Aloha mai kākou,

ʻAha ʻŌpio, OHA’s flagship Native Hawaiian leadership and civic engagement program, concluded last month. After lying dormant for two decades, it was revived to cultivate the next generation of Kānaka ʻŌiwi leaders. For one week, haumāna from across Hawaiʻi and the continent immersed themselves in leadership, governance, and public service.

Programs like ʻAha ʻŌpio leave me hopeful, not because these young people have all the answers, but because they remind us that the future belongs to those who engage it.

At this moment, legal challenges threaten legacies entrusted to us by a princess who dedicated her inheritance to an educational future she would never live to see; a prince and statesman who crossed oceans and endured indignities to secure homelands and opportunity for a people facing extinction, carrying their voice and aspirations into distant rooms deciding their future; and generations of kiaʻi whose defense of valleys, bomb-scarred islands, and marine sanctuaries helped spark an aloha ʻāina renaissance and a fledgling OHA.

It can be tempting to retreat into frustration, cynicism, or resignation.

I understand that feeling. It surfaces when decisions about Hawaiians are made without Hawaiians by institutions that mistake authority for understanding – a pattern that persists despite decades of Native Hawaiian leadership, advocacy, and achievement.

But moments like these invite more, not less, participation. What are we prepared to defend? What responsibilities do we owe the lands, institutions, and opportunities entrusted to us? Who possesses the character and courage to help lead us there?

The wellbeing of Native Hawaiians will be shaped not only by who serves at OHA, but by who serves throughout government, education, business, nonprofits, and community life.

Whenever I wonder whether one voice can matter, I think about how much of what we cherish today exists because someone before us decided theirs did.

A loko iʻa restored. A heiau protected. ʻŌlelo Hawaiʻi spoken by a new generation. None resulted from a single victory, election, court case, or leader. They exist because people chose to engage when disengagement was easier and persisted when success was uncertain.

This summer, I witnessed young people dedicate their time to learning how government works, how advocacy changes outcomes, and how leadership demands both courage and humility. If our ʻōpio can dream, engage, and step forward with purpose, so can we.

To every Kānaka running for office this election season, my sincere mahalo. Our ʻōpio are watching and learning from your example.

And to those whose kuleana is to vote – or who choose not to – your agency is no less consequential. The future our ʻōpio inherit will be shaped in equal measure by our engagement and our absence from it; by the choices we make and the ones we leave to others.

For their sake, may we be as faithful to their future as those who came before us were to ours: the generations whose burdens became our opportunities, leaving us not only the power to choose our leaders, but a future in which we, too, might be entrusted to lead.

Mahalo nui,

Summer Lee Haunani Sylva
Ka Pouhana Kūikawā
Interim Chief Administrator

The post I Mua Kākou appeared first on Ka Wai Ola.

Aloha mai kākou,

This month’s Ka Wai Ola centers wai – not only as ocean, but as the continuum of water that shapes life across our pae ʻāina and beyond.

At a recent Kauaʻi island meeting, a beneficiary spoke to the centrality of wai in everything. She raised concerns about Hawaiian-focused charter school haumāna learning on sites where water safety is uncertain. Her manaʻo carried an undeniable truth: without clean water, there is no learning, no health, no future. Her reflections resonated and pointed toward the foundational role of wai in every OHA priority, from education to land stewardship to community wellbeing.

A beloved family member once shared the story of his son’s birth, marked by a rush of water that signaled life arriving into the world. In that awe-filled moment, he named him Kawaiola – lifegiving water. The child grew up drawn to the ocean, finding in it both joy and refuge. Even during the false missile alert years ago, when fear moved across our islands, it was the ocean that held him in calm, safety, and peaceful contentment.

For many of us, wai is both origin and return.

In graduate school at UH Mānoa, I encountered the writings of Epeli Hauʻofa, whose vision of Oceania reshaped how I understood our place in the world: not as small, isolated islands adrift in distant seas, but as peoples connected across vast waterways through movement, memory, and ancestral pathways.

That understanding expanded how I thought about scale, belonging, and power. It challenged notions of wealth rooted only in land or extraction, and instead centered on water – its connectivity, abundance, and capacity to carry people, literally and figuratively.

That shift in perspective shaped my early legal work in East Maui where generations of commercial stream diversions starved once- thriving waterways and communities of the ola that sustained them. Alongside communities fighting to restore streamflow, water was not simply resource, but relationship, responsibility, and inheritance. That hana ultimately set me on my path to OHA.

Wai is also law. Kanawai finds its roots in the governance of water systems; waiwai measures wealth through life-sustaining abundance. Water is never inert – it is movement, exchange, and renewal.

Our origin stories reflect this truth as well. Kalo grows in wai. Streams nourish loʻi. Freshwater flows outward to the muliwai, where river and ocean meet. Currents intermingle, and life begins again. Ka wai ola – life giving water – is not metaphor. It is memory, practice, and future.

This month’s Ka Wai Ola – from marine debris to deep sea mining, from Hōkūleʻa’s voyaging legacy to the stewardship of our ocean spaces – reminds that every story is, in some way, a story of wai.

From the waters that first carried us into life, to the island homes and oceans that sustain us still, to the ancestral pathways and future voyages that remain our inheritance, ka wai ola is not only this publication’s name. It is who we are.

The post Ka Wai Ola: The Waters That Carry and Sustain Us appeared first on Ka Wai Ola.

Aloha mai kākou,

May invites celebrating a strength we know well but do not always name – the quiet, enduring resilience carried through wāhine.

In our moʻolelo, wāhine are not passive. Pele creates and transforms. Papa grounds and births. Hiʻiaka journeys, heals, and restores. Hina, Haumea, and Kihawahine embody power that adapts, endures, and gives life even through disruption.

That inheritance moves through all of us.

This legislative session, like many before it, tests that resilience. Protections for ʻāina and people remain unevenly enforced. Burial councils are without quorum. Efforts to ensure accountability in Public Land Trust (PLT) revenues – among the most significant mechanisms intended to uplift Native Hawaiians – continue to face inconsistent administration and sustained efforts to obstruct and destabilize this framework.

And still, our response is not retreat. It is steady, intentional persistence.

I witnessed something similar in East Maui, alongside the mahiʻai of Wailuanui, Keʻanae, and Honopou. Long-time commercial diverters stoked fears to stymie stream restoration that returned flows, long denied, would be taken in excess; that imbalances imposed across generations would, at last, be turned back upon them.

But the mahiʻai offered a different truth: why would those who endured imbalance choose to perpetuate it? Why not restore systems that sustain all?

That same clarity was echoed recently when I heard Kū Kahakalau speak for Pōhakuloa, not with hesitation, but with certainty. The return of that ʻāina – all of it – is not a matter of if, but of when. Continued harm by the U.S. military is unacceptable; any compromise that allows it runs counter to her values.

One cannot help but wonder how different decisions might have been had that ʻike guided the 1964 leases. That it now helps inform OHA’s position in 2026 reflects a cultural inheritance that has never relented. Kuleana carried forward, generation to generation.

I see that same inheritance across our communities and within OHA: advocacy that remains steady despite shifting terrain; leaders who prepare, adapt, and stay anchored in purpose; and wāhine across our pae ʻāina – mothers, daughters, aunties, kūpuna – carrying ʻike that guides decisions, often without recognition, always with impact.

Resilience for our lāhui is not endurance alone. It is clarity without hardness. It is the ability to adjust strategy without compromising values. It is optimism practiced with discipline paired with readiness for what must come next.

It also asks us to imagine better: A future where the PLT is managed with consistency and integrity. Where systems meant to serve actually function. Where restoration is responsibility, not debate. Where collective wellbeing reflects balance, not extraction.

This understanding is also personal. I carry the guidance of my own mama: whatever you choose to be, be your best, be of service, and be kind. That, too, is an inheritance – simple, steady, and enduring.

This work is not easy and progress is not always immediate. But movement, grounded and principled, is its own strength. Guided by ʻike and the mana of wāhine, over time what we build will endure, and what is pono will prevail.

The post He Wahine, He Mana: Kuleana Across Generations appeared first on Ka Wai Ola.

Aloha mai kākou,

Ka Wai Ola carries many voices – stories of ʻāina, health, culture, business, education, and the world around us. At first glance they may seem separate. Yet together, they point us to a practice our kūpuna knew well: pausing to understand the purpose behind our actions and the collective future we aim to shape.

That reflection is guiding our work on one of the most difficult questions of our generation: the future of military land leases in Hawaiʻi.

The Office of Hawaiian Affairs (OHA) remains committed to a deliberate and focused approach to this issue. The Board of Trustees established dedicated working groups to investigate military leased lands and shape negotiating pathways forward – engaging the governor’s Military Advisory Committee, federal leadership, and Hawaiʻi’s congressional delegation to affirm OHA’s central role, while drawing on the expertise of stakeholders committed to Hawaiʻi’s collective wellbeing.

OHA has also prioritized community engagement. Meetings in Hilo, Māʻili, and Kekaha have focused on helping communities understand lease timelines, the Public Land Trust, and what different paths forward could mean. Upcoming meetings in Wahiawā, Kahuku, and Maui will continue this work.

What began as education is evolving into deeper consultation, including plans for Ka Paʻakai analyses to document impacts on Native Hawaiian cultural practices, water resources, and access to wahi pana.

What we are hearing reflects depth and diversity. Communities are raising concerns about unexploded ordnance, groundwater contamination, and the long-term impacts of destructive live-fire training. Others ask what restoration could look like through conservation, cultural access, or the return of lands once taken.

Expiring in 2029, these leases span thousands of acres across our islands – too interconnected for anything less than a comprehensive approach.

These conversations are not easy. For many, they carry generational memories of displacement, restricted access, and harm to ʻāina. That reality requires care and space for different perspectives, from those who envision continued military presence under stricter conditions, to those who call for its full cessation.

In moments like this, differences can be amplified in ways that suggest division. But what we are seeing is something more grounded: people showing up, asking informed questions, and engaging in a shared process of understanding. That is a form of solidarity worth holding onto.

From that place, empowerment takes shape in the work itself: investing in independent land valuations, documenting cultural and environmental conditions, and grounding decisions in both ʻike kūpuna and present-day realities. It means understanding the full range of options, including lease conditions and land return, and making decisions from clarity, integrity, and purpose, not fear.

At its core, this is about kuleana to these lands, to our people, and to future generations. If we remain grounded in that responsibility, this moment becomes not only about the future of military leases, but about how we, as a people, shape what comes next.

“I hoʻokahi ka manaʻo, i hoʻokahi ka puʻuwai. Be of one mind; of one heart.”

Summer Lee Haunani Sylva
Ka Pouhana Kūikawā | Interim Chief Administrator

The post Ka ʻImi Pono: Charting Our Way Forward Together appeared first on Ka Wai Ola.

Aloha mai kākou,

In every generation, our lāhui is asked to engage difficult conversations that challenge not only what we believe, but how we listen, learn, and care for one another along the way.

This month’s Ka Wai Ola reflects that reality. From the history and impacts of blood quantum to youth-led justice reform and stories of cultural resilience, each article reminds us that progress often begins with honest questioning rather than easy answers. It requires a willingness to sit with complexity, confront uncomfortable truths, re-examine what we inherited, and grow together as understanding evolves.

Encouragingly, our youth are modeling new ways forward. The young leaders of Nā ʻŌpio Waiwai are stepping into civic life with a level of engagement many eligible voters have yet to exercise. Drawing not from titles or long résumés but from lived realities, they are learning how laws are made, offering testimony, and shaping policy rooted in cultural values that challenge the status quo. Their tenacity invites those of us who may have grown jaded, disengaged, or resigned to step forward again with renewed purpose.

From Hilo to Kaʻūpūlehu and beyond, we see communities grappling with pressing questions: how land and resources are stewarded, how justice systems respond to our youth and families, how cultural spaces are sustained, and how trust is built between institutions and those they serve. Our lāhui has never advanced by avoiding disagreement or simplifying hard truths. Progress has come when people engage — respectfully, persistently, and with care for what serves us all beyond individual interest. Difficult conversations will continue, as they must.

Many of us feel the strain of a world moving faster than thoughtful dialogue can keep pace with. We are encouraged to react rather than research, to defend rather than deliberate. ʻIke paired with humility, however, remains our greatest teacher. This is especially true when our own experiences differ from those still navigating burdens shaped by systems we did not create, yet may unknowingly sustain through our action, inaction, or silence.

The discussion surrounding blood quantum reflects this tension. Many rightly challenge its colonial origins — a tool deliberately designed to divide Indigenous peoples. At the same time, generations of Native Hawaiians navigated systems built around those rules to secure homesteads intended to restore stability, connection to ʻāina, and opportunity for their families.

As conversations about reform continue, there is growing recognition that meaningful change must also uplift the tens of thousands of beneficiaries still waiting for their first homestead award. Justice requires us to hold multiple truths at once: to pursue inclusion while protecting fairness for those still waiting, and to shape solutions that heal historic harm without creating new inequities. Expanded opportunities must strengthen, not strain, access to limited trust lands held for the shared benefit of our lāhui.

Perhaps our work is not simply to embrace progress, but to remain willing to stay in conversation — clear-eyed about where the past has fallen short and committed to decisions that reflect the care, respect, and intention our people have always deserved.

Mahalo nui,

Summer Lee Haunani Sylva
Ka Pouhana Kūikawā | Interim Administrator

The post Being Willing to Sit with Complexity appeared first on Ka Wai Ola.

Aloha mai kākou,

February invites us to celebrate ʻōlelo Hawaiʻi – not only as a language, but as a living worldview that holds our values, relationships, and ancestral wisdom. When a people’s language shapes how they understand the world, its worth is intrinsic, felt as deeply as it is spoken.

Today, ʻōlelo Hawaiʻi flourishes in ways once unimaginable. From a time when its voice was perilously faint, it has grown steadily stronger, now spoken by many more across generations.

While still carried by a relatively small portion of our lāhui, its resurgence is reason for deep gratitude and enduring hope for what continues to unfold.

OHA remains committed to investing in ʻōlelo Hawaiʻi and standing alongside those leading its perpetuation, honoring the vision and autonomy of educators, families, communities, and haumāna shaping what the language becomes next. The ʻike held within ʻōlelo Hawaiʻi is not fixed in the past; it’s alive, generative, and essential to our collective future.

As we celebrate learners at every stage, we uplift the mānaleo and kūpuna whose courage, patience, and aloha sustained our language through decades when speaking it required quiet resistance and unwavering resolve. Their devotion made today’s renaissance possible. We honor them not only by preserving what they carried, but by allowing it to live fully – spoken, expanded, and entrusted to each new generation.

I’ve been in spaces where ʻōlelo Hawaiʻi flows freely – unburdened, without hesitation. To be immersed in that sound is to feel time bend.

Years ago, in a crowded shopping mall, I heard a toddler crying, frustrated in the tender, unmistakable way of early childhood. Through her tears, she spoke entirely in ʻōlelo Hawaiʻi. Her mother knelt beside her, listening closely, responding with calm reassurance; two voices meeting with care amid the hum and hurry of a world that kept moving.

I lingered there, listening, understanding without fluency. I heard the leo of my ancestors. I heard my tūtū, long passed. I heard a way of being where emotion, language, and aloha moved together, where a child, with only the words available to her in a language not yet widely spoken, could give voice to what her naʻau was feeling and be fully understood. It was sublime, and ever since, I’ve held a quiet hope for a future where not only her mother, but the world itself leans in to hear her, understand her, and be shaped by an ancestral wisdom older than she can fathom, yet already hers.

As you walk your own ʻōlelo Hawaiʻi journey, know this: fluency is not the only measure of belonging. A Kānaka worldview rooted in relationship, humility, and kuleana can be embraced at any stage. Whether you are a speaker, a learner, or still listening from the edges, there is space for you. This resurgence belongs to all of us, as varied and vibrant as the lāhui itself. The invitation is simple and enduring: to step forward with intention, to carry what we can, and to allow ʻōlelo Hawaiʻi to continue shaping who we are becoming.

Mahalo nui,

Summer Lee Haunani Sylva
Interim Chief Administrator
Ka Pouhana Kūikawā

The post An Inheritance Still Unfolding appeared first on Ka Wai Ola.

Aloha mai kākou,

This year marks the 50th anniversary of the Protect Kahoʻolawe ʻOhana, whose first landing in January 1976 was an act of courage guided not by authority or acclaim, but by conscience. They led because the ʻāina called, the lāhui mattered, and responsibility to future generations left no room for waiting.

That spirit guides OHA into 2026.

Leadership is not a title or spotlight. It is a way of moving through the world with intention, whether anyone is watching or not, whether the work is visible or quiet, whether doing what is pono is easy or uncomfortable. Often, it is lonely work, especially when integrity asks more than convenience ever could.

At its best, leadership is expansive. It does not cause others to shrink; it creates room. It uses ʻike and influence to open space for learning, confidence, and growth. True leadership leaves others stronger than it found them and takes joy in watching people grow into leaders themselves.

Indeed, leadership is always thinking about successorship – not from insecurity, but from abundance. It asks: How do I create pathways for others with talent, work ethic, integrity, values, and vision to lead? And how soon can I step aside to make room?

Answering that requires trust. It means entrusting Kānaka, especially, with large institutions, large budgets, large trust assets, and significant kuleana not someday, but now. It means believing our people are not only capable of carrying responsibility, but of transforming it.

Leadership grounded in Hawaiian values is inseparable from care for culture and ʻāina, from commitment to equity and justice, and from closing gaps rather than managing them. It favors partnership over isolation and welcomes voices that ask hard questions, offer different perspectives, and engage in honest, rigorous, but always respectful dialogue.

In those spaces, truth is surfaced, ideas are strengthened, and solutions and shared visions take shape guided not by the desire to control outcomes, but by a commitment to decisions anchored in mission and values.

Equally important, leadership holds the means with the same care as the ends. No achievement is worth celebrating if it comes at the cost of unnecessary harm. Secure leaders never hoard opportunity or close doors on rising stars. They understand leadership is not to be coveted, but shared. When another’s journey is pono, their growth – even their surpassing us – is a triumph, revealing the deep well of talent and ʻike our people have carried and cultivated across generations.

That same generosity shapes how leaders hold truth. They communicate not to serve ego, but to fulfill kuleana – sharing information with care, knowing the weight of their words, speaking when it matters, and remaining open to being corrected if pono requires. Even disagreement becomes an invitation to listen more deeply and grow more honest.

Every leader’s time will sunset. What matters is whether, when it does, we have sown seeds of leadership that will flourish: a rising tide of alakaʻi, prepared as their PKO forbearers were, to lead our lāhui towards horizons that call us home.

May this be the legacy we carry forward, together,

Summer Lee Haunani Sylva
Interim Chief Administrator | Ka Pouhana Kūikawā

The post Planting Leadership, Harvesting Legacy: 2026 and Beyond appeared first on Ka Wai Ola.

Aloha mai kākou,

As the year draws to a close, most resonant is how our OHA ʻohana has moved through a period of transition with clarity, urgency, and a steadfast commitment to our beneficiaries.

Times of change test any organization, yet they reveal who we are at our core. This past quarter, a shared determination emerged to navigate this moment with integrity and accountability. Every accomplishment reflects that kākou spirit: staff rising to meet new demands, leaders working in alignment, and community anchoring us in our purpose.

We are delving in the work of educating and consulting around expiring military leases; not to decide for our people, but to provide beneficiaries with historical grounding, legal context, and space to engage in honest dialogue.

OHA is entrusted to steward and advocate for these crown and government lands. Safeguarding them is a duty we discharge with vigilance. What encourages me is the depth and courage of our community’s engagement, bringing manaʻo that is informed and rooted in aloha ʻāina.

Concurrently, OHA rapidly mobilized $6.1 million in emergency relief for an anticipated 14,000 beneficiaries. Many households would have otherwise fallen through state program gaps. Our teams worked with intention, ensuring families had support when they needed it, not after the crisis passed.

This quarter also brought our staff onto OHA’s legacy lands, guided by community stewards whose labor protects wahi pana many of us only read about. These huakaʻi offer more than team building; they remind us that our work is never abstract. It lives in place, in lineages, and in responsibilities that transcend job titles and span generations, connecting us to something larger than ourselves.

Agency-wide professional development remains a priority, strengthening and unifying those called to serve. OHA continues to cultivate a workplace where people can flourish by securing living wages, advancing income equity, expanding paid family leave, broadening telework, and establishing mobile satellite offices.

Updates to bylaws, governance policies, and delegations of authority reflect transparency, fiduciary integrity, and our ongoing embrace of the Mana i Mauli Ola values we champion.

Perhaps most visible was OHA’s presence in the community, from conventions here and on the continent to week-long roundtables across Moku o Keawe. Everywhere we went we listened for truth, not confirmation. We showed up grounded in our mission, understanding that abundance means nothing unless shared, and that focus, discipline, and selfless service allow our work to thrive amid noise and challenges.

There is still much work ahead: educating our people; protecting our lands and waters; expanding access to resources; strengthening civic engagement; and building pilina across generations and communities.

If our kūpuna could see the resilience, growing capacity, and aloha carrying us through this quarter I believe they’d be proud – not because our work is finished, but because we have not abandoned the path they cleared for us. Wherever we are, whatever titles we hold, we will continue to walk that path together into 2026 and beyond.

Mahalo nui,

Summer Lee Haunani Sylva
Ka Pouhana Kūikawā
Interim Chief Executive Officer

The post We Have Not Abandoned the Path Our Kūpuna Cleared for Us appeared first on Ka Wai Ola.

In every corner of our lāhui — from rural homesteads to city neighborhoods, from Kānaka-led businesses in Hawaiʻi to ventures thriving on distant coastlines — Native Hawaiians are building futures rooted in identity, culture, and community. And increasingly, they are doing so through entrepreneurship.

At the recent Hawaiian Council conference in Washington State, OHA leadership and staff connected with Kānaka from across the continent: business owners, educators, creatives, farmers, and more. Many had moved away in search of stability or opportunity for their ʻohana. But what stood out was not their distance from Hawaiʻi — it was their unwavering closeness to purpose.

These are Hawaiians still deeply connected to home, leading with ʻike and aloha, and shaping lives and businesses that reflect who they are and where they come from.

We see this spirit in trailblazers like Aunty Tammy Smith, one of this year’s Native Hawaiian Chamber of Commerce ʻŌʻō Award honorees. For decades, her intergenerational food business has nourished our people — preparing ancestral staples like kalo, ʻuala, and ʻulu; feeding hundreds of students daily at Hawaiian-focused charter schools and distributing over 250,000 meals during the pandemic alone. Grounded in the abundance of her beloved ahupuaʻa of Hakipuʻu, her entrepreneurship reflects the best of Hawaiian enterprise: values-driven, resilient, and always in service to community.

This story is not hers alone. Across the pae ʻāina and beyond, Kānaka are creating value in ways that honor heritage while addressing modern needs. Through ʻāina-based ventures, wellness services, tech platforms, and cultural education, they are not just making ends meet — they are redefining what it means to be Kānaka ʻŌiwi in this century.

Our kūpuna were systems thinkers, navigators, and stewards of abundance. Today’s entrepreneurs carry that inheritance forward. What’s evolving now is how we build systems that actively support and sustain their efforts.

At OHA, our commitment is to do more than fund good ideas. While our grants and loans remain vital tools, we understand real transformation comes when we address the systems surrounding Native Hawaiian entrepreneurship. That means advocating for policy changes that normalize investment in our communities, influencing procurement practices, expanding access to capital, and creating space for public-private partnerships that prioritize Native Hawaiian ventures. When Kānaka rise, they lift their communities with them.

Many are shifting the definition of success — moving from individual achievement to collective wellbeing. They lead with values, embed culture not as branding but as core infrastructure, and create workplaces that reflect kuleana, care, and excellence. These aren’t just good businesses; they are modeling new standards of leadership.

At OHA, we believe in these leaders. We see their capacity not only to grow successful ventures, but to transform sectors, policies, and mindsets. They are not waiting for permission or for systems to make room — they are building their own tables, grounded in ʻike kūpuna and 21st-century vision.

Our purpose is to walk beside them — to invest, to advocate, to remove barriers — and to help build the conditions where their success is expected, not exceptional.

This is how we strengthen our lāhui. Together.

Mahalo nui,
Summer Lee Haunani Sylva
Ka Pouhana Kūikawā | Interim Chief Executive Officer

The post ʻŌiwi Entrepreneurs are Modeling New Standards of Leadership appeared first on Ka Wai Ola.