She Taught More Than a Lesson
Kū mālie - To Stand in Calm. Quiet Strength.
“I’ll cover the bill.”
I was in DC with a group of students from my high school over 25 years ago. We were there to speak to congressmen and congresswomen about human rights. Sister Laola Hironaka, who led our group, had taken us to a French restaurant for dinner.
As she looked at the menu, I remember her eyes widening.
I don’t think she realized how expensive it would be. There was no Yelp back then.
We were students. We were on fairly tight budgets.
She paused.
Then she said it again, more quietly.
“I’ll cover the bill.”
She wasn’t rich.
But she covered us anyway.
At the time, I didn’t think much of it. I was 18.
But that moment said everything about who she was.
It was how she lived.
Sister Laola wasn’t removed from the hard parts of the world. She was in them.
Working with Amnesty International and supporting people who had lived through prison camps. Helping bring attention to stories most people would never hear.
She spent time with people who had every reason to be angry. Every reason to carry weight.
And yet, she didn’t carry herself that way.
The same steadiness I saw at that dinner table was the same steadiness she carried into much heavier rooms.
There are teachers who teach you.
And then there are teachers who stay with you.
I was fortunate to have Sister Laola as one of mine.
I didn’t realize it then. But much of what she taught and how she carried herself found its way into my life.
She was an ardent reader of the New York Times.
She would bring articles into class and have us read them out loud. Not just to build vocabulary. But to help us understand what was happening in the world beyond the classroom.
At the time, my sources of news were very narrow. Exposure to the Times deeply widened my world view and challenged core beliefs and stances I had held at the time.
The lessons in the classroom at times widened. Her love of Jazz music would find her way into lessons. At the time, I didn’t know a whole lot about Jazz, but she talked endlessly about some of the legends - Duke Ellington, Miles Davis, Wynton Marsalis. She would even play jazz to wrap up the classroom.
At the time, many of the students, including myself, were into the Dave Matthews band. We connected with her by talking about the musicians that were in the band, and the myriad of instruments. I still remember one of the students playing one of the songs, seeing her nodding her head. Hearing the mix of instruments and saying:
“Wow, this is really good!”
She didn’t stop at the classroom. She used her connections in DC to help us meet with U.S. Senators, including Ted Kennedy and Daniel Akaka. And she encouraged us to speak. To bring forward issues that mattered. To advocate for people we would never meet.
After high school, I kept in touch with Sister Laola. I respected her. I admired her. We would catch up over lunch or coffee in between my college classes. She would fill me in on the happenings at her convent, and human rights issues she was quietly involved in.
A few years later, I found out she was very sick. She passed in 2009. I later heard from others in the convent that up until her death, she was still very active in human rights.
In the aftermath of one of worst natural disasters in US history, Hurricane Katrina, victims were sent to San Antonio. People who had lost everything. She visited them daily at the different centers and shelters, and brought them solace with her care and comfort.
That’s just who she was.
I would only come to understand later that this wasn’t unique to that moment. It was how she lived. And it didn’t stop with her.
Very recently, I learned that Amnesty International named an award in her honor.
The Hironaka Award.
The award was given to small groups of people doing quiet, consistent work in human rights. Writing letters. Showing up. Advocating for people they may never meet.
That kind of work that doesn’t make headlines, but it changes lives.
It felt so familiar. It felt so her.
Looking back, it was never just about the lesson.
Whether it was a classroom discussion, a piece of music, or a quiet moment, she was always showing us something deeper.
The power of service.
The power of helping people.
In my 40’s now, I’m at an inflection point where I think about who has shaped my life. Sister Laola was one of those people.
I didn’t fully understand her impact to those around the world at the time, and her impact to my life, but I see it clearly now.
There are teachers who teach you. And then there are teachers who stay.
I didn’t realize it then. But I’ve been carrying pieces of her with me ever since.
Sister Laola was born in Hawaii. And when I think of her, I think of the word I didn’t have back then.
Kū mālie - To stand in calm, quiet strength.
She covered the bill that night. And I’ve been carrying the lesson ever since.
Both / And is about making decisions you can live with.
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What an incredible woman and beautiful tribute to her life.
Your reflection really speaks to the impact a single person can have on your life. You are fortunate to have had her influence. And, in your own words, never realizing what she had taught you until years later. Reading your article, it was my pleasure, through you, to learn more about her. Thank you.