Kahoʻolawe Nine at 50: Occupation, Restoration, and Unfinished Business
January 4, 2026 will mark 50 years since the group known as the “Kahoʻolawe Nine” first landed at Kūheʻeia to protest U.S. military bombing and training on the island.
Discussions about occupying Kahoʻolawe had begun a year earlier. Organizers coordinated with fishermen, making clandestine trips to the island to stash provisions in anticipation of a demonstration. On January 4, 1976, George Helm, Emmett Aluli, Kimo Aluli, Kawaipuna Prejean, Walter Ritte, Ian Lind, Ellen Miles, Steve Morse, and Karla Villalba evaded a U.S. Coast Guard blockade in the ʻAlalākeiki Channel, initiating a series of occupations that would span nearly two years.
Others soon joined, risking arrest or death in an effort to draw national attention to destruction of Hawaiian land and continued U.S. military control. Twenty-seven people were arrested for trespassing; four were jailed. Walter Ritte and Richard Sawyer staged the longest occupation, remaining hidden on the island for 35 days while naval bombing operations continued.
Two members of the movement, George Helm and Kimo Mitchell, were lost at sea while attempting to reach Ritte and Sawyer. (Ritte would later be among the 38 kupuna arrested during the 2019 Mauna Kea protests.)
Written on the Helm memorial: “Aʻole ku kekahi kanaka aloha i ʻoi aku i kēia, ʻo ka waiho aku a kekahi i kona ola no kona mau hoaaloha”/“Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends.”
Written on the Mitchell memorial: “Mai ke kai mai ke ola. Mai ke kai mai ka make. Aloha no”/ “From the ocean comes life. From the ocean comes death.”
The occupations of Kahoʻolawe renewed attention to the overthrow of the Hawaiian Kingdom, its illegal annexation, and U.S. acculturation efforts. It anchored the Hawaiian Renaissance of the 1970s; and, critically, it introduced aloha ʻāina as a framework for modern Hawaiian political movements — an approach that continues to shape resistance today.
Ka Piko o Hawaiʻi Nei
When Hawaiians first settled Kahoʻolawe, around 400 A.D., they dedicated the island to Kanaloa, the god of the ocean. The island was known as Kahiki Moe and Kohemālamalama o Kanaloa (the shining passage of Kanaloa) and was considered to be a kinolau of Kanaloa. Kahoʻolawe served as a wahi pana and puʻuhonua (sacred place and refuge). Navigators regarded it as the piko of the Hawaiian archipelago, a vital reference point when returning from long voyages across the Pacific Ocean. Kahoʻolawe held deep cultural and religious significance and at one time boasted a thriving community of fishers, navigators, kahuna, and others, sustained through abundant vegetation and underground and freshwater streams.
More than 3,000 archaeological and cultural sites and features have been documented across the island’s 45-square miles, including heiau, fishing shrines, burial places, housing sites, and petroglyphs.
By 1793, ranching had stripped much of the island’s vegetation and diverted natural waterways, triggering severe erosion and soil loss that damaged fisheries and marine ecosystems downstream. Invasive species, like goats, cats, rats, and non-native trees, shrubs, and grasses, overpowered native species. Acculturation further reduced cultural or religious use of the island.
By the 1830s, the island housed a penal colony for those who violated rules imposed by Protestant missionaries. Prisoners were granted clemency in 1843 in connection with La Hoʻihoʻi Ea, and the colony was closed by 1853. Kahoʻolawe’s arid terrain and limited freshwater have often been cited as justification for its later bombing and live-fire training, but its degraded conditions are unquestionably the result of man-made efforts.
Bombing Begins
Before the attack on Pearl Harbor, a portion of Kahoʻolawe was leased to the military as a bombing range. By 1941, the entire Territory of Hawaiʻi was put under martial law. The U.S. Navy expanded its use of the island for a host of military activities, including air-to-ground weapons delivery, ship-to-shore bombardment, and ground combat training.
After World War II, President Eisenhower issued Executive Order 10436, granting the Navy ownership of Kahoʻolawe for continued military activities, with instructions to return the land “to a condition reasonably safe for human habitation” when it is no longer needed for naval purposes and at no cost to the (then) Territory of Hawaiʻi.
A 1931 archeological survey had identified 50 historically significant sites on the island, known by the Navy when it assumed ownership. By 1972, the Navy had placed 11 of those sites inside active target zones, with four less than 500 yards from a target. According to the Oxford Journal, between 1968 and 1970, planes dropped 2,500 tons of bombs on Kahoʻolawe. Later assessments found that the island was littered with projectiles ranging from thumb-sized ammunition to battleship shells that weighed as much as a car. These weapons included not only high explosives, but napalm, rockets, and other steel and lead fragments. For decades, signs posted on the island read “keep away, bombs in land and water.”
“There’s no room for compromise when compared to combat readiness.” — Vice Admiral Robert P. Coogan
Following the Limited Test Ban Treaty, which banned nuclear testing in the atmosphere and underwater, the U.S. turned to alternative methods of testing explosives to simulate an atomic bomb, using TNT and other high blast explosives. In 1965, the Navy conducted Operation Sailor Hat, detonating a 500-ton TNT explosive off Kahoʻolawe’s southwest coast. The blast carved a massive crater atop its shoreline — some claim the test broke one of the island’s aquifers.
Lawsuits and Legal Challenges
Emmett Aluli and other members of the Protect Kahoʻolawe Association (now Protect Kahoʻolawe ʻOhana, or PKO) sued Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld and later Harold Brown, alleging violations of the National Environmental Policy Act (NEPA), the National Historic Preservation Act, and Executive Order 11593 — an order issued by President Nixon that provided protection and enhancement of cultural environments. The complaint urged the Navy to conduct a new or revised environmental impact report (EIS) on a specific timeline tied to budget requests to Congress.
While the suit was underway in 1977, state and Navy survey teams discovered 487 additional archaeological sites and features on the island — 171 of these were believed to have met criteria that merited the island’s inclusion on the National Register of Historic Places. And 30 to 35 of these sites were found within active target zones.
The court found the Navy in violation of the Nixon executive order and federal environmental policy, but allowed continued ordnance bombings and live-fire training because the Navy had conducted an EIS of target zones (despite knowledge of the archaeological sites contained therein) and, thus, met their EIS obligation. But the Navy was ordered to file annual environmental impact reports as a result of court proceedings, yielding a small victory for PKO.
Further litigation followed. In 1979, PKO again challenged the military’s action in federal court under the newly-passed American Indian Religious Freedom Act, which gave Indigenous peoples access to sacred sites, protected traditional ceremonies, or allowed possession of sacred objects in accordance with the practice of their traditional religions. In 1980, a court ordered the Navy to sign a consent decree that limited its use of the island, mandated revegetation and clearance of ordnance from portions of the island, and necessitated a survey of historical and cultural sites. It also required the Navy to grant monthly access to PKO for religious and cultural purposes, allowing Hawaiians to hold the first Makahiki ceremony on the island since 1819. The entire island of Kahoʻolawe was listed on the National Register of Historic Places one year later. The island and waters within two nautical miles of its shores were designated as a reserve by the state of Hawaiʻi. Cultural restoration on the island continued, with ceremonies for Kanaloa in 1986 and the construction of the first hale in Hakioʻawa shortly thereafter.
But the bombings and munitions training also continued, until October 1990, when President George H.W. Bush halted military activities.
In 1993, Congress voted to return Kahoʻolawe to the state, allocating $400 million for cleanup of unexploded ordnances and preservation of surviving historical and religious sites. It also established the Kahoʻolawe Island Conveyance Commission (KICC) to determine future uses of the island. The island is now managed by the Kaho’olawe Island Reserve Commission (KIRC), leaning on the Protect Kahoʻolawe ʻOhana.
Restoring ʻĀina
The Navy retained control of the island through 2003 for cleanup, removing or detonating more than 28,000 unexploded ordnances. By 2004, about 75% of the island had been surface-cleared, though only 9% of that area was cleared to a depth of four feet. Munitions, according to some accounts, can penetrate land to depths exceeding 25 feet. The remaining acreage on Kahoʻolawe — 25% of the island — remains uncleared. Unexploded ordnances are still present on the island and continue to pose a threat to the safety of anyone accessing the island or its waters.
"There's probably never going to be an absolute cleanup of the island," Mike Nahoopii, KIRC executive director, said. "Once you start using a piece of property for military bombing, you're never going to remove every single bomb."
Thousands of Native Hawaiians and community volunteers have traveled to Kahoʻolawe to participate in cleanup, study, and restoration efforts. They have also continued a legacy of cultural revival on the island. Hawaiian navigation training programs revisited Kahoʻolawe in the 1990s, teaching cultural and spiritual protocols and maritime skills. Hōkūleʻa made its first visit to the island in 1993; and waʻa kaulua gathered at Kealaikahiki Point in 2001. Three years later, practitioners dedicated a navigational observation platform at the Point in a ceremony with master navigator Mau Pialug. In 1997, three rain koʻa were constructed at Puʻu O Moaʻulanui, Lehua, and Līhau, joining a counterpart at ʻUlupalakua on Mauʻi, in an effort to call back ancestral Nāulu rains of Kahoʻolawe’s past. A group of woman were trained as moʻopapa to open ceremonies for Papa in Hakioʻawa in 2008. The rededication and use of cultural sites, and stewardship passed down by generations through PKO, match the transformation of Kahoʻolawe itself, now growing with native vegetation and coral cover.
“Ceremony, once nearly lost, is now an essential tool of healing, resilience, and resistance … Kahoʻolawe is a reminder that reviving something as practical as a ceremony is a radical act of self-determination. Let us continue to draw strength from our traditions, restore what is damaged, and reclaim our ea as a lāhui.”
After decades of restoration work, and a devastating wildfire in 2020 that burned nearly a third of the island, two Hawaiian Green sea turtle nests were recently discovered on the shoreline of Honokanaiʻa Beach.
“We’re hoping [this is the] first of many for the turtles, but also for, you know, many other things that could start coming back too, right? Seabirds with our coastal plantings and trying to rebuild wetlands, return of fresh water,” KIRC member Dean Tokishi told Hawaiʻi News Now. “We would love to see more freshwater come back to Kahoʻolawe, and we’re hoping that this is the first of many to return.”
“Kahoʻolawe is a model of what can be done on other islands, in other communities.”— Emmett Aluli
Choppy Waters Ahead
The legal playbook that once preserved and protected Kahoʻolawe is weakening; and Native Hawaiians may lose some ground on the island and across other areas of cultural significance, like Papahānaumokuākea Marine National Monument and Pōhakuloa Training Center (to say nothing of Kahuku, Mākua Valley, Wahiawā, even Red Hill and Mauna Kea) in the coming years.
The Navy announced last month that it was moving forward with plans to expand and modernize the Hawaiʻi California Training and Testing Study Area (HCTT). That area includes the Kahoʻolawe sub training minefield, located three nautical miles from the island and just outside the state’s reserve. The area also encompasses Papahānaumokuākea Marine National Monument and Moku Papapa. Part of the Navy’s proposed upgrade includes the installation of mine warfare training areas, seabed cables, inert or non-explosive mine countermeasure targets, and readiness training activities, according to its environmental impact statement.
When Congress passed its spending package in July 2025 (the so-called “Big, Beautiful Bill”), lawmakers included dozens of provisions that undermined environmental protections. One provision allowed corporations to pay a fee to fast-track the environmental review process under NEPA, the federal law at the heart of PKO’s 1976 lawsuit.
The SPEED Act, which passed in the House of Representatives this December, goes further. The act restricts when federal agencies must trigger NEPA environmental reviews and narrows the scope of what environmental effects agencies must consider during its review process. The act would also allow projects to skip the NEPA review process altogether if another federal, state, or tribal agency has conducted an environmental review. It would limit legal challenges to within 150 days of an agency’s action and excludes certain members of the public from challenging a decision altogether.
Prior to the overturning of Chevron v. NRDC in 2024, courts generally deferred to federal agencies’ interpretations of ambiguous statutes in federal legislation (which helped clear up confusion over phrases like “significant environmental effect”). Now, without that deference, courts can interpret meaning themselves. Agencies like the EPA, U.S. Fish & Wildlife Service, or NOAA (agencies that also faced tremendous budget cuts in 2025), may have less flexibility to interpret laws to benefit conservation, let alone enforce conservation laws. Courts may also be less willing to accept or integrate ancestral knowledge, as they have in proceedings of the past.
There exists a future in which corporations or government entities could fast-track a project, limit the scope of environmental reviews to flout conservation efforts, ignore public comment on cultural impact, and face little opposition in court, so long as those groups comply with the procedural requirement of conducting a NEPA environmental impact review. In other words, Hawaiians would see outcomes similar to that first 1977 court ruling that allowed for continued bombardment of Kahoʻolawe simply because an EIS obligation had been met.
The public trust doctrine codified in Hawaiʻi’s Constitution, state agencies broad discretion of state statutes, and court interpretation of federal public trust obligations to Native Hawaiians, become critical backstops. If Native Hawaiians want to employ the legal playbook used to preserve and protect Kahoʻolawe, or thwart commercialization of Hawaiʻi’s environmentally sensitive and culturally significant areas, they face incredible odds.
And funding remains a significant challenge. Hawaiʻi was dogged by insufficient federal funds for cleanup of the island, leaning on state tax dollars to cover shortfalls and cutting KIRC programming.
“There’s a cost to be able to support … activities on the island,” Nahoopii said. “It’s not just free to go and do things on the island. There is a core infrastructure that needs to help make sure that people are safe.”
“In order for the island to continue to be a sacred place, it does need to still have that commercial ban,” Davianna McGregor, a professor at University of Hawaiʻi, said. “So, whatever revenue is generated has to be generated on Mauʻi for the island or it has to be revenue that doesn’t violate this commercial prohibition. And that’s a challenge.”
Dozens of costly legal battles over culturally significant sites could steadily bleed Hawaiʻi’s resources, compounding the strain of living and governing in the nation’s most expensive state.
Kahoʻolawe was reclaimed through protest, litigation, and ceremony. Today, unexploded ordnances, funding shortfalls, and weakened environmental laws threaten hard-won gains — raising urgent questions about stewardship, sovereignty, and what it takes to truly restore ʻāina.
“We’re here to kūkulu. We’re here to build rather than just tear things down. Part of that dream that they dreamt in the ‘70s and the ‘80s is for us to be able to sustain ourselves, for us to be able to create, institutionalize aloha ʻāina in a way, so that it’s not just a couple of brave people bearing the brunt of the burden, but it’s all of us, collectively.”— Kaipu Keala, a member of PKO, to Hawaiʻi Public Radio.
ADDITIONAL THOUGHTS:
The Kahoʻolawe Island Reserve Commission launched an online living archive of artifacts discovered on the island and is continuously working to make other reports, resources, and curriculum digitally available for Native Hawaiians (including Kānaka in the diaspora). E Hele!
PKO celebrates 50 years of Aloha ʻĀina on Kahoʻolawe with the debut of Mele O Kahoʻolawe on January 4 (the full album will drop this fall). Watch this space for more.
NB: In 1976, when Hōkūleʻa embarked on its historic voyage to Tahiti, establishing scientific credence to claims about Polynesian celestial navigation and traditional wayfinding, it had considered launching from Kahoʻolawe, restoring cultural tradition and practice. The Navy had threatened to impound the waʻa, according to Hōkūleʻa members; keeping two landmark Hawaiian movements at painful odds with each other at a critical moment for Hawaiian self-determination.
Hillsboro: Hula Hālau ʻOhana Holoʻokoʻa at Hillsboro International Day (January 10; 12:30pm, Winter Village at Orenco Station, 943 NE Orenco Station Loop)
Virginia
Fairfax Station: Chef Puaʻa Poke Workshop(January 24; 6-8pm, Fairfax Station Railroad Museum, 11200 Fairfax Station Rd.)
Washington
Federal way:
Hui Hoaloha ʻUlana Big/Little Jeopardy Night (January 7; 5pm, Hub 145, University of Washington, 1615 S. 325th St.)
Hui Hoaloha ʻUlana Big/Little Reveal (January 26; 6pm, Hub 145, University of Washington, 1615 S. 325th St.)
The federal government shutdown this past fall triggered a temporary pause in Hawai’i's SNAP benefits, prompting emergency relief efforts by the state and local nonprofits. The wait was insufferable — many Hawaiʻi parents didn’t know how they would feed their children. Miscommunication and ongoing legal battles fueled uncertainty, confusion, and panic.
Food insecurity is a major issue in the state. More than 165,000 residents who rely on monthly SNAP benefits were affected by the shutdown — 47,000 of them Native Hawaiian. But nearly one in three Hawaiʻi households experience food insecurity, a report by Hawaiʻi Foodbank found.
“We’ve started to see more and more working families,” said Amy Miller, president and CEO of Hawai‘i Foodbank. “These are people working one job, two jobs, sometimes three jobs. They have always been able to make ends meet and they just can’t do it anymore.”
The SNAP pause wasn’t the first blow to Hawaiʻi’s fragile food security landscape. The Trump administration halted funds from the Inflation Reduction Act and cut other U.S. Department of Agriculture programs shortly after taking office. The USDA announced earlier this year that it was eliminating two programs that provided schools and food banks over $1 billion in funding to buy food directly from Hawaiʻi farmers and producers.
“About 22% of our overall revenues come from the federal government,” Miller said. “Last year, statewide, we received about $4 million dollars [from the USDA] — that source of food has been canceled.”
Hawaiʻi imports about 90% of food consumed in the state, making the islands particularly vulnerable to disruptions caused by shipping, price fluctuations, supply-chain issues, and political theater. Heavy reliance on imported food also limits access to fresh, healthy produce, contributing to diet-related illnesses like heart disease and type 2 diabetes. While President Trump signed a bill funding the government through January 30, 2026 — restoring SNAP benefits to the state — food insecurity and barriers to affordable health coverage and care will persist long after the coming congressional tête-à-tête plays out. Food sovereignty remains a North Star, however elusive.
Food sovereignty constrained
Roughly 1.9 million acres in Hawaiʻi are zoned for agricultural use, yet only 8% of that land is used to grow crops. Most ag land is set aside for grazing or is inaccessible, fallow, or prohibitively expensive to develop. Some wealthy landowners have exploited a loophole that permits a farm facility or dwelling on agricultural land, purchasing large parcels of ag land and constructing high-end, luxury homes beside token farming plots. Critics argue the practice restricts farmers’ access to affordable land and undermines efforts to rebuild a resilient local food system.
About 80% of Hawaiʻi’s farms are owned and operated by individuals or families — wealthy landowners included. The average farm is relatively small, spanning 1 to 9 acres. In 2022, the state generated roughly $471 million in agricultural sales, with the sector accounting for just 1.1% of the state’s GDP. In a state where housing costs are nearly triple the national average and the cost of living is the highest in the nation, some farmers might find it more lucrative to sell their land to developers or convert acreage into luxury vacation rentals than feed themselves or their communities.
The state has begun to address these issues. Lawmakers have proposed bills to change rules around dwelling units on agricultural land. In 2019, Hawaiʻi committed to doubling its local food production by 2030, and has since developed a suite of programs to ensure that state departments source products locally.
Native Hawaiian farming practices and food systems — collectively rooted in the ahupuaʻa system — have gained renewed attention alongside the push to buy and grow local. But centuries-old challenges, like land disruption, privatization, and dispossession, stymie expansion.
Traditional farm systems
Most Kānaka Maoli are familiar with the loʻi system, which diverts water to irrigate a network of terraces used to grow kalo (taro) through its lifecycle and water needs.
The system’s slow-moving water allows for sediment to settle and plants to filter out pollutants. Water returned to its origin stream can be cleaner and clearer than when it entered — and can be used downstream in fisheries or fishponds.
“Our ancestors did the hard job of understanding the gravity and the physics that it takes to take water…through all these terraces, through all these streams. It's already been engineered for us,” Brandon Makaʻawaʻawa, vice president of the Nation of Hawaiʻi, said. The Nation’s land base, Puʻuhonua O Waimānalo, is also experimenting with biochar to support plant cultivation and soil restoration, integrating modern techniques into traditional systems.
In Oregon, Kaʻaha Lāhui O ʻOlekona Hawaiian Civic Club (KALO HCC) partnered with the Oregon Food Bank and Portland-area Indigenous organizations to plant a six-square-foot dryland māla kalo (taro garden) in August 2021. Dryland gardens traditionally propagated sweet potatoes, yam, sugarcane, and other taro varieties. This māla used taro cuttings that descended from plants found on Oʻahu, Mauʻi, and Hawaiʻi Island. In its first season, the māla kalo yielded 25 pounds of kalo leaves (lau), which were then distributed to the local community. (Nearly 60% of Native Hawaiians and Pacific Islanders in Oregon live below the poverty line.) The garden has since grown, with the food bank allotting an additional 75-square-foot space for kalo and other crops, like mānoa lettuce, carrots, and bok choy.
Traditional aquaponic farming spread in urban areas across Hawaiʻi following the 2009 launch of the MĀLAMA (mini ahupuʻa for lifestyle and meaʻai through aquaponics) program. The model used fish to fertilize crops in backyard loʻi systems, offering residents a tool to fight food insecurity.
“The initial [challenge] of aquaponics is the construction of the system. And of course construction requires a lot of math. You need knowledge of carpentry, electricity, plumbing, physics, biology, of course fish and plants — chemistry,” Larry Yonashiro, an urban aquaponic farmer, told PBS.
The MĀLAMA program improved health and well-being outcomes among participants. KALO HCC had considered introducing the program alongside is 2021 māla kalo, but found that some components were not easily transferable to states like Oregon with shorter growing seasons and other challenges unique to the diaspora.
Rainfed agroforestry systems once supported a diverse range of roots, shrubs, and tubers used for food, medicine, clothing, lei, and utility items (like building materials). Traditional practices also helped prevent erosion and nutrient runoff.
“Agroforestry practices [today] like groundcover plants, cover crops, and ʻgrow your own mulch’ offer natural solutions to beat the prolific invasive weeds that most cultivators fight to prevent crop failure,” David Sansone, owner of an agroforestry and permaculture business, said in a 2024 Honolulu Civil Beat opinion piece. “With each agroforestry practice, soil and plant health increases once again leading to increased production.”
Hawaiʻi Plantation 2.0
Meeting the state’s food needs after a major disruption, like the shutdown, would require contributions beyond the collective yield of Native Hawaiian farmers — it would necessitate collaboration across all stakeholders in the agricultural sector, including those revisiting plantation infrastructure.
These stakeholders shape discussions around capital investments for AgTech, agricultural entrepreneurship, biosecurity and invasive species, and agricultural crime — areas where Native Hawaiians are also active, though often overlooked.
Established in 1994, the Agribusiness Development Corporation (ADC) was created to repurpose vast tracts of plantation-era agricultural land and infrastructure that shaped Hawaiʻi’s economy for more than a century. Now, under executive director Wendy Gady, the agency aims to transform that legacy into the backbone of a modern statewide food system: “We’re looking for radical collaborators. We’re looking for talent. We’re looking for farmers. We’re looking for food entrepreneurs.”
ADC’s relationship with Native Hawaiian communities has been fraught. In 2016, the agency and the Hawaiʻi Department of Agriculture faced a civil rights complaint over allegations that they had allowed heavy pesticide use near Native Hawaiian communities without adequate health and environmental protections. In 2019, ADC settled a lawsuit alleging violations of the federal Clean Water Act.
Still, the agency has overseen millions of dollars in agricultural investments across Kauaʻi and Oʻahu. Hawaiʻi’s 2026 budget earmarked $39 million to purchase one thousand acres of prime agricultural land on Kauaiʻi from Grove Farm, a company owned by AOL co-founder Steve Case. The budget also allocated $17 million to build an animal processing and storage facility on Oʻahu, $22 million for the construction of a food hub facility on Oʻahu, and more funds for ADC capital improvement projects.
Beyond investments in infrastructure, farmers and ranchers are turning to technology to increase efficiency, profitability, and opportunity. The University of Hawaiʻi partnered with 14 farms to test CropManage — an AI-integrated, web-based system developed in Salinas, California — to analyze water retention in key agricultural soils. CropManage helps farmers monitor real-time rainfall and evapotranspiration data, crop characteristics, and soil water retention and makes recommendations on irrigation, nitrogen schedules, and other crop needs.
“This technology has the potential to transform irrigation practices across Hawaiʻi, helping our farmers conserve water while maximizing crop yields,” Sayed Bateni, project principal investigator, said. “Preliminary results show that CropManage could reduce the amount of irrigation water by 35%, or even sometimes 40%, and enhance crop yields by 20% or even more.”
Researchers at Arizona State University and NASA Harvest are using AI and satellite imagery to build a food security dashboard for Mauʻi, designed to track crop health, soil conditions, and supply gaps to improve food output.
Agricultural crime, crime that is certainly informed by food insecurity, remains a growing threat. Theft of crop, livestock, and equipment cost food producers nearly $3.3 million in 2024. Investments in livestock-tracking devices have surged by 6,000% since 2019, according to data from the U.S. Department of Agriculture; while spending on video surveillance jumped by more than 200% year over year in the state.
Climate vs. food stability
Land access and use are at the core of Hawaiʻi’s food sovereignty movement, but advocates increasingly find themselves facing an unusual opponent: climate change activists.
Hawaiʻi has the highest share of petroleum use in the nation. In 2023, 90% of the state’s energy consumption came from imported petroleum. Only a third of Hawaiʻi’s imported oil is used to make electricity — it is otherwise used for ground and water transportation — but reliance on petroleum means the state’s average electricity price is still more than triple the U.S. average price. (Hawaiʻi’s electric use is the fourth lowest in the nation.)
In 2015, the state passed a landmark bill mandating that all electric utilities come from renewable energy sources by 2045. Kauaʻi, Hawaiʻi, and Mauʻi are required to reach that target by 2035. In 2024, nearly a decade after the bill’s passage, just 33% of total electricity generation came from renewables. The transition is slow going, particularly for Hawaiian Electric, the state’s largest utility. Hawaiian Electric faced significant credit downgrades by agencies like S&P and Fitch in August 2023, after their equipment was implicated in the Mauʻi wildfires. The downrating has increased the cost of its debt financing that the utility would otherwise leverage to finance renewable energy projects.
Climate and energy advocates are pushing for Hawaiʻi to use agriculturally zoned land for wind, hydro, and solar energy power projects to meet its renewables targets. Hydro electric power systems predate statehood, as plantation systems were the primary driver behind hydropower development in the islands. Hydropower operations raise a handful of environmental, cultural, and logistical concerns, including water rights, aging infrastructure, legal and permitting hurdles, and grid integration.
Solar energy projects are already permitted on ag lands that meet certain criteria. The state has experienced some growth in the industry, with a 13% rise in total solar capacity in 2024.
“Until we know what lands are critical for food production, we cannot piecemeal and say ‘okay, solar farm you go there,’ or ‘biofuel, you go there,’ because [these uses] may not be able to coexist with the land we’ve identified for crop production.” Dane Wicker, DBEDT deputy director, said.
Hawaiʻi’s recent SNAP crisis revealed a truth that extends beyond a single shutdown: the islands’ food system remains one shock away from collapse. Even as farmers revive ancestral practices or explore cutting-edge technology, their efforts unfold against real structural barriers. Food sovereignty remains an urgent necessity. Hawaiʻi is not without solutions. Whether it can bridge the gap between its plantation-era past and a sustainable, self-determined future will shape how families weather the next crisis, and the next after that.
Read more about food sovereignty and the fight to conserve native plants in our spotlight.
Na Hula Haliʻa Cultural Preservation Christmas Show: E Hula Kakou - Aloha Kalikimaka (December 7; 10am-9pm, The Orleans Hotel & Casino, Mardi Gras Ballroom, 4500 W Tropicana Ave.)
Kamehameha Schools Lawsuit Puts Native Hawaiian Education in Legal Crosshairs
Students for Fair Admissions (SFFA), the group that sued to end affirmative action in college admissions, has filed a lawsuit against Kamehameha Schools (KS), challenging its admissions policy, which gives preference to applicants of Native Hawaiian ancestry. The complaint argues that KS’ admissions policy is in violation of federal civil rights law that prohibits discrimination in contracts and creates an ethnic barrier to entry for non-Hawaiian students.
Hundreds of people, including KS students, staff, alumni, and members of the public, gathered at ʻIolani Palace in October to show solidarity for Kamehameha Schools.
“We will fight these legal challenges to our admissions policy with all the resources available to us. We are warriors. We fight, we win,” Crystal Kauilani Rose, chair of the school’s Board of Trustees, said at the rally.
“We are resolved to vigorously defend our admissions policy,” Jack Wong, CEO of Kamehameha Schools said in a statement. “The facts and the law are on our side, and we are confident that we will prevail.”
Social media saw an outpouring of support for the school across the Native Hawaiian diaspora.
“Here on the continent, our people continue to carry the weight of displacement. Separated from our ‘āina yet forever connected through our moʻokūʻauhau and collective kuleana,” Leialoha Kaʻula, executive director of Ka ʻAha Lāhui O ʻOlekona Hawaiian Civic Club, said in a statement. “[At] this moment, when the very intent of Ke Aliʻi Pauahiʻs will and trust is being contested, we stand firmly in solidarity with Kamehameha Schools.”
“The preference policy is not about exclusion. It is about restoration,” Kaʻula continued. “It honors the truth of who we are as a people: Descendants of a sovereign nation whose aliʻi envisioned education as a pathway to empowerment.”
Hawaiʻi state Democrats issued a statement in support of Kamehameha Schools’ mission. And state leaders have asked Hawaiʻi’s attorney general to file an amicus brief in the SFFA v. Kamehameha Schools case, as it had in 2003 when the school faced similar legal troubles.
“We believe that Kamehameha Schools’ admissions policy does not violate federal law and is both consistent with and supportive of the State of Hawaiʻi’s long-standing commitment to better the conditions of Native Hawaiians.” -- Hawaii Attorney General Bennett (2003)
A ruling against Kamehameha Schools’ admissions policy carries unknown consequences, but could mark the first in a series of dominoes stacked against Native Hawaiians and the programs that bolster them.
Table stakes
Native Hawaiian culture and values are knitted tightly into the daily operations and strategic framework of Kamehameha Schools and its vast array of programs, services, investments, and landholdings.
The school oversees more than 363,000 acres of land across the islands — making it the third-largest landowner in Hawaiʻi, after the state and federal governments. High value conservation and agricultural lands make up 99 percent of KS-owned landholdings, alongside several commercial properties in urban, high-density, and mixed-use communities, according to the school.
The school subsidizes and supports local farmers, efforting restoration and use of native food crops and water irrigation systems, that feed back, literally, into community and student meal programs. The school also boasts ʻāina-focused curricula through workshops, workdays, and other engagements.
KS employs some 3,000 people across its 30 preschools, three K-12 campuses, and other regional and support offices. The school maintains teaching expectations that emphasize cultivating Native Hawaiian identity in students, and provides cultural and professional development to its staff and faculty that is also grounded in that mission. The school funds Hawaiian immersion centers, local charter schools, and other community programs, providing professional development and training there too.
Kamehameha Publishing maintains one of the largest archives of Native Hawaiian writings in the world and continues to support the publishing and distribution of Hawaiian language and cultural materials. It offers free online resources and distance learning opportunities to members of the Hawaiian diaspora.
Roughly 5,400 students are enrolled across KSʻ campuses on Oahu, Maui, and Hawaiʻi Island. More than 70 percent of its students receive financial aid in some form. The school also provides housing for 350 students through its boarding program.
“Their journey as learners is tied to the future of Hawaiian people.”--Jack Wong, CEO of Kamehameha Schools
Lawsuit whac-a-mole
Kamehameha Schools’ admissions policy has faced multiple legal challenges over the past two decades and was most recently upheld in a 2006 Ninth Circuit en banc decision (splitting judges in an 8 to 7 vote).
Earlier challenges argued that KS was using Native Hawaiian ancestry as a proxy for race in a manner that is unconstitutional, citing Rice v. Cayetano (2000). The court found in that case that the Office of Hawaiian Affairs (OHA), which had restricted eligibility for trustee voting to Native Hawaiians, had created a voting schema that used ancestry as a proxy for race. In restricting voting to Native Hawaiians, the court ruled, OHA had created a voting classification that was in violation of the Fifteenth Amendment.
But in that case, the court was careful to confine its analysis to voting rights and the Fifteenth Amendment. And that’s because it recognized that Native Hawaiians have a special political relationship with the U.S. government that Congress has recognized through more than 150 statutes (in other words, that Congress engages with Native Hawaiians in a manner similar to its exercise of plenary power with Native American tribes).
Native Hawaiians are the only federally-recognized native people without a formal government-to-government relationship with the U.S. (in other words, without tribal status). But it's this complicated history where KS may find its path to victory.
Path to a judicial “out”
I’ll pause here to say that I’m not a legal expert, and I’m not aligned with KS’ legal counsel. The SFFA v. Kamehameha Schools case will involve deep examination of prior U.S. Supreme Court and district court rulings so dizzying that even a cursory review delayed the distribution of this newsletter by a week.
Nevertheless, let me introduce one concept that merits some consideration: The political question doctrine. This legal principle prevents federal courts from hearing certain cases that are under the jurisdiction or are prudent to another branch of government (Congress or the president).
In a 2002 case, a group of Native Hawaiians sued the U.S. Interior Department alleging that they were excluded from the federal tribal recognition process because the department’s regulations establishing a procedure and policy for acknowledgment only applied to groups indigenous to the contiguous 48 states and Alaska. The district court dismissed the case. It held that the complaint raised a nonjusticiable political question for the court, asking it to “supplant Congress’ decision not to deal with Native Hawaiians as an Indian tribe.” The court further noted that Hawaiʻi’s history differs fundamentally from that of other Indigenous groups, and that that distinction meant that Congress intended to maintain a unique political relationship with Hawaiians. [Incidentally, the Interior Department established an administrative procedure and criteria for a government-to-government relationship with the Native Hawaiian community in 2016 — it is wildly unpopular among Native Hawaiians.]
The court should dismiss the SFFA case because it involves a nonjusticiable political question. In order for the court to decide whether to apply strict scrutiny in review of Kamehameha Schools’ admissions policy (i.e. decide if the policy is discriminatory to non-Hawaiians), it must first make determinations about a political relationship between Native Hawaiians and the federal government, a matter that falls under Congress’ authority. (And Congress, as of this distribution, is still locked at an impasse over its funding bill.)
“It is a painful irony indeed to conclude that native Hawaiians are not entitled to special benefits designed to restore a measure of native self-governance because they currently lack any vestigial native government -- a possibility of which history and the actions of this nation have deprived them.”— Justice Stevens, dissenting opinion in Rice v. Cayetano
Why this matters
In 1983, the U.S. Supreme Court ruled that racial discrimination can cause an organization to lose its tax-exempt status. If KS’ admissions policy is found to be discriminatory, the school could lose its tax-exempt status and may even be required to pay back taxes.
More chilling are the downstream effects of an SFFA win. Since the Supreme Court effectively ended affirmative action, organizations across the country have filed lawsuits that employ the SFFA v. Harvard playbook (a strategy also used in this lawsuit against KS). A group led by the founder of SFFA sued the state of Illinois in 2024 for creating a scholarship for minority teachers. The Department of Education was sued for providing competitive grants to universities for students from underrepresented communities. The Smithsonian’s National Museum of the American Latino was sued for creating an internship program to benefit the next generation of Latino museum leaders. And these examples were all readily available on the Federalists Society’s website. There is no doubt that KS funding premised on the advancement of Native Hawaiians would fall under this same microscope if a court rules against its admissions policy.
If KS loses, Native Hawaiian-serving programs and services — from scholarships to student housing, land use, immersion programs, and economic development initiatives for Native Hawaiian-owned businesses — could face similar attacks. Lawsuits aren’t automatic legal wins, but the reality is many Native Hawaiian-serving organizations lack resources to fight or may preemptively change their policies to avoid one.
“It’s not a question of denial of opportunities, it’s a question of sovereignty over our own resources.”--Jon Osorio, dean of the Hawaiʻinuiākea School of Hawaiian Knowledge at the University of Hawaii (and a Kamehameha alumnus)
This case is expected to reach the Ninth Circuit Court of Appeals, which has 29 active judgeships — 16 Democratic appointees and 13 named by Republicans presidents.
In 2006, that same court found that KS’ admissions policy didn’t violate the law because it was designed to counteract the significant, current educational deficits of Native Hawaiian children and that KS’ policy served a legitimate remedial purpose by addressing those socioeconomic and educational disadvantages. It also found that the admissions policy didn’t present an absolute bar to non-Native Hawaiians.
Since then, two students of non-Hawaiian ancestry attended the school and four non-Hawaiian students received KS scholarships. Another group of anonymous students challenged KS’ admissions policy and took the case to the Supreme Court, but the court declined to take up the case in 2011 without comment.
“The truth about Kamehameha Schools is that the system serves people of all races. The commonality among students is that they can prove some degree of lineage showing descendancy of the people who lived in Hawaiʻi prior to 1778, but the reality is that students who are Black, White, Asian, Hispanic and whatever go to that school,” Lee Cataluna explained in a recent Honolulu Civil Beat column.
Hawaiian Punch is among the top-selling fruit punch drinks in the United States. Today, it comes in at least 14 drink varieties, and is sold across the U.S., Canada, and Mexico. But while the name andmascotoffer a hollow nod to Hawaiʻi, the drink’s legacy tells a very different story, far removed from Hawaiian values.
Hawaiian Punch was created in the mid-1930s as an ice cream syrup topping by A.W. Leo, one of the founders of Pacific Citrus Products in Fullerton, California. The original syrup blended fruit imported from Hawaiʻi, including pineapple, papaya, guava, and passion fruit (some of which are not endemic to Hawaiʻi); and was sold wholesale to soda shops, restaurants, and ice cream parlors. By the 1940s, Pacific Citrus had expanded its product line to appeal to adults, merchandise included bar mixers, fruit concentrates, emulsions, oils, and extracts.
The company changed hands by the 1950s, operating as the Pacific Hawaiian Products Company under Reuben P. Hughes, who had served as Pacific Citrus’ treasurer. Hughes began selling Hawaiian Punch directly to consumers in quart-sized bottles and 46-ounce ready-to-drink cans. The shelf stable beverage was a staple in homes and even found its way to military outlets, according to onereport.
Marketing and distribution expanded; and recipes shifted, with the addition of other fruit juices and purees purchased from packing plants on the continent, according to Hughes in a 1968 interview with a CSU Fullerton historian.
In 1962, the same year Pacific Hawaiian went public, the Atherton-Privett ad agency introduced Punchy, the brand’s enduring mascot. (Some accounts credit Punchy’s creation to Pasifika performerJosefa Moe.) Punchy donned a pāpale niu, a coconut-frond hat, and became known for walloping unsuspecting passersby after delivering his tagline, “How about a nice Hawaiian Punch?” Punchy and frequent foil, Opie (sometimes called Oaf), appeared in Hawaiian Punch ads through the 1990s.
A year after it went public, Pacific Hawaiian was acquired by the R.J. Reynolds Tobacco Company. Hughes became its largest stockholder. Like other tobacco companies, R.J. Reynolds diversified into packaged foods to reach new markets and offset growing health concerns about smoking.
The acquisition was also part of an effort at Reynolds to develop sugary drinks and other products, applying learnings from tobacco market research on children to the food space, according to a2023 study published in the journal, Addiction.
Under Reynolds, Hawaiian Punch grew exponentially, with new products, a partnership withSeaWorld, and even celebrity endorsements by Donny and Marie Osmond.
Punchy was marketed heavily to children through toys, school supplies, comics, magazines, and TV commercials, generating tens of millions of dollars in sales for Reynolds. Mattel even launched a Hawaiian Punch board game that came with a pineapple mold and Play-Doh.
Hawaiian Punch became more than a household name, it was a multigenerational cultural phenomenon, with the brand’s name leaping from marijuana to a militaryrifle exhibition drill.
By the 1980s and 1990s, Hawaiian Punch was a global brand, amassing hundreds of millions of dollars annually. But Punchy was losing his impact with kids and the brand shifted its approach through integrated marketing and quirky advertising. Mark Mothersbaugh, co-founder of the new wave band Devo, was brought on for a commercial for Hawaiian Punch that, he later admitted in an interview with Vulture, contained a subliminal message: “sugar is bad for you.” (Some have compared the ad’s melody to Nine Inch Nails’ “Head Like A Hole.”)
The brand also expanded into candy, gum, and other kid-focused products, including a mail-away, “sonic adventure” cassette tape. The promotional cassette, “Boxed In,” would later be distributed as part of a free sample pack at Toys “R” Us stores.
In 1992, in what seemed like a last ditch effort to capitalize on brand nostalgia and engage another generation of would-be consumers, Hawaiian Punch revived a1972 promotional efforttied to the U.S. presidential election, casting Punchy as a mock candidate with the slogan, “No one else has the punch.”
Consumers weren’t buying it, perhaps because they, as trends revealed, were paying closer attention to nutrition. Hawaiian Punch contains just 3% of real fruit juice, according to Keurig Dr. Pepper. Each serving of Hawaiian Punch contains 11 grams of sugar (10 grams from added sugars, including sucralose and high-fructose corn syrup. Studies have linked high-fructose corn syrup to heart disease, obesity, and insulin resistance, health disparities that adversely impact Native Hawaiians. (The drink also contains Red 40 and Blue 1, synthetic dyes that the FDA is currently working to eliminate.)
Ownership shifted from R.J. Reynolds to Procter & Gamble, then Cadbury Schweppes, and today the brand belongs to Texas-based Keurig Dr. Pepper.
Research has since revealed the extent of Big Tobacco’s role in shaping Hawaiian Punch. A 2019 UCSF study cited internal R.J. Reynolds documents showing that executives adapted flavors and colors originally designed for cigarettes to create children’s beverage lines.
“Even after the tobacco companies sold these brands to food and beverage corporations, many of the product lines and marketing techniques designed to attract kids are still in use today,” Laura Schmidt, a senior author of the study, said.
The 2023 Addiction study further concluded that foods marketed by tobacco giants and its subsidiaries were engineered with potent combinations of fat, sodium, sugar, and other additives linked to obesity and other diet-related diseases.
“Even though the tobacco companies no longer own these food brands, researchers say the findings matter because many of the ultra-processed foods that we eat today were engineered by an industry that wrote the playbook on products that are highly-palatable, addictive and appealing to children,” Anahad O’Connor wrote for The Washington Post.
It’s easy to see why Hawaiians carry affinity for Hawaiian Punch, despite its faux Polynesian identity. The brand partnered with Hawaiʻi-based companies at its inception and visibilized a version of Hawaiianness in an era pushing assimilation and when Hawaiian language, history, and culture were otherwise banned. In Hawaiʻi, where nearly 90% of food is imported, the drink became a convenient, budget-friendly option for households (Hawaiian Sun would enter the scene in 1952).
Hawaiian Punch may have started as a syrup for ice cream, but it grew into something much larger — a generations-long case study in cultural appropriation, corporate manipulation, and potential public health harm. Its story reminds us how companies profit from romanticized images of Hawaiʻi while leaving behind consequences that are anything but sweet.
As we observe Hawaiian History Month this September, it’s worth reflecting on places that carry Hawaiʻi’s layered past. The Waikīkī War Memorial Natatorium, locally known as “The Tank,” stands as one such site — a living memorial whose future continues to spark conversation.
The memorial is one of the few remaining ocean-water natatoriums in the world, and the only one of its kind in the United States. It is also the nation’s oldest public open-water swimming pool. Built on former Hawaiian Crown Lands, the natatorium was dedicated in 1927 to honor the 10,000 citizens of the Territory of Hawaiʻi who served in World War I. It was conceived as a “living memorial,” a place for the people of Hawaiʻi to enjoy the freedoms brought about by the sacrifices of those who fought. Native Hawaiian dignitaries, including Princess Kalanianaole and Senator John H. Wise, served on its planning committees.
The memorial was designed by Lewis P. Hobart, whose other works include San Francisco’s Grace Cathedral and the U.S. Post Office building (also known as 511 Federal Building) in Portland, Oregon. It features an archway and architectural elements with ornamentation in the Beaux-Arts style (sometimes described as Hawaiian Beaux-Arts style). The natatorium boasts a 100-by-40 meter open saltwater pool and includes a diving area that reaches a depth of 22 feet, according to original designs.
The memorial opened on August 24, 1927, in time for the men’s national outdoor swimming championships. Olympic gold medalist and surfing legend Duke Kahanamoku took its first ceremonial swim (the date also coincided with his birthday). For the next 50 years, the natatorium became the epicenter of swimming and watersports in Hawaiʻi. Famous athletes and celebrity swimmers, including Esther Williams, Johnny Weissmuller, Buster Crabbe, and members of the International Swimming Hall of Fame, graced its waters. Generations of Hawaiʻi residents learned to swim in its waters through the Hawaiʻi Department of Education’s Learn to Swim initiative, according to the nonprofit Friends of the Natatorium. After the attack on Pearl Harbor, the U.S. Army used the natatorium for dive training.
“I did not believe that I could ever get a thrill out of a swimming meet after all I have seen and competed in. But last night [at a meet in the Natatorium], I certainly had the thrill of my life — the crowd. I will never forget it. The intense interest shown by everybody, the color, that wonderful Waikīkī pool, I had to rub my eyes and pinch myself to see if it were not all a dream.” — Duke Kahanamoku
From the start, however, the natatorium suffered from design flaws. Budget cuts prevented the original plan from being fully implemented, and its drainage system over time proved inadequate. The pool relies on four 24-inch concrete pipes located at both ends of the swim basin for circulation — its only inlet/outlet for ocean water — which have continued to clog over time and left water stagnant. Insufficient water circulation encourages algae and bacterial growth, which degrades the basin’s natural sandy reef bottom into silty sludge. Water quality declined, making the pool unsafe for swimming. The natatorium’s concrete deck was poured as a single slab, and has naturally deteriorated over time, leaving gaping holes open to the pool below.
The facility began to decline after World War II, and closed in 1963 due to unsafe conditions. Although Honolulu officials considered the memorial’s demolition, it was placed on Hawaiʻi’s Register of Historic Places in 1973, sparking legal battles between preservation advocates and those who backed its demolition, including the U.S. Army Corp of Engineers and the state of Hawaiʻi. In 1979, the city and county of Honolulu passed a resolution to return management of the natatorium to the state of Hawaiʻi, leaving use and disposition up to the state. A later executive order reversed the decision, leaving operation of the memorial to the city of Honolulu, though ownership remained with the state. It was shuttered permanently in 1979. The following year, the National Park Service added the natatorium to the National Register of Historic Places.
Over the decades, debates about the site’s future stalled in bureaucratic gridlock. Proposals for demolition, preservation, and restoration repeatedly rose and fell, often derailed by lack of funding. The National Trust for Historic Preservation listed the natatorium among America’s 11 most endangered historic sites in 1995, and a 1997 study concluded that restoration with a re-engineered pool was the most sensible option for preservation.
Abatement of the pool’s sludgy bottom, however, would carry an environmental impact on the surrounding reef and nearby beaches. Demolishing the memorial would harm Kaimana Beach, which exists because of the natatorium’s structure. According to studies by Sea Engineering, if the natatorium were removed, officials would need to build additional groins to preserve and expand the beach.
“There is a vocal group that wants to expand the beach area and the natatorium is in the way,” Peter Apo, former state legislator, Office of Hawaiian Affairs trustee, and state and county government administrator, said in a 2015 documentary. “The challenge, though, is that the natatorium now serves as a revetment so that the sand does not drift away. In the process of creating ‘a new beach,’ they have to replace the footprint that the natatorium has in a growing system.”
“It would also mean … that the city of Honolulu would be the first agency that’s responsible for the intentional destruction of a war memorial,” Brian Turner, who previously worked at the National Trust for Historic Preservation, said in 2015.
In 2001, repairs were made to the facade, locker rooms, lifeguard offices, volleyball court, and parking lot, but the pool itself remained closed. A 17-member task force was appointed to review the fate of the natatorium. The group included representatives from the U.S. military, Waikīkī Aquarium, Waikīkī Improvement Association, and local community and historic preservation organizations. By the end of the decade, the task force recommended that the swimming pool be torn down and that the space containing the pool be filled with sand to create a beach park. The plan, which maintained the memorial’s archway and other features, did not include an accepted environmental impact statement nor funding.
And the battle over the natatorium continued, with one Honolulu Civil Beat reporter writing in 2012: “Top city officials didn’t want the public to know that about $750,000 in studies to remove the pool had likely been wasted. [Emails] show they dodged media questions about the project and in some cases were less than truthful in the answers they did give.”
On Veteran’s Day 2016, the National Trust unveiled an updated revitalization plan for the memorial, which included a modernized deck, a new concrete slab to replace the sandy swim basin, a regraded swim basin to allow accessibility for children, elderly, and disabled swimmers, additional openings to improve water circulation, and concrete chevrons to replace its ocean wall to enhance water flow and quality.
The plan prompted a new push by preservation advocates. At one point, Hawaiʻi recording artist Bruno Mars weighed in, donating tickets to his 24K Magic World Tour as a benefit to a crowd funding effort.
Momentum shifted in 2019 when the city and county of Honolulu reversed earlier demolition plans and announced a proposal to rehabilitate the natatorium. Cost estimates showed that restoration (then about $32 million) would be cheaper than demolition ($35 million). Advocates aimed to complete the project by the memorial’s centennial in 2027.
“My first impression of the memorial -- I wanted to cry … My second emotion was anger. How could anyone let a war memorial turn into this?” — Mo Radke, former Navy command master chief and Friends of the Natatorium board member.
But more legal battles ensued. And a global pandemic.
The city of Honolulu announced that it would reveal another design for restoration later this year, with adjustments to account for sea level rise, meeting mounting concerns over swimmer safety. The new preservation plan was projected at $30 million, with most of the funding expected to be raised by Friends of the Natatorium.
“We want the natatorium to be functional again,” said Andy Sugg, chief of staff to Honolulu Mayor Rick Blangiardi. “There are absolutely no plans to tear it down.”
But hopes for restoration dimmed again, after Mayor Rick Blangiardi expressed doubts that the project was feasible ina recent interview with Hawaii News Now.
“I think it’s really a long shot,” he said. “I’m sad to say that, and I realize that some people are going to be upset with my saying this, because I wanted to save it.”
The mayor said the city has already invested $2.5 million in “drawings and plans” to reach 60% completion for fundraising purposes. “It has a lot to do with liability -- ultimately who’s going to run it,” Blangiardi said.
“The original deal was that the city would pay for the [planning and] design and the Friends of the Natatorium would pay for the construction,” Honolulu City Council Chair Tommy Waters told Hawaii News Now.
“At this point, we are probably talking about $50 million,” Waters added. “That’s a tough one … But it is a World War I memorial. Why can’t we get the feds to come help us out a little bit?”
Blangiardi suggested that if full restoration proves impossible, the city may explore alternatives. “We may be looking at a different kind of memorial,” Blangiardi said. “Definitely down there [near Kaimana Beach]. Definitely something really classy.”
The natatorium was built in an era of acculturation and forced assimilation. Native Hawaiian cultural practices, history, and language were subverted and suppressed, replaced by patriotic, Americanization campaigns. The memorial is a monument to that effort. Nevertheless, former Hawaiʻi subjects and Native Hawaiians, whose kingdom had been overthrown two decades prior, responded to a call to arms from their offending country, by the thousands. The natatorium served as a cornerstone of a post-annexation Hawaiʻi, laying the cultural foundation for the 442nd Regimental Combat Team (“Go for Broke”) during World War II. A demolition of the natatorium would represent yet another form of historical erasure, albeit one complicated by cultural and generational trauma.
Until the mid-1990s, the prevailing narrative about Hawaiʻi's annexation was one in which Native Hawaiians were outmaneuvered by conspirators emboldened and empowered by the U.S.; and that, following a failed attempt to restore the monarchy, Hawaiians quietly acquiesced.
That is until historian Noenoe K. Silva discovered the Kūʻē Petitions buried in the National Archives in Washington, D.C. The discovery, combined with Silva's exploration of historical events recorded in Hawaiian-language publications, paints a far more nuanced account of the events between 1893 and 1898 — a story in which Hawaiians had boldly united against imperial forces and, if but briefly, effected meaningful resistance.
Hawaiians had long been organizing against colonizing forces, dating back to the reign of Kauikeaouli. They established institutions like Hawaiian-language newspapers, immersion schools, and political parties to preserve and promote Hawaiian culture and fight for economic parity, despite population decline caused by disease and land dispossession. When the Kingdom of Hawaiʻi was overthrown, it was this infrastructure that allowed for the quick mobilization of a resistance movement.
In June 1897, President McKinley and three representatives of the Provisional Government signed a treaty of annexation and submitted it to the U.S. Senate for ratification. Between September and October 1897, under threats from members of the Provisional Government, a coalition of three political organizations — Hui Aloha ʻĀina O Nā Kane, Hui Kālaiʻāina, and Hui Aloha ʻĀina O Nā Wahine — prepared and gathered anti-annexation petitions. Native Hawaiians were attempting to peacefully and democratically restore their own sovereignty playing by the rules of a western government.
Traveling by foot, horse, train, inter-island steamship, even waʻa kaulua, coalition members collected thousands of signatures. Delegates describe an outpouring of support for the anti-annexation movement. Native Hawaiian women played an outsized role in the movement, though many were married to pro-annexation foreigners and had signed petitions under their ancestral names.
“Mrs. Laura Mahelona was working hard in Kona and Kaʻū; she was the committee member delegated to gather signatures there of both men and women. She traveled from North Kona south to Kaʻū, leaving blank petitions with instructions everywhere she went. She told the chapter presidents to get the petitions signed and return them in a few days when her ship would stop again at the same harbors. When she returned, signed petitions were ready at every harbor. When she landed at each port, she was welcomed by the women of the Hui Aloha ʻĀina branches, carrying leis over their arms, and when she returned to the boat, her clothes couldn't be seen because she was completely covered by leis.”
A total of 38,000 signatures were collected from a Native Hawaiian population of 40,000 people, undeniable proof that the people of the Hawaiʻi did not consent to the annexation of their home.
"To pull together that much evidence in one month and get the information to the queen, who was in Washington, was a huge accomplishment of the love of our people for this ʻāina,” researcher Nalani Minton told the Honolulu Star-Bulletin.
National delegates from the three hui arrived in Washington D.C. in December 1897 to present the petitions to the U.S. Senate — they are believed to be the first petitions ever submitted to the U.S. government by foreigners. The signatures indeed changed the minds of U.S. politicians: the Senate failed to reach the two-thirds majority required to ratify the annexation treaty.
In response, annexation supporters in Congress submitted a proposal to annex Hawaiʻi by joint resolution, bypassing the treaty process. The Newlands Resolution would require a simple majority vote in both houses. It passed and was signed into law by McKinley in July 1898.
“The U.S. was not acting out of benevolence or shared values — it was acting to expand its military reach, to project dominance deeper into the Pacific as it prepared to seize the Philippines during the Spanish-American War,” historian Adam Keawe Manalo-Camp wrote.
"Some people try to make these petitions seem meaningless, as if they failed, because in effect the United States has taken actions against us despite our standing against annexation," Minton said. "The petitions overturned a treaty of annexation. There is no treaty of annexation…that is not a legal process. You cannot, by your own internal process, annex another country, especially when the expressed will of the people, in writing, opposed it," she added.
A formal transfer of power took place on August 12, 1898, with the raising of the American flag over ʻIolani Palace.
Soon after Silva’s discovery, efforts began to raise awareness of the Kūʻē Petitions and make them digitally available to the public. The documents were digitized, cataloged, and made searchable. And since this time, the Kūʻē Petitions have been referenced to revitalize Hawaiian activism, notably used in demonstrations protesting against construction of the Thirty Meter Telescope on the summit of Mauna Kea.
“The petition, inscribed with the names of everyone’s kupuna, gave people permission from their ancestors to participate in the quest for national sovereignty,” said activist and advocate Dr. Keanu Sai. “More importantly, it affirmed for them that their kupuna had not stood by idly, apathetically, while their nation was taken from them…they learned that their ancestors had, as James Kaulia [president of Hui Aloha ‘Āina] put it, taken up the honorable field of struggle.”
Oceanside: Heiva San Diego (August 1-3; 9am-8:30pm, Junior Seau Pier Amphitheatre, 301 The Strand N)
Pasadena: Hālau Hula Moaniʻaʻala Anuhea at Pasadena Public Library Summer Reading Program Bash (August 2; 11:30am-1:30pm, Jefferson Branch Library, 1500 E. Villa St.)
China has significantly increased its investment and development in the Pacific in a bid to exert influence in the region amid competition with the U.S. and other Western nations. For Pacific Island nations, this geopolitical tug-of-war brings both opportunity and risk, and forces nations to navigate corruption, debt, sovereignty, and the lasting scars of colonialism.
From 2008 to 2022, China committed $10.6 billion to Pacific Island nations, largely through its Belt and Road Initiative (BRI). At the heart of BRI is a strategy powered by trade agreements, and, importantly, concessional loans offered to Pacific Island nations at below market interest rates. These loans funded a range of projects, including roads, ports, hospitals and clinics, schools, and telecommunication infrastructure that privileged Chinese industry. The loans were advantageous to Pasifika nations because they allowed projects to bypass conditions set by Western nations, like governance, financial, or human rights reform that might have otherwise constrained progress.
Between 2008 and 2016, China accounted for 89% of the region’s bilateral debt and roughly one-third of its infrastructure projects, sparking concern that Pasifika would be susceptible to diplomatic pressures (“debt trap diplomacy”) over Taiwan. Indeed, Kiribati, the Solomon Islands, and Nauru have all shifted diplomatic recognition of Taiwan in recent years. Six Pasifika nations that received BRI funds continue to be at high risk of debt distress: Tuvalu, Tonga, Samoa, Papua New Guinea, Kiribati, and Vanuatu.
China emerged from the pandemic with a more competitive, politically targeted model of aid engagement and it is now the second largest bilateral donor to the region after Australia, according to a Lowy Institute report. This shift has enabled China to gain influence in resource extraction markets, namely fisheries and forestry, with potential to dominate deep sea mining. China’s soft powers have also diluted a longstanding U.S.-led containment strategy in maritime security, reigniting a new era in the region’s geopolitical cold war.
In 2022, China failed to secure a regional development and security deal with ten Pacific Island nations. Since then, the country has engaged in a long game of winning nations over piecemeal. The U.S., for its part, opened long shuttered embassies, expanded military partnerships, and increased its presence in the region. U.S.-aligned nations have reported cyberretaliation by Chinese actors. Both countries have held military drills in the region within the last six months. Both China and the U.S. have expanded coast guard partnerships and ship-rider agreements with Pacific nations, under the auspices of fishing enforcement. And earlier this year, Defense Secretary Hegseth pledged that the U.S. would fortify the Indo-Pacific with the “most lethal fighting force in the world.”
Hawaii’s strategic location makes it both a key target and critical player as tensions mount. One U.S. congressman recently advocated for scaling up and modernizing military infrastructure, effectively ensuring Hawai‘i’s long-term militarization. What’s past is prologue. As global powers play a long game in the Pacific, the question remains: will Pasifika nations chart their own course, or be pulled deeper into a 21st-century Cold War?
Read more about the U.S.’ Pacific strategy and potential shifts for the Papahānaumokuākea Marine National Monument in our spotlight.
UPCOMING
EVENTS
Arkansas
Springdale: He Alo a He Alo Listening Tour (July 13; 5-7pm, Holiday Inn Northwest Arkansas, Hotel and Convention Center, 1500 South 48th St.)
Nā Hula Haliʻa Aloha Cultural Preservation Presents Christmas in July (July 19; 2-4pm, Clark County Library Performing Arts Theater, 1401 E. Flamingo Rd.)
Ocean Park: Utopia Washington QTPI Camp (July 31-August 2; Ocean Park Camp & Retreat Center, 28511 Vernon Ave.)
SeaTac: Hālau Hula Ka Lei Mokihana I Ka Ua Noe Hula in the Park (July 6, 20, 27; 11am-12pm, North Seatac Parks & Ball Fields, Des Moines Memorial Dr. S and S. 128th St.)
Seattle: OCA National Convention (July 24-27; University of Washington, 1410 NE Campus Pkwy.)
Tacoma: Taste of Asia Pacific (July 12; 11am-1pm, Asia Pacific Cultural Center, 3513 Portland Ave.)
Kuleana is available across major book retailers on June 10.
It started with an email from my father.
Sara,
The Hāna property taxes went up 500%. If we can’t find a way to pay, then the trust funds will be depleted in 7 years and we may be forced to sell it. This is how Hawaiians are losing their birthright lands.
Dad
The ground beneath me had shifted, and time itself was grabbing me by the shoulders, shaking me to do something. I felt a screaming sense of urgency ring in my ears. Yet also in my gut, useless and clueless about where to start.
I was separated by an ocean from our family’s land. I was separated by a continent from our family’s land. I felt my grandmother calling me back home, yet I wasn’t sure how to get back.
I’d had moments of gut pangs. Moments of feeling out of place and a yearning — a calling coming from the west to go back “home.” This ramped up after we had kids.
Living in Washington enabled me to achieve all my professional dreams and the stereotypical American dream. Life had been good, and I had much to be thankful for. But when it came to what mattered, I felt a sense that I was failing as a parent. Would our children ever feel Hawaiian — or Hawaiian enough?
As I sat with that email open in front of me, that voice I heard all those years calling me to Hawaiʻi was now screaming like a five-alarm fire. If we lost the land, I’d lose not only my connection to Hawaiʻi, but I’d never be able to share that with my children and their children.
The possibility of losing grandma’s land suddenly pushed all these nagging questions to the front and center of my life. It forced me to confront an uncomfortable question about my place in this culture and lineage.
The land — and my sense of duty to fulfill my Hawaiian grandmother’s wishes to hang on to it — called me to act. It also forced me to wrestle with something we don’t often talk about: What do we owe those who came before us and those who will come after?
My father didn’t need to explain. I understood the panic behind his words. The clock was starting.
President Trump has issued an executive order opening one of the world’s largest ocean reserves, the Pacific Islands Heritage Marine National Monument (also called PRIMNM), to commercial fishing for the first time in over a decade. Spanning an area the size of three Californias, PRIMNM is a sanctuary to fragile ecosystems and endangered wildlife. Environmental advocates warn that opening the marine monument threatens decades of conservation work, while fishing industry lobbyists claim the move restores access to routes that had been previously restricted without the consultation of Pacific Island leadership.
A companion executive order directs the Commerce Secretary to loosen regulations on commercial fishing, aquaculture, and fish processing industries. It also calls for the Interior Department to conduct a review of other marine monuments for commercial purposes, including the Papahānaumokuākea Marine National Monument, which contains historical and culturally significant Native Hawaiian sites.
“It’s as if we had just allowed commercial hunting into a place like Yellowstone,” said Douglas McCauley, a marine biology professor at the University of California, Santa Barbara. He warned the orders could severely impact shark conservation: “You can catch a lot of the tuna that you want, but you also catch and kill many sharks.”
Bob Richmond, a marine biologist at the University of Hawaiʻi, challenged the idea that opening the monument would benefit the fishing industry, saying there’s strong data showing that large protected areas actually enhance fish populations.
“What is important is to understand what the value of these large scale marine protected areas, like Pacific Islands Heritage Marine National Monument, is… [it is] a way of generating more fish for sustainability for the future,” Richmond said.
The Trump administration is expected to face legal challenges over the orders. While presidents can designate lands as national monuments under the Antiquities Act, critics argue that only Congress has the constitutional authority to abolish or modify national monuments on federal land (under the Property Clause).
“We’re going to be counting on the courts to hold this president to the law,” David Henkin, attorney for EarthJustice, told Hawaii News Now.
The National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) Fisheries and the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service (FWS) are tasked with managing marine national monuments in the Pacific. However, in February, FWS faced significant cuts to its workforce, including the termination of 420 employees across its operations and the National Wildlife Refuge System in Hawaii. The agency also appears to have frozen its international conservation grants, according to a report by Vox. Among funds recently removed from the FWS website: the Species Conservation Catalyst Fund, which awarded $1.4 million in 2024 for songbird preservation, and the Marine Turtle Conservation Fund, which awarded $2 million that same year.
The Trump administration's proposed 2026 budget includes steep cuts to NOAA as well, with a nearly 30% reduction in funding for NOAA Fisheries and the elimination of grants for species recovery and habitat conservation, according to reports. The proposed budget also aims to slim down NOAA’s investment in satellite technology by 44% compared to current levels.
And speaking of Elon Musk. In November 2024, SpaceX sought approval to expand its operations in the Pacific, with a plan that would, among other goals, extend its hazardous landing zones to include waters surrounding PRIMNM and Papahānaumokuākea. The FAA held a public comment period, which closed on January 17, 2025, and confirmed that it was consulting with the National Marine Fisheries Service to evaluate risk to marine species and critical habitats. A biological opinion was due just days before Trump’s fishing orders were issued.
Though the executive orders pertain only to commercial fishing, Trump has signaled broader ambitions for industrial expansion in the Pacific. In late April, he issued another order that would allow for deep seabed mining exploration and development through the issue of permits to the private sector.
More than 30 countries have called for a delay or moratorium on the start of seabed mining in international waters, an effort led by Pacific Island nations.
“There are data that demonstrate concerns about what deep seabed mining could do to fisheries, to ecosystem health, and, by definition, to human health, as well,” Richmond said.
“There are pollutants and toxins that come from the bottom of the sea floor which can make its way into our food chain,” Alanna Matamaru Smith, director of Te Ipukarea Society, said.
“In those conversations of mining, there’s no consideration that we come from this space. It’s about minerals. It’s about resources. It’s about extraction with no regard for culture,” said Sol Kahoʻohalahala, former Hawaiʻi state representative. “I want to be the one that says, ‘We come from this place. This is our home. And you are now intruding upon it.ʻ”
Kahoʻohalahala’s uncle, Joseph Keliʻihananui, was a member of Hui Panalāʻau, a U.S. colonization project that established an American presence on remote Pacific Islands ahead of World War II. Keliʻihananui was killed in a Japanese air raid the day after the attack on Pearl Harbor. The work of Hui Panalāʻau helped lay the cultural, historical, and scientific foundations for the establishment of the Pacific Islands Heritage Marine National Monument. Read more about Hui Panalāʻau in this month’s spotlight.
UPCOMING
EVENTS
Arkansas
Russellville: AAPI Heritage Month (May 3; Russellville Train Depot, 320 W. C St.)
California
Arroyo Grande: Moana Jr. (May 16 and 17; 7pm, 2pm, and 7pm, Clark Center for the Performing Arts, 487 Fair Oaks Ave.)
Last year, Meta CEO Mark Zuckerberg announced that the company was dabbling in the creator space with the launch of an AI studio. The studio would allow users to make their own AI-driven characters that could interface with Facebook, Instagram, and, later, WhatsApp users through messaging on Meta platforms. Meta also launched its own celebrity and character accounts, but those were quietly shuttered following user criticism.
Connor Hayes, Meta’s VP of product for generative AI, told the Financial Times that AI characters would eventually exist on platforms “kind of in the same way that accounts do,” and would have the ability to “generate and share content powered by AI on the platform.”
There are now a handful of AI character accounts on Instagram that identify as Hawaiian, and most of these accounts pose as women. The accounts have garnered tens of thousands of messages. The race and gender of creators or creator teams behind some of these accounts do not appear to be reflections of their virtual characters. Those creators have not responded to questions and/or requests for comment.
AI is only as good as the data used in its training. This data might reflect western narratives that marginalize or distort Pasifika culture and history or media representations that perpetuate stereotypes, exoticization, and othering, which stand to amplify harm that Native Hawaiians and Pacific Islanders experience daily. The scale to which misinformation could be disseminated and reflected back, harm promoted, and culture adulterated is profound. This says nothing of purposeful manipulation of the technology — say, if Meta’s CEO had reason to change the narrative around a controversial land grab or the platform wanted to monetize content derived from unlicensed work by Native Hawaiians and Pacific Islanders.
Gabriel Yanagihara, who lives in Hawaiʻi, created “Hawaii Boi w/da lifted Toyoda,” which is, as he describes it, the product of “a small afternoon project.” Yanagihara leads student and professional development workshops on topics across emerging technologies, including AI. You might have come across his viral videos showcasing Hawaiʻi high school mascots.
Through AI-driven activations like “Hawaii Boi,” Yanagihara aims to demystify AI and promote its adoption across Hawaiʻi.
“Hawaii has a unique opportunity to lead in AI literacy and application,” Yanagihara wrote on his Substack. “By embracing tools that amplify our values of community, responsibility, and sustainability, we can create solutions that are not just innovative but deeply rooted in our culture.”
Indeed, some smaller AI characters do appear as though they are set up to perpetuate Hawaiian values. “Pono the Nene,” for example, queues users with frequently asked questions including, “how can I be Pono when traveling on Kauai?” (“Pono” was created by a Kauaʻi-based photographer.)
So, can Native Hawaiians, a widely dispersed group of varying technological mastery, come together to preserve and gatekeep culture and history, while leaving room for advancement, creativity, and financial opportunities? Watch this space.
Merrie Monarch Das Why
The 62nd Annual Merrie Monarch Festival returns April 20-26, 2025. Here are few resources in the lead up to the big event.
Watch the Merrie Monarch hula competition live Thursday, April 24 through Saturday, April 26 via the Hawaii News Now mobile and OTT apps or online (starts at 6pm HST). The competition is also available to stream on the festival’s website.
Two decades moved with maddening speed. Prince Jonah Kūhiō Kalaniana‘ole, once sixth in line to the Hawaiian throne, a stately and steadfast royal carrying out the awesome responsibilities of power and legacy, had lost his kingdom. He had been imprisoned for trying to restore the Hawaiian monarchy following its overthrow and sentenced to execution, spared by his aunt’s abdication of his birthright.
He watched as the new regime flourished, feasting on the remnants of Hawaiian monarchical rule. Beloved family members passed away. Hawaiians died in record numbers — crammed into tenements, starving, ravaged by disease, their culture driven underground.
By 1914, Prince Kūhiō had become the Territory of Hawaiʻi’s second delegate to the U.S. Congress. It was a non-voting position, but one with the opportunity to wield considerable soft power. To secure the position, Kūhiō had joined the Republican Party, a party whose members had conspired to overthrow his kingdom years before. But he was no stranger to these spaces, having spent his youth among “the offspring of gold-rush millionaires” and “newly-emerged plantation elite” in San Mateo, California. (He and his brothers are credited with introducing the sport of surfing to Santa Cruz, California, and, thus, the continental U.S.)
Prince Kūhiō was a charismatic diplomat, who deftly navigated Washington, D.C.’s sea of small indignities by leaning into his exoticism and embracing “the spirit of Aloha.” His focus always on the rehabilitation of Kānaka Maoli.
In 1918, he gathered a group of Hawaiian leaders to form ʻAhahui Puʻuhonua o Nā Hawaiʻi, the first Hawaiian Civic Club. The organization sought to elevate and promote the social, economic, civic, and intellectual status of Native Hawaiians. Its first priority was securing federal support for a Native Hawaiian homesteading program — an effort to return Hawaiian land to Hawaiian hands. This group also worked to revive Hawaiian language newspapers, as a means of self-determination and civic engagement, empowering Hawaiians to record and tell their own stories.
Kūhiō didn’t live to see the first homesteaders settle Hawaiian home land, but his legacy extends beyond his accomplishments as a public figure. He created a playbook — and laid the groundwork — for Native Hawaiians to navigate seasons of political turmoil.
Today, there are 60 chartered Hawaiian Civic Clubs with roughly 3,500 members. Hawaiian Civic Clubs operate across 11 states in the diaspora:
Check out our interactive map to learn more about these and other nonprofits in your area. And read more about Prince Jonah Kūhiō Kalanianaʻole and the Hawaiian Homes Commission Act in our latest spotlight.
UPCOMING
EVENTS
Arizona
Tempe: Arizona Aloha Festival (March 15-16; 10am-3pm, Tempe Town Lake Park, Mill Ave. and Rio Salado Pkwy.)
California
Benicia: Race Around the Can (March 8; Alvarez 9th Street Park, 904 W. 9th St.)
February marks Mahina ʻŌlelo Hawaiʻi, or Hawaiian Language Month, which was established a little over a decade ago to commemorate efforts to revitalize and renormalize Hawaiʻi’s native language. Advocates and practitioners across the diaspora spend the month championing a “no more excuses” slogan, mounting pressure for every Hawaiian to solve generational trauma while, as they say, building the plane mid-flight.
The pressure isn’t unwarranted. Our history is replete with examples of institutionalized and systematized linguicide. Before the overthrow of the Hawaiian kingdom, the U.S. government provided federal support to groups, notably Christian missionary organizations, to build schools and religious institutions for the express purpose of acculturation. Hawaiian monarchs attempted to reverse these efforts by establishing schools that explicitly taught in ʻōlelo Hawaiʻi, but following the overthrow, use of Hawaiian in schools was banned. In fact, it wasn’t until 1986 that use of Hawaiian as an instructional medium in public schools was made lawful.
Building upon the scaffolding of those early missionary schools, the U.S. government established at least 7 institutions (schools with multiple sites across Hawaiʻi, including the Kamehameha schools) with forced cultural assimilation programming. Children in these schools faced disciplinary practices, such as food withholding and corporal punishment. They were also forced to perform military drills and manual labor, often to compensate for the poor conditions of school facilities and lacking funds. The Territory of Hawaiʻi used revenue from ceded crown lands to fund these acculturation programs.
Today, UNESCO’s World Atlas of Languages lists Hawaiian as “severely endangered.” Native speakers are routinely told the language is dead. Efforts to revive the language among younger generations are met with obstacles, like colleges and universities that won’t honor Hawaiian language credits. Immersion schools struggle to find resources and staffing to meet demand. And, as we saw with the deadly wildfires in Maui, even climate change threatens the perpetuation of our mother tongue.
The guilt of standing idle is palpable. While the responsibility to revive ‘ōlelo Hawaiʻi should fall on every American, action is often on Hawaiians. So, yes: No excuses.
Kanaeokana is the ultimate one-stop shop for low barrier to entry resource for getting started. Here are a few other programs to highlight the breadth of resources across ages and abilities:
Duolingo: A five-minutes-a-day mobile app experience. The logo will wither on your home screen to remind you to continue your lessons.
Ka Leo ʻŌiwi and Kulāiwi: Free web-based lessons. (Mango Languages also offers Hawaiian, accessible through your local public library.)
Kamehameha Schools and Kūlaniākea virtual minigames.
ʻŌiwi TV: Watch programming in ʻōlelo Hawaiʻi with English subtitling.
Organizations that provide Hawaiian language programming and resources may see a scaling back of federal support under a new presidential administration. If you can’t dedicate your time to perpetuate ‘ōlelo Hawaiʻi, then perhaps dedicate your dollar.
See more about what the new administration policies on birthright citizenship might mean for Kānaka Maoli. Read our latest spotlight.
Ua lehulehu a manomano ka ʻikena a ka Hawaiʻi
Great and numerous is the knowledge of the Hawaiians
UPCOMING
EVENTS
California
Cypress: Sei workshop (February 5; 5:30pm, 5700 Orange Ave.)
The murder of Joseph Kahahawai, a 22-year-old Native Hawaiian boxer accused of raping a white socialite in 1931, represents a flash point in Hawaiʻi history whose tendrils reveal the weighty relationship Native Hawaiians have with the U.S. military, wealthy elite, and the press even today.
At the time, Hawaiʻi was a U.S. territory with powerful factions mounting an effort for statehood. The U.S. military’s Pacific footprint was expanding and a majority of servicemembers based in Hawaiʻi hailed from the American south, towing along their racist ideology.
On the night of September 12, 1931, Thalia Massie, the wife of a Navy lieutenant, left a party at the Ala Wai Inn, walking alone. She claimed that she was then dragged into a car with 5 to 6 Hawaiian men, and repeatedly raped. Witnesses who found Thalia said the woman’s mouth was swollen and her cheeks were scuffed and red. She was beaten so badly that her jaw had to be wired shut. Authorities were called to investigate the alleged rape, and the following morning Thalia was able to provide a partial license plate of the rapists’ vehicle.
Horace Ida, David Takai, Henry Chang, Ben Ahakuelo, and Kahahawai were involved in a road rage incident in another part of the island an hour before Thalia’s alleged rape. The license plate to their vehicle was broadcast over police radio throughout the night. Some believe this is how Thalia later identified the men as her assailants.
Their trial started in November, but press coverage had already painting a guilty verdict. The Honolulu Advertiser ran headlines reading, “Gang assaults young wife;” and Time magazine called the accused “brown-skinned bucks.”
Police put their thumb on the scale as well, submitting false details in interrogation notes and logging tire tracks they created with Ida’s car at the scene of the alleged rape as evidence of the car’s use in the crime.
The jury in the Massie rape case was deadlocked and a mistrial was declared. Soon after the mistrial, Navy Admiral Yates Stirling proclaimed that 40 unpunished rapes had occurred in Hawaiʻi, a figure that ran unverified in many mainstream newspapers. Admiral William V. Pratt, chief of naval operations, sent a cable on December 2, 1931, to the press in which he wrote, “American men will not stand for the violation of their women under any circumstances. For this crime they have taken the matter into their own hands repeatedly when they have felt that the law has failed to do justice.”
On December 12, Horace Ida was kidnapped at gunpoint and badly beaten by U.S. Navy sailors, who were trying to coerce a confession to the Massie rape.
“The Massies had so much power,” Jordan Kahahawai-Welch, Kahahawai’s grandniece, recounted with SF Gate. “In our grandpa’s family there had been discussions about wanting to take action, wanting to do something about it. But the Massies had so much power that people were afraid of. They were fearful of retribution.”
Media fervor continued. William Randolph Hearst ran an editorial titled, “Martial law needed to make Hawaiʻi safe place for decent women” in January 1932, that claimed “bands of degenerate natives lie in wait for white women.”
Kahahawai was abducted that same month. His captors, two U.S. Navy sailors, Massie’s husband, Thomas, and mother, Grace Fortescue, enticed the young prizefighter with a fake court summons presented in broad daylight near Hawaiʻi’s legal district. The four vigilantes tried to coerce a confession; and later shot Kahahawai, who died from internal bleeding. The killers were caught by police en route to disposing his body.
Fortescue, who had family ties to Alexander Graham Bell and President Theodore Roosevelt, enlisted famed attorney Clarence Darrow to defend the accused. Darrow had come out of retirement for the Massie case, having taken a financial hit during the Great Depression. He presented Kahahawai’s murder as a honor killing, actions brought on by temporary insanity.
The trial caught fire in mainstream papers, with daily updates across Hearst outlets. AP editors voted the story one of the top world news events of 1932 and the single most important criminal trial in the country. The Chicago Tribune deemed it “one of the greatest criminal cases of modern times.” Editorials spurred demands for an overhaul of the police force and revision of Hawaiʻi’s legislature. The bad publicity threatened to derail statehood efforts, let alone the autonomy of the territory.
Jurors faced incredible pressure to exonerate the accused. “There was pressure from the jurors’ friends, from their neighbors, from their families, and in their workplace in particular,” Professor David E. Stannard said. “The Navy tried to boycott the butcher’s store afterward, to have [a juror] fired.”
The jury issued their verdict. Massie and others were found guilty of manslaughter and sentenced to 10 years of jail time.
“These people had no reason, ever, on any other day in their lives, to even talk to one another, to say nothing of agreeing with one another. But they did. They fought it out, they took some time and they voted unanimously to convict,” Stannard said.
Under pressure and threat of martial law, Territorial Governor Lawrence M. Judd commuted manslaughter sentences. The accused would serve one hour in his office at ʻIolani Palace, and then leave for San Francisco days later. Judd later hired the Pinkerton detective agency to investigate Thalia Massie’s rape claim. They produced a report that exonerated the accused, finding no evidence that the accused committed the crime or that Thalia had even been raped. Prosecutors abandoned a second rape trial against the surviving defendants in 1933. The Massies would divorce a year later.
The word “local” took on expanded meaning following the Massie trial. “Locals became, and to this day still are, natives and longtime Pacific Islander and Asian residents,” Stannard wrote, referencing sociologist Andrew Lind. “Haoles could be many things, both good and bad, but in the new parlance of the islands they could never be local.”
The political balance of power also shifted. “Republicans had had a complete lock on everything in Hawaiʻi at that time. The city council was three-to-one Republican over Democrat. After the 1932 election [following the Massie trial], it was three-to-one, Democrat over Republican,” Stannard said.
“In moments of great crisis and stress and fear…people are willing to abandon their freedoms as a way of maintaining order,” Stannard continued. “In the Massie case, there was a fear all over these islands that the little freedom people had was going to be taken away if they did the right thing—if they voted to convict these people, who had obviously committed murder. It’s a hard decision when—because of what you decide—food isn’t going to be on the table, you’ll lose your job, your friends don’t talk to you anymore. Or when you no longer can vote because of it. It’s a hard decision to make, and they made the right one.”
Judd later went on to serve as the resident superintendent at Kalaupapa and governor of American Samoa. Read more in our spotlight on Kalaupapa Month online.
UPCOMING
EVENTS
California
Anaheim: Noel Calucag at Roy’s Anaheim (Sundays; 11:30am-2:30pm, Roy’s Restaurant, 321 W. Katella Ave.)
If you were raised after the Hawaiian renaissance of the 1970s, the image of the Hawaiian warrior, or ikaika warrior, made its way into your visual lexicon. He’s stoic, clad in malo, glamor muscles rippling, and adorned with gourd helmet. He’s a symbol of Hawaiian strength, an icon representing our cultural perpetuation. We put him on t-shirts. We dangled his helmet off our rear view mirrors.
But the image is fiction. (Why, after all, would a warrior wear a flimsy piece of protective gear with such poor visibility?)
In ancient Hawaiʻi, the gourd helmet wasn’t used in times of war, but in peace. It was a mask worn during Makahiki, a kino lau of Lono, god of, among many things, peace, sport, and fertility. Some experts say the mask was used to conceal priests of Kūkaʻilimoku during Makahiki.
John Webber, who accompanied Captain Cook on voyages to Hawaiʻi, drew an image of what experts believe to be a priest of the Hikiau Heiau wearing the mask. (Cook’s voyages aligned with Makahiki.) Over time, with the silencing of Hawaiian history and cultural practices, the myth took hold. The illustration yielded easy comparison to crested Roman and Grecian war helmets, and bolstered the stereotype of a savage Native Hawaiian.
Hawaiians have been trying to reclaim their independence and sovereignty since the overthrow of the Kingdom of Hawaiʻi in 1893. Following the 1993 Apology Bill, the movement has evolved into more than 300 factions, according to one researcher, with each faction representing a different idea of what exactly Native Hawaiians want and need.
In the fight for self-governance is an effort to claim Native Hawaiian indigeneity, a movement to grant the descendants of the aboriginal people who resided in Hawaiʻi prior to 1778 western contact with tribal status and a pathway to a government-to-government relationship with the U.S.
Another effort, garnering mounting attention, rejects Hawaiian indigeneity altogether. This argument, championed by Dr. Keanu Sai, asserts that Hawaiians are not Indigenous, because indigeneity is defined by its proximity to colonization or invasion. By this definition, for Native Hawaiians to be considered Indigenous peoples, they would never have had a sovereign or independent state of their own. The Kingdom of Hawaiʻi was a sovereign state, formerly recognized by England and France in 1843 through the signing of the Anglo-Franco Proclamation, and through verbal acknowledgement with the U.S. (collectively celebrated on November 28 as Lā Kūʻokoʻa).
Native Hawaiians are, then, aboriginal peoples who, alongside non-aboriginal peoples, are considered former subjects of the Kingdom of Hawai’i.
So how would these Hawaiian nationals claim sovereignty today? Sai asserts that the United States violated international law (and committed war crimes) after the overthrow of Queen Liliʻuokalani. He argues that Hawaiʻi is under an illegal and prolonged occupation and has been mounting an effort to restore the government of the Kingdom of Hawaiʻi as a regency under the doctrine of necessity in international law (Sai compares the effort to those of Belgium in World War II). This restoration is broken into three parts that ends with compliance and accountability to the international law of occupation. It posits a world in which Hawaiian sovereignty is returned to the Kingdom of Hawaiʻi (the regency), which would broker a treaty of peace with the United States. Hawaiian nationals (we in the diaspora) would enjoy dual citizenship. Read more.
UPCOMING
EVENTS
Arizona
Camp Verde: Hālau Hula Nāpuaokaleiʻilima Hōʻike (November 9; 1:30pm, Phillip England Center for the Performing Arts, 210 Camp Lincoln Rd.)
October is a month in which many cultures pause to honor and celebrate their ancestors. In Hawaiian culture, spiritual encounters with ancestors are likely to happen during pō Kāne, a waning crescent moon phase. (The last pō Kāne moon was on September 29.) During pō Kāne, the veil between the living and their ancestors is thin and it is believed that ancestors send hōʻailona, signs, to the extra observant. Pō Kāne moons are nights to stay home, spend with family, call long-lost friends, or spend sharing stories of those who have transitioned to the next realm. Negative energy, self-doubt, and going out in the evening are to be avoided.Read more.
September marks Hawaiian History Month, and with it a month-long celebration of the legacy of Queen Liliʻuokalani, Hawaii's last reigning monarch. Liliʻuokalani had just been named heir apparent to her brother, King David Kalakaua, when she and husband John Owen Dominis, then-governor of Oʻahu, sailed to California, marking the future queen's first visit to the United States.
"If first impressions be accepted as auspicious, surely I found nothing of which I could complain on this visit; for many prominent citizens of the great city of the Pacific coast came to do us honor, or entertained us during our stay," the queen wrote in her memoir, "Hawaiʻi's Story By Hawaiʻi's Queen." Among her visitors was California Gov. Pacheco, the only Hispanic person to serve as governor of California and first Latino to represent a state in the U.S. Congress. During her visit to San Francisco, the queen and Dominis visited the U.S. Mint, the Cliff House, and Woodwardʻs Gardens.
"Our visit to Sacramento must not be passed by without a word," the queen wrote, later gushing over her audience with the collection of Mrs. Charles Crocker, a collection that later became the founding collection of the Crocker Art Museum.
"The first welcome of strange shores is not often forgotten by the traveller, however numerous may be the subsequent experiences; so these flattering attentions were most sincerely appreciated then, and have never ceased to awaken emotions of gratitude in my heart." Read more.
Laguna Woods: Hula Hiehie O Nā Kūpuna Hula Festival (September 27-28; 10am-3pm and 11am-4pm, Laguna County United Methodist Church, 24442 Moulton Pkwy., Ficklin Hall.)
Lomita: Unuomamao (September 15; 9am-12pm, South Bay Dance Center, 24823 S. Western Ave.)
Mission Beach: Celebrate 30 Years of PIFA (Pacific Islander Festival Association) (September 21-22; 8am-4pm, Ski Beach, 1600 Vacation Rd.)
Equal Pay Day is a date that symbolizes how far into the year women must work to earn what men were paid in the previous year. For Native Hawaiian and Pacific Islander women that day lands on August 28.
The median annual earnings of Native Hawaiian women were around $34,000 in 2022, compared to $56,000 earned annually for white, non-Hispanic men. This amounts to a $22,000 difference each year and says nothing of the cumulative lifetime wage gap experienced by NHPI women.
Many states and local governments have endeavored to combat the gender wage gap by raising minimum wage to a standard aligned with living wage. In the ten states where they are most likely to live, NHPI women see a three cent ratio of minimum wage to living wage ($0.31 vs. $0.28), largely due to such policies. However, even in California, a state that boasts a minimum wage among the highest in the nation, and a state with the largest NHPI diasporic population, increasing cost of living (particularly driven by housing) has made it nearly impossible for minimum wage to dispel poverty. The poverty rate for NHPI households is 13.6 percent across the country, data show. For female-headed households, this rate jumps to 23.8 percent.
A lack of investment in disaggregated wage and jobs data presents another obstacle in tackling NHPI wage disparity. “Not only do Native Hawaiian and Pacific Islander communities go 11 months of the year without up-to-date information about how the economy is working for them, the national conversation about the economy ignores their experiences throughout the year,” Anwesha Majumder and Katherine Gallagher Robbins write. Read more.
Have Hawaiians lost faith in higher ed?A look at NHPI data in higher education, Lā Hoʻihoʻi Ea, and why some Kānaka Maoli won't celebrate the Fourth of July
Native Hawaiians and other Pacific Islanders make up the smallest share of students enrolled in higher education. In fact, according to Census data, the proportion of NHPI adults who have not enrolled in any postsecondary education (associate degree programs, vocational/trade certification programs, four-year universities, etc.) is particularly high, including 57.9% of Samoans, 56.8% of Tongans, 53% of Native Hawaiians, and 49.3% of Guamanians or CHamoru.
NHPI students who do attend college have the highest attrition rates of any ethnic sub-group in the AAPI community. NHPI women who graduate from college make up the second largest racial group, behind Black women, with student loan debt, according to analysis by the American Association of University Women.
NHPIs are even underrepresented at the faculty level at public four-year institutions, according to a 2021 report by the American Council on Education.
This is a challenge not only because of the missed economic benefits of obtaining a college degree, but because college can be a pivotal place for learning about Hawaiian language and culture, Brian Keoki Faria, a Hawaiian language instructor, told Honolulu Civil Beat. “If you want to get an education in Hawaiian history, language, and culture, the best chance you have at achieving this is through attending college.”
But just how valuable is that education? Who gets to determine its worth? Only 65% of Native Hawaiians and Pacific Islanders believe a four-year degree is essential to increase wealth and minimize debt; and 68% believe it is essential to be an informed, engaged citizen, according to a recent AP-NORC poll.
If higher education institutions hold gatekeeping powers to cultural perpetuation, what will that mean for future generations of Native Hawaiians and Pacific Islanders who don’t believe in the value of higher education?
Pinole: Hālau Te Mau Tamariʻi A Tiare/Nā Kamaliʻi A Kiele: Journey to Thirty (Sold Out) (July 13-14; 4pm and 1pm, Pinole Valley High School Performing Arts Center, 2900 Pinole Valley Rd.)
Pomona:
Hālau Kapiliwaiokeao Hōʻike (July 6; 4pm, Cal Poly Pomona Theatre, 3801 W. Temple Ave.)
Holoholo Music Festival (July 13-14; 12pm, Thrive Park, Snapdragon Stadium, 2101 Stadium Wy.)
Taste of the Pacific (July 25; 5pm, Bali Hai Restaurant, 2230 Shelter Island Dr.)
San Jose: Lōkahi Polynesian Dance Group Presents Hoʻomau: A Celebration of 25 Years (July 14; 11:30am, 2:45pm, and 5:30pm, Mexican Heritage Plaza Theater, 1700 Alum Rock Ave.)
June signals the start of Pride Month, but for many in the Native Hawaiian diaspora and greater Pasifika community, the LGBTQIA+ umbrella doesn’t capture cultural nuances in identity. The term MVPFAFF+ was coined by activist Phylesha Brown-Acton to bring visibility to such cultural distinctions. The acronym describes Māhū (Hawaiʻi), Vakasalewalewa (Fiji), Palopa (Papua New Guinea), Faʻafafine (Samoa), Akavaʻine (Rarotonga), Fakaleitī (Tonga), Fakafifine (Niue) identities. Brown-Acton also designed the Pasifika Trans flag. Learn More.
UPCOMING
EVENTS
California
Alhambra: E Hula Kākou (June 8; 2pm, Ramona Convent Secondary School, 1701 W. Ramona Rd.)
Anaheim: Lokelani’s Rhythm of the Islands Annual Dance Recital: Maui No Ka Oi (June 29; 5pm, Pearson Park Amphitheatre, 400 N. Harbor)
Del Mar:
San Diego Hula Academy at the San Diego County Fair (June 22; 1pm, Funville Stage, Del Mar Fairgrounds, 2260 Jimmy Durante Blvd.)
Kehulili O Kailani at the San Diego County Fair (June 29; 12pm, Coors Light Avenue Stage, Del Mar Fairgrounds, 2260 Jimmy Durante Blvd.)
Encinitas: Kehulili O Kailani 17th Annual Hōʻike (June 22; 5:30pm, San Dieguito High School Academy, 800 Santa Fe Dr.)
*Due to established etiquette throughout the Pacific region and international protocols concerning the cultural and intellectual property rights of Indigenous peoples, no live streaming and videos of entire performances will be made available.
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Nā Lei Hilo is a monthly newsletter and digital community that aims to connect Native Hawaiians and Pacific Islanders living in the diaspora, former Hawaiʻi locals, and other supporters with virtual and in-person programs, events, and cultural resources.
UPCOMING
EVENTS
Arizona
Peoria: May Day (May 4; 2-8pm, Johnny E. Osuna Park, 10510 N. 83rd Ave.)
Sedona: May Day is Lei Day (May 4; 12-3pm, Sedona Posse Grounds Park Pavilion, 525 Posse Grounds Rd.)
Lei Day Parade (May 1; 6pm, Park Centre Drive, 1980 Festival Plaza Dr.)
Flavors of Aloha (May 3-4; Craig Ranch Regional Park, 628 W. Craig Road North)
4th Annual May Day (May 5; 9am-5pm, Town Square, 6605 S. Las Vegas Blvd.)
New Mexico
Albuquerque: 27th Annual Asian American and Pacific Island Heritage Festival (May 4; 10am-3pm, National Museum of Nuclear Science & History, 601 Eubank Blvd. SE)
New York
May Day is Lei Day (May 4; 12-4pm, La MaMa Experimental Theatre, 74 East 4th Street)
Kī Hōʻalu in Manhattan (May 7; 7-9:30pm, Miller Theatre at Columbia University, 2960 Broadway)
The Paʻakai We Bring (May 17-19; Lincoln Center, Clark Studio Theater, 165 West 65th Street)
Hoʻoulu (May 27-June 2; La MaMa Experimental Theatre, 66 E 4th St.)
