The Canton That Remains
Flags often look simple at first glance, yet they hold dense histories of power, identity, and memory. Among all elements of flag design, the canton in the upper left corner carries some of the deepest symbolic weight. In maritime tradition, it is the position of highest honor, and in many colonial contexts, it became the space where imperial influence appeared most visibly. For nations and territories that experienced colonial pressure, the canton is not just a design choice. It is a historical record of imposition, negotiation, and, at times, resistance. One of the most compelling examples of how this symbolic space preserves a place's story is the flag of Hawaii. Although Hawaii was never formally colonized by Britain, the Union Jack still occupies its canton. This presence reflects a complex interplay between Indigenous sovereignty, diplomatic strategy, and the profound influence of foreign powers in the Pacific.
The story of the Hawaiian flag begins in the early nineteenth century, during the reign of King Kamehameha I. Hawaii at that time was a fully sovereign kingdom positioned within a region that Britain, the United States, and Russia all sought to influence. British naval officers were active in Hawaiian waters, and historical accounts suggest that they presented Kamehameha with a British flag as a gesture of alliance. Concerns soon arose that flying the British flag alone would imply protectorate status, so a new design was created that kept the Union Jack in the canton but added horizontal stripes to assert Hawaiian identity. Whether every detail of this origin narrative is exact or not, it is clear that the design was a deliberate act of political balancing. The Union Jack symbolized British power and cultivated friendly ties, while the stripes signified that Hawaii remained distinct and independent. This use of symbolic language allowed the Hawaiian Kingdom to operate diplomatically within a world dominated by imperial expansion.
Understanding this design choice through an anthropological lens reveals how flags can function as instruments of semiotic diplomacy. The canton in Hawaii’s flag was not a mark of subjugation but a strategic symbol used by the Indigenous monarchy to signal respect, caution, and sovereignty simultaneously. It also reflected how Hawaiian leaders read the geopolitical environment around them and negotiated relationships through visual cues that foreign powers would understand. The flag thus captured a moment when Hawaii navigated imperial pressure through careful communication rather than capitulation.
The meaning of the flag changed dramatically after the overthrow of Queen Liliuokalani in 1893 and the United States annexation in 1898. The monarchy was dismantled, yet the flag remained unchanged. For the new territorial government, keeping the Kingdom’s flag softened the appearance of annexation and created an impression of cultural continuity. It allowed the settler state to claim a kind of respectful incorporation of Indigenous symbolism while simultaneously asserting political control. For Native Hawaiians, however, the flag began to hold a different meaning altogether. What had once represented the sovereignty of a living kingdom became a reminder of what was taken away. Over time it transformed into a symbol of cultural resurgence and resistance. Today, it is common to see the flag flown upside down at protests, an internationally recognized distress signal that expresses the ongoing crisis of land loss, cultural displacement, and political disenfranchisement experienced by Native Hawaiians. This reappropriation is an example of visual sovereignty, a concept within Indigenous studies describing the assertion of Indigenous control over imagery and representation. The canton that once represented diplomatic alignment with British power is now part of a symbol used to assert Indigenous presence and reclaim historical memory.
The Hawaiian flag also fits into a broader conversation about flags in the Pacific that continue to display colonial cantons. Several nations have debated whether to remove or retain the Union Jack. Fiji has proposed redesigns that would eliminate it. New Zealand held a national referendum on the subject in 2015 and 2016. Tuvalu briefly removed the Union Jack in 1995 and then restored it in 1997, revealing how political shifts influence visual identity. Australia continues to use a flag that prominently features the British emblem. Hawaiis situation is distinct because, unlike these other nations, Hawaii was absorbed into the United States without undergoing a formal decolonization process. The Union Jack in its canton is not simply a leftover from direct British rule but a remnant of Hawaiian diplomatic strategy later repurposed by a settler state and then reclaimed again by Native Hawaiians.
The flag of Hawaii therefore invites a deeper reflection on how symbols evolve over time and how communities negotiate their meanings. The canton on this flag contains the memory of a kingdom that used visual communication to navigate a world of encroaching empires. It contains the imprint of annexation that attempted to appropriate Indigenous imagery into a narrative of American territorial expansion. And today it contains the power of cultural resurgence, as Native Hawaiians reinterpret the flag to express sovereignty, identity, and resistance. Through this journey, the Hawaiian flag shows that colonial imagery does not always remain fixed in meaning. Instead it becomes a site of contestation, reinterpretation, and powerful cultural work. The flag is not simply a relic of colonial entanglement. It is a living symbol that carries the voices of those who shaped it, those who attempted to suppress it, and those who continue to reclaim it.
