living.
Feltch-Malohifo’ou said that part of what PIK2AR tries to show some families is that it’s OK to change what doesn’t work. It’s also OK to do things differently than your sister or brother does.
Financial help between families is an example. So is the caregiver structure — and they are related. In Tongan families, which are largely matriarchal, the oldest sister may be tasked with making sure that everyone’s cared for. In a traditional Tongan family, the eldest son keeps everyone afloat — and the woman who marries him accepts that as her shared burden and joy. Also in Tonga, the father’s oldest sister is the family matriarch — the fahu, whose house is always open to her siblings’ children.
Sometimes, sharing financial burdens is simply too much. PIK2AR in its financial literacy classes suggests they are responsible for their own family, rather than breaking the bank for a cultural practice that may not be realistic or doable here.
Some are afraid, though, to tell elders they can’t afford it. They fear seeming disrespectful.
Feltch-Malohifo’ou wants to hang onto the sense of community connection, even if some of its traditions are let go. America celebrates individualism, but she believes Pacific Islanders are strong because of focus on we, not me. “No one did anything by themselves,” she said. “We all stood on someone’s shoulders” to get where we are.
She’d love to see people take the best of every culture they encounter and “weave their own beautiful tapestry of tradition.”
The Sapoi family let go of some traditions that feel less aligned with their faith. But Nia Sapoi doesn’t want the handicraft or the art of the Pacific to disappear. Or the dancing, food and languages. She and her husband speak English and Tongan. He’s half Hindi and half Fijian and speaks those languages, too. They all speak English, but at home speak Tongan with Lusetania.
Lusetania attends the Pacific Heritage Academy, as do the children of many other families we encountered. Children learn Pacific Island and Latin American heritages alongside English, math and science.
Those lessons are in many places. Children at the festival learned about Hawaii, Aotearoa (Maori for New Zealand), Tonga, Samoa, Cook Islands, Rapa Nui, Philippines and Tahiti. After each was checked off, the child traded a culture “passport” for one of 500 well-stuffed, school-ready backpacks arranged by PIK2AR.
As for Afo, she’s keeping her dad’s tradition of “working smarter, not just hard.” She’s glad she has gotten to see the world. She values family lessons in respect. She’d change a few on that, though. She said you can disagree and still be respectful, you can share an opinion and it need not be emotionally charged. Sometimes, among older Pacific Islanders, she thinks that’s seen as trying to be smarter and it’s double-edged.
“They brought us here to be smarter, to have more compared to what we had in the islands,” she said. “To know that when we share our knowledge, it’s not to make you feel less than; it’s actually to empower goodness for all of us.”
