When I think about my childhood, one of the first things that comes to mind is how normal and celebrated gender diversity was in my life. I was raised by a Filipino transman—before "transgender" was even a word we used—and my family was full of māhū aunts and uncles. Māhū weren’t just accepted; they were respected, loved, and often held in high regard. They raised families, passed on cultural traditions, and played essential roles in our community. For me, gender was never a “thing.” It just was—part of the natural flow of life.
Māhū in Hawaiian Culture
In Hawaiian culture, māhū are people who embody both masculine and feminine qualities. They’ve always been seen as important, often acting as healers, teachers, or caretakers of our traditions. Māhū were the keepers of hula, medicine, and spiritual wisdom. Growing up, I didn’t think of them as different or unusual. They were my family. They were part of the everyday rhythm of life, just like the ocean or the trade winds.
And it wasn’t just in my family—this was the norm in our culture. Māhū weren’t seen as less than anyone else. If anything, they were often treated with more respect. They had this rich heritage and brought balance to the community, embodying qualities that went beyond the binary ideas of male or female. It was like they held a little extra mana (spiritual power) because of who they were.
More Than Two Genders in Polynesia
Hawaii isn’t alone in this. Polynesian cultures as a whole have always embraced more than two genders. In Samoa, they have the fa’afafine, people who live “in the manner of a woman.” In Tonga, it’s the leiti or fakaleitī. These identities are just as natural and respected as māhū are in Hawaii. Across Polynesia, it was understood that gender isn’t black and white—it’s a spectrum.
Colonization messed that up big time. Western missionaries came in and labeled māhū and other nonbinary identities as sinful or shameful. Over time, some of that respect was lost, and māhū were pushed into the background. But the beautiful thing is, māhū have always persisted. They’ve held onto their identities and their roles in our culture, even when society tried to erase them.
My Personal Experience
For me, this wasn’t some abstract cultural idea—it was my life. I was raised by a Filipino transman who taught me the value of hard work, respect, and staying true to who you are. He didn’t have the language we use today, but he didn’t need it. His life was a testament to authenticity. My māhū aunts and uncles were no different. They were leaders in their families, passing down traditions and values. They showed me that being māhū wasn’t about being different; it was about being complete.
I remember how they were treated—not with pity or judgment, but with pride. People looked up to them, respected them for their wisdom and their roles in the community. They were the glue that held us together, the ones who made sure traditions were remembered and love was always at the center.
The Way It Should Be
When I see how people today are still struggling with the idea of gender diversity, it makes me realize just how lucky I was to grow up in Hawaii. Here, māhū were never controversial. They were family. And even though colonization and Western ideas tried to change that, the spirit of māhū has never left us.
Gender and sexuality were never a big deal in my childhood because we understood something that the world is only now catching up to: everyone has a place, and every identity has its own kind of mana. Māhū weren’t “different”; they were necessary. They reminded us that life is about balance and connection.
Carrying It Forward
Now, as I look back, I feel a sense of responsibility to keep that understanding alive. Māhū and other nonbinary identities are not new—they’ve been part of our cultures for generations. By honoring them, we’re not just embracing inclusivity; we’re reconnecting with the roots of who we are as Polynesians.
So, if you ever find yourself wondering what it means to embrace gender diversity, think of māhū. Think of the wisdom they carry, the love they share, and the balance they bring to the world. For me, they’re not just part of my culture—they’re part of my heart.