Sainthood poses dilemma for leper colony

Hawaii attraction still serves purpose

Father Damien is seen in this portrait taken two months before his death in 1889. (Hawaii State archive via Associated Press)

KALAUPAPA, Hawaii - In a state known for bustling, exciting tourist destinations such as Waikiki and the Kilauea volcano, Kalaupapa is sacred ground with a history of disease, suffering, and isolation.

Some 8,000 people have died on this remote peninsula since the Hawaiian Kingdom started exiling leprosy patients here in 1866. Many were torn from their families and left to scrounge for shelter, clothes, and food. The vast majority were buried in unmarked graves.

Today, visitor interest in Kalaupapa, on the northern edge of Molokai island, is growing. And it is likely to increase when the Vatican proclaims Father Damien - the 19th-century priest who cared for the leprosy patients - a saint, probably late next year.

The two dozen patients still living here are eager to celebrate Kalaupapa's most famous resident, a selfless man who cared for leprosy patients when many others shunned them. They would welcome pilgrims at Damien's church and grave.

But therein lies a dilemma. The patients and their supporters also don't want throngs of tourists disturbing the community's privacy and desecrating the land.

"The priority is the patients. That's why we have to approach this very delicately," said state Senator J. Kalani English. "Their privacy is paramount, their security is paramount, their dignity is paramount."

Kalaupapa's attraction for tourists and pilgrims is heightened by the dramatic story behind the Vatican's recognition of a miracle attributed to Damien, who died in 1889 after contracting leprosy himself. It's this miracle that cleared the way for sainthood.

Audrey Toguchi, an 80-year-old Catholic from the Honolulu suburb of Aiea, came to Kalaupapa 10 years ago to pray for help at Damien's grave after she was diagnosed with terminal cancer. Less than a year later, Toguchi's cancer disappeared.

In July, Pope Benedict XVI ruled Damien had intervened because there was no scientific explanation for Toguchi's recovery.

Kalaupapa is dramatically isolated, a peninsula cut off by 2,000-foot cliffs and surrounded by ocean. It can only be reached by small plane, mule ride or a 1- to 2-hour hike. Only 100 people live here, including the patients and care workers.

The state Department of Health limits visitors to Kalaupapa at 100 per day, and each visitor must obtain a permit. On average, only about 25 make the trip.

Lawmakers, state officials, and the National Park Service, which operates a historical park at Kalaupapa, all promise they won't allow the visitor cap to be raised without approval of the remaining patients.

Anwei Law, a historian who has been coming to Kalaupapa for almost 40 years, said visitors need to remember that Kalaupapa is not just another tourist attraction.

"It's a sacred place because you've had so many people live there and die there," said Law.

Leprosy, also known as Hansen's disease, is spread by direct person-to-person contact, although it's not easily transmitted. It can cause skin lesions, mangle fingers and toes, and lead to blindness.

But it's been curable since the development of sulfone drugs in the 1940s, and people treated with drugs aren't contagious. Hawaii did away with the exile policy in 1969.

Patients sent here before 1969 are free to leave, but many have chosen to stay because it's become their home.

The state has promised to keep the settlement open and care for patients until the last one dies. The youngest is now 67.

After that, the National Park Service will take over management of the peninsula.

Damien, born in Belgium as Joseph de Veuster, stood out because he stayed and put no barriers between himself and the patients.

He was diagnosed with leprosy 12 years after he arrived at Kalaupapa and died four years later, at age 49. He's the only healthcare worker in Hawaii who ever contracted Hansen's.

Law, the historian, said the limit on visitors should be maintained even after the last patient dies.

"You really need to be able to feel the isolation of the place. If you're there with 500 people, you're no way going to feel the isolation that people had to go through," said Law. "You lose a lot of the lessons of history and the meaning."