From June 24 through the end of July, the biennial Rim of the Pacific (RIMPAC), the world’s largest multinational training exercise, will conduct war games on Hawaiʻi’s land, in its surrounding oceans, and across its skies. RIMPAC is a spectacle of sinking ships in the waters off Kauaʻi, artillery explosions at Pōhakuloa, amphibious invasions at Mōkapu and Waimānalo, and droves of sailors from more than 30 countries descending on Waikīkī. This month-long occasion is a mere trace of the military’s sweeping historic footprint in Hawaiʻi.

Even as the war with Iran and genocide in Palestine have dominated headlines, a military buildup in the Pacific aimed at containing China persists subliminally. This policy positions Hawaiʻi, with its heavy concentration of military bases and personnel, at the center of U.S. Indo-Pacific war planning.

Pro-military interest groups zealously lobby for ever-increasing military spending in the name of national security yet never provide an accurate accounting of the costs and consequences of such extensive militarization.

This year, the Trump administration brazenly requested $1.5 trillion for the military – the largest military budget ever – as costs of living rise and safety net programs are slashed. The collision of those pressures is bringing new scrutiny to what the military presence in Hawaiʻi actually costs and, more importantly, who bears that burden.

Last month, the Institute for Policy Studies, along with ʻĀina Aloha Economic Futures, ʻĪlioʻulaokalani Coalition, Sierra Club Hawaiʻi, and other national organizations, co-produced the first multi-faceted report critically examining the military’s impacts in Hawaiʻi.

The True Cost of the U.S. Military in Hawaiʻi: A Comprehensive Analysis of the Economic, Environmental, Strategic, and Social Impacts of the U.S. Military Presence in Hawaiʻi, thoroughly reveals groundbreaking findings in nine areas: historical land use and sovereignty, strategic doctrine, environmental harm with a focus on PFAS contamination, public health, economic impact, employment, housing affordability, land valuation, and base conversion.

This report comes as national discourse is increasingly critical of Pentagon spending and the statewide debate over the future of military leases on 46,000 acres of Hawaiian trust lands that expire beginning in 2028 intensifies. The report’s key findings include:

• The military’s actual economic contribution to Hawaiʻi is 30% less than federal and state officials claim: $7.2 billion, not $10 billion, or 6.4% of Hawaiʻi’s GDP rather than 9.2%. That sum does not even accommodate for the steep, in some ways incalculable, costs to the environment, public health, and the islands’ long-term economic security.
• The health care, education, housing, food production, and energy-efficient housing sectors create more than 12 jobs per $1 million investment, whereas only 5 jobs are produced by the same level of military spending. More spending from those non-military sectors also remains within Hawaiʻi’s economy since most military personnel are only stationed in Hawaiʻi temporarily.
• The estimated fair market rent for these 65-year military leases totals $133.7 billion rather than $1 per lease.
• Military demand for off-base housing inflated average rents on Oʻahu by 7.1% in 2024, costing non-military renters an additional $234.8 million, or about $1,848 annually per household.
• The toxic waste legacy is largely unaddressed – including the Red Hill fuel disaster – and PFAS remediation at just three installations is conservatively estimated at $493 million, with indirect costs, including elevated cancer rates, water filtration, and lost food production potentially reaching into the billions.
• The bloated U.S. military presence in Hawaiʻi is inflated by imprecise threat assessments and an offensive doctrine that increases the risk of war with China. A defensive strategy would reduce escalation risks and free Hawaiʻi’s land and resources for the islands’ pressing ecological and social needs.

For decades, Native Hawaiians have led efforts to hold the U.S. military accountable. Now, this report gives policymakers, business leaders, and the broader public the tools to demand both accountability and a fundamental change in Hawaiʻi’s relationship with the U.S. military.

The people of Hawaiʻi, especially Native Hawaiians whose claims to these leased Kingdom lands remain unrelinquished, are entitled to engage in decisions that will affect future generations with full knowledge of the true costs, risks, and benefits.

In the words of Dr. Jonathan Kay Kamakawiwoʻole Osorio, “Doubtless, there is much beyond our horizon and reach for we who love Hawaiʻi. But that has never really discouraged our willingness to try and protect our ʻāina and our communities, to maintain our peaceful resistance to the American empire. In the end, The True Cost of the U.S. Military in Hawaiʻi [report] is not so much an indictment as a blueprint for reclaiming our nation here, in hope and faith in one another.”

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In September 1983, after returning from Basic Training and joining the 2nd Battalion, 299th Infantry of the Hawaiʻi Army National Guard, I attended my first training weekend at Pōhakuloa Training Area.

I knew little about Pōhakuloa beyond its reputation as an Army training ground. Packing my gear in the unit locker room, my squad leader advised me to bring a sleeping bag. I opted for my poncho liner instead – a decision I regretted when the cold, piercing air at midnight made for the coldest night of my 17 years.

That unforgettable night taught me the importance of listening to experienced leaders and marked the beginning of many enduring lessons at Pōhakuloa about resilience, perseverance, and the value of training.

Over the years, I came to appreciate Pōhakuloa’s rugged, remote location. Its volcanic high-elevation terrain and subalpine tropical dryland climate created unique challenges for training and leadership. Here, Hawaiʻi Guardsman learned to be adaptable, resilient, and to work as a team.

The environment demanded readiness for anything, from abrupt weather changes to strenuous tactical drills, which tested and revealed our individual fortitude and perseverance.

Pōhakuloa taught me invaluable decision-making skills under pressure and in rugged terrain. These lessons guided my actions in real world missions: such as when I secured Hanalei after Hurricane ʻIniki; planned recovery for the 2000 Big Island floods; deployed to Iraq and Kuwait; led operations after Hurricane Iselle; managed crises during the 2018 Wainiha floods on Kauaʻi and the Leilani Estates lava flow on the Big Island; and commanded the Hawaiʻi National Guard Joint Task Force during COVID-19.

As the future of Pōhakuloa is being carefully considered, I hold both gratitude and kuleana – responsibility grounded in relationship. I recognize the deep concerns surrounding its stewardship and the enduring connection many lineal descendants have to this land as wahi pana.

At the same time, I know, personally, how Pōhakuloa shaped my growth, my leadership, and my commitment to serving Hawaiʻi. For me, Pōhakuloa is more than just a training area; it is a place that made me who I am today.

My hope is that a path forward can be found – one that restores, protects, and honors this ʻāina, while thoughtfully allowing future generations of Hawaiʻi Guardsmen to learn the same hard lessons of resilience and perseverance that Pōhakuloa taught me.

Whatever decisions emerge, may they be guided by aloha ʻāina and wisdom for those yet to come.

PŌHAKULOA
Moses Kaoiwi Jr.

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When the Thirty Meter Telescope was proposed for Maunakea, I pushed back on one assumption that kept coming up. That the mauna was “irreplaceable.”

I am not an astrophysicist, so I asked Dr. John Mather who won the Nobel Prize in Physics and led science on the James Webb Space Telescope for nearly three decades. He explained that ground-based and space-based telescopes do complementary work, and that Webb data combined with other Earth-based observatories can offset the infrared advantage Maunakea holds over sites like La Palma.

Moving TMT was not a retreat from science. It was a viable path forward.

The military is making a similar argument about the Pōhakuloa Training Area. So, is Pōhakuloa really “irreplaceable?”

The military is already training on comparable terrain every day. Fort Bliss and McGregor Range in Texas and New Mexico together cover 1.12 million acres at elevations that overlap with Pōhakuloa’s, beneath one of the largest restricted airspace corridors on the continent.

Peer-reviewed research documents that Idaho’s eastern Snake River Plain, where the Army trains, shares Hawaiʻi’s volcanic geology, including pāhoehoe, ʻaʻā, cinder cones, and lava tubes. The Marine Corps Air Ground Combat Center at Twentynine Palms in California includes ancient lava flows geologically similar to our own.

The alternatives are not just geographic. The Army has invested billions in its Synthetic Training Environment, which it describes as allowing more training repetitions than live fire at lower cost and with improved safety, and as essential for replicating complex, large-scale environments.

Demanding better alternatives to Pōhakuloa is not anti-military. It is pro-innovation.

Then there is the question of what this ʻāina is worth. The U.K. pays the Republic of Mauritius roughly $20,000 per acre each year for Diego Garcia. The U.S. pays the Republic of the Marshall Islands around $13,600 per acre on Kwajalein.

These agreements tell us what fair market value looks like when countries negotiate honestly. Apply either rate to Pōhakuloa’s 23,000 leased acres and the number lands between $313 million and $460 million a year.

So, what if the Army moved training to Twentynine Palms tomorrow? Many would call that a win.

But I know it would be devastating for the Twenty-Nine Palms Band, the Chemehuevi, and the other peoples who hold that desert sacred, who know their Oasis of Mara the way we know our wahi pana. They have already had their places taken, fenced off, and bombed. We know what that feels like.

Trading one people’s wounds for another’s is not justice.

So maybe the real question is not about irreplaceability at all, but why 27 million acres of military-controlled land is still not enough? The Army’s own reporting shows that 29% of its infrastructure capacity exceeds its needs. That’s their number, not mine.

One and a half cents per year for 23,000 acres at Pōhakuloa. Somewhere in that number is everything you need to know about how this ʻāina has been valued, and by whom.

Pōhakuloa is irreplaceable. Not as training ground. As ʻāina.

Olin Kealoha Lagon is a technology entrepreneur and loʻi kalo farmer. A military and Peace Corps veteran, he has deep roots in Kānaka-serving organizations. He is a member of OHA’s Technical Advisory Group, which provides guidance to the Board of Trustees on matters related to the military in Hawaiʻi.

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By Kaulu Luʻuwai and Mahina Tuteur

In 1964, the State of Hawaiʻi leased nearly 23,000 acres at Pōhakuloa to the U.S. Army for just one dollar. The state brokered a similar deal across Oʻahu at Mākua, Kahuku, and Kawailoa-Poamoho. These leases expire in August 2029 and renewal negotiations are underway.

The future of these ʻāina is not merely a policy question but a legal crisis. The law governs what the state can and cannot do with these lands, and the lāhui has a collective kuleana to demand that it be followed.

Since securing the leases, the military has had broad, largely unsupervised control over these lands. But these are not just any state lands – they are unrelinquished crown and government lands of the Hawaiian Kingdom, seized through the 1893 illegal overthrow without consent of the Native Hawaiian people.

Moreover, these lands carry two distinct yet intertwined legal obligations that the state cannot waive, delegate, or ignore.

The first is the Public Land Trust. Under Section 5 of the 1959 Admission Act and Article XII, Section 4 of the Hawaiʻi Constitution, these lands are held in trust for five explicit purposes, one of which is the betterment of the conditions of Native Hawaiians.

The second is the Public Trust Doctrine. Under Article XI, Section 1 of the Hawaiʻi Constitution, all public natural resources are held in trust for the benefit of present and future generations. Significantly, any decision around the use of these lands begins with a presumption in favor of public use, access, and enjoyment, not military utility.

Together, these bedrock principles plainly instruct how the state, as trustee, must proceed; it must show that these lease renewals serve the trust and its beneficiaries, and it cannot satisfy one constitutional duty while ignoring the other.

The Hawaiʻi Supreme Court made this crystal clear in Ching v. Case (2019), a dispute that arose from the Pōhakuloa lease. The court unanimously held that the state had breached its constitutional trust duties – drawing on both the Public Land Trust and the Public Trust Doctrine – by failing to monitor and inspect lands leased to the military and declared that it “may not passively allow [trust lands] to fall into ruin.”

If merely failing to monitor or inspect is a breach, a trustee who negotiates the re-leasing of trust assets behind closed doors before conducting environmental remediation and the constitutionally required Ka Paʻakai cultural impact analysis, or without meaningfully engaging the Native Hawaiian community and general public, surely breaches its trust duties.

Nonetheless, this is the path the governor is taking. Negotiations with federal entities have proceeded under compressed timelines without first addressing these threshold issues. Public Land Trust leases require Board of Land and Natural Resource (BLNR) approval and a legally adequate Environmental Impact Statement (EIS). BLNR has granted neither – in fact, it rejected the Army’s EISs for lease renewals at both Pōhakuloa and on Oʻahu last summer.

This is a once-in-a-generation moment.

For six decades these lands have been degraded, their waters and soils contaminated, their cultural sites rendered inaccessible. With the leases expiring, the law is on our side. The lāhui, as beneficiaries of these trust lands, will not be mere bystanders to these negotiations. We must demand accountability – and a reckoning.

In the words of Skippy Ioane, “Now that you know, do you care?” With knowledge comes kuleana, what we do with it is up to all of us.

Kaulu Luʻuwai is a post-JD Legal Fellow at Ka Huli Ao Center for Excellence in Native Hawaiian Law at UH Mānoa. Mahina Tuteur is an attorney, educator and small business owner with certificates in Native Hawaiian and Environmental law. Both Luʻuwai and Tuteur are members of OHA’s Technical Advisory Group which provides guidance to the Board of Trustees on matters related to the military in Hawaiʻi.

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