The Kumulipo tells us that all life originates in the deep sea. The uku koʻakoʻa, coral polyp, is the first living creature and its birth begins an unbroken genealogy that ends with humanity. For Hawaiians, therefore, our genealogy comes from the deep sea.

Significantly, the genealogy recorded in the Kumulipo has become a powerful instrument in the fight against deep-sea mining.

“The Kumulipo describes everything created in the vertical water column of the deep sea up to the nearshore reefs, onto the land, into the hills, and even taking flight. People are not created until millions and millions of years later, but when we do come into this honua, we have an inherent responsibility to be part of nature and therefore, our kuleana is to care for nature,” explains cultural practitioner and international ocean advocate Solomon Pili Kahoʻohalahala.

“There is this idea of caring and receiving. I believe that this is what the Kumulipo intends for us to understand: if we care for the environment and for all things in nature of which we belong, then we, too, will be cared for.”

Kahoʻohalahala is Hawaiʻi’s foremost advocate working to stop deep-sea mining (DSM) before it begins. In addition to the irreversible ecological damage to the ocean ecosystem that DSM represents, it is an assault on the Indigenous people of Oceania many of whom, like Native Hawaiians, trace their lineage and creation stories to the deep sea.

For four years, Kahoʻohalahala has taken his message of mālama honua to the United Nation’s International Seabed Authority (ISA), pointing to the Kumulipo as a foundation for humanity’s relationship to the natural world.

In 2022, Greenpeace, a global network of environmentalists, invited Kahoʻohalahala to utilize their platform as a non-governmental organization (NGO) at the ISA. Since then, Greenpeace has partnered with Kahoʻohalahala to help ensure that Indigenous voices are represented in international deliberations on DSM at the ISA.

This is critically important since Hawaiʻi does not have standing at the UN as a sovereign nation state. In this international arena, it is presumed that the United States speaks for Native Hawaiians.

A recent hard-won victory in the fight to stop DSM is the UN’s new “High Seas Treaty” which became international law on January 17, 2026 (see related article in the June issue of Ka Wai Ola). While the ISA governs the seabed floor, the High Seas Treaty governs the living ocean above it – a critical distinction that will factor into future deliberations around deep-sea mining.

To celebrate the High Seas Treaty, “Greenpeace had an idea to commission murals around the world,” recounted Arlo Hemphill, Greenpeace U.S. project lead for its global Oceans for Life campaign. Greenpeace’s campaign to elevate ocean awareness has resulted in dozens of murals on city walls in 13 countries on five continents.

“In his interventions to the United Nations, Uncle Sol regularly talks about the Kumulipo and uses it as an illustration that deep-sea mining is not just an environmental issue. It is a cultural issue. Deep-sea mining attacks the very place of creation of the people who live in the region,” Hemphill said.

When Greenpeace first approached Kahoʻohalahala in January, their idea was to paint a mural depicting the Kumulipo in New York City where it would be visible to the international states housed at the UN General Assembly. But it was the middle of winter and freezing, so they pivoted and decided to site the mural in Hawaiʻi instead which all parties agreed felt right.

Finding a location was next. Kahoʻohalahala reached out to Kamehameha Schools (KS) and they were excited to support the project. KS offered the building on Waikamilo Road that serves as the “canvas” for the mural and provided the paint and other supplies.

“This mural offers a powerful lens for understanding who we are as a people and our relationship to our ʻāina,” explained Kamuela Cobb-Adams, managing director at Ke Kula ʻo Kamehameha on behalf of the schools.

“It reflects our commitment to caring for our oceans and lands by ensuring our kaiāulu (community) can learn about and deepen their connection to our moʻokūauhau (genealogy), while inspiring stewardship of ʻāina in ways that sustain future generations.”

Artist Kai Kaulukukui was invited to paint the mural. “We had met Kai early on and really wanted to work with him,” Hemphill recalled. Greenpeace commissioned Kaulukukui and paid for his work.

Born on Hawaiʻi Island, Kaulukukui cannot remember a time that he did not draw. Since 2012 he has worked as an artist full-time and has painted numerous murals. He also does a lot of ocean-themed art, so when he was asked to paint a mural depicting the origin of life in the deep sea as described in the Kumulipo, he didn’t hesitate.

“I’m super honored to be involved in this project,” said Kaulukukui who was already aware of the cultural and ecological danger that deep-sea mining poses to Oceania – and that proponents of DSM want to begin mining for rare metals in the Clarion-Clipperton Zone which is located just 500 miles south of Hawaiʻi Island.

He approached the project by reading and reflecting on the Kumulipo and by having long talks with Kahoʻohalahala. “I’d draw up a couple ideas then go to sleep and dream on it,” he said. “Through my dreams I’ll come up with a composition that I feel is strong. I think I did maybe 28 designs for this mural.”

Kaulukukui said that his last design “kind of just jumped out and I knew that was it.” He presented the design to Kahoʻohalahala and Greenpeace and they agreed. He began painting the mural in late May and finished in mid-June. In all it took him 11 days, working about 16 hours each day with help color-blocking from his wife, Angela.

His vision of the deep sea is based on the first wā (section) of the Kumulipo. “I included 14 of the creatures from the first 19 verses, like the primordial slime and phytoplankton and coral polyp,” he said.

Barely visible in the bottom left corner of the mural is an image of Queen Liliʻuokalani who translated the Kumulipo into English during her imprisonment following the 1893 overthrow. At the upper right corner are the words, “Hānau ka ʻuku koʻakoʻa” (born is the coral polyp) from the 15th verse of the Kumulipo.

“Being able to represent this stuff visually is awesome, but it’s the work that these scientists and people like Uncle Sol are doing – trying to get laws to change – that is making the difference,” Kaulukukui said.

“Most people have never heard of the Clarion-Clipperton Zone and when I talk about the mural, 95% of the people don’t have any idea of this issue [deep-sea mining]. I would love it if this [mural] helps get more eyes on what is happening.”

“We are at a really dangerous moment in time where the Trump administration is trying to force through deep-sea mining, both in U.S. and international waters, in defiance of international law,” Hemphill warned.

“The Trump administration is trying to say that, rather than the UN, they are the regulator of deep-sea mining in the international seabed – a position no other country agrees with. This mural is a symbol of defiance against that. And a symbol of Hawaiian connection to the ocean as a sacred place of creation that needs to be kept off limits to destructive industrial activity.”

“We know very little about the deep sea,” adds Kahoʻohalahala. “I’m hoping that, with the combination of science, research and a cultural perspective like ours, people around the world can support the idea that we should allow things that are created in nature to continue – rather than destroy them before we understand them.

“We [Hawaiʻi] need to be aware of what is happening around us; what is already happening just beyond the horizon. That is the urgency I feel.”

The post Mural Depicts the Kumulipo and the Origin of Creation appeared first on Ka Wai Ola.

By Kamanamaikalani Beamer, PhD

Wēlina mai ke aloha i ka ʻāina. In March, my appointment as the incoming Dean of Hawaiʻinuiākea School of Hawaiian Knowledge (HSHK) was finalized. It’s difficult for me to express the magnitude of this significant moment and the kuleana of becoming the next dean of Hawaiʻinuiākea School of Hawaiian Knowledge. Let me start by saying I am deeply in love with our school.

Hawaiʻinuiākea has bettered the lives of so many ʻohana, community, haumāna, and ʻāina in ways that I believe will be generationally transformative. Hawaiʻinuiākea is truly a momi (jewel) – it is a vessel that can be like a hulu kupuna (beloved elder) for our people for all time. All our faculty, staff, and community partners have played a critical role in this hana koʻikoʻi (urgent work).

Hawaiʻinuiākea is unique and vital to the overall success of our lāhui – the ea (sovereignty) of our ʻāina, the ola (health) of our ʻōlelo, and the education of the nation. We are like the ʻōhiʻa seedling birthed in the ʻāʻā after struggle. Every lālā (branch) of our school is critical to our overall success and I intend to serve each of us as we ulu (increase) toward new and formative outgrowths. So that one day there will be a forest of Hawaiʻinuiākea.

I am piha with mahalo (filled with gratitude) to the selection committee and all of you who contributed to the process that led to this moment. I am incredibly honored to follow former deans Maenette Benham and Jonathan Osorio to become the third dean of Hawaiʻinuiākea, and the first dean to hold a degree from one of our programs.

I believe that even in these incredibly challenging times when many of our efforts and the hana koʻikoʻi of generations are under assault, if we kūlike (stand together), if we can recall the magneti o ke aloha ʻāina (magnetic pull in the heart of the patriot), we will emerge from the hihia (difficulty) stronger, with greater clarity and resolve, me ka wiwoʻole (with fearlessness).

I believe a critical part of ea in these times can be achieved by creating the most highly functional organization possible within the confines of the structures in which we are embedded. So that one day the generations will look back at these vile times, when our aliʻi trusts were under assault and our aquifers were poisoned with jet fuel, and not wallow in sorrow but stand proudly because those who were living through these times, i kēia au nei, stood together with the strength and sentiments of those who came before us.

I know that great things are to come for Hawaiian education, ʻāina, and community if we can kūkahi (stand together) for what is pono.

Students and their parents are now making decisions on college attendance. The decision on where to attend college is one of the most special and significant choices for ʻohana. I want you to know that Hawaiʻinuiākea is a place for you. We have a record of nurturing and challenging haumāna to understand tools for accessing ʻike Hawaiʻi that have grounded and enriched the development of thousands of our students, many of which can be seen as leaders serving communities across our islands.

Our faculty are incredibly multi-disciplinary and bring their wealth of knowledge and experience into the classroom with courses that range from Hawaiian genealogies to mahiʻai kalo (taro farming). Some are on the ʻāina in field schools that advance Hawaiian geography, marine resource management, archeology, and food sovereignty. Others teach through immersive experiences in ʻōlelo, mele, and in the performing arts.

We have an entire center focused on supporting ʻŌiwi student success and enrichment and even an immersive international exchange experience with “Hawaiian Youths Abroad,” that has enriched the education of our students, enabling them to experience places such as Japan, London, Paris, Tahiti, and more.

But what really makes us unique is the relentless commitment toward a better and more just future for our ʻāina and community.

I believe we are the best place to nurture haumāna to make a positive difference for our islands that is rooted in ancestral knowledge while moving toward pono and ea. We have a moʻokūʻauhau (genealogy) that links us to some of our island’s most important researchers, scholars, and change-agents, and a dedication toward Hawaiʻi’s future, a hiki i ke aloha ʻāina hope loa.

For those that would like to know more about Dr. Kamana Beamer and his work to date visit kamanabeamer.com. Learn more about Hawaiʻinuiākea at manoa.hawaii.edu/hshk

The post A Letter to the Lāhui appeared first on Ka Wai Ola.

Lee is the volunteer coordinator for the Polynesian Voyaging Society (PVS) and a crew member who has already completed six voyages. Part of “Gen Z,” she is also an emerging leader in the organization. “I just turned 25, so I’m half the age of the [first] voyage and the canoe,” she quipped.

When Hōkūleʻa arrived in Papeʻete, Tahiti, 50 years ago no one could have fully predicted the impact that this achievement would have – not only on Hawaiʻi, but on all of the peoples of Moananuiākea.

On June 4, 1976, more than 17,000 people gathered on the beach at Papeʻete Harbor – some paddling outrigger canoes or swimming out to greet the first voyaging canoe from another Pacific archipelago to arrive on the island in more than 600 years. It was a homecoming unlike anything before or since.

In the 50 years since her maiden voyage, Hōkūleʻa has sparked cultural pride and rediscovery across Oceania, inspiring generations and birthing the Pacific-wide revival of wayfinding and open-ocean voyaging.

Matahiarii Tutavae, a Tahitian journalist from the island of Moʻorea and a PVS crew member, was born several years after Hōkūleʻa made her historic landing in Papeʻete but heard about the event growing up.

“The first voyage was really impactful [because it proved] that it could be done,” Tutavae said, referencing the debunked early 20th century theory of “accidental drift.”

Over the years, as Hōkūleʻa continued voyaging to Tahiti, he observed a renewed relationship forming – and a new perspective of not just being Tahitians, but being a people of the ocean.

Tutavae points out that Hōkūleʻa and voyaging also affirmed that our ancestors were scientists. “That’s something we didn’t hear about. It was always myths and legends, and the scientific world was from elsewhere,” he said. “Now I see that. And it’s important. Our people were here for thousands of years so they have scientific knowledge based on observation, on empirical evidence.”

In 1985, Hōkūleʻa sailed to the Cook Islands for the first time on her Voyage of Rediscovery. Her visit inspired former Cook Islands Prime Minister Sir Tom Davis to found the Cook Islands Voyaging Society in 1992. He designed and built the Society’s first replica canoe, Te Au o Tonga, in 1994.

“Fortunately for us in Tahiti, in 2007 a German by the name of Dieter Paulmann saw Te Au o Tonga sail into Sāmoa,” Tutavae recounted. Excited by the crew’s use of traditional knowledge to navigate, Paulmann, a sailor himself and CEO of the Okeanos Foundation for the Sea, reached out to the Cook Islands Voyaging Society. Their collaboration resulted in the Okeanos Foundation financing the building of seven traditional waʻa in 2009 to support Pacific voyaging.

One of those canoes, Faʻafaite, was gifted to Tahiti. That same year, Tutavae helped to establish the Faʻafaite-Tahitian Voyaging Society and over the years, he has sailed on Faʻafaite throughout the South Pacific and to Hawaiʻi and back. He has also sailed on Hōkūleʻa, including during the Mālama Honua Worldwide Voyage (2013-2017).

From the beginning, PVS has focused on advancing the art and science of traditional voyaging through experiential educational programs designed to inspire current and future generations to care for themselves, each other, and the earth. Through voyaging, the organization aspires to educate all of humanity about the critical ecological importance of our oceans, Indigenous knowledge, community, and sustainability.

Under the guidance of venerated leaders like Pwo Navigators Nainoa Thompson, Bruce Blankenfeld and others, Hōkūleʻa has sailed more than 275,000 nautical miles relying on traditional navigation techniques, cementing her place in history and elevating awareness of and respect for the sophistication and depth of Indigenous knowledge.

Looking ahead, the next chapter of Hōkūleʻa’s story has yet to be written.

Lee believes that it will be critical for future generations of voyagers to approach the next 50 or 100 years with the same mindset as their mentors: keeping safety, reverence for the ocean, and aloha for our homes and culture at the center of decision-making.

As natural and existential threats to our oceans accelerate – from climate change, sea level rise and acidification of the oceans to microplastics in the marine food chain; from extractive commercial fishing to destructive deep sea mining – tomorrow’s voyagers will face different challenges than those who came before them.

“These things weren’t around 50 years ago. We will have to rise to the occasion and show the importance and relevance of voyaging to our youth. That is what’s in front of us,” Lee said.

“It’s about finding ways to remain relevant as the world around us continues to evolve and change.”

Despite the challenges facing future voyagers, there is also optimism. The international impact of Hōkūleʻa has been undeniably transformative – especially for the peoples of Moananuiākea.

PVS has a roster of more than 400 crew members from around the world. And there are now 25 voyaging canoes, 21 voyaging organizations, and more than a thousand active voyagers throughout 11 Pacific Island nations. As it did centuries ago, voyaging has once again reconnected Oceania.

“We used to say that ʻwe are island people.’ People from little islands,” Tutavae said. “Now it’s become ʻwe are people of this ocean.’ And as such, we are responsible for its wellbeing.”

Tutavae hopes that one day people on the continents – especially America, China and Europe – will come to understand Pacific people’s aloha for and relationship to the ocean.

“Although we are a big ocean, we are people who are connected to each other and to our ocean. We love our ocean. And we see it differently than the people who see it as a way to make money,” he added.

“Hōkūleʻa is no longer just a Hawaiian canoe. Borders are man-made and [designed] to control. But Hōkūleʻa and voyaging – in a very smart way – broke those borders. Is still breaking borders. And it’s not just borders between Melanesia and Micronesia and Polynesia. It’s also the borders we have in our minds,” Tutavae reflected. “Voyaging allows us to go beyond our genetics, beyond our looks or our names. This is something that is learned from Hōkūleʻa.”

“I think one of the most important parts about voyaging is that it’s communally shared. That’s a testimony to the people of the Pacific,” Lee said. “We only have this knowledge today because people from different places worked to ensure that this type of seafaring continued.”

When Lee thinks about the artificial divisions that have been placed between people groups – both self-inflicted and externally imposed – it reinforces her belief that we need to be more curious.

“Nainoa says there are two questions: Where are you, and where are you going? Another question is, where did you come from? You can’t emphasize enough how important of a role that Papa Mau [Piailug] had for the revitalization of voyaging – specifically in Hawaiʻi and then throughout the wider Pacific,” Lee asserted.

“Everything PVS has accomplished, and the story of Hōkūleʻa, it all leads back to the teacher.”

That aspect of Hōkūleʻa’s origin story is itself a lesson. The revival of Polynesian voyaging and wayfinding was made possible because a Micronesian navigator from Satawal was open to sharing his knowledge with Polynesians in Hawaiʻi – a testament to the way our connection as people of Oceania supersedes the political and anthropological divisions imposed on us over the past century.

“Throughout Moananuiākea there is a collective pride and joy that comes from being the people of this ocean and knowing that our ancestors held the same respect and affinity for one another,” said Lee.

“I’m sure that’s part of what kept voyaging alive for so many centuries. It’s inspiring that so many of our stories have ties to one another and it really does emphasize the point that the culture of Moananuiākea, and the culture of the people of the Pacific, is a shared one.”

“That idea that we’re all part of the same waʻa – which is earth – is becoming more real and making sense to a lot more people now,” added Tutavae. “I think we have something to share with the whole world.”

The post Hōkūleʻa: Reconnecting Oceania appeared first on Ka Wai Ola.

Na J. Kimo Alama Keaulana

ʻO lepau ka inoa o kekahi aliʻi o Maui i ke au kahiko. I kekahi lā, makemake nui ʻo ia e ʻai i ka ʻuaʻu. Ua kāhea aku ʻo ia i kekahi kahuna i noho i Kaukini, he mauna i uka o Kahakuloa. ʻO Lunahoʻomoe ka inoa o ua kahuna nei.

He ʻelua keiki kāne a Lunahoʻomoe. Kaulana lāua i ka uʻi. ʻAʻole o kana mai ka nohea o ua mau keiki kāne āna. Mākaukau nō ʻo Lunahoʻomoe i ka hei manu. Kauoha ʻo ʻOlepau iā Lunahoʻomoe e hei i ka ʻuaʻu nāna.

ʻĪ aku ʻo Lunahoʻomoe iā ʻOlepau, “ʻAʻohe ʻuaʻu o uka; ʻaʻole kēia ʻo ke kau hoʻopūnana.” Ua lohe ʻia kēia ʻōlelo ʻana e kekahi mau kānaka ʻē aʻe a hele aku lākou i mua o ke aliʻi. I ke alo o ke aliʻi, ʻī aku lākou penei, “Ua hoʻopunipuni mai nei ʻo Lunahoʻomoe iā ʻoe, e ka lani ē. Aia nō ka ʻuaʻu e hei ai.”

Ua iho kēia mau kānaka i kai a hei lākou i ka ʻuaʻu na ke aliʻi. Eia nō naʻe, ua uaua ka ʻiʻo o nā manu makua. Noho ka ʻino i loko o kēia mau kānaka. Huhū ʻo ʻOlepau iā Lunahoʻomoe! Kauoha aku ke aliʻi e pau ke kahuna i ke ahi!

Eia kā, ʻo ua mau ʻuaʻu nei, uaua ke nau ʻia! ʻAʻohe ʻono! Nui hoʻi ke aloha ʻo Lunahoʻomoe me kāna mau keiki kāne iā ʻOlepau. Ua lawelawe pono nō lākou i ko lākou aliʻi. Penei ke mele oli i haku ʻia e nā keiki kāne a Lunahoʻomoe:

ʻIke iā Kaukini he lawaiʻa manu
He ʻupena kuʻu i ka noe o ko Pōkahi
Ua hoʻopulu ʻia i ka ʻohu kā kīkepa
Ke naʻi ala i luna o Kaʻauana
Ka uahi i ke kāpeku e hei ai ka
manu o Pūoaliʻi
ʻO ke aliʻi wale nō kaʻu makemake
ʻO ka luhi o māua me ia nei
Eia ʻike a. . . haʻo e. . .

ʻO ka lālani mele ʻalua, ʻo ia ka hana maʻalea. ʻO ka lālani mele ʻakolu, ʻo ia ka ʻike ʻole o ke aliʻi i ka hana ʻino. ʻO ka lālani ʻahā, ʻo ia ka hana ʻino a nā kānaka maʻalea. ʻO ka lālani ʻalima, ʻo ia ka hana punihei i ke aliʻi. ʻO ka lālani ʻaono, ʻo ia ke aloha nui a ke kahuna no kona aliʻi. ʻO ka lālani ʻahiku, ʻo ia nā keiki kāne a ke kahuna.

Auē ka noʻeau o ka poʻe haku mele o ka wā kahiko.

The post He Mele Oli Kaulana no nā Aliʻi appeared first on Ka Wai Ola.

This year’s overall winner of the competition was Oʻahu’s Hālau Hiʻiakaināmakalehua, under the direction of Kumu Hula Robert Keano Kaʻupu IV. The hālau also took first place overall in the kāne division. Hālau Mōhala ʻIlima, under the direction of Kumu Hula Māpuana de Silva, took first place overall in the wāhine division.

On April 9, Faith Kealohapauʻole Paredes was crowned Miss Aloha Hula. Paredes, from Hālau Kekuaokalāʻauʻalaʻiliahi, under nā Kumu Hula Haunani and ʻIliahi Paredes, also earned the prestigious ʻŌlelo Hawaiʻi Award for her command and depth in language and performance. The ʻŌlelo Hawaiʻi Award is conferred by the Office of Hawaiian Affairs (OHA) and was presented to Paredes by Trustee Hulu Lindsey.

Throughout the week, OHA engaged with the community at the Civic Auditorium, hosted workshops at its Hilo office, and joined in the Merrie Monarch Royal Parade, distributing Hae Hawaiʻi to parade watchers in celebration of hula, Hawaiian culture, and the heritage of Hilo.

OHA Workshops

1 of 16

2026 Merrie Monarch Parade

1 of 23

Hōʻike Night

1 of 16

Miss Aloha Hula

1 of 17

Kahiko Night

1 of 21

ʻAuana Night

1 of 22

The post A Week of Celebration at the 2026 Merrie Monarch Festival appeared first on Ka Wai Ola.

By J. Kimo Alama Keaulana

ʻOlepau was the name of a certain famous chief of Maui in olden times. One day, He really wanted to eat ʻuaʻu (petrel). He called to a certain priest who lived at Kaukini, a mountain above Kahakuloa. Lunahoʻomoe was the name of this kahuna.

Lunahoʻomoe had two sons. They were famed for their good looks. There were none who could compare to the handsomeness of his sons. Lunahoʻomoe was skilled at snaring birds. ʻOlepau commanded Lunahoʻomoe to snare ʻuaʻu for him.

Lunahoʻomoe told ʻOlepau, “There are no ʻuaʻu in the mountains, the ʻuaʻu are not nesting in this season.” Some other men heard this, and they went before the chief. In the chief’s presence, they said, “Lunahoʻomoe has lied, oh heavenly one. There are ʻuaʻu to be snared.”

These men went to the sea and they snared ʻuaʻu for the chief. But the meat of the mature birds was tough. Evil was harbored within these men. ʻOlepau was furious with Lunahoʻomoe! The chief ordered that the priest be put to death by fire!

But these ʻuaʻu were tough to chew! It was not tasty! Lunahoʻomoe and his sons dearly loved ʻOlepau. They had faithfully served their chief honestly. Here is the chant that the sons of Lunahoʻomoe composed:

Behold Kaukini [where there is] a fisher
of birds,
A net is cast open in the mist of Pōkahi
Soaked by the slanting fog.
Reaching higher in the heights of
Kaʻauana.
The fog flurries to trap the birds of
Pūoaliʻi.
It is solely the chief that is my desire,
The one whom we both serve along with
the concerned one here,
Here it is known . . . I miss [serving the
royal one] . . .

In the second line, this is the deceptive act. In the third line, this is the unknowing of the chief of this evil act. In the fourth line, this is the evil deed of the deceptive men. In the fifth line, this is the trickery done to the chief. The sixth line is the great love the kahuna had for his chief. The seventh line is about the sons of the kahuna.

Skilled and ingenious were the composers of former times.

The post A Famous Chant Belonging to the Chiefs appeared first on Ka Wai Ola.

The Hawaiian temple dates to the 11th or 12th century, according to a sculpture from the City and County of Honolulu, which manages the site situated on the Kāneʻīlio Point near Pōkaʻī Bay in Waiʻanae.

The ancient name for this place was Neneʻu before it became Kūʻīlioloa, translated to “the long dog form of Kū,” or the God of War as a dog. Legend says a navigator from Tahiti, Lonokaeho, constructed it as a training center and lighthouse for navigation. It is the only heiau in the Islands that is bordered on three sides by the ocean.

Today, The Royal Order of Kamehameha I, Moku O Kapuāiwa Chapter, helps mālama the land by mowing the grass, restoring rock walls, pulling weeds, planting trees and more, at least twice a month, so that the local community can still use and enjoy it.

“It’s not a burial heiau, but a navigation point. Not many people know that,” Rocky Naeʻole, member of the Order, said. “It’s part of our kuleana. This is for us to maintain. We donʻt receive income from anybody. It’s all volunteer. Weʻre just here to do the work.”

Naeʻole was born in Honolulu and moved to the West Side at age 12. He’s fully retired, yet committed to six to eight community organizations, he said.

“Our Order has 10 mokus. Kapuāiwa covers the Waiʻanae Coast to the North Shore to ʻEwa,” he explained, adding that its membership is in the hundreds, while about 30 to 40 individuals remain currently active.

The purpose of the Order is “to preserve and perpetuate the ancient customs of Hawaiʻi” and uplift the Hawaiian people, its website states.

He noted that the group collectively decides what they want to do in the community each year; this project has remained a priority for 12 or more years.

“You can see the stars so clear out here,” he said, noting that University of Hawaiʻi at Mānoa students, nonprofits, visitors and community members have come out before to stargaze. The Order plans to host a navigation event open to the public later this year.

Naeʻole is looking forward to the community events lined up this year and hopes to work with the county on signage for additional moʻolelo of Kūʻīlioloa Heiau.

Another member of the Order, Abraham Kalani Kaʻio, shared what the ancient site means to him.

“This heiau is a gathering of all of the Pacific Triangle. Every island in the triangle, you can get there from here. This is a tie to all of our brothers and sisters in the triangle, and I try to explain that to every race that comes here. In one way or another, your family [has] been here.”

He presented a map, showcasing the 13 public-access heiaus along the Leeward Coast. Others sit on military-owned land, he added.

Kaʻio, who was born in Germany and raised on Oʻahu, said that when they first started cleaning the heiau years ago, “it was in bad shape. The place was overrun by homeless and nobody took care of it.”

Now, he says some have returned to lend a hand on cleanup days, which typically run on the first and third Thursdays of the month.

Not to mention, several organizations have aided in caring for the marine life, consisting of at least three species of birds, as well as Hawaiian monk seals.

His advice to young people is to learn their culture instead of playing games, he said with a laugh. “Your knowledge of culture is knowing who you are.”

While standing at the point of Kūʻīlioloa Heiau, Naeʻole asked if there was anything I needed to let go of.

I replied with a nod.

He said to face the ocean and close my eyes, then began to pray in ōlelo Hawaiʻi.

I breathed in and out twice as instructed. The wind grazed my cheek and tossed my hair.

“You can see the ocean from three sides and take it all in, feel how quiet it is,” he said. “If I’m stressed out – which I don’t try to stress myself out, sometimes you can’t help it – this is where I come.”

This article is reprinted with permission from “Aloha State Daily, the new news for Hawaiʻi.” Read more at alohastatedaily.com and sign up for its free daily edition email at alohastatedaily.com.

The post The Kuleana to Maintain Kūʻīlioloa Heiau appeared first on Ka Wai Ola.

By Hina Kneubuhl, Protect Haleakalā Community Coalition

From sea to summit, Haleakalā is a living, breathing, ancestral system whose most sacred part is its piko, or highest point. To understand its sacredness, we must begin at the origin of our islands and the life that fills them.

Our most extensive genealogical chant of creation is the Kumulipo. Long before Charles Darwin came up with his theory of evolution, Hawaiians were chanting their universe, from the walewale hoʻokumu honua – much like the western idea of a “primordial soup” – to the plants and animals, and eventually to themselves.

In this genealogy, the coral polyp was the first true organism. Then plants were born in the ocean and paired with others born on land. This land/sea connection is a foundational and enduring concept in our worldview, epitomized by the Kāne/Kanaloa water cycle.

After land and sea plants came the fish, birds, insects, and mammals. Collectively, these organisms filled the ʻāina and created the foundation for human life, which was the last to emerge.

As the muli loa, or last born, in this long line of life forms, we honor them all as kūpuna, or ancestors, and we show our gratitude to them through respect and protection.

I want to be clear here that we don’t choose to stand up for the ʻuaʻu and the ʻāhinahina, for example. Rather, as Kumu Kīʻope Raymond has put it, we have a familial obligation to do so. This is also why the first rule is to take only what you need and no more. Hoarding is abhorrent and forbidden, as it’s unsustainable and breaks the contract with our family of life.

Our akua, our deities, also come from the Pō. Other genealogies tell us of the unions of various akua and the birth of our islands. Wākea and Papa came together and the first islands Papa birthed were Hawaiʻi, Maui, and Kahoʻolawe. This is part of the reason that Kahoʻolawe is considered a kalana (land area) belonging to the Honuaʻula district of Maui.

Among the many gifts of the god Kāne are sunlight and freshwater. In concert with Kanaloa, whose realm is the ocean, they are the water cycle. The abundant wai of East Maui activates the fertility of Papa (in her many Haumea forms), driving primary productivity on land and enabling the symphony of life that came to be on Haleakalā.

These kūpuna plants and animals arrived and evolved there for nearly 2 million years after Papa gave birth. This created what biologist Art Medeiros refers to as a lei, or garland of forest, that once went all the way around Haleakalā, comprising roughly 450 native species in habitats from rainforest to dryforest. Many of these species are endemic – found nowhere else in the world.

The koʻolau, or northeast part of that lei of forest is a 100,000-acre watershed that produces 60 billion gallons of water annually, on which we, the people, survive. It does this because we have protected it and limited the amount of human activity there.

This is one of several reasons that the land from where the forest begins all the way to the summit is called the wao akua, or the realm of the gods.

This brings us to the summit itself, which is called the piko, or navel. This is where Haleakalā was connected to its mother, Papa. While the physical piko was severed at birth, an energetic connection remains to Papa in her forms as Haumea.

Haleakalā, through its piko, draws nourishment from Haumea and our celestial ʻohana and that mauli, that life force, feeds the entire living, breathing, mountain system. The symphony of life we talked about earlier, which includes us as Kānaka, is nourished through this critical point of connection.

In fact, when we go to the summit for special occasions or ceremonies and our piko align with that piko, we experience an especially profound connection to life force that is unique to that place. This is at the heart of why obstructions and developments at the summit are highly detrimental.

So, the piko draws down this nourishment and feeds the ʻāhinahina, the ʻuaʻu, the koa, the ʻōhiʻa, and all the forms of life on the mountain. Amazingly, Haumea is found both high above in the heat of the stars and deep below in the earth’s molten core; as above, so below. Haumea’s daughter, Pele, is embodied in the most recent flows on our mountain, where molten rock once again broke the surface and formed new land.

Some folks tend to think of Pele’s activity as confined to the lua, or crater portion of the national park, but we must break out of this fragmented mindset that is not in line with our cultural history.

Pele’s activity spreads across the whole kualono (ridgeline) of Haleakalā. Entire hula traditions are devoted to the dances that honor this akua and her wondrous work across the mountain. Much of the extent of her influence is within Honuaʻula and the ahupuaʻa of Pāpaʻanui.

Pele eventually went on to Hawaiʻi Island, but the goddesses Lilinoe and Poliʻahu continued to shape the summit and the crater with their clouds, mist, rain, snow and ice. Lilinoe is still with us today, casting her kīhei of clouds around the mountain, feeding many areas with her gentle rain and fog drip, and helping to regulate temperatures.

This is just a fraction of the knowledge that exists about Haleakalā, the kuahiwi that is our malu (sanctuary), our life source, and the only home many of us will ever know. Its sacred summit is second to none and telescopes do not belong there. We will forever stand in protection of this piko of nourishment and connection.

Adapted from a presentation at the Hanohano ʻo Haleakalā forum. For the full version of this presentation, go to protecthaleakala.com, hit the “watch livestream” button, and advance to 35 minutes.

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Na Mathew “Manakō” Tanaka

Mai ka ʻōhiʻa lehua o Hawaiʻi a ka Pohutukawa o Aotearoa, aloha pumehana e nā makamaka makeʻe ʻōlelo Hawaiʻi.

Welo haʻaheo nā mea ʻōlelo makuahine e lawelawe nei i ka hana ma lalo o ka malu o ka Hui Waʻalele ʻo Hawaiian, a he keu hoʻi nā kuene mokulele no ke kumu, na lākou nō hoʻi i mālama mua i ia mea kūikawā ʻo ia hoʻi ka mokulele ʻōlelo Hawaiʻi i ka makahiki 2018. Hāʻupu wale aʻela ka manaʻo i ka lele pū ʻana o lākou kuene mokulele ʻōlelo Hawaiʻi i ia wā, a no ka laha ʻana a puni ka pae ʻāina i lilo ai nā mokulele ʻōlelo Hawaiʻi i mea kūmau mai kēlā wā a hiki i kēia manawa. A hiki i kēia, ua kipa akula nā manu kūkahekahe, ʻo ia hoʻi kekahi hea ʻana no ia pūʻulu kānaka kākoʻo ʻōlelo Hawaiʻi, i nā kūlanakauhale like ʻole mai Fukuoka a hiki loa aku i Bosetona.

Penei ke ʻano o nā mokulele ʻōlelo Hawaiʻi. Ma ke ʻano hoʻopūʻiwa hoʻi ia e mālama ʻia nei i mea e hoʻohauʻoli ai i nā ʻōhua, a ua lako ia mau mokulele me nā kāleka e aʻo aku ana i ua poʻe ʻōhua nei i ka ʻōlelo, a ua mālama ʻia nā kūkala a pau ma luna o ka mokulele ma ka ʻōlelo Hawaiʻi a me ka ʻōlelo pelekania i mea e hoʻokuluma ai i ka ʻōlelo makuahine. He nani mai hoʻi kau!

I kēia makahiki i kipa mua akula iā Tāmaki Makaurau i Aotearoa ka mokulele ʻōlelo Hawaiʻi, a kipa pū hoʻi i ʻelua wahi kupaianaha, a ʻo kekahi he hoa kamaʻāina. ʻOiai ke hoʻomaha akula nā waʻa kūpuna o kākou, ʻo ia hoʻi ʻo Hōkūleʻa lāua ʻo Hikianalia ma ia awa kū moku o Tāmaki Makaurau, ua pōmaikaʻi nā manu kūkahekahe i ka hoʻokipa ʻia ma nā papahele kaʻapuni honua o ia mau waʻa kaulua. Wahi a Kekai Lum, kekahi o nā manu kūkahekahe, “ʻO ke aloha ʻoiaʻiʻo o ko kākou poʻe,” a pēlā ko kākou pōmaikaʻi.

ʻO ka lua hoʻi o nā wahi kipa ʻo ia hoʻi ʻo Whakaata Māori, he kahua hoʻolele wikiō hoʻi no ka lāhui Māori na lākou ke kuleana o ka hoʻolaha moʻolelo ma ko lā-kou ʻōlelo ʻōiwi ʻo ia hoʻi ʻo te reo Māori. Ua pōwhiri ʻia mākou me ka hanohano me ka mōteatea o ko lākou ʻāina a me nā haʻi ʻōlelo e pili ana i ka pilina o ko kākou mau ʻāina a me nā papahana a lākou e lawelawe nei. Ua haʻahaʻa mākou o ka Hui Waʻalele ʻo Hawaiian i ko lākou hoʻolaha ʻana i kekahi moʻolelo e pili ana i kā mākou mokulele ʻōlelo Hawaiʻi kekahi, a ke hū aʻe nei ka mahalo ma ka naʻau o kou mea kākau.

Ua kuleana kākou nā kamaʻāina i ko kākou ʻōlelo, a he papahana kēia e ʻimi ana i ke kūlana ʻaeʻoia a mau loa aku no ko kākou ʻōlelo Hawaiʻi. Ke mahalo aʻe nei i nā manu kūkahekahe, ʻo ia hoʻi nā kuene mokulele i ka ʻauamo ʻana i kēia kuleana a me nā hoa o ka Hōkūleʻa me Hikianalia pau pū me nā ʻohana o ke kahua ʻo Whakaata Māori i hoʻokipa helu ʻekahi maila. E ola ko kākou ʻōlelo Hawaiʻi ma nā kūkulu ʻehā o ka poepoe honua!

The post He Huakaʻi ʻŌlelo Hawaiʻi i Aotearoa appeared first on Ka Wai Ola.

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By Vanessa Lee Miller

This January, an exhibit entitled “Hawaiʻi: a kingdom crossing oceans,” opened at the British Museum in London. The museum stewards of one of the world’s largest collections of nā mea kūpuna Hawaiʻi outside of our pae ʻāina. The Hawaiʻi collection ranges from the most diminutive Niʻihau shell leis and fish hooks to an imposing statue of Kū.

As I climbed the museum’s grand pillared entrance, a peregrine falcon on the hunt swooped down from a high balcony and flashed past me. Perhaps a hōʻailona? At the entrance I’m greeted by a massive image of Kū, finely carved from ʻulu wood, his mouth gaping and legs flexed, seeming to ask, “dare you enter?”

It is a step back in time. The exhibit centers around the brief and turbulent reign of King Kamehameha II, Ka-lani-nui-kua-liholiho-i-ke-kapu (the great chief with the burning back kapu) better known as Liholiho. The young monarch, only four years into his reign, endeavored to negotiate, in person, a solid, long-lasting alliance with King George IV, the British monarch.

Liholiho set off for London in May 1823 accompanied by his favorite wife, Kamāmalu, and a delegation of his most trusted retainers led by Chief Boki and his wife, High Chiefess Liliha. It was a time of uncertainty; the arrival of aggressive foreign merchants, deadly epidemics, and Christian missionaries were upending Hawaiian society.

Upon entering the exhibition space, one is immediately struck by a sense of the past and the present moving in an interwoven path of time, history and generations of Kānaka. All that we see before us has crossed oceans to be here.

Alice Christophe, the exhibit’s curator, said she envisioned the exhibition as a “mechanism that could trigger loans and movements outwards, including towards Hawaiian shores.”

Arguably, the exhibit’s showstopper is a brilliant assembly of featherwork: mahiole, lei poʻo and ʻahu ʻula arranged as a gathering of aliʻi that conjures visions of aliʻi on the battlefield. A nearby exhibit of nā mea lua, warfare crafts, complement the ʻahu ʻula.

An example of hula is presented in a video display. Accompanied by oli and the steady beat of pahu drums, the dancers demonstrate the use of ʻulīʻulī. A few steps away, visitors can view similar instruments on display. A traditional puppet, used for hula kiʻi, is displayed wearing a malo of kapa, made expressly for this exhibition by Kumu Auliʻi Mitchell.

The exhibition follows a chronological path highlighting the museum’s world-famous kapa collection: vivid colors, geometric patterns and smooth textures are carefully hung, without the glare of a glass window, enabling a view of the kapa as it was meant to be appreciated.

A fascinating conversation recorded in a video, covers the sourcing of materials like ʻieʻie vine, while a showcase nearby displays modern pāpale next to a mahiole kahiko, enhancing the visitor’s understanding of the crafting of both objects.

The exhibition reflects the intersection of ka wā kahiko and modern Hawaiʻi; the museum’s collection of centuries-old artifacts complemented by gifts from today’s cultural practitioners such as ʻUmi Kai, Kanaʻe Keawe, Kumulāʻau and Haunani Sing, and the late Rocky Jensen.

Cultural practitioners and scholars have been welcomed to visit this collection and share their ʻike as a bridge of collaboration. A new and refreshing perspective has been added to the conversation of kuleana for mea kūpuna as well as mea hou. The ʻike of both the past and the present now cross oceans in both directions.

A touching message of aloha guides the visitor out of the exhibit space. A large screen projects a video of a group of ʻōpio, reciting a poem; a firm and diplomatic statement reflecting love for our ʻāina. May you hear these islands breathe with you.

I left the exhibition feeling proud of the past and present, and hopeful for the future.

Before leaving London, my curiosity led me to the Strand District on the River Thames, where the Caledonian Hotel once stood. There, on July 14, 1824, Liholiho and Kamāmalu spent their last hours surrounded by their loyal retainers who kept vigil in the dim candlelight. I imagine that the clamor outside – street peddlers shouting, horseshoes clattering over cobbled streets –provided a stark contrast to the quiet sorrow of the moment.

It fell to Boki to bring the bodies of his king and queen back to Hawaiʻi and relay the moʻolelo of Liholiho’s experiences and the outcome of this diplomatic mission.

This voyage across oceans took courage, determination and wisdom on the part of young Kamehameha II whose thoughts are eloquently expressed in this ʻōlelo noʻeau: “Na wai hoʻi ka ʻole o ke akamai, he alanui i maʻa i ka hele ʻia e oʻu mau mākua.” (Why shouldn’t I know, when it is a road often traveled by my parents?).

Vanessa Lee Miller is a haumāna ʻōlelo Hawaiʻi and writer of poetry, drama and fiction. In 2013, she founded a project called “Lost and Found: a virtual repatriation.” It’s a bridge-building project where nā mea kahiko, primarily those in the British Museum and the British Library, are returned to our pae ʻāina through images and moʻolelo, re-opening pathways of exchange between Hawaiʻi and Great Britain.

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