Pi‘olani Motta shares her manao at an annual meeting of Ka ‘Ohana O Kalaupapa at Kalaupapa. Motta was one of the founding members of Ka ‘Ohana and a member of the Kalaupapa Memorial Committee. (Photo courtest of Wayne Levin)
Pi‘olani Motta fought hard to honor the legacy of her grandparents and other forgotten Kalaupapa souls
By Valerie Monson
Special to the Herald
In describing Pi‘olani Motta, certain words keep coming to mind: Gracious. Elegant. Determined. Others before self.
Motta died Feb. 14 at the age of 90 after being diagnosed with a brain tumor last summer. Her funeral was scheduled for late March at the Cathedral Basilica of Our Lady of Peace, where she attended daily Mass, but has been postponed indefinitely due to the coronavirus outbreak.
“Pi‘o was gracious, she was that old style Hawaii kind of gracious,” said longtime friend Twila Smith, who, with Motta, was part of a choir that regularly visits the people of Kalaupapa, the Hansen’s disease community on Molokai. “If you’re trying to define gracious, just remember that lady. She was gracious in the way she dressed, the way she carried herself and the way she spoke, quiet yet authoritative.”
Motta’s rich life seemed to go from one memorable chapter to the next. She was influenced from the start by having two families. Her father, Joseph Motta, was a drummer with the Royal Hawaiian Band. In those days, Pi‘olani was known by her birth name of Gertrude. Her mother, Rose Alana Motta, would take young Gertrude and her brother to listen to the concerts. The singer for the band was Lena Machado, soon to be known as “The Songbird of Hawaii.”
Lena noticed that Rose Motta was pregnant with her third child and offered to look after Gertrude for a weekend. That weekend soon became permanent. Gertrude became Aunty Lena’s hanai daughter and, for the next 40 years, would remain as her constant companion.
“Pi‘o was Aunty’s pu‘uwai — close to her heart,” said Roberta Jahrling, whose grandmother was Machado’s oldest sister. “It was Aunty Lena who gave her the name Pi‘olani and that’s what she wanted to be known as. The name Pi‘olani defined her as an adult. She was just elegant.”
Under Aunty Lena’s tutelage, Motta became “the most graceful hula dancer I’d ever seen,” said Jahrling. Motta had a circle of “hula sisters” her entire life.
She also remained close to her birth family, but it was not until she was middle-aged that Pi‘olani made a discovery that would shape the rest of her life: her mother was born in Kalaupapa — and her grandparents, an uncle and an aunt were buried there.
Motta had obtained a copy of her birth certificate when she was determining her Hawaiian ancestry. When she saw that her mother had been born in Kalaupapa, she asked her mother if this was true.
“Who wants to know?” her mother replied.
Rose Alana Huleia was born in Kalaupapa on Nov. 8, 1906, to Becky Perry Huleia and Joseph Huleia. She was taken from her parents and admitted to the Kapiolani Home for Girls on July 14, 1907. She was later taken in by the Ahlo family on Oahu. Meanwhile, Rose’s parents died at Kalaupapa.
“During her time, she was told to never speak about her parents or about being born at Kalaupapa because of the stigma at that time,” said Motta. “It was heartbreaking to know that my mother never knew her mother and I found a deep desire to know more about my grandma.”
Pi‘olani Motta, left, and Ka‘iulani Hess scroll through the list of names recorded in an admissions register of those sent to Kalaupapa that is stored at the HawaiI State Archives. (HCH file photo | Patrick Downes)
A new purpose
Her life took on a new purpose. On a mission to find her roots, Motta began visiting Kalaupapa, first with a group of Sacred Hearts sisters and eventually with Twila Smith and other singers from various choirs in Hawaii who had bonded with Kalaupapa residents.
“We would do cleaning or other things for the patients, but we also sang. We sang at church, had concerts and did community singalongs,” said Smith. “I think it was not only the cleaning, but the singing that really appealed to Pi‘o. She was an excellent alto, a very strong voice. We knew that as long as Pi‘o was with us, we had someone singing the right notes.”
During these visits — sometimes annually, sometimes more often — Motta would tirelessly scour the cemeteries in search of the graves of her grandparents. Although she located the tombstone of her uncle, Perry Huleia, she never did find the graves of her grandparents.
Determined that they — and the many others who lie in unmarked graves at Kalaupapa — would always be remembered, she began advocating for a memorial that would list the names of the nearly 8,000 men, women and children who were sent there — an idea that had been discussed in the Kalaupapa community for years. In 2002, she wrote to the Hawaii Congressional Delegation for their support. Soon after, she and Kalaupapa leader Kuulei Bell started a petition in Kalaupapa that garnered the signatures of nearly all the patients as well as many of the workers and clergy at the settlement.
“I believe the memorial has the potential to bring this part of Kalaupapa’s history alive so that, again, there is a real sense of how many thousands of people were taken from their families and isolated at this remote place,” she said. “We want people to come forward to talk about their ohana who were at Kalaupapa. It’s part of your heritage and your children will want to know. Times are different now.”
Motta was a founding member of Ka ‘Ohana O Kalaupapa in 2003 where residents asked that the newly formed organization establish the memorial. She served on the ‘Ohana Memorial Committee from 2003 until her death, never wavering.
“She would fight for what she wanted, she would fight graciously, but she stood her ground,” said Smith.
Motta was an independent career woman long before that became common. After traveling and entertaining with Lena Machado, Motta began a 31-year career with Hawaiian Airlines, a time she always spoke about with pride.
She made sure that her Aunty Lena’s legacy would forever be remembered in the book, “Songbird of Hawai‘i: My Memories of Aunty Lena,” an elegant collection of stories, photos and Machado’s songs that Motta compiled with Kihei de Silva.
Friends became familiar with Motta’s letters pounded out on her trusty typewriter — very often all in capital letters — and her handwritten thank you notes. Motta never saw the need for a computer or smartphone. Even in her last year when her own health was failing, she always found a way to connect.
“Pi‘o was such a caring individual,” said Jahrling. “She was always taking care of others before herself, always thinking of someone else.”
Forever gracious.
