In the middle of the vast blue Pacific, far from the bustle of Europe—the world’s center of power at the time—stood a small kingdom called Hawaiʻi. In 1881, from these volcanic islands came an unexpected figure: a brown-skinned monarch in a velvet cloak with iron resolve. His name was David Laʻamea Kalākaua, and he set out on a nearly impossible mission—to travel around the world.
This was not leisure, nor the idle escape of a Western aristocrat weary of luxury. Kalākaua’s journey was driven by something far greater: a determination to save his people from extinction. Native Hawaiians were facing a devastating population decline due to disease and colonization. Their culture was under siege—hula condemned as pagan, ancestral lands steadily sold to foreigners. Known as The Merrie Monarch, Kalākaua understood that sometimes, to protect the roots of a people, one must venture far from the tree.
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Visiting the Nations of the World
Quietly and confidently, Kalākaua began his 46,000-kilometer journey—without satellites, without Zoom conferences—armed only with diplomatic letters and the dignity of his ancestors. His route took him across the Pacific to Asia—Japan, China, and Siam—then onward to India, Egypt, and Europe, before returning through the United States. The 281-day voyage made him the first reigning monarch in history to circumnavigate the globe.
In Japan, Emperor Meiji welcomed him with honors reserved only for true heads of state. Hawaiʻi’s national anthem, Hawaiʻi Ponoʻī—composed by Kalākaua himself—rang through the imperial court. Imagine it: in a culture so steeped in protocol, the anthem of a tiny Pacific kingdom was given equal place.
In China, Kalākaua negotiated with Viceroy Li Hongzhang, seeking workers to sustain Hawaiʻi’s struggling plantations. In Europe, he sat with Queen Victoria, visited Pope Leo XIII, and stayed in hotels typically reserved for white nobility.
Kalakua Sharing a Culture
But these formalities were not what he was most remembered for. At every stop, Kalākaua carried with him the identity of his people. He wore traditional cloth, spoke of hula, recited the origin chant Kumulipo, and told stories of his homeland. He did not shrink before the world. He was Hawaiʻi: small, distant, yet impossible to ignore.
When he returned, Kalākaua launched the Hawaiian Youths Abroad program, sending promising young men overseas to study medicine, military science, and engineering. He knew that progress could not be stopped, but it must never erase the roots of identity.
Yet, like many visionary leaders, Kalākaua faced bitter opposition. Rivals painted his journey as extravagant, accusing him of squandering the kingdom’s wealth. Some even spread rumors that he planned to sell Hawaiʻi to Japan.
History, however, favors those who are faithful to the future. Kalākaua not only revived cultural pride but also paved the way for migration from Japan and Portugal, communities that remain vital to Hawaiʻi’s fabric today.
Even now, in Hilo on the Big Island, the Merrie Monarch Festival is held each year. Hula is danced again. Hawaiʻi Ponoʻī is sung. And the name Kalākaua is remembered—not for his crown, but for his courage to defend what was unseen: the culture, language, and dignity of his people.
He was a king who knew that sometimes, to save the land, one must cross the ocean. And perhaps, in that sweat and voyage, Kalākaua not only preserved his nation but also offered the world a profound lesson, that true power lies not in the breadth of territory, but in the depth of love a leader holds for his people. (Wage Erlangga)
