Going Native

My destination was the Territorial Office Building, not on anyone's top-100 list.

Most visitors come to the Islands and immediately head for the beach, the landmarks, the restaurants, and shopping centers. On my first day in Honolulu I chose to stand in line at a government office. I was claiming my heritage, more precisely, my Hawaii Identification card, which not only established my residency in the 50th state but also entitled me to valuable discounts at commercial and fine dining establishments.

In order to receive the ID card one has to present originals of one’s birth certificate, social security card, and marriage license. This was my second attempt: on my previous trip I forgot to bring my social security card.

Some applicants have been waiting for four hours (There's a waiting room inside with 40 people.)

Many applicants fail the initial screening because they didn’t bring the right papers, lost the papers, never got them in the first place, or maybe the dog just ate them. In my case it’s only through a large dose of luck that I haven’t lost any of the documents, all of which were obtained 30 or more years ago. One elderly widow was turned away because she didn’t think to bring her marriage license; the clerk patiently explained that it was necessary to show why her name was different from the one on her birth certificate.

Question: why don’t they spell out the change-of-name reason for producing the marriage license, so that men, not to mention single and professional women who never took their husband’s name, don’t have to waste hours rummaging through shoeboxes, file drawers, and safe deposit boxes? Answer: we would be acknowledging that the reason most people change their names is because of marriage and that the vast majority of such people are women. And if we put this helpful explanation in the instructions, it would offend someone; worse, she could be a lawyer. (Yes, there are men who tack their wife’s surname onto theirs, but I only know one such person and even he quietly dropped the hyphenated suffix after ten years.)

Red tape rule #1: if a bureaucratic procedure is devised to address a subset of the population, it must be inflicted on everyone. (Don’t believe me? Two words: Airport Security.)

After I passed the initial screen, I took a number and waited three hours for it to be called. I took the opportunity to stroll around the grounds.

The statue of Kamehameha the Great is a few feet from the Territorial Office Building.


The lady at the window visually inspected the documents and re-entered everything into her computer. She scanned the prints of my two forefingers and took my picture. I paid the $15, and it was only another 10-minute wait to get my card. Now that I was officially a kamaaina, I was ready for action. © 2005 Stephen Yuen