By Naiʻa Ulumaimalu Lewis

The first time I crossed the threshold into the Kūpuna Islands was the summer of 2008. I had started working for Papahānaumokuākea the year before and was supporting the education and outreach team on a Pacific educators’ cruise aboard the NOAA ship Hiʻialakai for the International Year of the Reef.

Over a two-week expedition, we studied coral at its source and shared the work we’d been doing for years to bring back to our communities and classrooms. Most days were on the ocean, but we walked Nihoa, snorkeled in the waters around Mokumanamana – privileged to deliver Dr. Kekuewa Kikiloi, a UH professor, and Anan Raymond of U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, for several days on Mokumanamana.

What I came to learn the moment I slipped into the waters around one of our most sacred geographies, is that the ocean around an atoll has a way of clarifying you. The line that passes near Mokumanamana is Ke Alanui Polohiwa a Kāne, the Black Shining Road of Kāne, the Tropic of Cancer.

North of this line is Pō, the realm of ancestors and akua. South of this line is Ao, where Kānaka live. Sliding into the depths of the Moananui, I crossed the membrane. My experience returned me anew, newly clear about my place, my purpose, and the core of who I had always been.

This was reaffirmed by the transformation in Kekuewa and Anan when we returned for them.

In 2010, I was given a second chance to access the Papahānaumokuākea. Getting one chance is a privilege. Going twice is magic. Kūpuna intervention. Ironically, the U.S. federal government supported my access to some of the most sacred places to my Native Hawaiian community.

I am not saying this as a thank-you but as a reminder: there are many ways to leverage the present political situation toward pono, even when it takes longer than we’d like, and it does not feel as if we are moving the needle.

My second access was by plane. We landed on Kuaihelani (Midway). There, I put my feet on ʻāina that had witnessed nearly 28 million years of evolution and only recent human visitation.

Surrounded by thousands of nesting mōlī (albatross), I was once again given the ability to see myself at scale – very small in the vast natural world. Aboard the ship, the ocean was everything. On Kuaihelani, my feet were able to build a relationship with the sands of our collective birth across days.

As our ancestors would have it, our visit fell during the summer solstice. On the day we did protocol, we learned that at the same hour, colleagues aboard Hiʻialakai (the ship I’d sailed in 2008) were doing similar protocol near Mokumanamana. The veil went thin again. The 530 miles between us was real, but we transcended it.

What Mokumanamana clarified for me, Kuaihelani gave me the spine to act on. The distance between Ao and Pō is not a barrier. I came home with the courage for the hard decisions about my own path – decisions some people would prefer I not make, but I made them.

The Kūpuna Islands do not ask us to move there. They ask us to move with intent, here.

Naiʻa Lewis worked for NOAA Papahānaumokuākea between 2007–2016 and continues to act as the executive director for Big Ocean and is the lead author of “Large-Scale Marine Protected Areas: Guidelines for Design and Management” (IUCN Protected Planet series). She is the founder of Salted Logic and Studio Wā. Her current work centers on temporal sovereignty.

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By Hōkūokahalelani Pihana

Puka mai ka lā i Kumukahi lā ʻeā
The sun bursts forth at Kumukahi

A welo ana i Lehua lā ʻeā
And sets at Lehua

He Waialoha ka makani lā ʻeā
The wind is the Waialoha wind

ʻO Hawaiʻiloa ke alahula lā ʻeā
Hawaiʻi Loa is the frequented pathway

I Hōlani ke kuʻina i Hōlanikū
Joining at Hōlani, at Hōlanikū

“The ocean feeds us, it nourishes us, it is all around us.” – Kumu Heanu Weller

i Hōlani ke kuʻina i Hōlanikū is a short film created to share our pilina (relationship) to Papahānaumokuākea through the voices of our ocean community and the next generation of ocean stewards. The Nā Waʻa Mauō (NWM) Marine Stewardship program uses waʻa to care for our ocean and uplift our youth through our waʻa practices and relationship to the ocean. Haumāna from NWM led the creation of the film, conducting interviews with community members about their relationships to waʻa, ocean stewardship, and how these practices connect us to Papahānaumokuākea.

Haumāna worked with the filmmaker to creatively tell our story of ocean stewardship and how the work we do in the inhabited Hawaiian Islands contributes to the health and wellness of Papahānaumokuākea.

They shared their relationship with waʻa and how waʻa connected them to Papahānaumokuākea, to each other, and to the ocean. Haumāna saw that the same ocean they voyage in our waʻa here in Hilo, Hawaiʻi, is the same ocean that connects us to and surrounds Papahānaumokuākea.

That was a profound moment because to connect our haumāna to Papahānaumokuākea, they needed to feel Papahānaumokuākea. So, when they swam in the ocean or paddled our waʻa they began to feel Papahānaumokuākea.

i Hōlani ke kuʻina i Hōlanikū, was also an opportunity for our keiki to recognize their relevance in marine stewardship and brought their voices to the forefront of our efforts to care for our ocean and Papahānaumokuākea. NWM haumāna have learned how to use waʻa to steward our coastal ocean areas. They apply a blended stewardship approach that combines Indigenous and institutional sciences and practice. This helped them become more closely connected to the ocean and understand the value of using our Indigenous ways of knowing to tend to these places.

i Hōlani ke kuʻina i Hōlanikū, enabled our haumāna to share their experience using waʻa to steward our ocean, express how these practices have impacted them and changed their relationship with the ocean, and how the perpetuation of these approaches strengthens our connection to Papahānaumokuākea.

As the next generation of ocean stewards, it was important to give them a space to tell our story through their voices. It enabled them to contribute to the moʻokūʻauhau (genealogy) of Papahānaumokuākea and perpetuate our ancestral practice of storytelling.

“We acknowledge waʻa as kūpuna because at its foundation is our ʻike kūpuna, our ancestral knowledge.” – Kumu Kainalu Steward

Watch i Hōlani ke kuʻina i Hōl on YouTube.

Hōkūokahalelani Pihana is a mother and marine scientist who has worked with the scientific and Indigenous communities in Hawaiʻi and the Pacific for many years. She was born in Wahiawā, Oʻahu, raised in Long Beach, California, and now lives in Keaʻau, Hawaiʻi, with her sons. Hōkū is a leader in the Papahānaumokuākea Native Hawaiian Cultural Working Group, executive director of Indigenous and Community-based Ocean Governance at Conservation International Hawaiʻi, and executive director of Nā Waʻa Mauō, a marine stewardship program she developed in 2015 that uses waʻa to care for the nearshore and coastal oceans of Hawaiʻi.

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Hauʻoli and Kenika Lorenzo-Elarco

On March 24, 2026, despite massive opposition and historical environmental abuses, the Western Pacific Regional Fishery Management Council (WESPAC) voted to restore commercial fishing in culturally and ecologically vital ocean areas across Moananuiākea including Papahānaumokuākea, Pacific Islands Heritage (PIH), Muliava (Rose) Atoll, and Marianas Trench Marine National Monuments.

Though the meeting was scheduled to adjourn by 5:00 p.m., the highly debated topic brought an overwhelming amount of written and public comments, running the meeting past 8:00 p.m. Comments came from both sides, however, it was clear that the majority were Indigenous voices from across the Pacific collectively opposing commercial fishing in protected marine areas.

Individual community members and organization representatives provided powerful testimonies on upholding the strongest protections in these places for the benefit of future generations. Many also highlighted the irreversible consequences of over-extraction and exploitation of ocean resources. Others pointed out that commercial fishing risks repeating past mistakes that continue to cause harm today.

Despite the obvious public opposition, WESPAC still voted to allow commercial fishing in all four Pacific marine monuments. Specifically, for Papahānaumokuākea, they voted to open the 3-200 nautical miles (nm) area for bottomfish and pelagic fisheries.

The delegate representing Hawaiʻi was the only WESPAC member who voted “no” to allow commercial fishing in any of the marine monuments. All others voted “yes.”

WESPAC members continue to advance their commercial fishing agenda in the Pacific through three recurring claims: 1) commercial fishing is a cultural practice and right of Indigenous Pacific Island peoples; 2) these protected areas are “American waters, and American fishermen have the right to fish there;” and 3) Pacific Island peoples carry an unfair burden of global marine conservation goals.

These claims are misleading, and fundamentally distort Indigenous values, histories, and responsibilities.

First, there is nothing culturally Indigenous about the industrial exploitation of our seas. Fishing alone does not make a practice Indigenous. What is Indigenous is the kuleana to ensure abundance endures so that future generations may thrive. “Pono fishing” is not a slogan; it’s at the core of our cultural practice.

Second, invoking “American waters” to justify extraction erases the deeper and ongoing realities of Indigenous relationships to these places. It reduces ancestral ocean spaces to political and economic boundaries while the council selectively invokes Indigeneity only when it serves their commercial interests. This contradiction reveals WESPAC’s argument for what it is: opportunistic and unprincipled.

As the late Tongan-Fijian writer and anthropologist Epeli Hauʻofa reminds us, “No people on earth are more suited to be guardians of the world’s largest ocean than those for whom it has been home for generations.”

Stewardship is not a burden imposed on us as Pacific peoples – it is a responsibility, privilege, and right carried forward with intention and pride. These protected places exist because our ancestors inherited an understanding of the ocean’s significance from their ancestors and thus, acted to safeguard the ocean as the most valuable resource for us, their grandchildren.

To frame protection as a “burden” and exploitation as a “right” is to invert the very values that have sustained our Pacific ancestors and ecosystems for generations.

Though this was expected from the WESPAC vote, the outcome does not yet make commercial fishing legal.

There are still several steps and consultations that are lawfully required. We are continuing to organize and remain vigilant to ensure commercial fishing does not gain any legal ground, and that our oceans protected in perpetuity – for the benefit of our grandchildren.

Follow us on FB and IG @papahanaumokuakea.cwg and @papahanaumokuakea.coalition to stay updated and get involved.

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By Brad Kaʻaleleo Wong

Day 0. It was a whirlwind day packing for this huakaʻi to Nihoa, with the added kuleana of preparing the waʻa and serving as a watch captain for this voyage. Our tradewinds disappeared last week and we are supposed to meet up with the vessel, Searcher, in a few days to assist with ʻopihi and nearshore fish surveys. Hopefully we get there in time. Captain Kaleo is confident, so holomua! It’s exciting to get back on the moana, especially to Papahānaumokuākea and aboard Hikianalia.

Day 1. Sailing off Waiʻanae was fantastic. We got all the way to Kaʻena last night, but the wind died again and now we’re stuck in the middle of Kaʻieʻiewaho. It’s HOT today and the ocean is flat, a complete mirror. Earlier, a school of nehu took refuge under the waʻa as aku darted nearby. Isn’t that what happened in the moʻolelo of Paʻao when he was traveling from Kahiki to Hawaiʻi? Not even a single bite either. Hopefully better luck with fish and wind tomorrow.

Day 2. We made it to Lehua! A little bit of south wind off Kauaʻi, though it died earlier this evening. We’ll drift here overnight. Duane made saimin for dinner, so ʻono! With the weather really nice, Kaiwi and I brought out the ʻukulele for some post-meal kanikapila. Shoutout to Bones on the harmonica! Not sure if we’ll make it to Nihoa with 120 miles to go and no wind, but we’re making the best out of the less-than-ideal conditions.

Day 3. The akua heard our pule and gifted us a perfect wind coming from the southwest and we are making way at around 4-6 knots. Perfect conditions to get there by tomorrow morning! It’s an epic evening. Stars everywhere and minimal clouds. Excellent for navigation! Kaleo and Jason are giving lessons. I noticed how prominent ʻiwa kealiʻi is during this time of year – a great navigation tool going to these islands. Riding the ʻiwa to Kuaihelani like in Keaomelemele perhaps?

Day 4. Aue ua hiti e ua hiti e Hikianalia e! We made it. Sighted Nihoa off our starboard manu in the dim light of pre-dawn, right on target. It’ll be a long day today with the intertidal monitoring crew. We’ll also have dinner on the Searcher with them, complete with ice cream! Guess it’s nice to have motored vessels sometimes.

Day 5. We left last night a few hours after dinner. The current on the west end of Nihoa switched directions and we were drifting. It’s slow going with south winds and we can’t really go the direction we want. At sundown we saw another sailboat on the horizon – Makani ʻOlu returning from Mokumanamana. Kekuewa mā were on-island for Ke Ala Polohiwa a Kāne, the most mana-ful way to experience the island. We greeted them with oli and mele. It was my favorite experience to see them, another group of Kānaka traveling the ocean. What was awesome were the two captains, Kaleo of Hikianalia and Kalei of Makani ʻOlu, conversing over the radio in ʻōlelo Hawaiʻi. A powerful moment for the lāhui.

The winds turned more favorable the next day, and we were able to sail directly to Lehua and return home safely. There were so many hōʻailona on this trip and many good laughs with great friends.

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: Voyaging journal archive, Hikianalia 2015 appeared first on Ka Wai Ola.

By Darrian Kāhealani Muraoka

There are places that change the way you see the world, and there are places that change the way you see yourself. Papahānaumokuākea is both. She is not simply a protected expanse on a map; she carries memory, genealogy, and prayer.

In her vastness, I was reminded that we are always the footsteps of our kūpuna. Stewardship here is not just about protection; it is about navigating kuleana, listening to your naʻau, and answering the quiet question our ancestors echo to us: What kind of kupuna will you be?

My journey began in my first year as a marine debris technician with the Papahānaumokuākea Marine Debris Program (PMDP) when our team traveled to remove marine debris from Kapou, Kamokuokamohoaliʻi, Kamole, and Lalo. As we crossed Ke Alanui Polohiwa a Kāne, we entered the realm of our kūpuna: Pō.

In that space, time shifted and sea mist carried greetings only the naʻau can understand. The veil between past and present thinned and we were watched with guiding eyes. For days, 16 of us lived and worked together in rhythm, learning trust through long hours, shared meals, salt-soaked gear, and quiet exhaustion. The work demanded strength but, even more, humility.

Each island received us differently, but Kamole and Kapou were the most vivid. On our first morning at Kapou, after offering oli, we were given time to kilo – observe, listen, and be still. I sat quietly asking myself, “what kind of kupuna might I one day become?” In that stillness, life unfolded in cycles: manu feeding their young while manō circled patiently below. Creation and consumption. Beginning and ending. The balance of Pō and Ao.

Witnessing these processes was an emotional reckoning. I felt the weight of continuity in systems that existed long before me and will endure long after. Standing there with sun-worn skin and salt in our hair, being entrusted to care for this space filled me with profound humility. I felt grief for what was harmed and gratitude that we were present to respond. Kuleana means doing the work even when it is hard – choosing care over convenience, protection over apathy.

Kamole tested that resolve: unforgiving terrain, relentless sun, and debris heavy with the world’s neglect. Between sweat and steady encouragement, 16 of us moved with one purpose: to fulfill our kuleana for ka poʻe o Hawaiʻi and for a world connected to these shores. Every net lifted, every fragment gathered, felt like a quiet act of devotion.

Coming home was unexpectedly emotional. We were able to care for a place that most will never see, not for recognition or praise, but because it is ours to protect. Perhaps this is how we will answer the dreams our kūpuna once prayed for: by being present, doing the work, and by continuing the lineage of responsibility entrusted to us. In standing in the realm of our kūpuna, we became part of the prayer that was sent forward into time.

Mahalo nui to Papahānaumokuākea, Papahānaumokuākea Marine Debris Program, The Native Hawaiian Cultural Working Group, and all who protect Papahānaumokuākea; from the minds of the past to the hands of our future.

Darrian Kāhealani Muraoka was born and raised on the west side of Kauaʻi, where she learned to holoholo, hoe waʻa, and mālama the nearshore waters of Kekaha. She is a biologist on the Mānā coastline, a board member for the West Kauaʻi Canoe Club, a member of the Native Hawaiian Cultural Working Group, and a member of Hui Mālama Pōlihale. This was her first year as a marine debris technician and she looks forward to returning to Papahānaumokuākea.

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E ko Hawaiʻinui a hiki loa i ko Hōlanikū, aloha pae ʻāina kākou. Ua hiki mai ka makani pāhili ʻo Walaka ma ʻIkuā o ka MH 2018, a ua ʻane pau kekahi moku kele o ka poʻe ʻīlioholoikauaua a me ka poʻe honu ma Lalo ma Papahānaumokuākea i ke kai kūmoho.

I kekahi mau mahina ma hope mai, ua heluhelu kāu wahi mea kākau nei i kekahi makasina pili huakaʻi, a ua kuhi ʻia aʻela ma kekahi ʻatikala, ʻo ʻOregona kā ka moku ʻumi o Hawaiʻi, a ʻo Las Vegas hoʻi ka ʻeiwa. Auē kā hoʻi ē!

Ke mau nei nō ke ō o ia moku ʻane pau o Lalo, akā ua lilo nō hoʻi ʻo Walaka he wahi hoʻomanaʻo, ʻo ia hoʻi, e pau kekahi moku i ka makani a me ke kai ʻino, a e pau pū nō hoʻi kekahi moku i ka poina ʻino i kā kākou kapa inoa hou ʻana.

Mai nā palapala kākau a Kaiaikawaha (he haumāna a ke Kulanui o Lahainaluna i ka MH 1835), ka haku inoa ʻana o ke Kōmike Lekikona, a me ka noiʻi ʻana o Kekuewa Kikiloi, ua nui nā ʻano hana e ʻimi ana i ka hoʻōla pilina ʻana me nā moku nōweke ma o ka hoʻomanaʻo ʻana i nā inoa Hawaiʻi.

I kēia lā, e like me nā ʻano inoa o Hawaiʻi, Maui, Oʻahu, a me Kauaʻi, he mau inoa Hawaiʻi nō ko nā moku o Papahānaumokuākea, a ʻōlelo ʻia nō nā inoa a pau. No laila, e nā mea heluhelu, e hoʻomohala mai ʻoukou i kekahi pilina me ia mau pana ʻāina i ka ʻōlelo ʻia o ko lākou mau inoa Hawaiʻi.

ʻO ka mua, ua kapa ʻia nā moku kupuna ʻo Papahānaumokuākea i ka MH 2007 e Pualani Kanakaʻole Kanahele, a he inoa hoʻohanohano ia i ka noho pū ʻana o Papahānaumoku lāua ʻo Wākea, a hānau ʻia maila ka pae ʻāina Hawaiʻi.

Ma ʻō aku o Niʻihau, Lehua, a me Kaʻula, aia nō nā moku mua ʻelua i hoʻomanaʻo mau ʻia ma ko lāua mau inoa Hawaiʻi: ʻo Nihoa a me Mokumanamana (Necker).

Eia hoʻi nā inoa o nā moku ʻē aʻe: ʻo Lalo/Kānemilohaʻi (French Frigate Shoals), ʻo ʻŌnūnui, ʻŌnūiki/Pūhāhonu (Gardner Pinnacles), ʻo Kamokuokamohoaliʻi/Koʻanakoʻa (Maro Reef), ʻo Kamole/Kauō (Laysan), ʻo Kapou/Papaʻāpoho (Lisianski), ʻo Manawai/Holoikauaua (Pearl & Hermes), ʻo Kuaihelani/Pihemanu (Midway), a ʻo Hōlanikū/Mokupāpapa (Kure).

I ko kākou hoʻopuka mau ʻana i ia mau inoa Hawaiʻi, pēlā ana nō kākou e mālama mau ai i ko kākou pilina me ko kākou moku kupuna o Hawaiʻi pae ʻāina nei.

Map of Papahānaumokuākea with original island names

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In 2018, Walaka, a category 5 hurricane, nearly devastated an island in Lalo in Papahānaumokuākea, causing major habitat loss for monk seals and sea turtles.

A few months later, I read an article from a popular travel magazine that touted Oregon State as the “10th Hawaiian Island” after Las Vegas as the “9th.”

Although Lalo is fragile, it is resilient in its recovery. Yet, Walaka was a reminder that our islands are not only eroded from natural phenomena, but also by dangerous (re)naming practices that have negative implications on our language, culture, and sense of place.

From Kaiaikawaha’s documents (a student at Lahainaluna in 1835), the Hawaiian Lexicon Committee’s investigations, and Dr. Kekuewa Kikiloi’s research, there have been many endeavors to record and recall our ancestral connection to the Northwestern Hawaiian Islands through their Hawaiian names.

Today, there exist several names for the islands and atolls in Papahānaumokuākea and these are used interchangeably just as the many names of Hawaiʻi, Maui, Oʻahu, and Kauaʻi. I encourage readers to begin developing relationships with these places in Papahānaumokuākea through these names.

First, Papahānaumokuākea is the name given to the region known as the Northwestern Hawaiian Islands by Dr. Pualani Kanakaʻole Kanahele in 2007, commemorating the earth and sky union of Papahānaumoku and Wākea as the progenitors of the Hawaiian archipelago.

Beyond Niʻihau, Lehua, and Kaʻula are the first two islands of Papahānaumokuākea still remembered by their Hawaiian names: Nihoa and Mokumanamana (Necker).

The other islands are Lalo/Kānemilohaʻi (French Frigate Shoals), ʻŌnūnui, ʻŌnūiki/Pūhāhonu (Gardner Pinnacles), Kamokuokamohoaliʻi/Koʻanakoʻa (Maro Reef), Kamole/Kauō (Laysan), Kapou/Papaʻāpoho (Lisianski), Manawai/Holoikauaua (Pearl & Hermes), Kuaihelani/Pihemanu (Midway), and Hōlanikū/Mokupāpapa (Kure).

Remember and speak these names for this is how we reclaim and maintain our connection to our ancestral islands.

Map of Papahānaumokuākea with original island names

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By Kaci Stokes

Though the sky was just beginning to soften in the light of dawn, the thousands of birds soaring overhead were well awake. As we turned slowly in the gentle rocking of the sea, Nihoa appeared in full view. With the sun low behind the island, Nihoa was illuminated with the pale yellow-gray of vegetation and rocks. As stunning as it was to see our kupuna island with a swirling atmosphere of seabirds, the excitement left me and was quickly replaced with a chilling fear.

Part of our huakaʻi’s mission was to bring back 40 individuals of Endodonta christenseni. This snail is endemic to Nihoa and the last surviving species of its genus in the world. Sadly, they are threatened by the non-native ants that have made their way to the island.

While we set our intentions and grounded ourselves in oli, I worried that the oli and hoʻokupu we offered were not enough. It seemed incredulous to ask from an island to take some of the rarest animals in the world to raise them in captivity elsewhere.

For the first three days we couldn’t locate any of the E. christenseni. Then we got notice that our huakaʻi was being cut short due to an incoming hurricane.

One crew member searched for two hours in a known population area and could not locate any. I remember hearing the exasperated radio call and my head dropping in defeat while tears ran down my cheeks. I was trying to suppress the fear that maybe we were already too late.

At that moment, the reality of extinction consumed me.

The conditions on the island didn’t exactly help morale either. The deep-cut valleys and rough ridges fit the name of Nihoa. There was no escaping the blistering heat, and there were very few substantial pools where freshwater could collect. Shrubs and grasses were the dominant vegetation, apart from the couple of valleys with loulu (Pritchardia remota), which provided little relief.

While Nihoa does not foster comfortable living conditions, the island was teeming with life. From the numerous heiau and structural evidence of our kūpuna’s residence to the sheer number of birds in the sky and on the ground, it was as if every inch of Nihoa was alive.

With a nesting bird at each step and sprawling vegetation in every direction, just getting to a site to search was a feat.

On the second-to-last day, the pūpū of Nihoa, at last, revealed themselves. Up on the highest peak of the island, there they were – hidden in the decaying blades of kāwelu (Eragrostis variabilis).

They had found refuge from the unwavering heat in these dense grass clumps. I sat there and cried again – in relief – and within minutes, it began to rain. I smiled up at the clouds and, with this affirming hōʻailona, we collected 27 individuals.

This huakaʻi took place in September 2025, and as of December 2025, they have had hundreds of keiki. They will soon be given an inoa Hawaiʻi, a recognition they, and Nihoa, quite deserve. E ola nā pūpū o Nihoa!

Kaci Stokes was born and raised on Oʻahu. She works as a field technician with the Snail Extinction Prevention Program. Her first huakaʻi to Papahānaumokuākea was in September 2025 to Nihoa.

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In December 2013, the Nuʻa Manu Traditional Hawaiian Communications Team traveled to Pihemanu, also known as Kuaihelani/Midway Atoll. On a whim of inspiration, Kainani threw out a challenge to the haku a mele ʻauana on the spot whilst enjoying themselves at a pāʻina held at the Midway House. Attending the pāʻina were the residents of Pihemanu and our group of 18.

Although no English translation is given, each paukū represents the daily happenings throughout our four-day stay. Paukū ʻekahi (na Pueo) describes our first day on island that began with a stunning sunrise greeting of Kānehoalani and the intensity of the wind moving over the surface of the sea. Even with the gusting winds, it was our first glimpse of mōlī soaring gracefully overhead.

Paukū ʻelua (na Snowbird) describes the rain-drenched tour we experienced after leaving our group orientation at the Visitor Center. It was quite a sight. The wind was whipping the rain as we rode around on our golf cart limos or visited various places on island. As much as we were being pelted by the icy rain, the manu seemed to be relaxed and continued sitting on their pūnana.

Paukū ʻekolu (na Kainani) describes our morning service project that we engaged in the following day. Under the guidance of Greg, a U.S. Fish and Wildlife biologist, a group of us planted kāwelu (Eragrostis variablis) in the sand around the old cable houses site. There were so many Bonin Petrol holes that we had to be careful not to fall in, for if we did, we would need to dig the hole out so that we would not trap a bird inside.

Paukū ʻehā (na Pueo) describes the time we had to take in the island and visit various sites like the western shore and the northern Kūkaehao (Rusty Bucket) area. The final paukū describes the group’s visit to Kalaumanu (Eastern Island) and diving at the outer reef (he pale koʻa a nā kūpuna).

Experience Pihemanu/Kuaihelani/Midway Atoll Live! Brought to you by the Friends of Midway Atoll, you can now view a live camera view of the island. Soon, the skies and land will be filled with returning mōlī who are preparing to nest. You might also be able to spot the other inhabitants of the island like the kaʻupu, koloa pōhaka, manuokū, kolea, ʻakekeke, koaʻe, makalena, and nunulu. E lohe ʻia ke kani aʻo Pihemanu!

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Together, we spoke in defense of one of the world’s most ecologically and culturally significant marine protected areas. Papahānaumokuākea’s protections were not created overnight – they were built over years of public engagement, cultural leadership, scientific collaboration, and international cooperation.

Today, those protections face an unprecedented threat. WESPAC has repeatedly attempted to weaken marine safeguards, advancing proposals to reopen marine monuments and sanctuaries, including Papahānaumokuākea, to commercial extraction.

Acting under federal directives, NOAA Fisheries is now “reconsidering” key regulations through the so-called “seafood competitiveness” strategy. Framed as “modernization,” this process paves the way for commercial interests to override conservation efforts and Indigenous stewardship, undermining decades of work to protect these sacred waters.

In my testimony I emphasized that traditionally, Hawaiian families only fish in within the coasts and waters of our own land division. Fishing beyond one’s borders is considered disrespectful and a breach of protocol. I expressed severe disappointment at rhetoric perpetuated by WESPAC insinuating that “these are ‘American’ waters, and ‘American’ fishermen have the right to fish there.”

Papahānaumokuākea is in Hawaiian waters; no one has the right to fish there.

It is among the largest marine protected areas in the world. For perspective: if the Pacific Ocean were a football field, Papahānaumokuākea would be the size of a postage stamp. Yet, WESPAC and its allies are focusing on fishing in this tiny part of the ocean.

The ecosystem found within Papahānaumokuākea is an ancestral legacy from the Kumulipo, our cosmogonic chant. As Native Hawaiians, the salt waters of Papa- hānaumokuākea run through our veins, its waterways are our memories of oceanic migration paths connecting us to every living creature and island in this vast ocean of Moananuiākea.

For a thousand years, our kūpuna manifested Papahānaumokuākea’s pristine beauty and sacredness for the benefit of today’s generation and for the next thousand. This is true foresight. Yet, in just a few short years, it could all be destroyed through extractive activities like commercial fishing and deep-sea mining. Let us not be the shortsighted generation.

Final comments and a petition with 2,600+ signatures advocating for the fullest protections for Papahānaumokuākea has been sent to the federal government. As we await the forthcoming decision on commercial fishing policies in Papahānaumokuākea and other marine protected areas, we must remain vigilant and ready.

Mahalo nui to everyone who came together in support of this massive undertaking. When the opposition says no community exists in Papahānaumokuākea remember: We are the community!

Stay updated on this issue and other opportunities to amplify the story of our kūpuna islands by following the Papahānaumokuākea Native Hawaiian Cultural Working Group (alohacwg.com) and the Papahānaumokuākea Coalition (papahanaumokuakeacoalition.org) on FB and IG.

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